Authors: Mallory Hart
Damn. After wrapping up the interviews and photoshoots for
Alone
, there were a slew of incoming freelance requests, even though the article hadn’t even come out yet. The exposure she got from attending the Fashion Week events was incredible. As soon as she’d added all her connections to her network, the inquiries had come non-stop. She wanted to finish her assignments for the week as well as her weekly blog post before the weekend since Madeline was visiting. Her friend was coming out to finally see LA after Natalie had explored New York, which meant she wanted to be a great host and tour guide.
A shadow fell over her table. She frowned. Her tired muscles craned upward to look at the offending individual blocking her light.
“Excuse me,” she said. “You’re-”
Her voice cut off as Oliver sank into the chair across from her, tossing a packet of developed photographs on her open notebook.
She stared. And stared. And stared.
“Don’t scream,” he warned, eyeing the busy patrons.
She didn’t, but she wanted to. “What are you doing here?”
He shifted with a smug look. “Madeline can’t keep a secret and I refuse to let her see you before I do.”
A smile broke out on her face as her heart lifted. “So, you’re both visiting me this weekend?”
“Yes,” he said with a casual air. “I’ve brought you some photos, too.”
She stared down at the packet and slipped a nail underneath the seal. Her hands fanned them out over the table. She gasped.
Her. It was all her. The photos he’d taken during that week – candid ones of her in his white shirt, looking out into the city lights. The group laughing together holding cocktail glasses. Her being interviewed on the red carpet, looking incredibly happy. A photo of her and Penny at the front row of one of the fashion shows, looking mesmerized. The angry picture he took of her the night they’d listed out their makeshift treaty. An angled photo of her in her green backless Grecian goddess dress at the night of the black tie gala.
She pressed a hand against her chest. He’d captured her in so many ways without her even knowing what he was doing. And the photo of her glaring at him – the raw intensity was something she’d never saw in herself before. The fire in her eyes, the blunt look of irritation on her face.
“I like you best when you’re angry,” he admitted. “That fire turns me on.”
Warmth spread across her cheeks as she looked to make sure nobody had overheard him. She leaned forward with a grin. “Well, I’ll be done with work in an hour. My place is down the block. Can you wait until then?”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and crossed his arms. She smiled at him, staring coolly her.
“Well?” Her playful question floated above them.
“No.” With a swift movement, he snatched her notebook beneath the pictures and took off. She gaped, staring at the sprawled photos on the wooden tabletop.
“Oliver!” she cried, scrambling to shove the photos in her bag and run out the door after him. The other customers shot her wild looks as she dove out the door.
He was already down at the end of the block, waving her notebook in the air as if it was a trophy from war.
“You can have it back,” he said with a sly grin. “If you can catch me.”
“Oliver!”
The street was filled with laughter. A war that had started in New York City was now ending at home in LA. She’d be damned if he won the last battle.
After all, she was anything but amateur.
THE END
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A SEAL’s Pain: A Military Romance
Chapter One
Callum
I can tell you that a man has one true possession in life: his word. There’s nothing else. I don’t give a damn about the commas in your bank account if your actions don’t align with your promises. Every man I’ve ever served with, this is how I’ve judged him.
Nothing pisses me off more than when another man won’t take me at my word. It’s a betrayal of our common bond. My commanding officers know that, but they were careful with how they say it.
“You’ve been through hell, Callum. There’s not a man alive who could go through that unscathed.”
“We believe you, but every man needs a break.”
“You’re the best of the best. Don’t be pissed off. We have our orders.”
They had their orders, and now I have mine. That’s why I’m posted up with a whiskey in this dark bar, decorated with metals and sepia pictures. I’ve never been pissed in a military bar, but there’s a first time for everything.
Therapy. I scowl at the bottom of my glass. The bartender hurried to refill it. While he poured, all I can think about is my commanding officers handing over this death sentence. Callum Hall in therapy? I nodded gratefully to the bartender for the full drink, thinking to myself that a bar should be considered therapy. It’s the only talking and thinking a man ever needed.
I tossed back the pour with a satisfying grunt. It’s my third, but I toasted Jeff yet again. Stars entered my eyes, but I shook them away. Maybe they were right. Maybe therapy wasn’t such a bad idea when a man’s best friend was dead.
The door opened, but I continued to watch the hefty bartender filled up my glass again. His typically lazy eyes lit up as his gaze left my full glass. I sensed someone taking a seat near me. It might’ve been the whiskey's aroma, but a smell sweet enough to get me drunk hit me. I sucked in a deep breath as the corner of my eye caught the tight fabric on a stack of curves finer than this bar usually sees.
“Whiskey,” she said, her Jayne Wayne voice firm and commanding. But her body full of soft curves and sharp edges in all the right places suggested her place was never in active duty. She must be a military brat turned into a woman. “Neat.”
When I downed mine, I was surprised to hear her do the same. A satisfied purr left her lips. Images of me forcing that sound from her pretty mouth flooded my mind as I tapped the bar for another. She did the same.
“My treat,” I said, facing her with my shoulders back. Her beauty struck me like a landmine going off. I kept my voice smooth as I added, “A woman who can drink like that should be treated well.”
Her smirk ignited a fire in me. Soft brown hair fell around her cleavage as she turned. My mouth went dry as the bartender started to pour two more glasses. She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together and my eyes couldn’t stop staring. God, I’d been blessed by an angel with this one tonight. Her devilish smile sent a jolt right through me.
“Do they make more of you?” she asked.
My grin felt wicked even to me. “Not sure you’d want more of me.”
