Alpha's Vow (Shifter Ops 2)

She laughs. “You found them, huh?”

I lean closer and dip my head to her ear. “I didn’t think you hiked there nude.” Her breath hitches when I say the word nude and I lean back to continue, “I was looking when I climbed out, to figure out where I went so wrong. I usually have far better recon skills than that.”

A shadow passes over her face. If Charlie were any other woman, I’d ignore it or distract her until I can get her in bed. But I can’t with Charlie. She matters to me—even though we’ve just properly met.

I review my words to figure out what triggered her. I know from my research that her parents are both still alive and together, retired from active duty and living in Green Valley, Arizona.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask softly.

“Oh. Um, recon.” She fingers her drink, falling silent like she expects me to move on. But I keep silent, waiting, so she gives a little nod and continues, “I was thinking about my brother. He’s currently deployed and I haven’t heard from him for six months. It’s driving me nuts.”

Chad Holland, age twenty-four, active duty Air Force. I haven’t dug into his information beyond that. “You’re worried about him.”

She nods. “I’m sure he’s fine. My mom keeps saying she’s sure he’s fine.” She rubs her temples. “I grew up always worrying one or both of my parents weren’t going to make it home every time they were on tour. You’d think by now I would’ve learned how to stop it.”

I brush a lock of blonde hair that strayed across her face. “How to stop worrying?”

“Yeah.”

“My brother’s the one who worries in our family.” I flash her a rueful smile. “I think he figures if he does it all, I won’t have to.”

She looks under her lashes at me. There’s no mascara on them. Like this morning, her face is natural and fresh. Beautiful. “You seem pretty relaxed.”

I shrug. “Like I said, Rafe takes all the responsibilities on his shoulders.”

“So you’re the playboy.”

Ouch. I shouldn’t be offended. She’s right, I am the playboy. At least where women are concerned. The label fits, but tonight I don’t like it. I want Charlie to think better of me.

I take her drink from her hand and set it down. “I’m the playboy who knows how to make you forget your worries for one night, birthday girl. Will you let me?”

Her eyes darken and she draws in a shaky breath. “Um…”

“I’ll let you ride my Duck.”

“Your Duck?” She wrinkles her nose. “Is that some sort of euphemism?”

I deepen my voice and deliver the line with a cheesy seductive flair. “Only if you want it to be.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

“My Ducati,” I clarify. “Duck, or Duke, if you prefer.”

“Mmm. I’ve never ridden a Duck before.” Her tone is sultry, and she overdoes it by fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Or a Duke.”

Wowza. Even when she’s fake-flirting, she’s over-the-top sexy. “I’ll even let you drive.”

She laughs. “What makes you think I want to?”

“I know you want to.” I toss a few bills on the bar to cover our drinks.

Her smile is miraculous. It makes my wolf preen at having coaxed it out of her. “Wow.”

“Let’s go.” I stand and grab her jacket from the back of the chair.

She rises and I hold her jacket out for her, then rest my hand on the small of her back. It fits perfectly, like it was made to ride there. I lead her outside and pull the keys to the Ducati from my pocket. “Have you driven a motorcycle before?”

She draws in a long breath and exhales. “Not since high school.”

“It’s easy. Like riding a bike. If you’ve done it once, you won’t forget.” We arrive at my bike. “Don’t be nervous.”

She darts a glance at me, then back at the bike. “Are you going to ride with me?”

“Of course, angel. I’ll be with you the whole way.” I pause. “Unless you want me to follow you in your car?”

“No, I want you on the bike. Definitely. I don’t want to do this alone.”

I zip her puffy jacket up to her chin and put my helmet on her head, tightening the chin strap. She pulls a slim pair of brown leather gloves from her pockets, and puts them on. Reaching past her, I put the keys in the ignition. “Go ahead. Climb on.” I quirk a smile.

“Oh boy. This is crazy,” she says, but throws her leg over like a pro and grasps the handlebars. “This one is the clutch. This one is the brake. Right?”

“Exactly.” I take every opportunity to touch her, closing my fingers over hers to make sure her grip is good, running a hand down her back over her coat to soothe her.

“This is nuts,” she repeats, finding the button to turn on the headlight. “I must be crazy.”