“Guess you were right.”
She melts into me, nuzzling my neck. “A thousand pounds are off my shoulders.”
“Told you to trust me.”
“I trust you, but you’re an American hero. You saved lives, thwarted an attack on our US Navy, and exposed a cartel transporting drugs and sex slaves into our country. No one in their right mind would want to lose that kind of talent. Even I don’t want to lose that protection.”
“Baby, we have skills, but we’re not the only specialized four men in the military.”
“Let’s hope those other guys are as exceptional as you.”
A warmth glides through me at her words. All those years ago, when I left her behind, it was to become the man she deserved.
I may never truly be good enough for all the beauty and graciousness that is Harley Jacobs.
For the first time in my life, here, with her in my arms, saying those words, it hits me she sees me as good enough.
“You okay now?”
“Meaning, am I over my spastic hyperactive energy that’s been driving everyone crazy?”
“Yeah.”
“Then yes. And as much as I want to make out with you in my boss’s office, there’s a crowd out there.”
I brush my lips across her head and set her down, linking our hands. Immediately, I notice her bare finger. “Where’s your ring?”
Her smile fades, and she glances away nervously. “In your safe.”
“Why isn’t it on your finger?”
“Tonight’s busy, and I’m scared it would get dirty or damaged.”
“If it does, I’ll handle it.”
“Achilles, everyone knows we’re engaged.”
“That’s the point. You’re not available to any shithead that thinks differently.”
A fire ignites in her eyes, blazing bright. “Don’t ruin our awesome moment by being an irrational Neanderthal.”
“An irrational Neanderthal would drive his ass home, get the ring, and come back to plant it on your fucking finger.”
The blaze flares, and she tries to yank her hand away. “You know, with your line of work, you'll take your ring off, too.”
“Not if I don’t wear a ring.”
Her body deflates. “You won’t wear a wedding ring?”
“What’s the point?”
“What’s the point? The point is, it’s a universal symbol of commitment and love.”
“It’s a piece of metal that can be easily discarded.”
“Wow, aren’t you a romantic?” she snips.
“I want something more permanent. Ink lasts forever. Your initials inked in my skin shows a commitment that can’t be mistaken.”
“Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth, the fiery blaze transforming into a bright blue hue. “That’s so much cooler than a ring.”
“Babe.”
“Now I want to get a tattoo, too.”
“Why don’t we talk about it later?”
“Right. I have to go make a lot of women happy and chirpy with fabulous drinks, hot guys, and my fabulous specialty martini. Plus, we don’t want Tom to walk in on me jumping you on his desk.”
My cock twitches, the image of her on that desk filling my head. “Don’t tempt me. But before we go back out there, you need to adjust your shirt.”
“What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“It’s tied up under your tits, showing everything.”
“It’s tied at my midriff and completely appropriate.”
“Every man in that bar will zero in on your tits.”
“Hello! Every man in the universe zeroes in on tits. It’s in your DNA.”
“Harley—”
“Achilles, shut it and lighten up!” She bounces up to kiss me and yanks me out of the office.
When we get to the bar, the place is packed. She squeezes my hand and rushes to help Jewls and Tom, who’s working service bar. He takes one look at her and juts his chin at me in appreciation.
I go to our regular spot, shaking hands with a few of the guys from the force. Major slides a beer my way and clinks his with mine.
“How’d that go?”
“Good.”
“Then why’s her shirt still tied below her tits?”
I pause mid-sip and glare at him at the same time a roar of laughter comes from the others.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble.
“Preppy blonde across the bar is sizing her up. Just saying…”
Anything else he mutters drones out as I stand, ready to deal. My head whips across the way to find Erik waving her down. Major laughs, punching me in the arm. “You make it too easy.”
“Wouldn’t get too cocky. Jewls has an admirer.”
His eyes fling to the end of the bar where Jewls is chatting with a well-dressed guy who’s clearly interested. She’s dressed similar to Harley in tight, ripped jeans and her Tom’s shirt. But instead of her shirt being tied up, she’s cut the bottom off, making it a crop top. Considering it’s also tight, she’s showing more skin than Harley.
There’s a flicker of irritation in Major’s glare before he turns, shaking his head. “He’s out of place in this bar.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Not her type.”
I want to correct him that the guy is exactly her type, but think better of it. “So, still just friends then?”