My God this place fucks with your head. Although I’m sure the shots of Fireball don’t help either.
Just as I get a grip on my rambling thoughts, I fall forward as the door opens inward. I stumble inside, and all I see is her back as she’s walking away from me farther into the room. And fuck me, she’s wearing short shorts that cling to her ass, highlighting every damn line of her legs, and a tank top so sheer in color, I swear I can see the bronze of her skin through it. Of course my mind immediately jumps to the thought of what the front of her tank looks like and if her nipples are pressed against the thin material.
I shake the thought from my head and kick the door shut behind me as she sits on the edge of the bed facing the window with her back toward me. “Save your breath, Tanner. I got your message loud and clear. I was only good enough that first night when you considered me disposable, but now that I’m here to stay…” She laughs derisively. “I’m no longer good enough for you.”
I’m definitely the asshole for putting that hurt tone in her voice. “That’s not it.” My words come out on a sigh when I continue to explain. “It’s a lot more than that, Beaux.”
“It’s BJ to you, Tanner.”
That simple statement stings deeply, and now that the taste of the rejection is fresh on my tongue, I don’t like it at all. I don’t know how to explain – what I need to say and what I want to say are two different things.
“Beaux…”
“No, you don’t get to Beaux me. You lost that right,” she says as she turns to face me, and damn it to hell, the sight of her is like a one-two combo punch. First her sheer beauty with her face bare of any makeup and hair piled on top of her head and two, that I was right about exactly what I’d be able to see through the damn fabric of her shirt. “You kissed me today like a man who wanted more and then walked away the minute you realized you wanted more. You know why? Because I got to you. I heard what you said upstairs loud and clear. But it’s the things you aren’t saying that I think you need to listen to.”
“You’re so far off base!” I’m practically stuttering in my rush to deny it, needing to refute what she’s said only because she’s hitting way too fucking close to home.
“Keep telling yourself that.” She stands and takes a step closer to me. “You like me and yet you can’t admit it for some reason. You’re so damn busy trying to keep me at arm’s length because of your trust issues that you can’t see what’s sitting right in front of your damn face. As much as I want you, I won’t be coming on to you again. No. Not after what you said to me upstairs.” She pauses, and it’s like her words have knocked mine from my tongue.
She walks toward the window, then stops and turns to look me in the eye. “There’s something between us. You can’t deny that, Tanner – a blind man would be able to sense it… You’re so quick to accuse me of playing games, and yet you’re calling more shots than a bartender. Have sex with me and then get mad at me. Kiss me and stalk away like I’m at fault. I’m here to do my job, not get sucked into whatever this is so my head gets messed up and I can’t perform… So I think it’s best that you leave my room.”
With those final words she turns, slides into her bed, and turns the light off, effectively ending the conversation without giving me a chance to respond. And maybe that’s for the best, because she’s just unloaded so many truths on me that I don’t even know which one to focus on first. I just stand there in the darkness with her comments suffocating the air around me.
I’ve never been at a loss for words when it comes to a woman, let alone an argument, and yet I am right now and it’s unnerving. And exhilarating in an odd way to know that someone can see so clearly inside of you that you’re not sure you want them to see. But I guess I should expect this from her after what I saw through the lens of her camera – she already knows all of this.
“Stella was my one constant over the past ten years.” The confession is out of my mouth before I even realize it, and I instantly wonder if this is my apology in the form of an explanation, the comfort of the darkness around us allowing the words to come. She doesn’t say anything in response, but she stills in bed, and I know I have her attention.
“We met when we were assigned together, butted heads instantly, but fell into bed not too long after we met.” The minute the words are out, it’s like my subconscious finally acknowledges the correlation between Stella and me and now Beaux and me. The similarities become clear for the first time. Is this why I keep rejecting Beaux one minute and then pulling her in the next? Damn. The thought staggers me. Because I’ve been so busy trying to figure out just what her angle is, I haven’t noticed the parallels in the start of our relationships.
“And…” It’s all Beaux says, but her voice has softened, and I’m grateful that she allows me the moment to digest this newfound revelation. It’s one that should have been slapping me in the face, and yet I never realized it through my grief and obstinacy.
“It didn’t last, obviously. We had fun during that getting-to-know-you stage, but it fell apart. Immaturity and stress from the job and from essentially living with each other from the first date on took its toll after about a year. We felt smothered, and that led to nasty fights. And yet we still had to work together.” I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed as the memories I thought I’d forgotten over time come back in bittersweet fashion. “Those first few months after we broke things off were brutal between us. It’s never good to work with an ex… but somehow over time the situation that tore us apart as lovers made us stronger as friends and partners. I don’t know… It’s hard to explain. She was my best friend for ten years. We were inseparable…” My voice trails off as emotion clogs my throat.
“Losing someone that close to you is so hard,” she murmurs, compassion in her voice.
