she’d be there. And she’d promised herself that if she moved back, she’d make her best effort to get along with her parents.
“Very busy.” Pulling a face at having to climb off the cloud of sexual nirvana, she rolled to her side. Blake’s eyes heated to blue flames. “I’ve got a family thing going on.”
She only hesitated a second before adding, “But I can be back by midnight.”
He zipped his jeans, tucking his T-shirt in and giving her a long, contemplative look. As if he knew exactly what she was offering. Not just sex. Trust. A chance to see where this went. And, she admitted to herself with a sigh, rolling off the table, a boatload of expectations.
She could see the hesitation in his blue eyes. Knew he was weighing all that, probably against how fast he could hit the door. He stepped forward, sliding between her legs again and resting his hands on her bare waist.
Eyes open, staring into hers, he leaned down to meet her lips. Whisper soft, it was a promise, an acceptance. For the first time, his kiss didn’t make her think, Let’s get naked. It made her think, Wow, there goes my heart.
“Midnight, then,” he said, kissing her one more time before striding to the door.
And just like that, she felt committed. She didn’t know anything about him other than his name, that he was incredible in bed and that she’d trust him with her life.
Trust. That was the biggie.
Other than Michael, had she ever trusted another man in her life? Growing up with an emotionally—and often physically—absent father who ruled everything on a need-to-know basis, and a mother who didn’t bother sharing important things like when or where they’d be moving next because she hadn’t wanted to hear the whining, Alexia tended to demand a lot of information from people. Maybe it made her a little bit of a control freak, but she liked to know everything she could, before she made decisions.
And here she was, with a man who hadn’t told her anything.
Alexia pressed her fingers to her lips, still sticky with plum jelly. The front door shut behind Blake.
“It’s a date,” she whispered to the empty room.
“CHEERS, BUDDY,” Cade said, tilting his beer—in a glass, no tacky bottles at the admiral’s retirement party—against Blake’s. The sound was lost in the sea of well-modulated voices, yawn-worthy chamber music and the almost silent white noise of the air conditioner. “Gotta admit, the old guy has style.”
Blake shrugged. He’d grown up poor enough to appreciate that using a glass instead of the bottle gave the guy doing dishes a chance to earn a living. But other than that, opulence confused more than impressed him. What was the point? Rich people were more worried about showing off their fancy than guys were showing off the size of their...muscles.
He didn’t bother saying that to Cade, though. Compared to the Sullivans, Cade’s family, Admiral Pierce might as well move into the trailer park Blake had grown up in.
“What do you think he’s gonna do now that he’s retired?” Cade asked idly, his mellow tone at odds with the sharp intensity of his gaze as he scanned the crowd. “Put on one of those flowered shirts and putter in the garden?”
“I hope someone takes pictures,” Blake snorted. Then, after another drink, he shrugged. “He’s mentioned doing consults in D.C., maybe put together some programs here on the base.”
That was the great thing about Cade. No pissiness over Blake having an inside track with the admiral. Then again, Cade’s uncle was a senator and his father owned half of northern California. So he had plenty of inside tracks of his own.
“Why bother to retire, then?” Cade asked. “Retirement is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it? Like R&R every day?”
Blake grimaced. That was way too much relaxing for him. Like this party, that kind of deal just wasn’t in his cards. He scanned the crowd again, looking for a waiter and another beer.
Unlike the poor civilian saps in tuxes, he and Cade, along with a bunch of bright shiny brass, got to wear their dress whites. It wasn’t fatigues, but close enough to keep him comfortable.
“Sir,” the waiter said with a little bow as he exchanged Blake’s empty glass for a full one.
He shifted his shoulders against the constricting fabric. At least he used to be comfortable. For the first time since he’d put it on, it felt as if his uniform didn’t fit right.
“What’s up?” Cade asked after exchanging his own glass. “You’ve been antsy as hell all night.”
“Just want to get out of here. This isn’t my kind of thing.”
“Dude, ya gotta party while the music’s playing.”
Cade’s grin disappeared as the words cleared his mouth. That’d been Phil’s favorite saying.
Blake stared into his own pilsner glass. They were trained for this. They went into every single mission knowing it wasn’t just a possibility, but a probability, that sooner or later one of them wouldn’t make it out. So what was with the emotional drama? When did it get easier?
“Landon, Sullivan, glad you could make it,” the admiral said in a big, hearty social voice. As opposed to the big, gruff commanding voice he usually used to bark out orders. There actually wasn’t a whole lot of difference in the two, except the slightly disturbing smile on his face.
“Congratulations on your retirement, sir,” Cade said. “The base won’t be the same without you.”
You had to hand it to him, Cade rocked this social bullshit. And the admiral ate it up with a spoon.
“I did my best to leave a strong mark,” he claimed before giving Blake an indulgent look that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “And I like to think I’m leaving behind a legacy. That my influence will carry on, if you know what I mean.”
“The mark of a great leader is the impact he leaves on his troops,” Cade agreed.
Blake didn’t have to look at him to know that beneath his social tone, his buddy was smirking.
“And speaking of legacies,” the admiral said, pulling on that social smile again, “Landon, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
“Sir?” Shit. He didn’t want to meet anyone.
“My daughter. A lovely young woman. Articulate, bright and gainfully employed. Top-security clearance, a solid portfolio, and being my daughter, she’s well versed in what’s required to support a military household.”
Obviously Pierce didn’t play matchmaker very often.
And Blake wished like hell he wasn’t doing it now. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what game the admiral was playing. The old guy liked Blake’s story. SEAL, linguist, decorated soldier triumphing over a pathetic childhood. The son-in-law ad practically wrote itself.
Except Blake wasn’t
