ROMANCE: Military: SEALED BY APACHE (Military Soldier Navy SEAL Romance) (Alpha Male Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Short Stories) (144 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

A second shower and a light breakfast, complete with two strong cups of coffee was it all took for Vanessa to feel like she was back on top of her game. 

She dressed in a severe black pantsuit ensemble fitting her profession, and had scraped her hair back off her face into a low, sleek ponytail, completing the look of ‘corporate assassin’. 

Last night had been a transgression in her usually regimented day, a tangent to the uncompromisingly professional attitude she tried to maintain towards her career. 

Today she felt like she had returned to herself.  She had a full schedule of presentations and panel discussions, starting at eight-thirty, and only wrapping up after five. 

She signed her name and her room number on the breakfast tab, and picked up her briefcase, looking down at her phone to scan the emails that had clogged up her inbox over the last 24 hours. 

Glancing around, she caught sight of a familiar mop of ginger hair a few tables over -- even more familiar after she’d spent a half an hour with her fingers caught in said hair as its owner buried his face her pussy.

  Patrick was sitting in the dining room, having breakfast with another man. He caught her eye just as she noticed him, and he gave her a full, devilish grin. 

She felt herself blush with a mix of shame and desire.  Vanessa decided that she would not be undone again by this charming rogue who didn’t even return to her room after getting what he wanted --  although technically she’d also gotten quite a bit of what she wanted and left his somewhat “hard and dry”. 

She flashed him a professional smile that didn’t go all the way to her eyes, but also didn’t risk her getting lipstick on her teeth.  She turned and headed off to the conference venue, as Patrick looked back at her, slightly perplexed. 

Good, she found herself thinking, at least now we can both feel confused about one another’s behavior.  Vanessa managed to maintain her composure even as Patrick’s companion turned around to look at her, and she realized, as her stomach curled itself into a knot, that it was the same presenter she had walked out on the previous day. 

Thankfully, the first presentation of the morning was enthralling, energetic and just what she needed to take her mind off the awkward encounter from the morning.  She picked a seat far from the crowd, at the back, where she was able to see the stage and the screen, but from where she was also able to comfortably slip into her preferred role of impartial observer.  So entranced was she by the first presenter that she hardly noticed Patrick as he entered the hall and took a seat closer to the front. 

After the second presentation, the organizer’s attempt at a “motivational” talk from a local mountaineer, the master of ceremonies officially dismissed the audience for a short tea break. 

Vanessa considered staying in the room, waiting for everyone to return, but decided she could use the extra shot of caffeine and a quick leg stretch. 

As she topped off her cup of tea from a small pitcher of cold milk, she felt an imposing presence at her left elbow and knew that it had to be Patrick. 

“Good morning, Miss Stephens. How are you enjoying the conference so far?”

She didn’t look up, choosing instead to stir her tea for much longer than was strictly necessary. 

“It’s had its interesting moments.” She finally looked up and made full eye contact with Patrick, wishing immediately that she hadn’t.  Vanessa tried to school her expression into something cold and distant, but his warm, chocolate brown eyes looked at her with familiarity and just a hint of remorse, and she could feel the hard set of her mouth relax against her will.  He moved closer to her and she was suddenly very aware of standing at a drinks station surrounded by several dozen other people.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back last night,” he said quietly, leaning over her to drop a tea bag into a cup and fill it with hot water from a bubbling urn. 

“I don’t think this is the right time or place to discuss your missed opportunity, Mr... Patrick.”

“I did get what I went out for,” he said under his breath so only she could hear.  “They didn’t have extra-large, I’m afraid, but I can try to squeeze into a large for you.”

He leaned across her again, on the opposite side, ostensibly to retrieve another pitcher of milk, his arms almost caging her in against the low-set table as he did.

“Well, always the martyr,” she said with a smile.  She brought the tea cup to her lips and blew a cooling breath across the surface.  “So, why did you choose not to return?”

“Because you looked utterly knackered when I left,” he said, moving close enough to whisper.  “And honestly, I was drunk to the point of passing out.  I knew if I came back neither of us would remember much, and that’s not how I want our first time to go.”

“Our first time,” she said with a frown.  “Do you expect this to become a routine thing?”  He didn’t answer.  He sipped his tea and shrugged helplessly.  She thought he looked like a little kid who’d just had his favorite toy taken away.

She started to walk away and he followed.  When she saw the man he was having breakfast standing across the room, she gave him a nod.  “So did you decide to seek alternative company last night?  Someone less memorable?”

