Code Name - Rook (Jameson Force Security 6)

It’d been a no-brainer for me, and I accepted the job with Jameson, not just because of the money, but mainly since I’d be working with Bodie again. It had been a down time in my life when he left the Navy before I did.

At any rate, through all of my training and deployments and missions with Jameson, which were just as dangerous—Bodie and I had been captured once, and I’d gotten shot in the leg—I never had time for dating.

Strike that.

I never wanted to make an effort to date. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. My life didn’t feel lacking in any respect by not having a significant female partner. I was lucky I didn’t have any problem with scoring hookups. For the short amount of time I lived in Vegas working for Jameson, I took advantage of a really great sex club there called The Wicked Horse.

So this thing with Jaime is completely out of the ordinary. I let my mind wander several times today, wondering why I went out on that limb and asked for her phone number. When I asked for it, I knew I was going to call and ask her out. I’m decisive that way.

But what the fuck was it about her that prompted me to do such a thing?

It can’t be the fact that she’s a great lay. I mean, last night was some of the best sex of my life. Maybe the absolute best. It’s like we came together in the most perfect of ways, and it’s something I never knew was even possible. Every kiss was perfect, every touch was spine-tingling, and the orgasms… mind-blowing.

But that’s not why I asked her out on a date. The sex with her was great. I might not find better, but I can find damn good.

No, I asked Jaime out because we had a connection of the mind. Our personalities are similar in that we’re both easygoing, easy to laugh, and easy to call bullshit when we see it. I think the biggest thing that stuck out in my mind when I took in the night—as a whole—was that I had one of the greatest times I can remember in recent history. From the moment I spied her in the bar until I left her apartment, it was… magical? Fated?

I can’t fucking figure it out, but all I know is I want to see her again, I want to learn more about her, and I certainly want to fuck her again.

I want to take her on a date. Even though I may be nervous, I know it’s something she would enjoy, so on top of being highly attracted to her and curious to know more, I’m apparently already invested in her happiness.

What the fuck is happening?

I had sent a text to Jaime this afternoon to let her know we were going to a fancy restaurant and to dress accordingly. It meant I had to pull out my one and only suit, wipe the dust off the shoulders, and thank the gods I still fit in it. I decided to go without a tie, though, because I hate those fucking things.

Wiping my palms one more time on the legs of my dress pants, I knock on Jaime’s apartment door and suck in a big breath of anticipation.

I hear heels clicking on her laminate flooring, which was made to look like hardwood. When she opens the door and I get my first look at her, my pent-up breath comes rushing out a little too loudly.

“You look stunning,” I murmur as I rake my eyes up and down her form.

Sexy? Yes, that’s a given.

But also elegant, and that’s attractive as well. She’s wearing a simple black dress where the sleeves sit right at the edge of her shoulders and show a great expanse of chest, but not in a sleazy way. There’s not a hint of cleavage showing—just a hint of the top swells of her breasts. It’s form-fitting through the waist, hips, and thighs, making it look like she was poured into it, but it drops demurely to a few inches past her knees. There’s a peek of her calves, delicate ankles, and then black spiked heels in patent leather.

“You look great yourself,” she replies, and my eyes snap up. That was a genuine compliment, not just a polite reply in return. I see appreciation in her smile and attraction in her gaze. “Do you want to come in for a drink or something?”

I shake my head. “We have reservations, so we should get going.”

She nods, reaches behind the door, then pulls out a coat and a small black purse. Being raised in the south, it’s ingrained in me to help women with certain things, opening doors being the mainstay of male Southern manners. But helping a lady into her coat is another, and it’s an intimate maneuver. Jaime has all those red waves pinned up with a few tendrils hanging down. Most of her neck is exposed. As I step behind her to help her slip the coat on, I have to resist the urge to put my lips to the skin there.