Life&Limb (PASS Series Book 2) Page 5

  I don’t have those expectations tonight. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t generally have any objections to skipping preliminaries and getting to the good stuff. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want my hands and mouth on those curves, but I’m not so sure that would be a smart place to start. Not with this woman.

  “Goddammit.”

  The muffled curse sounds from the other side of the door, moments before I hear the lock turn.

  Willa looks flustered. Beautiful, but out of sorts as she impatiently pushes a hank of hair behind her ear.

  “Did I get the time wrong?” I ask, and am immediately pinned with an annoyed glare.

  “No, you didn’t get the time wrong,” she snaps, opening the door wide to let out a cloud of smoke and a smell that doesn’t bode well for dinner. She waves me inside. “She said it was idiot-proof. Guess she gave me too much credit.” She continues to mutter as she darts past me to the kitchen.

  I’m curious as to whom the elusive she might be, but I know better than to ask another stupid question. Instead I follow her to check out the source of the heavy smoke, and almost trip over the remnants of a smoke detector on the floor.

  Dropping the small bouquet of flowers and the bottle of wine I brought on the island, I move to the stove where she appears to be furiously stabbing at something. Dinner, I presume. I recognize an aluminum pan but the contents are an unidentifiable charred mess she is hacking with a dangerous-looking kitchen knife.

  Instead of trying to intervene and risk pissing off an already angry-looking woman wielding a weapon, I start opening a few windows to clear the smoke. Then I pull out my phone and look up Pablo’s number.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, having thankfully put down the knife as she glares at me.

  “Ordering pizza,” I admit. “And before you say anything…” I quickly add when she takes a deep breath in, undoubtedly to tell me off, “…I was supposed to take care of dinner in the first place. Maybe next time we try for the home-cooked meal.”

  “Next time?” she notes, her eyebrows up in her hairline.

  “You bet.” I grin at her. “I get the feeling once won’t be enough.”

  “I’m not a particularly good cook. I mean, I can do better than burn a ready-made lasagna—which I bought because Rosie recommended it and all I had to do was heat it up—but I’m far from a chef. I just got distracted and forgot about the oven.”

  “Not the first person that’s happened to.”

  “I know, but…never mind.” She shakes her head and I don’t push it. She’s clearly not having a good day.

  “Why don’t I get on that pizza while you pour yourself a glass of wine?” I indicate the bottle I brought in.

  “You got me flowers,” she notes, picking them up to give them a sniff.

  “Florist is next to the liquor store.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” I return. “Anything you don’t like on your pizza?”

  “I’ll eat anything as long as it’s on a pizza.”

  Then she sets about finding something to put the flowers in while I dial Pablo’s.

  An hour later the petrified lasagna is in the garbage can on the side of the house, the king-size pizza box has only a couple of slices left, and I’m pouring us the last of the wine.

  “Best military movie ever made?” she asks, when I hand over her glass.

  After some general conversation over dinner, we seem to have progressed to the getting-to-know-each-other portion of the evening.

  “Apocalypse Now,” I answer immediately, having watched that movie about a hundred times. “You?”

  “Full Metal Jacket. Hands down,” she adds. “Your turn.”

  “Favorite vacation destination?”

  “A remote cabin in the Rockies. You?”

  “Really?” I’m surprised at her answer. “I had you pegged for some sunny, beachfront location like the Bahamas or something.”

  She exaggerates a shiver. “I could handle that for no more than thirty minutes before the heat, the sand, and the people would drive me to hide inside. Silence, nature, and fresh air is more my speed.”

  “Interesting. I’m not a beach bum myself, although I like being on the water. A mountain lake to be more specific. I don’t care if it’s a cabin, a tent, or just a sleeping bag under the stars, as long as it gets me away from people.”

  “Interesting, indeed,” she mumbles, a small smile tugging at her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. “Okay, in that same vein, favorite vacation activity?”

  “Hmm. There are several that make the top of my list, but let’s stick with hiking and canoeing.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, I bet,” she mocks and I burst out laughing.

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Somewhere W. D. Boyce is turning in his grave,” she teases.

  I shouldn’t be surprised she knows the history of the Scouts. Willa is apparently full of surprises and all of them good, although I might do the cooking from here on out.

  “So what’s your favorite?”

  “Reading. Love to read, I just rarely get a chance to sit and devour a book beginning to end. Vacation is good for that.”

  “Last book you read?”

  The blush forming on her cheeks at my question makes me even more curious.

  “It’s been a while,” she stalls, and I can see her eyes dart to a paperback upside down on the counter by the coffee maker.

  Liar.

  I recognize the name on the cover as that of the author who caused a stir in the literary world when she took erotica mainstream. I just don’t recognize the title. As an avid reader myself, I checked out that first book to see what the hype was all about. Bit of a stretch, the story itself, but the sex was admittedly hot.

  “For the record, she’s not a new author to me,” I admit, grinning when I see her discomfort. “But I prefer crime thrillers myself.”