Patrick stood beside her, holding his tea cup, and looking adorably wounded and confused.  “What?”

“Your breakfast companion,” she reminded him.  “You two looked very... chummy?”

“What?  Oh, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!”  His puzzled expression broke into a broad smile.  “You got me.  I’m a soft touch for a good PowerPoint presentation.”

Vanessa kept pressing him.  “You mean you two didn’t wake up in each other’s arms and come down for a nice breakfast together?” 

“I have to interview all of the presenters at the event for the magazine, Patrick explained, and then took a step closer in her direction.  “So...?”

“So what?”

“Can I see you tonight?” he leaned in, under the auspices of snagging a couple sachets of brown sugar, but also so that he could better whisper into her ear, “Now that you’re better rested, and I’m better prepared, I’d like the opportunity to tire you out again.”

Vanessa suppressed a shiver that started at the soft brush of Patrick’s breath against her neck, and slid all the way down to the base of her spine, and then lower. 

“We’ll see,” she answered, trying for enigmatic, and hoping that the bright pink flush in her cheeks wasn’t giving her away completely. 

The master of ceremonies returned and did the polite imaginary-watch-tap, which meant that the refreshment break was officially over. 

Vanessa moved with the rest of the milling crowd back into the venue, stealing a single look over her shoulder to see if Patrick was following.  When she couldn’t see him, she decided to focus instead on trying to glean some value from the conference her company had sent her to. 

It was harder to focus through the next two presentations.  By all means, they were relevant and salient, but her mind was elsewhere.  She took many notes on her tablet, but for all of the information that she was actually absorbing; she may as well as have been a highly paid, and probably overdressed, stenographer. 

By the time the fourth presentation was finally done, she was desperate for a break and more than just a little curious at what Patrick had gotten up to while out of her sight. 

Lunch was served buffet style, and Vanessa covered her plate with a smattering of cold salads and meat, unable to even consider anything cooked in the persistent heat that hung over the small town. 

She managed to find a small, rickety table in the building’s shaded, garden courtyard, and settled in for just under an hour’s worth of people watching -- although she couldn’t help herself from seeking out one person in particular. 

She spotted him as he emerged into the courtyard, his own plate piled high with potatoes and some kind of meat sauce, a splash of green at the side.  Vanessa smiled when he finally spotted her, but didn’t raise her hand to call him over.  He made a beeline for her table anyway, but was cut off just steps away as another man, a man Vanessa realized she had met before, gushed over to her. 

“Vanessa?  Vanessa Stephens?”

‘Why, yes!” She stood and shook the hand of the strange, but familiar man, trying for the life of her to remember where she’d met him before. 

Behind him, Patrick awkwardly turned in a circle a few times, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, else to sit.  He commandeered a chair at a table already mostly inhabited by professional-looking businessmen wearing suit jackets and ties. 

“It’s Peter Larsson,” the man said happily.  “We met at the launch of that CleverTrack app in Sheffield?”

Vanessa’s eyes widened in fake recognition.  Honestly, she couldn’t really remember him at all.  He sat down without waiting for an invitation, and started recounting stories of their supposedly mutual acquaintances.  Vanessa nodded politely.  Behind Peter, Patrick shovelled mashed potatoes into his mouth and then made faces at her. 

Vanessa stifled a laugh and asked Peter an inane question about work and whether or not it was busy.  As Peter wittered on, Patrick unbuttoned a middle button on his shirt and pulled it to the side, exposing one pink nipple to the air.  Vanessa could feel her lips quirking up, in a losing fight against the giggle which threatened to shatter her composure. 

Patrick licked a finger on the hand not holding his shirt open, and then touched it to the fleshy bud on his chest, making a sizzling sound with his mouth at the same time.  Vanessa’s hands flew to her mouth as she guffawed out loud, unable to hold in her laughter.  Peter looked dumbfounded and then gave a polite laugh in response. 

“Yes, I suppose the exchange rate between Brazil and China is rather laughable,” he nervously mumbled. 

Vanessa and Peter finished eating in embarrassed silence, as Patrick nonchalantly walked back inside with his empty plate, purposefully waggling his eyebrows at Vanessa, making her laugh again. 

During the second-to-last session of the afternoon, Patrick was seated in the audience several rows ahead of her.  She expected him to do something juvenile, to turn around and make a face at her, or leave the presentation early, but to his credit, he sat quietly, taking notes, and at the end of the session even asked some thoughtful, and well-researched questions. 

