Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) (10 page)

"Um, what the hell is that?"

Chelsea stands in the doorway, a bag of food in her hands and scowl on her face.

It's exactly the reaction I was looking for.

"It's a beer, sweet cheeks;
una cerveza
, if you wanna get bilingual with it." A big shit-eating grin creeps across my face as I tilt back the cold bottle and take a big swig.

Leaving the room the
second
she ducked out to get us food, after that ridiculous little speech about her being in charge, was my little way of saying "yeah, sure." Sure looks like its working.

"
Where
did it come fro- never mind." She mutters, slamming the door shut and putting the bag on the table by the window; "I got you turkey."

"I'm more of a hamburger guy."

She narrows her eyes at me before all but overhand throwing the sandwich at me; “Deal with it."

I grin and reach for another beer and offer it her way; "Beer?"

Chelsea huffs and rolls her eyes, and my own gaze lingers a bit longer than it probably should on her as she brushes a strand of blonde behind her ear; "Uh,
yeah
, I don't think so."

I smirk, already anticipating this exact conversation; "Why not?"

She's going to say something about being on the job, or how I am who I am, or some other way of trying to tiptoe her way around saying she just flat out doesn't trust me. The fantasy I've got is that she actually doesn't trust
herself
around me, but I'm pretty sure that’s just the dry-spell talking. I shake my head and cut her off before she can utter whatever lame reason she was about to toss out; "Have a beer, spy-girl; you've earned it."

She eyes me warily and I laugh; "Look, I just went out for
beer
, sweetheart. I won't leave again; scout's honor, or, thieves honor, or, whatever. You're in charge, alright?”

I hope it doesn't come off
too much
like I'm stroking her ego, since that's exactly what I'm doing. The old me - the normal me - would use this sort of thing all the time to gain an upper hand on someone. Stroke their ego, build them up, give them false confidence and trust in you, and then you strike.

Except for the first time in, well,
ever
, that's not my goal here in this motel room with Chelsea Archer. Right now, I actually just want her to fucking
relax
and have a damn drink with me.

"
One
beer, princess," I grin at her, seeing the dead-set resolve start to melt from her face; "We've had a crazy two days, and hey, you've got the notorious
bandito
in custody. The little town on the prairie is safe, and you’ve earned a beer, sheriff.”

She grins then, and I feel a strange sense of, I guess it’s
happiness,
inside seeing her finally relax. The old me would have felt
triumph
, like I'd
won
; seeing her cave to my suggestions like that. But for some bewildering reason I feel different now.

Must be prison,
I mutter to myself, shaking my head and trying to search deep for the old me. The old me was a real piece of shit, but the old me also didn’t get twisted up inside trying to make some
cop
of a chick
like
him; like I fucking need her attention or give a flying shit what she thinks about me.

I crank the top off the bottle and pass it her way as she sits on the second bed opposite me and starts to unwrap her sandwich; “So, the C.I.A., huh?" I raise an eyebrow at her; "I mean how does that even
work
? You just walk in and ask for a job application or something?”

Chelsea snorts; "It's
slightly
more complicated than that."

"Why?"

She frowns; "Because its the
C.I.-
“

“No,” I chuckle through my bite of mediocre turkey sandwich; "No, I mean why did you
join
. You don't strike me as the 'For God and Country' type."

She shrugs; “Who says I'm not?"

"Me, right now."

A smirk teases her lips as she chews, before she take a sip of the beer; "My dad."

I bark out a laugh; "I knew it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" She scowls.

"
Nada
, princess, nada. I just knew it had to do with pleasing daddy."

Her eyes narrow at me; “You don't know a fucking thing about my father.”

“I know more about William Archer than you could possibly know, actually.” I put my sandwich down and catch her eyes; “I met him, you know.“

She freezes, the beer bottle inches from her pouty lips; "Excuse me?"

"In Africa, when he first met those boy-toys of yours." I can feel the familiar grip of malcontent inside just thinking about that particular past; "I was there, in the camp with them when he came in and- oh now what was it? He 'saw promise in them'? Isn't that the fuck-all rhetoric I used to hear Logan moaning about?"

She chews slowly, her eyes locked on mine.

"Yeah, well, apparently I didn't pass muster with the great William Archer; no
'promise'
here."

The briefest smirk passes over her face, as if to say
yeah, no shit
; ”So is that why you
blackmailed
Logan and kidnapped him and my sister?"

I want to snort, and roll my eyes, and laugh and call her delusional. It was all a business transaction; that whole thing. Logan spilled his guts to me back in the jungles when we were mercenaries together, and when William stuck him in charge of his company and made him richer than
God
while I rotted in the jungle, I saw an opportunity, and I took it.

Business
; that’s all. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for years.
 

