Hard Beat

“You ready?” My voice comes out in an authoritative tone, causing the conversations in the room to die around us as my posture alone lets it be known that she’s with me. Exactly what I want them to think.

She hesitates, the softness in her eyes turning to a defiance that causes me to grit my teeth.

“The lady’s having fun,” the private next to her says, squaring his shoulders to let me know that he’ll step up to the plate for her. Little does he know I can throw a fastball with the best of them.

“It’s time for the lady to leave,” I assert.

He takes a step forward, two guys stepping up beside him, and I know a fight brewing when I see one. I’m definitely not afraid to take a hit, but causing trouble on the base is not a good idea when I need to stay in the military’s good graces. More guys take notice of the showdown that looks like it’s about to go down, postures stiffening and necks craning to catch a glimpse of the stranger invading their space.

I steal a look at Beaux and use it to tell her the words I can’t say aloud: Get your ass out the door right now before fists start flying. And of course she fucking hesitates again, adding heat to my already boiling anger. She matches me glare for glare. I’m not sure what kind of game she’s playing right now, but I’m definitely not in the mood for it.

“Sorry, boys,” she finally says when the tension is so thick, it feels like I’m swimming in it. “My babysitter is right. It’s time to go.”

The soldiers let out a communal groan with some of the guys throwing out offers for their babysitting services. I don’t find it amusing. At all.

Beaux takes her sweet ass time sauntering to the door, saying good-bye to a few of the guys as she heads my way before granting me a smug little smirk, and exiting through the door I hold open for her.

I salute the soldiers inside a farewell before shutting the door and following after her as she stalks off down the street. As I quicken my stride to catch up, I’m confused as fuck as to why she’s mad at me when I did nothing wrong. With each step, my anger intensifies at her and at myself.

After all, I spent all this time worrying that I had put her in some bad situation when she was in fact sitting there flirting playfully with those guys. I wasn’t rude, didn’t act like a dick, but rather just told her it was time to go. And what do I get in return? I get her goddamn attitude and hips swaying back and forth, telling me to fuck off with each step.

“What’s your problem?” I’ve gotten sick and tired of always being the one playing chase in whatever game of cat and mouse we seem stuck in. I’m not a man used to the idea of chasing, and it doesn’t sit well with me.

“Go to hell, Ta

“Where’s Sarge?” I ask, trying to ignore her melodramatics.

“Had to go to a meeting. You were late. He left me in good hands.”

Good hands? Really? That’s clearly what she thinks, although in my mind that was the farthest thing from it. “What the hell type of game were you playing back there?” She just keeps stalking away, and confusion riots inside me. Here I was worried sick about her, remembering what happened to Stella… and to think she was in there parading her ass around and getting the attention she must need to keep that ego of hers overinflated.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t decide whether I care about her or whether I can’t be bothered to care. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’ve got so much pent-up fury when I catch up to her just as she turns a corner toward an alley. I don’t even hesitate when I reach for her arm and whirl her around so that her back is against the wall behind her.

“Let go of me!” Her teeth are gritted, and there’s spite in her voice that I still don’t think I deserve.

“Babysitter?” I snarl, unsure why the term pissed me off so bad when it’s exactly what I am in Rafe’s eyes. Maybe it’s because in front of all of those guys I wanted to be more than that.

“Yeah, babysitter.” She tries to step into me, use that compact little body of hers to emphasize her point, but there’s not much space between the wall and where I stand, so all she accomplishes is pushing her chest against mine, causing warning bells to fire off, but fuck if I care because the goddamn alarm’s been sounding since I couldn’t find her. “You think you can issue an apology, take me to the range, and you’re forgiven? I don’t hold grudges, Pulitzer, but I also don’t forgive at the drop of a dime either —”

“Shut up!”

“You’re arrogant and condescending and an asshole —”

“Will you be quiet?” My voice escalates with each word, bouncing off the concrete around us and coming back to me.

“No, because you —”

I don’t know what comes over me other than wanting to shut her mouth, but it must be the feel of our bodies co

But by the time I realize what I’m doing, and that she’s kissing me back after the few seconds of shock pass, it’s too damn late to stop. And I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Anger and emotion fuel the kiss, plus adrenaline adds a bite of hunger that makes me not care if our lips are bruised when we part. Right now I need to answer the insanity this woman brings out in me.

So I let myself fall under the haze of the kiss with the heat around us and her soft body against mine. It’s when she slides her hands up my chest and starts to respond with more than just her lips and tongue that the reality of what I’ve just initiated seeps through the desire ruling my body.

Then I break my lips from hers, feeling completely confused about how I can be so wrapped up in this woman and at the same time despise her. Our faces are inches apart, breaths warming each other’s cheeks as her eyes tell me she’s trying to understand what the hell happened. Just like I am. It’s no use trying to explain, so I hold on to the only emotion that makes sense anymore, my anger.

“I still don’t like you,” I mutter as I turn on my heel to walk away but not before I see the shock flash through her eyes. I don’t hear her footsteps follow behind me. “You’d best be following me, because I’m not going to save your ass again, rookie.”

Two hours later, the bar is loud, the drinks are cold, and I hate that I keep thinking about Beaux. It doesn’t help that she’s sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by men. And it’s not her fault; the male to female ratio here is almost ten to one, so I get it.

But I don’t want to wonder why exactly I care so much.

The more I watch her, the more worked up I get. She’s flipping her hair, and several times she meets my eyes above the crowd around her… because, yes, she has a crowd. She just draws people to her, and it’s a

“If looks could kill, man…,” Pauly says with an audible exhale, and leaves the end of the sentence hanging.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, shaking my head when he pushes a glass of something amber in front of me. “No, thanks.”

“What’d you do to piss off the princess?”

I snort at the endearment. “Nothing. She was being stupid, and I put her in her place. Now she’s pissed at me.”

“So in other words you were being an asshole? Or should I say you were being yourself?” He’s grasping for clues and fuck, I love him, but I’m not giving him the details he wants. That means confessing we were with Sarge, and that’s a Pandora’s box that needs to stay closed.

“Something like that.” I glance up and meet her eyes again, but this time she doesn’t look away. She meets me glare for glare before standing and striding over to where we are sitting. Pauly whistles at the sight of her curves swaying and tits bouncing beneath her tank. And of course I groan in reaction, and as much as I appreciate the sight of her, I know she’s going to cause a scene.