Own (Command Force Alpha #1)

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Authors: Katie Porter
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uncertain. She deposited them on the laundry table, gave his chest one more frank, appreciative glance and hightailed it out of the mudroom. Her mouth tweaked in a smirk, but she wouldn’t let him see her gaze. That might have been asking too much, to see the workings of her mind. He wanted to find questions there.
    Well now, wasn’t that fun?
    Did I make the right choices?
    Did I please you?
    Fucking hell. He did not need this. The timing was hideous. They had a history—a history she still resented, judging by her outburst the other night. He hadn’t tossed her aside. Far from it. They’d had a fast-and-furious six weeks together while Evan was on leave and while the colonel was in Washington, D.C. putting the final touches on CFA’s instatement. What had started innocently—going out for ice cream, of all things, and finding a place along the harbor to satisfy her insane desire to go fishing—had exploded into something he hadn’t known how to control.
    He’d chopped off an emotional limb to leave her. He thought leaving her would be forever.
    Idiot.
    He dressed as nonchalantly as he could manage. Each item, however, brought back the picture of Katsu making her selections. Navy blue boxer briefs clung to his ass and his undeniable erection. The jeans—his favorite—fit him casually. They were a second skin if his skin could ever lose the tight, burning tension he carried every day. And the henley was as comfortable as a plush easy chair and just as soft.
    Yes, Katsu, he thought in answer to his imagined questions. You pleased me.
    Tucking his personal weapon into its holster at the small of his back was more difficult than it should’ve been. He harbored the unmistakable wish that this moment would simply be about them, but that wasn’t possible. He pulled his shirt down over the Glock.
    Dinner was on the table. Sure it was the shells-and-cheese foraged from his cabinets, but she’d added a giant bowl of fresh strawberries.
    Surprise held Evan hostage. He stopped in the doorway. “What the…? Where’d the fresh stuff come from?”
    She was already seated and eating. A tight T-shirt covered her all the way to her collarbones but hugged her tiny waist. One knee was hitched up against the arm of her chair. Apparently her unexpectedly solicitous behavior was sapped. She shot him a flippant look—one that briefly assessed his appearance. To Evan’s masculine gratification, heat flared in her eyes. She definitely approved, no matter the return of her attitude. He understood the need for armor.
    “You have a bunch of wild strawberries out on the other side of the barn,” she said. “They’d have gone to waste if I hadn’t found them. Well, I’m sure the benevolent woodland creatures will be pissed at me now.” She dipped her head and resumed eating pasta. “You didn’t know they were there, did you?”
    “No.”
    “Too bad. Who keeps up the place when you’re…wherever you go?”
    “I have a groundskeeper.”
    “Ah. Like daddy, like son?”
    He pulled the chair out too roughly. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the wood. She wasn’t cleared to know that security personnel took care of the grounds because an ordinary gardener was likely to blow himself up by missing a trip wire. “Drop it. You know me better than that.”
    “It goes both directions, Evan. You don’t know me, and I sure as hell don’t know you. This could just be some passing fancy of yours. Try the great wide wilderness for a few years before you return to your rightful place among the insanely rich. Maybe you won’t settle for a view of the skyline. You’ll trade your farm for a penthouse and look down on the rest of us.”
    “Where is all this coming from?” He rigidly sat in the chair. He should punish her by walking away from the simple dinner, and maybe even change his clothes. That would be…
    He knew instinctively that he’d do her serious damage if he did. Whatever this was between them would disappear.

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