  The blush only deepens as she empties her glass and gets up to clear it and the dishes into the dishwasher. It appears we’re done with the question and answer segment, which is probably a good thing.

  I quickly adjust myself when her back is turned, her round ass on display. I have a healthy appreciation for a woman with generous curves and I like a soft body in my bed, but Willa is stirring my blood with much more than her physical attributes.

  That’s why I get up from my stool and drain my own glass, setting it next to the sink. I don’t want to come off like all I care about is how fast I can get her in the sack.

  She looks at me surprised.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I started working out with one of the guys at work, and he likes to hit the gym at an ungodly hour.”

  She gives me a quick head to toe scan before smirking at me.

  “You look fit enough to me.”

  “Could be better,” I return, grabbing the spare tire that’s been growing around my waist in both hands.

  “Like I said,” she repeats, her eyelids lowering. “You look fit enough to me.”

  Okay. That’s my cue to get out of here before I let something happen I’m trying to avoid. I reach out and brush my thumb over her still-rosy cheekbone.

  “I should go,” I tell her gently. “But I’d like to see you again.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that.” She shrugs as she turns to the door, leading the way.

  “I’ll give you a call,” I promise before joking. “But for curiosity’s sake, what chores do you usually perform on your Saturday nights?”

  That earns me a smile as she opens the door for me.

  “Saturday I do groceries, but I keep my nights open.”

  “Good to know.” I step out the door and turn to face her. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, and…” I add quickly since I promised her that once before and didn’t follow through, “I will let you know if I’m sent out on assignment.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Even though the anticipation is going to be sweet, I can’t stop
myself from leaning in to steal a soft kiss, my tongue brushing over her lips for a quick taste.

  “Night, Willa.”

  Willa

  Sooo…that wasn’t in the plans.

  At least that’s what I convinced myself of when I said yes to dinner. I thought if things went well, we could enjoy each other for a night and then move on. No harm no foul. I thought that’s all a guy like him would be after too. But then instead of making a move toward the bedroom, he made one toward the door.

  The truth is I like him, and if that kiss was anything to go by there is a potential to like him a whole lot more, and that could be a problem. I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t end up like my mother or sister, with a man for whom a wife and family would always come second to his loyalty and duty. A man who expects his woman to keep the home fires burning, not only while he’s off to protect flag and country, but also at all times.

  My father was always like that, and over the years my brother-in-law, Bill, has become the same way. I’ve never wanted to be in a relationship where it was expected of me to treat someone else like the center of my universe, while losing my own identity. I know myself well enough to realize I couldn’t be happy like that in the long run, so I’ve always kept my expectations low and casual when it comes to the opposite sex.

  Shit. I’m probably completely overthinking this, but tonight’s easy banter with Dimas stirred more in me than most men managed during sex, and it freaks me out.

  I snag my phone from the hall table and plop down on my comfy couch, pulling my legs up under me.

  “And?” Rosie asks right away when she picks up, but follows it right away with, “Hey, wait a minute…it’s not even ten?”

  She had been all the way on board when I mentioned dinner with Dimas and hurried to assure me he was “such a great guy.” She helpfully pointed out I should under no circumstances cook dinner for him. That’s when she suggested the premade lasagna.

  “He left fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Nooo.” I can hear her yelling at Jake, who is no doubt somewhere near, “Dimi is an idiot!” Then she comes back on the line. “What happened?”

  “Well, I burned the lasagna.”

  “Oh, Willa…”

  “I know, but in my defense, I was doing laundry and got distracted. But it’s all good because he brought wine and ordered pizza. It was nice.”

  “But?”

  “No buts, he’s calling me tomorrow. Wanted to know what was on my schedule for Saturday. So Rosie? You can call off your dog.”

  There’s some mumbling on the other end before she’s back with me. “Jake left the room. He says he doesn’t wanna know. Give me the deets.”

  “We ate, we drank wine, we talked. It was nice and then he left but promised to call.”

  “And?”

  I inadvertently snort at her un-Rosie-like persistence. “And it’s freaking me out, if you must know.”

  “Why? Because he wants to see you again?”

  A buzz from my phone alerts me to an incoming text. I quickly peek and see it’s from Dimas.

  Dimas: What are you telling Rosie?

  “Rosie…how does Dimas know I’m on the phone with you?”

  “Shit. Hang on.” There’s a rustling on the line and then I hear her call, “Jake, did you call Dimi?”

  “Sorry,” she says when she gets back on the line. “Apparently my husband texted him and told him I called him an idiot.”

  “Christ,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “It’s high school all over again.”

  Dimas: Willa? Call me.

  “I should go, now I have Dimas texting me. Look, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah. Oh, but, Willa? I’m not sure why you’re freaked out, but I wouldn’t have told you he’s a good guy if I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. Night, Rosie.”

  “Night.”

