Protecting His Pregnant Lover (Southern Soldiers of Fortune 1)

1

Levon Asher stood alone in his high school’s gymnasium, took a sip of spiked punch, and winced. Every muscle in his mouth came together in a pucker that would have spat the concoction back out if his willpower didn’t dictate otherwise. Had the rum-punch combo always been this God-awful, or was he just getting old?

Admittedly, he was a little old to be standing inside the gym at Harper’s Forge High, breathing in the familiar dust and lingering perfume of souring sports socks. He had never planned on attending any of his school’s reunions. Not that he hadn’t been popular in school.

That was turning out to be the problem.

“Asher! Get your dyslexic ass over here and drink with the men!” one of his old football teammates hollered across the other conversations in the room. Every head turned toward the old guard clustered in one corner of the bleachers, which Levon was sure had been the intended effect; then every head turned toward him. Levon froze, then lifted his Solo cup in acknowledgement, then set it aside and moved through the crowd toward them. He could withstand what was sure to be torturous conversation if it meant they’d offer him a beer.

The shout had been jarring; almost as jarring as seeing how fantastically out of shape his old teammates were. They had no way of knowing he was diagnosed dyslexic; hell, he hadn’t known it himself until he joined the naval academy. All they knew was that he had struggled academically, same as the rest of them, and excelled on the field—and with the cheerleaders.

“Damn, son! What they been feeding you down in Florida?” One of his balding classmates, evidently the designated leader and the one who had yelled over to him, grabbed hold of Levon’s rock-solid bicep and tried to jostle it. Levon endured this; he was too busy studying the other man and trying to decide who he was. Finally he gave up and let his gaze fall to the stick-on name tag.

“How are you... Randy?” Randy. Christ, the guy had been stud in school. What the hell had happened to all of them? Levon knew he wasn’t the only one from their class to enter the armed forces—so why did these men all look like carting six-packs back to their car was the only heavy lifting they did anymore?

“Never better. Seen better, that’s for sure.” Randy jerked his head toward the crowd milling about on the floor, and the other guys guffawed. They were nearing rank with the smell of booze, but Levon didn’t decline when one of them passed him his first beer of the evening. One and done, he told himself. There was nothing worth sticking around here for as far as he could tell; Randy confirmed this for him by continuing: “Am I right? Can you believe the butterfaces we went to school with? Yeesh.”

“How can it be that every single cheerleader let herself go?” another aging jock chimed in. “Don’t they have any self-respect?”

“Sure didn’t when we were in school!” Randy launched a high-five indiscriminately into the group, which was instantly answered. Levon grimaced at the old pack dynamics. “That’s what happens when you get knocked up,” Randy continued with a sneer.

“Glad I’ve managed to avoid marrying this long,” another volunteered.

“Yeah, but you still got that baby mama breathing down your neck, Sammy!”

“Ha! Ha!”

Levon sipped his beer, counting the seconds until he could make his excuses to get away. It had been a dumb idea to come in the first place. He was back in town for a job interview, and when he’d realized the timing of the reunion, he’d felt nostalgic enough to give it a try. Clearly, that had been a big mistake. He decided to deepen his sips. As soon as the can was empty, he would be hitting the door.

“Hey, check it out.” Randy nudged him, and the others quieted accordingly to hear their leader’s commands. “Why don’t we all make a bet on which of the nerdy chicks turned out hot? There’s always gotta be one, right?”

“Huh.” Levon grunted, neither compl

iant nor non-compliant.

“What about that little mousy chick you had for your lab partner, Asher? She skipped a grade or two, but she still graduated with us, didn’t she?”

Levon didn’t reply. In truth, his thoughts had strayed to Olive Owen more than once tonight... and all the nights leading up to the reunion... but he hadn’t seen her yet. He doubted if she’d come. Olive had always been the smartest person he knew; definitely too smart to get caught up in—

One of the jocks wolf-whistled, and the others craned to look. Levon hated that his immediate instinct was also to seek out the source of such vocal admiration.

In the next instant, he didn’t regret a thing.

Standing in the middle of the crowded gym was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen. Her head was turned slightly, but he saw enough of her to mark her big eyes, her full lips, her neat little nose. Chocolate brown curls cascaded down the pale length of her swan-like neck and tumbled across bare shoulders. Her dress was a dark, muted shade of wine red; it looked simple and inexpensive, but then, a beauty with those long, alabaster legs, those calves, those curves in all the right places, could make even a revisited prom dress look like the height of elegance.

For the first time that evening, Levon took real interest in his surroundings. Something stirred to life in him as he assessed this woman from afar. God, he had always loved a girl with curly hair, ever since unassuming Olive tripped into the seat beside his own in sophomore year—

The woman turned, her gaze flickering over the group of men hunched like vultures above the rest of them. Levon was glad for his military posture in that moment, and glad he had elected to sit at a distance from the rest when he noticed the way her look of passing curiosity immediately cooled upon realizing who made up the ranks on the bleachers. She fished in her purse for something and withdrew a black, spindly pair of glasses, which she pushed home along the bridge of her nose. She didn’t bother looking in their direction again.

