Hard Beat

“No funny stuff, Pulitzer. We just met, you know.”

I chuckle into the back of her hair, my breath heating it against my face as I settle into the welcoming feeling of her body snuggled up against mine, soft curves, warm skin, the scent of her shampoo, and the feel of her ribs expanding with each breath. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night on my end with temptation against me but with my chivalry wedged between us.

And as much as my ideal way to spend the night with a woman is not exactly with our clothes on, this is beyond nice. It’s the first time I can remember in ages that I don’t feel so lonely.

“Sleep sweet, BJ,” I murmur as I press a kiss into the back of her head and pull her a little tighter against me.

“It’s Beaux. And sleep sweet too, Tanner.”

A ridiculous grin spreads on my lips at her correction and stays there as I slip into the clutches of slumber.

Chapter 11

O

ver the next couple of weeks, the days drag and tumble endlessly one into another until the boredom feels like one solid stretch of wasted time. I’ve reached out to every one of my sources to try and get something, anything, to give me an inside for a story, but they’ve got nothing to give me.

The lot of us in the hotel are on edge, keeping to ourselves as much as we can because we know from experience that this is when we start to get on one another’s nerves. When there is something happening on the military front, this place hums with speculation, thrives with paranoia over who has a better story, and comes to life with excitement. But it’s been quiet for a while now.

Even though I’m restless for action beyond the hotel’s walls and the city’s limits, I’m also antsy because something has me feeling like this is the eye of the storm. Something big is coming. I can feel it.

Let’s just hope I get there first and report it better.

In the meantime we wait. Omid’s gone back into the wind again. It’s only been three weeks by the calendar, but it feels more like a lifetime. I’m not letting myself grow too concerned since I’ve seen this pattern from him before; nevertheless¸ I still worry after Beaux’s error in taking photos of him that I’ve lost him.

In midafternoon I glance around the lobby at everyone keeping to themselves, heads down, earbuds in, and laptops open. I shift my gaze across the room and lock eyes with Beaux just as she’s lowering the camera from where it was aimed in my direction. An unsettling feeling flickers through me as I wonder just what exactly she saw this time behind the curve of her lens.

A man who’s finally settling back into the life he was meant to lead? One who’s a little bit smitten with the woman snapping pictures of him?

Because… yeah, I guess I am smitten with her. Especially after the last two weeks where we’ve had easy conversation, numerous laughs over endless games of Scrabble to pass the time, and a few nights when we’ve fallen asleep together after talking late into the night. The funny thing is even with all this time spent in close quarters, I still feel like I don’t know her at all and that I know everything about her in the same breath. We’re comfortable together, feel safe with each other, and it’s a welcome feeling after so much tumult over the past few months.

I don’t have walls up when it comes to women. Never have. I didn’t have a fucked-up childhood or any damaged relationships that have scarred me for others. But that doesn’t stop Stella’s voice from creeping into my mind in the silence of midnight to tease me about how easy it is for me to fall in lust with someone. And that has me stepping back some from Beaux and this newfound camaraderie, holding my emotions a tad closer to the vest, preferably protected by Kevlar, to prevent more ache in my heart already saddened by Stella’s death.

But regardless of how much I tell myself to take that necessary step back, I can still feel myself slipping deeper into whatever this is between Beaux and me. I mean fuck, I want to have sex with her again – that’s a given – but since that first-time buildup has already happened between us, we have this oddly fascinating connection now. It’s like since we know how explosive the physical side of things is between us that we almost fear igniting that powder keg again unless we figure out if we can actually handle it.

And God how I want to handle it before I handle her, because I know the next time we connect, there will be no turning back. Both physically and where my heart is concerned. I know myself well enough that this feeling I have inside isn’t going to allow me to stay behind the Kevlar for too much longer.

But I’m pulled from my thoughts as a soft smile turns up her lips and reaches her eyes. At the sight a warmth spreads through me. And with the quality time we’ve spent together lately, I feel like even though we are in this room filled with colleagues, we are having our own private conversation without speaking.

She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.

“Ready to lose, Pulitzer?”

“Someone has to let you win so you don’t pout,” I tease as she picks up a ball and pretends like she’s going to huck it at me despite the smirk playing at the corners of her lips.