She threw her head back and let out a laugh, a real one. Not the kind of timid thing you hear from the pretty clowns who begged for war stories, but the sound of a woman who enjoyed life. Every trouble I’ve ever had in my life faded into the background as I watched her skin glow underneath the dim lights.
Did they make more of her
, I wondered, but I didn’t want to steal her line.
Images of all the fun we could have tonight flooded my mind. A grin of anticipation settled on my face. My luck was looking up.
Chapter Two
Samantha
My father once told me never to get caught up with a soldier. He said that soldiers broke hearts and left messes where families should be built. Unless they were one of the few good ones, like my father. I’d hate to let him in on a little secret–that I’d always ended up breaking their hearts before they could even touch mine.
When Brandon, one of my five older brothers, went off on his first tour, he was killed in combat. I was much younger then, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Part of the warning from my father seemed to hold the same grief I shared when he said those words to me. But I knew he was also aware of how boys watched me as I grew into a woman. When I announced I was going into PTSD therapy for my concentration, he practically swore up and down the kitchen because that seemed to guarantee to land me into a soldier’s arms.
Starting a new job was hard. That’s why I needed a drink to forget my nervous jitters and bad advice from my father.
When I’d walked into the bar, I hadn’t seen him at first. His dusty blond hair was cropped, and his glorious broad shoulders were hunched over, shielding his face from my view when I sidled up to the bar. The bartender was more than happy to jump over to me. As he poured my whiskey, neat, I noticed Shoulders finally glancing my way.
They didn’t make men like that on the bases I’ve hung around, but judging from his beautiful green-eyed stare, he wasn’t used to women like me waltzing into bars here. Not that there are very many like me. The snug fit of my jeans was good for riding my Harley and even better for enticing handsome, brooding men.
When he raised his glass, I was going for mine at the same time. I shot it because that’s what I always did, but great minds think alike.
He finished his off too, a second faster than mine. My schooling and residency had only made me fast at banging out papers and signing off on psych evaluations.
I’d messed up when I chose psychiatry, because if I were a medical doctor, I would’ve invited him for a personal exam in the bathroom before the second shot. But, he was first to strike.
“My treat.”
A swell of nervous excitement spread through my chest as I regarded him carefully. The smirks I could never help slipped out with abandon, but he wasn’t complaining.
I spent a part of my youth as a wildling, partying like there was no tomorrow, kissing strangers for a cheap thrill. And I did more than just innocent kissing. Like I said, I was wild. After I finally cleaned up my act enough to get into and finish medical school, I still enjoyed reliving my youth from time to time. My man-killer side came out when I went to bars like these, alone. It was like an alter ego.
But I rarely came across a man like this–over six feet tall and built of pure muscle. And those deep green eyes that pierced me through my core. I couldn’t stop staring at them.
“Not want more of you?” I asked with a feigned sense of surprise. “Whoever doesn’t probably didn’t realize you treat strangers to whiskey. Bet that would change their mind quick.”
His eyes glittered with danger. My fingers wrapped around the cool glass.
“Callum.” Sexy name; made sense.
I kept down the lump in my throat. Were they all like this here? Damn. I was in trouble. The second shot went down smooth, a velvet burn down my throat. His seemed even smoother, but he must’ve been on his fourth by now.
Two drinks later and we’d sunk two hours into exchanging stories. The bartender eyed the clock, approaching closing time. I asked for my tab and felt a giddy rush when he motioned for the same. Our arms brushed, rough and delicious, as we walked out of the bar.
There was nobody else in the parking lot besides the bartender’s car. Nothing there but my Harley...right next to another one just as beautiful as mine. His eyebrows rose as he circled it, letting out a low whistle.
“Badass bike.”
“Thanks, it’s mine.” My casual shrug sent his eyebrows up even higher. “That old sedan must be our friendly bartender’s.”
His glazed eyes somehow made his face even more handsome. He wasn’t looking at the bike anymore. I felt his gaze drag all the way up my tights pants to the low-cut V-neck shirt I was wearing. I leaned one leg against my bike.
“See something you like, Callum?”
He inhaled sharply. “I’m afraid I do, but I don’t do relationships.”
I laughed. “You’re not the only one, sweetheart.”
His husky breath struck my neck as he leaned in close, inhaling my scent. “I can take you home.”
My eyes rolled as I smirked. “Not a chance, but this parking lot will do.”
He wasn’t waiting for another invitation. His hands were on my sides in an instant, throwing me up against the cool frame of his bike. In the shadows, my lips found his. He swore as I rocked my hips into him. I yanked my jeans down and bent over, hands against the seat. With a laugh, I tossed a daring look over my shoulder.
“Come on, Callum.”
His hands grabbed my hips as I heard him unzip. Panting like a beast, he entered me, and I moaned so loud that it vibrated my entire chest. He rocked into me with pleasure I’d never felt before, fingers digging into my skin with a delectable pressure.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
He was relentless, filling me up, as I moaned in pleasure. There was nobody around. The streets were completely deserted. My eyes had stars in them as he increased his pace. I angled myself back to meet him as he thrust inside me and he groaned in ecstasy. My hair fell over my shoulders as I threw my head back when he sunk into me one final time. I came, muscles tightening around him, with a pleased cry.
In the shadows, I heard our labored breathing. I redressed with shaking fingertips but shook out my hair as if it was an average night–an average night of hot steamy sex in a parking lot with a beautiful stranger. He stared at me, dazed. I knew that his handsome face would haunt me.
“What’s your name?”
I smirked, mounted my bike, and left him in the parking lot with the exhaust.