“Fuck, that was awesome,” Forest boomed.
“You always say that,” Bash said with a flick of his eyes. Bash ripped off his white T-shirt and rubbed at the sweat beading on his face and scalp. He gave a wink to her. “Our number one fan, Forest says that anytime one of us breathes. Hell, whenever one of us farts or takes a shit!”
A deep, bellowing laughter burst from Forest. “I bet you take a shit in three-four time.”
Ash laughed hard enough, he bent over double. His arms crossed over his waist. “Ha! Bash shits in 3/4, 4/4, or whatever time.”
“Oh my God,” Bash said, “seriously!” He turned to her, perhaps looking for validation. “This is what I have to deal with.”
“You seem to deal with it fairly well,” she said.
Ryker joined them, and Skye trailed in his wake.
The petite woman stepped around Ryker and wrapped an arm around her husband. “I bet Bash pisses like a cymbal. One long, pealing note.”
Bash lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “Can we all just stop talking about me shitting and pissing?”
While everyone laughed at Bash and how musical his elimination patterns might or might not be, Ryker gave Tia the signal to fall back. It was something unique to their team and something no one would notice. He slipped away, moving toward the front of the stage.
She stepped to Skye and whispered in her ear. “I’m taking a powder break. Meet you where?”
Skye lifted Ash’s arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m sitting this one out. Feel a bit tired.”
“Want to meet for breakfast?”
“Yes,” Skye said. Her hand drifted to her belly and made a slow circle. “This trip is wearing me out.”
“Okay, we can talk more then?”
Skye had been drilling Tia on the finer points of what it took to make a surgical operations team effective. Skye wanted Tia on that team, but Tia couldn’t conceive of a future away from the military. Her job sucked most days, but it was a job she woke to every morning, full of conviction that it was exactly what she was meant to do.
Peeling away from the crassness of the men and their talk of piss and shit, Tia excused herself and disappeared around Bash’s drum kit. Stepping down the short flight of stairs, she found herself a few feet from the back door of the hangar.
The door opened and closed without making a sound, and she moved into the deepening dark of another dry Afghanistan night. The air was thinner at this altitude. Lights flooded the airfield, illuminating the runways through all hours of the day, but still, the dusting of the stars shone down. Into this darkness, she weaved her way between stacks of pallets arrayed in precise rows and columns. Fourth row, fifth column—that had been the message Ryker telegraphed in the hangar. With a crazy need to feel his touch again, she made her way between the labyrinth, stealthily picking her way into the night.
Sex on a stick?
Ryker was more than that. He was her every dream personified. Memories of their last mission fluttered through her mind—the way he’d sheltered her with his body, the flirtatiousness of his expression, those dimples in his cheeks, and how he’d laid on top of her, willing to take a bullet intended for her. He was her hero, a man who would protect, defend, and die for those he loved.
Gestures made in the real world were nothing but empty promises when stacked against the realities of war. In the field, Ryker demonstrated his willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice. Scott would never have done that. Her ex-fiancé would’ve left her to burn in a building full of flames. What an idiot she’d been.
THIRTY-ONE
Mine
RYKER
Ryker’s lungspulled at the lingering heat of the night air, and he fussed while trying to cool down from the heat brought on by stage lights. He waited for Tia in the dark. They had precious few moments before he had to be back onstage.
His body buzzed with the electrified rhythms of Angel Fire. The beat of their music pulsed in his veins and surged through his body, amplifying all his senses. Electricity skated along his nerves, setting his skin ablaze and building a raging fire in his gut. He couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened.
Onstage!
He’d been onstage with the men of Angel Fire, strutting his stuff, living his dream, making something more than music. The energy rolling off that stage had transported him to another place where he felt ready to tackle the world.
Why was it then that the only thing he could think of was holding one woman in his arms? He ached for Tia. His body felt bereft without her snuggled into his protective embrace. He needed to feelher, taste her essence, and bury himself deep within her sensual heat.
Gravel crunched around the corner, and he came to attention, feeling Tia’s arrival before her exquisite body came into view. He separated from the shadows. There would be nothing gentle about what came next. He moved, capturing her in his embrace, while his heart clenched with the passion heating his blood.