Her limited experience with Patrick had led her to believe he was a clown, a fun guy with a great sense of humour and a dreamy accent, someone to have a laugh with on an otherwise dry, dull business trip.  But seeing him take his profession seriously, seeing how prepared and insightful he could be, and watching how confidently he handled himself in front of a room of subject matter experts....  Well, she couldn’t deny she found it attractive, and as a direct result, found
him
more attractive. 

Suddenly the silly clown she’d been hanging out with -- the fun guy she could be an idiot in front of -- was a real person, with a real job.  He wasn’t just funny and cute; he was
smart,
and interesting.  It made for a dangerous combination for a woman like her.  Vanessa swallowed heavily and realized that she was on her way to another interesting evening.    

By the time the second coffee break of the day rolled around, there was just one session left to attend and Vanessa felt like she was in the verge of suffering an information overload. 

She looked for Patrick, hoping to exchange a few more x-rated whispers across the tea selection, but saw him engaged in conversation on the opposite side of the room with the presenter from the previous session. 

She considered exacting a little revenge on him, making a face while he chatted and trying to make him laugh, but no sooner had the idea formed than she’d dismissed it. 

He looked far more engaged with the conversation than she had been during her exchange with Peter.  In fact he was taking notes on a tablet, swiping easily between apps and dashboards with a single hand. 

He handed over a business card and smiled at his interviewee.  She knew she should look away, but it was too late.  She was already too far gone.

She didn’t just want to just have a quick affair with Patrick, he of the no last name.  She wanted to be with him for more than just one night.  The thought scared the hell out of her.

CHAPTER SIX

Vanessa didn’t look for Patrick after the conference ended for the day.  She kept her head down, exited the venue and walked straight to her hotel. 

She considered calling Sheena and asking her to switch her room to another hotel in Oxford -- maybe even a different town.  Her bus for London wouldn’t leave until tomorrow, but she felt the need to get far away. 

She was powerfully confused.  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Patrick the entire day, which was completely unlike her.  Watching him switch from delinquent journalist to serious newsman had made her question her own behavior so far at the conference.  She would have to present the prominent points of each session back to the board members of her firm when she returned to London, and all she had was a mountain of inconsistent, chaotic notes saved onto the cloud that she could barely even recall taking. 

She decided that, instead of gallivanting with a handsome stranger for another evening at the risk of her own career, she would spend the evening revising her notes on the presentations she had attended so far and constructing a draft presentation for her board members. 

*  *  *

Pages from a notebook, her laptop, her tablet and her phone were spread out around her on the floor as though she were some kind of 21st century, technological shaman. 

She had one pen in her mouth, and another forgotten, twirled up in her dark hair.  Her mind still flitted between the work at hand and the memories of Patrick in her room, on her bed, between her legs, but overall she felt like she had made the right decision not to track him down at the end of the last session.  If not the right decision, then the responsible one. 

There was a knock on the door.  At first, she ignored the knock and the sudden spike in her pulse it brought.  She dismissed the sound as coming from someone else’s door, or from the TV.  But it returned, louder and more persistent. 

For a few seconds that seemed to last a lifetime, she considered just not answering the door; but, she justified, it could be anyone at the door, not just Patrick.  It could be the concierge, coming to warn her that the building was on fire and she had to evacuate immediately.  She pushed herself up and went to the door.  Looking through the peephole, she saw her Irishman standing there with a bottle of scotch clutched in his hand.  His face split into a wide smile as soon as she opened the door, and her heart, stupidly, fluttered. 

“Good evening, madam.  Did you order room service?” He held up the scotch and shook it gently.

“I’m working,” she said, opening the door so that he could see the circle of devices and notes she’d surrounded herself with on the floor. 

“Are you now?” Patrick ignored the apologetic tone of her voice and edged his way into her room, grabbing the two complimentary water tumblers off the mini bar and taking a seat at foot of her still-made bed. 

“Trying to make heads or tails of all the nonsense, are we?  I hope you have better luck than me.  I have a pad full of notes that would make an insomniac pass out from disinterest.”

“I have to present the salient points of the conference to my board on Monday,” she said, coming to stand in front of him, trying to look imposing.  She’d swapped her severe black business ensemble for her night shirt and shorts, which hadn’t so far dissuaded Patrick in their dowdiness. 