His teammates realized her identity the same instant he did. Levon hated the fact that he hadn’t realized it sooner.

“I knew it! It’s her!” Randy crowed. “What’s-her-name.”

“Olive.” Her name was a welcome surprise on Levon’s tongue. Olive. He had only ever said it out loud as a boy; now, hearing his gruff acknowledgement of her sent a thrill through him, making her all the more a woman now that he was a man.

“Olive!” Randy slapped him on the back. “Yo! What did I tell you? That girl is banging. I knew she’d get hot eventually!”

“Olive has always been hot.” Levon downed the rest of his beer, crumpled the can like it was tinfoil, and resisted the urge to contour it to Randy’s face. “Wish I could say it was nice catching up. Later.” He made sure his later took on the tone of never.

“What the hell? Asher!” Randy called after him as Levon exited the bleachers. “You just gonna drink our beer and take off? Asshole!”

Nothing his old school chum said now registered with him. He was far more interested in the woman who had managed to vanish from sight in the moments he’d been distracted. Levon cursed under his breath. He deposited his empty dutifully in the recycling bin, then ran a hand through his hair. It was still short by civilian standards, but its unfamiliar length since he left the Navy still made him uncomfortable on occasion. He was so used to regulations that it seemed a betrayal to let anything about his appearance slip below standards. Maybe he’d go back to his hotel room tonight, enjoy one more solitary beer, and buzz it himself.

Seemed as good an excuse as any to get the hell out of here.

Levon pocketed his big hands and wandered the darkened hallways of the old high school on his way out… or at least, what he thought was his way out. Evidently the school had scrounged up some funds to renovate, because the more he wandered, the more he realized he had no idea where he was. A few more turns spat him out in an older section that he immediately recognized as the science wing.

Levon wasted no time making for the first lighted door; he had wasted enough time trying to escape these funhouse halls already. The new renovations were really starting to mess with his nostalgia. Thankfully, one of the science teachers appeared to be putting in some afterhours. He rapped the door with his knuckles, then let himself in without awaiting a response. “Hi. Sorry. I’m here for the reunion, I just got turned around with all the—”

What was turning out to be a pretty lame explanation died mid-delivery in his throat when, at the lab table closest to him, a styled head of curly hair lifted, and a pair of startled eyes blinked in shock. The makeup bag the woman had been fishing for in her purse flew out of her hand and spilled its contents on the floor between them.

“Ah, crap, I’m sorry.” Levon knelt to recover the woman’s effects, and was surprised when his questing fingers brushed a smaller pair that joined him. “I shouldn’t have just busted in like that.”

“It’s all right… really, I… ow!” The woman’s head knocked against his as they leaned forward to stand in the same moment. Levon caught hold of her before she could fall back to the ground; he knew he had a thick skull, and wasn’t exactly sure how hard they had collided. It was just his luck to head-butt Olive Owen, but he could only hope she wasn’t seriously hurt.

Olive Owen. The beauty in his arms gazed up at him; then, to his surprise and great relief, she laughed. Hopefully that wasn’t a symptom of a concussion. “Levon Asher? Wow, uh, I thought that might’ve been you I saw earlier on the bleachers in the gym, but wasn’t sure. Didn’t expect to see you here. You didn’t come to the five-year reunion.”

“No,” he said, fumbling for words, distracted by how good she felt in his arms. Or maybe that awful rum punch he’d had before was more potent than he’d thought. Whatever the reason, he was currently making an ass out of himself. He let her go and stepped back, watching her from under his lashes. Man, up close, she looked even better than before, those perfect cheekbones of hers all glowing and rosy. He wondered if maybe Olive had enjoyed a bit too much punch herself.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, for lack of anything better, shuffling his feet. “You look great. If science class had been at all like this, I wouldn’t have skipped so often.” His throat constricted with embarrassment. Damn. Way to be not smooth, dude. Heat blasted up his face. “I mean, not that you didn’t look great back then. I mean…”

She snorted and pushed those glasses higher up her nose again. For some reason, it made her look even hotter. Kind of a sexy librarian vibe going on. Or maybe that was Levon’s overtaxed mind. Exactly how many drinks had he had again? “I know what you mean,” Olive said at last, letting him off the hook, though the air between them still seemed to sizzle. “Anyway, you didn’t skip that often.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, thrusting those perky boobs of hers higher and crap. Now all Levon seemed to be able to see was that. Those. Them. His night was suddenly going from bad to worse. Or better to best, depending on how you looked at it. If Olive noticed his pointed perusal at least she didn’t mention it.

“I tried not to,” he said, his deep voice even gruffer than usual as he tried to force his attention away from her body and back to her eyes. It wasn’t usually this much of a strain to hold himself together and avoid tripping over his tongue. He needed to get laid. That was it. He’d been too long without a woman. That had to explain his crazy urge to pull his old lab partner Olive into his arms and take her right there on the science room floor, right? Or, given the way his libido seemed to have taken over his verbal responses, maybe not. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Not when my lab partner was so—”