Hard Beat

Beaux stares me down, blatant derision mixed with embarrassment playing out all over her flushed cheeks, while my disbelief at my earlier concern skyrockets.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do, Ta

“What if we had a lead? What if I was just up at your room pounding on your door because you didn’t answer your phone? How would you handle it then, huh?” Honestly I know I’m being a prick by baiting her with my questions, but I’m past the point of caring. “This isn’t sorority row. It’s best you start acting like the professional you claim to be instead of some two-bit —”

She’s in my face so fast, the rest of the words don’t have a chance to leave my mouth. “Who and what I am is none of your goddamn business so long as I do my job properly! It’s best you start remembering that as well.”

The heat of her body is pressed against my bare skin, and I hate the ache that stirs deep in my lower belly. Her breath mingles with mine from our proximity, and I want to step back from her, give us the distance I most definitely need to keep this on the professional level, but somehow I can’t make my feet move.

“Good to know. I’ll believe it when I see it.” My gaze travels down to her lips and then back up to her eyes, a half-cocked smirk on my lips. “But I think you’ve forgotten one important thing.”

“What’s that?” she huffs out, and I love that I’m irritating her. Serves her right.

“If I can’t get hold of you, then you can’t do your job properly. It’s best you start remembering that as well,” I say, throwing her words back in her face.

“How long are you going to play the asshole card, Ta

My only response is to raise my eyebrows and purse my lips. “Long as it takes.”

“Lucky me.” Her green eyes blaze into mine, but I just look back at her like I don’t give two fucks. “This conversation has been absolutely scintillating, but I’m sure watching the back of my eyelids is much more exciting. If you’ll excuse me…”

And there she goes again walking away from me, taunting me with what I most definitely don’t want, but what man wouldn’t enjoy watching her ass as it goes?

I’m dialing Rafe before she’s up the first flight of stairs.

“Hey.” He answers just as I unlock the door to my room, and I wait until I close it behind me before I respond.

“What gives? Where are all of the embed missions you said you were setting up for me?” I’m antsy as fuck to get out in the field, get that buzz again.

“It’s only been forty-eight hours since wheels down, Thomas. Cool your jets.” Rafe tries to placate me with exasperation.

“It may be only two days, but you had a few months to set shit up for me while you were making me jump through your circus hoops to get back here.” He was so adamant that he be the ringmaster.

“Our military liaison is working on it, and —”

“Don’t give me any bullshit lines, Rafe. You’ve got me fucking handcuffed. I know I’m being watched here like a goddamn dog to make sure I play by the rules… and I am, I assure you… but if you don’t throw me a bone soon, I’m going to find one on my own, protocol be damned,” I say, lying to him with ease.

“How’s it going with you and Beaux?” The subtle change of subject tells me he heard me loud and clear and that he knows if he can’t make something happen for me, I’ll make it happen myself. We’ve worked together long enough that I know he can’t consent to my going against company policy by entering the danger zone on my own accord.

It’s my ass on the line. And I’m good with that. Too bad now my ass means Beaux’s too.

I grunt a nonresponse. “Don’t think I don’t see the setup here. The babysitting job you guys dropped on me because you think I’m unstable. I’ll do my job, Rafe, and I’ll do it damn well.”

“I never said that you wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t have to say it. I’ll be waiting for your call… and for your sake, she’d better be able to do her job.” I hang up before giving him a chance to respond, the range of emotions from this morning making me more bitter than normal.

Tossing my phone onto my unmade bed, I strip down, the hot water of my shower calling to my sore muscles. When I enter the bathroom, I look in the mirror and flex out of habit to see whether this morning made any difference in the definition of my abs and biceps. But when I draw my eyes up from the lines in my torso, I take in my dark hair, worn a little long, and the stubble I sport when on assignment so that I can fit in as much as possible with the locals. I’m already missing my clean-shaven face and hair trimmed off my ears like I prefer when I’m at home. When in Rome…

I look like shit. My violet eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep with dark smudges that look like bruises beneath them. I scrub a hand over my face and blow out a breath to shake away the ghosts I see hiding in the mirror and head for the shower. Productivity is my number one priority.

Chapter 6

“It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?”

I look at Pauly through the steam of my coffee before answering him because his words are more true than I’d like to admit. “Of course it is… but isn’t that how it is here, always feast or famine? Weeks on end of waiting for something to happen and then riding that high when it does only for the boredom to hit tenfold until the next time. It’s just taking a bit of time for all of my sources to know I’m back.”

Pauly rolls his eyes and laughs. “Only you could think that you’ll return to this shithole and things will start happening.” When I raise my eyebrows with an unabashed shrug to remind him of all the times this has happened, he holds up his hands in surrender. “Forgive me, wonder boy. We all know you walk into a room and shit happens that only you know about.”

“It’s good to be me.” I flash a smirk his way before taking another sip of coffee. We’re sitting by the front windows of the hotel where we can watch life outside to pass time, but on the far left of us are some makeshift desks where a few reporters work on their laptops. To the right is the reception counter, and at the opposite end of the room, across from where we sit, is the bar. We’ve kind of commandeered that too – all sixty of us reporters and photographers from various agencies – and made it our second home since our rooms are so small and nothing beats boredom better than company.

There’s a crappy pool table a few of the guys found abandoned somewhere in the early days of the conflict. It was broken and battered, but in between air raid sirens and being confined in here for safety’s sake, they made it a mission to repair it with whatever they could find. It’s a patchwork quilt at best, but it works, and we’ve all spent endless hours playing on it, trying to pass time during lulls.

Pool’s not really my thing, though. Not enough action, enough adrenaline, not enough of anything really, but when I glance over to the table at the right of the bar, my pulse jumps. Because bending over the table, lining up a shot with her spectacular ass directed my way, is Beaux.

And even if I didn’t have firsthand knowledge of how those curves look without those ass-hugging jeans on, I’d still guess it was her from a mile away because bodies like hers are few and far between.

The crack of the rack of balls breaking up rings out across the lobby, and it’s only when she stands up to full height that her long mane of hair falls down her back. Damn it. I’m a sucker for women with long hair so when all of it falls to rest above the swell of her ass, I curse under my breath.