Bad Boy Soldier (Bad Boy 3)

HUNTER

I took the freight elevator up to the third-floor apartment and let myself in. George was in his office space, watching the video feed of the building and surrounding area. He was already packing up when I arrived at the desk, expecting that I'd be staying the night.

"I go downstairs and sleep," he said, nodding when he saw me.

"I hope the bed downstairs is comfortable enough for a sultan," I said. "I feel bad that you were forced out of this space. I initially intended it for you."

He shrugged and made a face. "I am old soldier. I am used to hard living. This is vacation compared to some places I have slept."

"Thanks," I said and clapped him on the back. "Is she asleep?"

George nodded. "She went right to bed, and I have heard no peeps out of her."

"I'll call you tomorrow when I need you."

Then he left me with Celia and I watched the video feed as he took the elevator and went to the first-floor apartment that had been hastily furnished for his use when I was at the apartment. It wasn't nearly as nice as the top floor, but as George said, it would do. We were both solders, and had slept in the worst places possible—on dusty back roads in Afghanistan and Iraq, beneath oily and greasy armored vehicles, in holes we’d dug in the ground.

A soft bed in a warehouse was like heaven in comparison.

I removed my shoes and walked as quietly as possible to the bed and watched Celia, wondering if she was awake or was really sleeping. Her breathing was slow and deep so I assumed she was truly asleep.

I left her there and went to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes for a shower. I needed to wash off the day's sweat and dust, and most of all to wash off the sick feeling I had from dealing with Spencer.

Then I went to the kitchen, with only a towel wrapped around my waist, and had a long drink of orange juice. I needed something stronger but didn't want to drink. I didn’t want to lose control. I'd have to be completely in control of myself if I was to successfully deal with Celia and her issues.

I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and then switched off the extra lights, leaving only a single light on in George's office. Finally, I went to the bed where Celia was sleeping and stood in silence for a few moments, watching her, listening to her breathing to see if she was awake. She seemed to be sleeping so I slipped off my towel and slid under the covers and into the bed beside her. She didn't wake up, so I lay there quietly on my side facing her back, and tried to go to sleep.

Of course, lying naked in bed with her beside me had only one possible conclusion—a raging hard-on. I wanted to slip closer to her and pull her against me, wake her up for a nice long fuck, but that was my man-brain talking, and not my neo-cortex. She'd had a very bad day, week, and probably life since her father died and Spencer moved in. The last thing she needed was some horndog man pestering her when she really needed understanding and patience.

So I decided to let things wait until she came to me. I'd be patient. I knew she'd been through hell, with Graham's attack and everything that happened after. So, instead of trying to wake her up and arouse her enough that she'd want to have sex, I decided to try to sleep. I sighed, nestled down into the pillow, and tried to blank my mind of anything to do with Celia's delicious body—a body that I had come to know much more intimately over the past while, and instead thought about my next move with Spencer and with Victor and Sergi Romanov.

After what felt like an hour, I turned over and lay on my back, my erection having died a natural death after focusing on business rather than pleasure. I was almost asleep when Celia turned over, the sheets rustling. I kept my eyes closed and tried not to respond, but I heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she'd awoken to find me in bed beside her.

Now what would she do?

We lay there in silence for a moment, and I thought she might pretend to be asleep, probably hoping not to wake me.

Then to my surprise, she spoke, her soft voice almost a whisper. "Are you awake?"

I turned over to face her, but kept the space between us. I could barely see her face in the darkness, but could just make out the curve of her cheek, and a brief glint of light in her eyes.

"Yes," I said, keeping my voice low. "Sorry I woke you. I tried to be as quiet as I could."

"I hope you didn’t do anything rash."

I smiled. "Me? Do something rash? I'm insulted."

I caught her smile even in the dim room, and a surge of something went through me.

"I mean, rash like killing my bastard of a stepfather."

I shook my head. "No, I didn’t kill him, but I did give him a beating."

"Hunter!" she said, her voice shocked. "You beat him?" She rose up and turned on the light beside the bed. She looked deliciously seductive in the low light from the tiny lamp, her hair mussed, her eyes sleepy.

"He's fine. Maybe a broken nose, but nothing he didn’t deserve. I should have sent him to the hospital, considering everything he's done." I held out my hand, and saw that the knuckles were scraped pretty badly. "I think I injured myself in the bargain."

She reached out and took my hand, holding it up in front of her face. "Oh, God, Hunter…"