  I end the call and suddenly my nervous bladder necessitates a bathroom visit, and I stop off on my way back to the couch to grab a beer from the fridge. For reinforcement.

  Instead of calling I shoot him a message.

  Me: I’m off the phone.

  I barely have a chance to take a sip of my beer when it rings.

  “Hey.”

  “Why is Rosie calling me an idiot?” he asks right away, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “But weren’t you talking to her?”

  “I may have been, but I never said anything about you being an idiot.”

  “Wouldn’t blame you,” he says with a chuckle that ends on a groan. “I’ve been calling myself one since I left your place.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that so stay quiet, but I’m smiling like a fool. I’m in so much trouble.

  “Willa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I had a good time tonight.”

  “I did too,” I admit. “Even if I did burn dinner.”

  His deep chuckle sounds really good and I slide down, resting my head on a pillow.

  “Pizza was good.”

  “That it was, and the wine. Thank you for that and the flowers.”

  “My pleasure,” he rumbles and then falls silent.

  I don’t say anything either, happy to lie here staring at the ceiling with a smile on my face as I listen to him breathe.

  “Willa?”

  “Still here,” I snort, which in turn makes him chuckle.

  “Yeah. Not gonna lie to you, Saturday feels like a fucking long time away.”

  “Two days.”

  “I know. Still sucks, but I’m busy tomorrow.”

  “Me, too. Tomorrow is Friday, I’ve got chores,” I joke and am rewarded with a full-out laugh. I imagine his white teeth showing through his beard while the lines around his eyes deepen.

  “And you’ve got a schedule to maintain,” he teases. “So as much as I don’t want to hang up, I’m going to because I need to get some sleep. I’ll find time to call you tomorrow so we can hammer out details.”

  “Sounds good. Night, Dimas.”

  “Sweet dreams, Willa.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dimas

  “Fancy.”

  I grin down into Willa’s upturned face as we walk in the doors of Engine 36.

  It isn’t exactly fancy, but the restaurant is unique, located in an old brick firehouse downtown, and notoriously difficult to get into on short notice. The food is great and it has a rustic vibe I’m told is romantic, which is why it’s a popular location for couples.

  “Right this way, please,” the hostess says, after I give her my name, and leads us to our table.

  I help Willa into her chair and get an eyeful of her exposed back in the fitted emerald green dress she’s wearing. We almost didn’t make it out of her house when she opened the door looking like a wet dream. I’ve only seen her in casual clothing and wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t that.

  “How did you manage this?” Willa asks. “It’s been years since I’ve been here, and I hear these days you need to book weeks ahead.”

  “We’ve done some security upgrades for the owner,” I explain, before giving in to the sudden unreasonable pang of jealousy when I hear she’s been here before. “When were you here?”

  “Must’ve been three or four years ago. My sister, Connie, came for a visit with my niece, Britt, and we ended up eating here. Haven’t been back since.”

  I don’t bother holding the smug smile that spreads on my face. Asinine, I know, but it pleases me to know she hasn’t been here at some time with another guy.

  “Is that so?”

  She leans forward over the table and confesses, “I don’t really date.”

  “This is a date,” I point out.

  “I know.” She grins and turns her head when the waitress approaches the table for our drink orders.

  Willa is a bit of an enigma to me. I like to think I’m fairly tuned in to the opposite sex, but she isn’t as
easy to read as a lot of the women I’ve been around. One moment I’m not sure if she’s interested in pursuing anything, and the next I’d swear she was coming on to me. I admit I’m fascinated.

  She’s certainly one of the most uncontrived women I’ve met. Aside from the hint of gloss on her lips, and the surprise dress I really fucking like—both doing funny things to my libido—what you see is what you get with Willa.

  Which makes that call from Yanis earlier when I was on my way to her house suck even more. Bree was supposed pick up a client, coming in on a chartered flight tonight, who needs a security escort from the airport to a property just east of Palisade, but she had a family emergency.

  Ever since we took on production security for a movie filmed here last year, we get these quickie jobs from time to time, business people, politicians, or celebrities who either live here or are visiting. The money is good and the work easy enough. A couple of hours, that’s all. Too bad I had plans for those hours.

  “Unfortunately, it’s a date that comes with a curfew,” I share with her when the waitress leaves with our order.

  “Oh?”

  Her body language is loud and clear when she sits back right away, but as she moves, so do I. Leaning over the table I take one of her hands in mine.

  “Work—one of our operatives was called away on an emergency, so I have to jump in. We have three hours.”

  That gives me enough time to drop Willa off at home, stop in at the office for my gear, and still be in time to meet the plane on the tarmac at eleven fifteen.

  “Emergencies can happen,” she says, visibly relaxing. “And three hours should be plenty for dinner.”

  “Yes, except I’d hoped dinner would only be the start of the evening,” I share honestly.

  “I thought—”

  “That I was blowing you off? You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  The waitress picks that moment to deliver our drinks and take our food orders. When she leaves, I purposely direct the conversation in a less loaded direction.