“You’re so clever, mijo,”
My mother used to say with a sad, drawn smile when I’d come home with a pocket full of change from selling stolen candy at school. That was before I graduated to stolen beer and cigarettes.
Clever
, right; because if I’m “clever”, I’m not a “criminal” like my father. “Clever” is the makings of a businessman instead of a narco-trafficker, in her mind at least.
 

I frown suddenly, thinking about that train of logic, and an uncomfortable feeling washes over me. I've been telling myself that the terrible shit I've done is all "nothing personal" or "all business" for years. I'm just an
entrepreneur
. But bullshit aside, I’ve had to fight for and steal everything I've ever had to get in life, and the shit with Logan and her sister was no different.

Business; that’s all. You gotta be clever in this world to survive, and I’m a survivor if nothing else.

Except for some fucked up reason, sitting here in this room trying to explain that to her right now makes me feel like the biggest phony jerk-off in the world. Who the fuck do I think I am, Robin Hood? I’m pretty sure Robin Hood never put someone through the shit I put Logan Dempsey through just to make some cash. I'm also pretty sure señor Hood didn't
keep
the money he lifted.

"It's complicated," I mumble with a frown on my face, looking away as I sip my beer; "Life is full of complications."

Complications like the increasingly distracting blonde-haired one sitting across from me in this motel room.

She chews her sandwich slowly, her eyes focused on something on the floor as the wheels inside that pretty little head of hers whirl. My eyes, meanwhile, are focused on the slow rise and fall of the swell of her breasts, the fact that it’s cool enough inside the room for me to see a teasing glimpse of an outline of nipple through her white suit, and the
extremely
distracting amount of bare skin of hers on display right across from me.
 

I feel like running, because it’s all I ever feel like doing. Well, no, I feel like I want a taste to see if those perfect little pouty lips on Agent Archer are as sweet as they look from over here. I want to palm those pillowy tits of hers and see if the hard nubs of her nipples are as responsible to my touch as I think they’d be.

And I want to bury every single inch of my cock into that uptight pussy of hers and see if she’s as sinfully tight as I bet she is.
 

Jesus, get your shit together, Toro.

“Come outside, princess.” I stand quickly and nod towards the balcony off the side of our room.

“Why?”

Because I can’t be cooped up in this room for another second with you and still be held responsible for my actions
.

“Because we’re in
Aruba
, and we’re not outside watching sunsets, and that’s fucking stupid.”

She glares at me, but there’s
just
a hint of a smile in the corners of her lips; “Fine.”

It’s warm outside, even as the sun dips over the edge of the ocean in front of us. Still, it’s a breath of fresh air I need after sitting in that damned room with this girl. First thing tomorrow, we
need
to get some new clothes, because as much fun as I’m having spending all day with a hot blonde in a bikini, it’s also fucking with my head. Chelsea Archer is
the enemy
here, not a piece of eye-candy I should let myself get distracted by.

It being a pretty cheap motel, the balcony is bare of any furniture. But a great view is a great view, and if it can distract me from
her
, I’m fine with it. I slide down to the floor, resting the beer on my bent knee as I lean back against the wall and look out over the orange gold of the fading day.

Chelsea slides down next to me, exhaling before takes another swig of her beer.

So much for a distraction
, I grumble, forcing myself not to think about how damn
amazing
her tits look in that bikini.

“I’m sorry if I was a bitch earlier.”

I feel myself grin, though I don’t say anything and try and cover it by taking a slug from my beer.

“You were right,” She continues, nodding at the sunset; “This is my first field operation.”

“Well of course I was right.” I grin wider as I practically
hear
her roll her eyes beside me; “Don’t worry, babe, you’re doing a great job; top notch.”

“Gee, thanks,” She says dryly; “Dick.”

“
Cop.
”

“Criminal.”

I snort out a laugh just as she cracks up at the same time, and I clink my bottle against hers, as if toasting to the break in tension; “You know, princess, in another life you and I might actually be friends.”

“That’s a TV sitcom script just waiting to happen,” She says, laughing; “We’re like those two characters from The Breakfast Club.”

I raise a brow at her; “The what?”

“You know, the eighties movie about detention? You’re the guy with the jean jacket and the earring.”

“Earring?”

“Yeah! You know, the badass. And I’m Molly whatever-her-name-is.”

I grin and shake my head; “You watch some weird fucking movies in the States, princess.”

“Well, you’re missing out.”

 
I chuckle and take another swig of my beer as the sun starts to dip into the ocean. “So how do I rank, as first assignments go?” I say, flashing her a grin.

“Definitely could be worse.”

I laugh.

“Hey, just being honest,” She says arching her eyebrows.
 

The sun grows dimmer and darker as it dips into the horizon, and I let my eyes sag as I lean into the wall behind me. A yawn creeps from her lips as she stretches her legs out; “We should head in.”