Title: Down to Fall
(#5 of Love Happens)
Author: Jodi Watters
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Military
A lust story. Only meant to be temporary.
A love story. Always meant to be permanent.
A hate story. Never meant to be.
This... is all three.
It started in an elevator in California. Our lust story.
You know, the kind you know going in is a bad idea, but... the nagging desire and all. A few drinks in the hotel bar across from our workplace. A few nights in a luxury suite twenty floors above. What could it hurt?
Innocent fun would be had by all, and I’d walk away a well-satisfied woman. Ready to continue my life of brokenhearted loneliness.
It started on a ridge in Afghanistan. Our love story.
You know, the kind you felt in your soul at first sight, but... the tragic circumstances and all. Intentionally casual conversation over Irish whiskey. Intentionally casual sex over the course of two weeks. How could I refuse?
Guilt-ridden bonds would be built, and I’d confess my darkest sin. Beg for forgiveness five years overdue and clean my conscience along with it.
It started with the cold hard truth. Our hate story.
You know, the kind that could end a surprisingly beautiful beginning.
Excerpt . . .
It would end here too, but only after she’d had her fill of him and/or thirteen days had passed, whichever came first. Based on the way that gray t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and if there were tattoos and tan lines under it, she’d run out of time before she ran out of desire.
Backing her up against the hotel room door, Grady leaned in but didn’t touch her, only locking the deadbolt and flipping the security bar, the sound loud in the hushed darkness of the room.
“You sure about this?” His masculinity surrounded her, warm and wicked. His height dwarfed her, tall and tantalizing.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Are you?”
“No,” he choked out, his voice gravelly. “No, I’m not sure. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
They’d never been this close before, but if she’d known his strength was so powerful, his scent so heady, his size so commanding, she’d have cornered him weeks ago. Probably humped his camo-panted leg like a dog in heat.
Well, he’d better be ready. She was about to be unleashed. Which was to say, he’d be on the receiving end of her largely limited—and significantly rusty—sexual repertoire.
Comparing herself to the animalistic dynamo that was a female canine in heat was her ego talking. Oh, she could get the job done, no doubt about it, but Grady might not be so impressed he’d hire her again, if you caught her drift.
Thirteen days might turn into a one-and-done situation.
But luckily, she’d made that quick drugstore run during her lunch break yesterday, so she was fully prepared. Condoms, a Lady Bic razor and shaving gel, and a king-sized Kit Kat bar completed her purchase. The condoms were a necessity—safety first, ’cause that’s how ole Nicole rolled. The razor because, between the two of them, he should be the only one with stubble. The chocolate was simply because she hadn’t had sex in a longer timespan than your average bad-credit car loan, and that fact would make any girl self-medicate.
Thankfully she’d had the foresight to buy a half dozen candy bars and wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d powered one down just prior to stalking him via the elevator tonight.
Chocolate might give her cellulite, but it also gave her courage. Courage she desperately needed, because right about now, she was feeling like a born-again virgin.
Unsure. Unsteady. And unprepared for the sight he was about to bestow upon her.
Bare, muscled skin.
Their suite was several stories high, the only glow in the room from the small lamp on the nightstand and that of a thousand twinkling lights from the surrounding downtown buildings. The panoramic floor to ceiling windows offered an amazing view, day or night, and though the drapes were drawn open to the outside world, they were cocooned inside by the soft radiance of a single bulb.
The only people on earth.
Moving deeper into the room, his eyes barely left hers as he tugged his t-shirt off, lazily dropping it to the floor.
There were tattoos. Plural. And in nearly the exact location of her fantasies.
The letter F was inked over his left pec muscle, a single initial monogrammed in an Old English decorative script. F for Foster. Underneath that same glorious pec muscle was a short verse, in a cleaner, simpler font, that wrapped horizontally around his torso toward his back.
It was too dark in the room for her to read the words, but that task was now on the tippy top of her To-Do list.
What she could read was the larger quote tattooed along the right side of his collar bone. De oppresso liber. To liberate the oppressed. The motto of the United States Army Special Forces.
Don’t ask her how she knew that. It wasn’t a fun tale to tell.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”
Swallowing, she regained the use of language. “That I wanna lick your tattoos.”
A smartass grin graced his beautifully sculpted mouth. “Damn. Should’ve tattooed my dick.”
The button on his pants popped, the slide of his zipper letting loose a hoard of butterflies in her stomach when he opened the placket. Dark shadows hid his best asset, his intention only to relieve the pressure, not release the beast.
He needn’t worry. She wanted to lick that too.
About the Author . . .
I live with my high school sweetheart husband in the desert Southwest. Awesome in the winter, not so much in the summer.
My life long goals are to think before I speak, smile more and swear less, and actually weigh what my driver's license states I do.
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