“See, that’s the thing,” I say, almost feeling like I need to explain that the connection I shared with Stella went so much deeper than a normal friendship. “Out here… when you’re forced into this situation, right away everything is much more intense. Relationships, bonds, friendships, all of those things are magnified and reinforced by the isolation of the job, so yeah, we were friends for ten years, but it’s almost as if she were my twin in a sense. We had each other’s backs, could finish each other’s sentences… We were a unit… so losing her is just…”
The silence consumes the room, but I allow myself to feel the grief for the first time in what feels like forever. And yes, I did the shrink thing for the brass, talked to them about everything, but right now with Beaux is the first time that I’ve talked about it voluntarily with anyone other than my family since it happened.
And for some reason it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted from my chest.
“I’m not trying to replace her, Tanner.” I don’t respond, because I know she’s telling the truth, but it sure as hell doesn’t make me stop feeling guilty over the fact that if I accept her as my new photographer and anything else she becomes in my life, it’s an eerily similar fashion to how Stella and I fell into lust.
Putting my hands behind my head, I lie back on the bed and find a strange comfort in having Beaux beside me beneath the blanket. What possessed me to lay all that information out there to Beaux of all people when I haven’t done that to anyone before?
“I know you’re not.” I whisper the words into the room, telling myself to believe them and knowing it’s human nature to not want to forget someone and to feel guilty when you begin to feel like you are.
“And I promise that I’m not trying to pull one over on you.”
I just murmur in acknowledgment, fighting my skeptical nature but pleased that she said it anyway.
“So without the threat of another shot, I answered one of your questions…,” I say to try and break up the solemnity of our conversation. Her sigh in response is audible, cutting through the silence of the room. “Tell me something about you.”
“I’d rather not.” The disassociated quality of her voice pulls
on my curiosity when moments before she was so full of compassion and intrigue.
“Let’s think of this as us trying to get to know each other so we can start fresh again.” I angle my head up so that I can see her face looking in my direction. And even though the room’s only light is the one from the open bathroom door, I can see her dark hair against the white sheets and the softness in her smile. It looks like she appreciates my efforts to get off on a new foot.
“Well, if we’re starting over, my name is BJ Croslyn. What’s yours?” The warmth is back in her voice as she reaches down to shake my hand, and hell if my arm doesn’t buzz like exposed live wires touching when our skin connects.
“Tanner Thomas. And I’m the one.” Her laugh fills the room as she shakes her head at hearing me use her comment from that first night. When our handshake ends, she doesn’t pull her hand from mine, so they rest on the mattress in the space between us. “Everyone has a story. I just told you some of mine… so tell me, BJ, what’s yours?”
And because our hands are joined, I can feel the subtlest tension rise in her muscles from my question.
“There’s a reason I chose to go on assignment, okay?” she says, the detachment returning to her voice. “Sometimes escaping behind my lens, out here in no-man’s-land is better than the alternative…” Her voice fades off, and images of scenarios I can’t picture her in flash through my head.
What is so horrible she has to run from it? Bad home life? An abusive ex? I can’t picture her putting up with either, and yet here she is. I hold on to her promise that she’s not playing me, force myself to hear it for the first time so that I don’t try to dig holes through her response to my question, and just allow myself to accept it for what it is, worry and all.
“Sometimes out here it is easier to create your own reality. Ironic as hell considering it’s our job to report on the actuality of what’s happening here when I also use it as a place to make my own… so I get it. I do,” I confess as I roll on my side and adjust my positioning so that I can link my fingers with hers in a silent show of understanding to reinforce my words. And as much as I want to ask her so many more questions, my investigative journalist mode humming in full force, I don’t.
“It doesn’t sound like things have been easy for you either. I’m sorry for that. You want to talk about it?”
“No,” I murmur, not ready just yet to rid myself of that guilt I carry over Stella’s death. We’ve each shared a small piece of ourselves, and yet I’m not ready to delve into the rest of the shit in my mind. “I should get going.” When I start to push up out of the bed, Beaux just holds tight to my hand.
“Stay?” And there’s something in the way she asks that tells me she’s not asking for sex, but rather for companionship, a warm body beside her in this place that leaves you feeling isolated from real life, good and bad, in more ways than one.
“You sure?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I rise from the bed, toe off my shoes, and pull my shirt over my head before crawling back up the mattress. Once I maneuver myself beneath the covers, I don’t even think about what I’m doing when I scoot up behind her and pull her body into mine, her back to my front.
“No funny stuff, Pulitzer. We just met, you know.”
I chuckle into the back of her hair, my breath heating it against my face as I settle into the welcoming feeling of her body snuggled up against mine, soft curves, warm skin, the scent of her shampoo, and the feel of her ribs expanding with each breath. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night on my end with temptation against me but with my chivalry wedged between us.
And as much as my ideal way to spend the night with a woman is not exactly with our clothes on, this is beyond nice. It’s the first time I can remember in ages that I don’t feel so lonely.
“Sleep sweet, BJ,” I murmur as I press a kiss into the back of her head and pull her a little tighter against me.
