Top Gun Tiger (Protection, Inc 7)

…grown up hot, she couldn’t help thinking. Look at those muscles! Yum.

He was checking her out too, she could see, so she gave him the subtlest of shimmies to enjoy while she checked him out right back. He did resemble Ellie, though his features were hard and masculine where hers were soft and feminine. And his body, of course, was completely different, all hard-earned muscle instead of plump curves, with broad shoulders and biceps to die for. Destiny had always been a connoisseur of the male upper body, and Ethan’s was fine. But the twins had the same snub nose and strong chin, and the same ready smile.

They didn’t quite have the same blue-green eyes. Similar, sure. But Ellie’s were just… pretty. Ethan’s were extraordinary—the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a man. Destiny couldn’t stop gazing into them. Women must be all over him all the time. Or maybe not, if he did a lot of covert missions in the wilderness. Hmm…

Ethan offered her his hand. “Hi. I’m Ethan McNeil. Are you my ride? If you’re not, can I help you with anything?”

If Rafa had said that line, it would’ve been a seductive double entendre. Ethan had a sexy voice, sure. But he just sounded friendly and confident. Like if she’d said she wasn’t his ride but there was a creepy man following her and could she borrow his phone, he’d have handed it over, then gone and dealt with the creep himself.

“I’m Destiny Ford.” She gripped his hand, giving him a little taste of her strength. She could never resist doing that to men when she first met them. It was such an easy way to sort out the men who were intimidated by or disliked strong women from the men who respected them.

Ethan smiled, clearly neither intimidated nor put off. “Good grip. You have got to be one of the bodyguards.”

“Tonight I’m just your cabbie. Grab your gear. I’m parked right outside.”

He bent to pick up his duffel bag. As he hefted it over his shoulder, his loose sleeves fell back, exposing tattoos in abstract patterns, stark black against his tanned skin. Destiny only caught a glimpse before the camouflage cloth slid down and hid them again, but she saw enough to intrigue her. He’d kept his hands, neck, and face clear of tattoos, in keeping with military regulations, but how many did he have under his uniform?

She hoped she’d get a chance to find out. She liked him.

As they walked outside together, she said, “It’s about a three-hour drive to Hal’s cabin. So are you more tired or more hungry? We could grab some food first. Or we could leave now and you could sleep all the way there. Up to you.”

“The question is, are you more tired or more hungry?” Ethan asked. “And you don’t have to do all the driving. I can pull my weight.”

And there was yet another thing she remembered from the Army: the refusal to admit that you were tired until you actually collapsed from exhaustion, and maybe not even then. It was all coming back to her now. Ethan wouldn’t admit he was too tired to drive unless he was actually worried that he’d fall asleep at the wheel, and given that he was a Recon Marine, he must be used to operating military vehicles on no sleep. If she said, “Yes, thank you, why don’t you take a turn at the wheel?” he’d grab some bad coffee at a drive-through, drive the whole way without a single word of complaint, and get them to the cabin in total safety.

Well, she wasn’t going to let him. He was back from the war; he deserved some good food and rest.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “But I’m not tired. I was just leaving a club when Hal called.”

Ethan gave another appreciative glance at her dress. “I wondered. I like dancing too.”

Oh, she just bet he did. He was obviously the work hard, play hard type—like her. She was about to ask him if he’d like her to show him the local clubs later when he said, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying at the cabin with Ellie, but when I come back, can I take you dancing?”

Destiny gave her hips a shake, making her sequined skirt flare out. “I don’t know. Think you can keep up with me?”

“I think I’ll have a hell of a lot of fun trying.”

“You’re on. Now are you going to tell me what sort of food you like, or shall I guess?”

“Guess. I’ve been eating MREs for six months. Anything not packaged in plastic and cooked with a chemical heater will be an improvement. Oh—that means Meals Ready to—”

Destiny swung out an elbow to jab him in the ribs. “I know what an MRE is, jarhead. I ate my share in the military police.”

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; Ethan’s amazing eyes widened as he once again looked her over, this time lingering on her muscles and the little scar on her shoulder, which he probably thought was a combat wound. (It was actually from her current teammate and former gangster Nick Mackenzie biting her, back when they were on opposite sides.)

Unlike some men—military men included—finding out that she’d been in the Army didn’t make Ethan feel like he had to out-macho her. Instead, he grinned like she was… not his best friend, it was too sexy for that… like she was his hot best friend whose clothes he’d like to rip off so he could have his wicked way with her, immediately.

“You were an MP?” Ethan stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, mudpuppy.”

That nickname for the military police took her back—she hadn’t had anyone call her “mudpuppy” in years. All those military nicknames, from “jarhead” for Marines to “mudpuppy” for military police to “squid” for sailors, the mostly-joking rivalries between branches… and, of course, the one thing everyone could agree on, which was the absolute awfulness of the military rations.

“What was your favorite MRE?” he went on.

“You mean, which was the least disgusting? I guess the maple sausage.” She fished around mentally for another Marine nickname. It was a shame that most of theirs were so badass sounding. You could hardly tease anyone with leatherneck or devil dog. “What’s yours, crayon eater?”

“Pork ribs. They really weren’t bad if you ate them as soon as you heated them up.” He sounded genuinely wistful.