He poured two fingers of Scotch into each of the tumblers, impressively holding them both in a single hand as he poured. 

“Well, you need to take a break.”

“I can’t....  Really, I have to get this report done, and I’ve been more...  distracted lately than I would have liked.”

Patrick grinned; clearly pleased with the trouble he’d caused her.  Vanessa found his expression aggravating and infuriating.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap him or kiss him.  Or both.  Maybe both.  Definitely both.  He handed her one of the tumblers. 

“A last drink then,” he said with a sad smile.  “Here’s to two ships that passed in the night.”

She sighed and knocked the whiskey back in a single swig, the fumes of the undiluted drink assaulting her nostrils as she struggled to swallow it all without grimacing.  She handed the tumbler back to Patrick and dabbed her fingers to her lips. 

She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have to.  He finished his own drink just as quickly, and set the bottle and the empty glasses on the desk. 

Vanessa felt that strange, awful pull in her chest as she watched him accept his defeat and head towards her door.  She knew that no matter what happened this evening, it was unlikely that their paths would ever cross again.  They had different lives in different cities.  Of course she wanted him with every straining cell in her body, but she also knew that her heart and mind had crossed a line, and that she was setting herself up for a painful goodbye when the morning came. 

Sod it, she thought.  She heard herself say, “Wait...”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence.  He spun around and dragged her to him, kissing her hard.  No more teasing, no more joking.  He was uncompromising, nudging her mouth open with his own, one of his large hands holding the back of her neck firmly, the other flat against her lower back, crushing her to him, so that he covered her almost completely. 

She pulled back from him, gasping for breath.  He slipped his hands to the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it up, over her naked breasts and head, leaving her vulnerable from the waist up.  She pulled his shirt off and threw it across the room.  They pressed together again, his skin hot against hers, his tongue furiously seeking hers. 

They clambered onto the bed, all grace and polite laughter forgotten in the urgency of their mutual need.  He sat up against the headboard, and pulled her fully into his lap, where she quickly straddled him to press against his growing arousal, the increased friction driving them impossibly close to one another. 

After several more minutes of wrestling, unbuttoning, unzipping and undressing, they were both finally, wonderfully naked. 

Patrick settled over Vanessa, as they lay intertwined, horizontal across the large bed.  His fervent kisses slowed until, suddenly, he stopped.  He drew himself up and back, so as to look at her face better and, propped up on one elbow, ran his hand gently down the contour of her cheek.  In that moment, Vanessa thought, he looked a little sad; yet another side to the man she realized she’d never get to know. 

He stared at her like he was trying to etch every feature of her face to memory.  The serious, searching look in his eyes made her feel uncomfortable, and she surged up, capturing his lips in hers and drawing him back to their lovemaking. 

He had brought a condom this time.  Vanessa took it from him and nearly drove him mad as she playfully pulled it over his stiff cock.  Patrick roughly tossed her on the bed and climbed atop her.  He entered her with a great thrust, the pressure pushing out her breath away completely. 

He clutched her hips as he rocked slowly, then faster in and out of her.  She dug her fingernails into his back and sank her face into the crook of his neck, and after she came, silently shaking, she rolled him over onto his back and rode him until he was milked dry, grasping the headboard with both hands for better leverage, as the new position provided him with ample access to her breasts. 

Afterwards, they held one another on the bed, the sweat cooling against their skin, and in their hair.  They passed the whiskey back and forth, sipping straight from the bottle, and Vanessa ordered burgers up from room service, which they ate on the floor, surrounded by her abandoned work. 

Afterwards, they took a shower together, Patrick kissing her with a gentleness that made her remember the way he’d suddenly stared at her in bed.  It disturbed her again to see him so unexpectedly tender, so she pushed him against the cold tiles of the shower, kneeled carefully under the hot spray of water, and drove him over the edge all over again. 

*  *  *

Vanessa prepared for Patrick to bid her a good evening and slink off to his own room, but to her surprise he stayed with her.  He curled up against her and they fell into an easy sleep. 

He woke her around five thirty, earlier than her alarm had been set for.  He propped her against a nest of pillows and made love to her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer and deeper. 

*  *  *

Vanessa nearly missed her bus back to London.  She thought about Patrick the entire way home, replaying every moment of their intimacy and smiling secretly to herself at every illicit memory. 

She would miss him, she knew that, but she had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of her wild-eyed Irishman.

Then it occurred to her that she never did find out his last name.