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Authors: Tiana Johnson
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again.
She was stood up again in a strange city. She had checked in for a two-night stay, dumped her luggage in the room, and changed into the sexiest outfit she could assemble on her budget. All for naught.
In the middle of making plans, life happens. Her advisor always told her that. Damned if he wasn’t right once again.
The bartender’s tattooed hand plunked a napkin in front of her and then a drink. A little liquid sloshed onto the napkin and the bar, and neither of them cared enough to clean up the spill. “A shot from the gentleman.”
Kalinda hesitated. She pushed the drink across the bar—away from her, back to the bartender. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
“It looks like you needed it.” A man’s voice vibrated in her ear, and those silky erotic sensations floated through her body. Had it been that long? Her body reacted to a simple, declarative statement from a man who was close to her. His voice reminded her of the European dark chocolate in the fancy wrappings she longed for but only bought on special occasions: strong, smooth, and sinful.
Kalinda shifted, her appraising glance absorbing the entire man standing next to her. A solider, she guessed from outfit he was wearing. She had to admit that he filled out the green-and-sand-colored fatigues nicely. His last name—Parker—was slapped across his chest. He wasn’t tall—if she stood up, she would barely scrape his chin, and she was 5’6” in bare feet. But his presence filled the space. He owned wherever he was. His easy smile betrayed the hard emerald-green eyes that had been a witness to too much. “Have we met?”
“Not yet.” He extended a hand as he sat on the bar stool. “Colin.”
“Kalinda,” she said, ignoring his hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have used her fake club name. Felicia. Keisha. Michelle. Easy names that could get lost in the crowd and fog of the sweat and music. Tonight in dinky hotel bar in Memphis, all bets were off. “Do you send drinks to every single woman you see at the bar?”
“Honest to God, you’re my first.”
“I popped your cherry.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made her want to crawl into his lap and lean her head against his chest just to hear the sound push its way out of him and listen to his heartbeat.
Damn. This man was complicating the ruins on this night with his good looks, his good choice in drinks, and his presence.
“That was gone a long time ago.” He pushed the drink back to her. “No games, no lines. You just looked like you’ve had a hellish day.”
“Probably not like the hell you’ve seen.”
Colin shrugged, his lips holding a firm line. Talking about his job was clearly off limits. “What brings you here on a night like this?”
“Is that your best line? You might as well ask for my sign.”
“I’m rusty. Blame it on my last tour of duty. You don’t run into many pretty women where I’ve been.”
“And where was your last stop?”
“Some places I can’t talk about.”
“Not even pillow talk could get you to reveal where you went?”
As he smiled; a dimple flashed in his cheeks. “Depends on what someone’s done prior to the time for pillow talking.”
“Good head can make any man talk.” Not that she knew from limited, prior experience.
Colin nodded without saying a word. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“About?”
“Giving good head.”
Kalinda chuckled, twisting her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “How do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked, pointing to his uniform.
“Who would lie about going to Afghanistan or the Arabian peninsula?”
“I dunno. Someone who’s trying to pick up women at a bar?”
He touched his ear and traced a long scar down his throat and jutting below his collar. “Battle scars. I have more if you would like to see them.”
“I think I’ve proved your point,” she countered, tossing back the shot. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet. You still have to
She was stood up again in a strange city. She had checked in for a two-night stay, dumped her luggage in the room, and changed into the sexiest outfit she could assemble on her budget. All for naught.
In the middle of making plans, life happens. Her advisor always told her that. Damned if he wasn’t right once again.
The bartender’s tattooed hand plunked a napkin in front of her and then a drink. A little liquid sloshed onto the napkin and the bar, and neither of them cared enough to clean up the spill. “A shot from the gentleman.”
Kalinda hesitated. She pushed the drink across the bar—away from her, back to the bartender. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
“It looks like you needed it.” A man’s voice vibrated in her ear, and those silky erotic sensations floated through her body. Had it been that long? Her body reacted to a simple, declarative statement from a man who was close to her. His voice reminded her of the European dark chocolate in the fancy wrappings she longed for but only bought on special occasions: strong, smooth, and sinful.
Kalinda shifted, her appraising glance absorbing the entire man standing next to her. A solider, she guessed from outfit he was wearing. She had to admit that he filled out the green-and-sand-colored fatigues nicely. His last name—Parker—was slapped across his chest. He wasn’t tall—if she stood up, she would barely scrape his chin, and she was 5’6” in bare feet. But his presence filled the space. He owned wherever he was. His easy smile betrayed the hard emerald-green eyes that had been a witness to too much. “Have we met?”
“Not yet.” He extended a hand as he sat on the bar stool. “Colin.”
“Kalinda,” she said, ignoring his hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have used her fake club name. Felicia. Keisha. Michelle. Easy names that could get lost in the crowd and fog of the sweat and music. Tonight in dinky hotel bar in Memphis, all bets were off. “Do you send drinks to every single woman you see at the bar?”
“Honest to God, you’re my first.”
“I popped your cherry.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made her want to crawl into his lap and lean her head against his chest just to hear the sound push its way out of him and listen to his heartbeat.
Damn. This man was complicating the ruins on this night with his good looks, his good choice in drinks, and his presence.
“That was gone a long time ago.” He pushed the drink back to her. “No games, no lines. You just looked like you’ve had a hellish day.”
“Probably not like the hell you’ve seen.”
Colin shrugged, his lips holding a firm line. Talking about his job was clearly off limits. “What brings you here on a night like this?”
“Is that your best line? You might as well ask for my sign.”
“I’m rusty. Blame it on my last tour of duty. You don’t run into many pretty women where I’ve been.”
“And where was your last stop?”
“Some places I can’t talk about.”
“Not even pillow talk could get you to reveal where you went?”
As he smiled; a dimple flashed in his cheeks. “Depends on what someone’s done prior to the time for pillow talking.”
“Good head can make any man talk.” Not that she knew from limited, prior experience.
Colin nodded without saying a word. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“About?”
“Giving good head.”
Kalinda chuckled, twisting her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “How do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked, pointing to his uniform.
“Who would lie about going to Afghanistan or the Arabian peninsula?”
“I dunno. Someone who’s trying to pick up women at a bar?”
He touched his ear and traced a long scar down his throat and jutting below his collar. “Battle scars. I have more if you would like to see them.”
“I think I’ve proved your point,” she countered, tossing back the shot. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet. You still have to
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