“It’s Beaux. And sleep sweet too, Tanner.”
A ridiculous grin spreads on my lips at her correction and stays there as I slip into the clutches of slumber.
Chapter 11
O
ver the next couple of weeks, the days drag and tumble endlessly one into another until the boredom feels like one solid stretch of wasted time. I’ve reached out to every one of my sources to try and get something, anything, to give me an inside for a story, but they’ve got nothing to give me.
The lot of us in the hotel are on edge, keeping to ourselves as much as we can because we know from experience that this is when we start to get on one another’s nerves. When there is something happening on the military front, this place hums with speculation, thrives with paranoia over who has a better story, and comes to life with excitement. But it’s been quiet for a while now.
Even though I’m restless for action beyond the hotel’s walls and the city’s limits, I’m also antsy because something has me feeling like this is the eye of the storm. Something big is coming. I can feel it.
Let’s just hope I get there first and report it better.
In the meantime we wait. Omid’s gone back into the wind again. It’s only been three weeks by the calendar, but it feels more like a lifetime. I’m not letting myself grow too concerned since I’ve seen this pattern from him before; nevertheless¸ I still worry after Beaux’s error in taking photos of him that I’ve lost him.
In midafternoon I glance around the lobby at everyone keeping to themselves, heads down, earbuds in, and laptops open. I shift my gaze across the room and lock eyes with Beaux just as she’s lowering the camera from where it was aimed in my direction. An unsettling feeling flickers through me as I wonder just what exactly she saw this time behind the curve of her lens.
A man who’s finally settling back into the life he was meant to lead? One who’s a little bit smitten with the woman snapping pictures of him?
Because… yeah, I guess I am smitten with her. Especially after the last two weeks where we’ve had easy conversation, numerous laughs over endless games of Scrabble to pass the time, and a few nights when we’ve fallen asleep together after talking late into the night. The funny thing is even with all this time spent in close quarters, I still feel like I don’t know her at all and that I know everything about her in the same breath. We’re comfortable together, feel safe with each other, and it’s a welcome feeling after so much tumult over the past few months.
I don’t have walls up when it comes to women. Never have. I didn’t have a fucked-up childhood or any damaged relationships that have scarred me for others. But that doesn’t stop Stella’s voice from creeping into my mind in the silence of midnight to tease me about how easy it is for me to fall in lust with someone. And that has me stepping back some from Beaux and this newfound camaraderie, holding my emotions a tad closer to the vest, preferably protected by Kevlar, to prevent more ache in my heart already saddened by Stella’s death.
But regardless of how much I tell myself to take that necessary step back, I can still feel myself slipping deeper into whatever this is between Beaux and me. I mean fuck, I want to have sex with her again – that’s a given – but since that first-time buildup has already happened between us, we have this oddly fascinating connection now. It’s like since we know how explosive the physical side of things is between us that we almost fear igniting that powder keg again unless we figure out if we can actually handle it.
And God how I want to handle it before I handle her, because I know the next time we connect, there will be no turning back. Both physically and where my heart is concerned. I know myself well enough that this feeling I have inside isn’t going to allow me to stay behind the Kevlar for too much longer.
But I’m pulled from my thoughts as a soft smile turns up her lips and reaches her eyes. At the sight a warmth spreads through me. And with the quality time we’ve spent together lately, I feel like even though we are in this room filled with colleagues, we are having our own private conversation without speaking.
&nbs
p; She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.
“Ready to lose, Pulitzer?”
“Someone has to let you win so you don’t pout,” I tease as she picks up a ball and pretends like she’s going to huck it at me despite the smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
“You talk a good game. Too bad you can’t play one.” My laugh comes freely, our banter a reliable form of entertainment as we sit in limbo for the next story on the horizon.
We take our shots, and balls fall in the pockets while she hustles me like usual as we tease and walk that fine line of flirting without flirting: a brush of a hand on a lower back, a lean in with a comment in a lowered voice, eyes hungry for the next look from the other. All the while cautious of the eyes watching around us, ready to make assumptions that don’t need to be made.
“You’d better watch your back, rookie,” I tease as I glance at the table, well aware that there are a lot more of my solids on the table than her stripes. “I’m making a comeback.”
Her laugh rings out above the chatter, echoing off the cheap tile floor in the lobby. “You couldn’t beat me if you tried.” She sits with her hip on the edge of the table, distraction at its finest because who cares about aiming my cue at little solid balls when I could stare at her instead?
“I’m in complete control here,” I murmur as I line up my shot.
“Ha. I’ll let you keep thinking that,” she scoffs, knowing perfectly well that comment will rattle any man.
Our eyes lock, so many words exchanged without speaking as the sexual tension thickens between us. Want and need, desire and lust, reverberate through the air like our own private secret in this room full of people. I force myself to go through the motions, placing the chalked cue in the crease of my thumb and index finger as I prepare to strike the ball, except my eyes are on Beaux because, damn, how could I look away?