Complicated Creatures: Part One Page 13

  Sam opened her mouth to deny it when Willa narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. “You better be real careful what you say, hunty. I can see your mind working to come up with BS like a squirrel on a wheel.”

  Sam laughed. One of the reasons she liked Willa so much was the woman called it exactly like she saw it. While Sam’s life was all about dealing with people in a certain way, saying the right thing at the right time, Willa was a balls-to-the-wall straight talker. She said exactly what she thought and didn’t give a damn if anybody liked it or not, but there was enough genuine care behind her statements that you couldn’t dislike her for her lack of tact. You knew Willa was coming from a good place. And you also knew she was too smart to screw around with.

  “He’s got staying power,” Sam admitted, taking a pull of beer, eyes on the band.

  “And you ain’t looking to have anyone stay or have anyone to hold onto,” Willa surmised. “Not your style. Though one of these days you’ll have to tell mama about who made you that way.”

  Sam shrugged. “Nothing you haven’t heard before.”

  Willa’s eyes narrowed. “Not from you, I haven’t.”

  Sam took a breath, knowing Willa was planning on digging in and there’d be little she could do to distract her. She didn’t want to walk down any memory lanes tonight, so she stuck to the shallow water.

  “Jack’s unexpected, all right?” she continued. “I thought he’d be this charming, seductive bastard. You know his reputation. And I’ve made an honest career out of taking on men like that, so I know how they think, how they operate. But Jack—” She shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable. “Jack’s not fitting into the box so neatly.” She didn’t add that she was ninety-five percent certain a fling with him would move from a passing distraction to a full-blown addiction if she picked up the habit.

  “Well, damn, girl,” Willa murmured. “Sounds like you saw him without all the veneer and you like his brand of human.”

  Sam blinked. “What?”

  “It’s simple really,” Willa began. “Guys like Jack Roman—they’ve got it all. Cash, power, purpose, pussy. They’re like gods. And they act like gods. But every now and then, you get to see past that version of reality. And you either like what they’re made of or you’re disappointed by them,” Willa explained, chewing on her cocktail straw. “You, my friend—you’re beyond turned on by him. Seems like he downright does it for you.” Willa winked, pointing at her with her straw. “And I’m willing to bet my pathetic paycheck that he feels exactly the same.”

  “And you’re so confident—why?”

  Willa rolled her eyes. “Because you, my dear, are a goddess. You’ve also got cash, power, purpose, and what I’m sure is a dynamite pussy. Which means you’ve got the whip. And powerful, wealthy men might like to act like they rule the world, but we all know they ain’t a match for the likes of you,” Willa nodded wisely. “You also have a legion of trained killers who would do damn near anything for you, and yet, surprise surprise—” Willa waved her hand casually. “You’re self-contained, girlfriend. You don’t need anybody—much less a damn man. If that doesn’t make you catnip for guys like Jack Roman, professional athletes, and well, rulers and shit—then, diva, I don’t know what does!” She laughed, eyes delighted before they narrowed, looking over Sam’s shoulder. “Wait, is that Carey?” Willa asked, switching gears.

  Sam felt relief ease the tension from her body. The last time she’d been so happy to see him, she’d been under heavy fire in Recife.

  Carey wove through the tall bar chairs to get to them, dressed in jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a washed black leather jacket. He looked good. Sam noticed Willa notice him looking good. Her relieved smile turned into a smug grin as she watched Willa pop off her bar stool.

  “Carey—what are you doing here, you gorgeous man?” Willa asked, giving him a brief hug.

  “Hopefully not crashing girls’ night out?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling as he favored Willa with his best smile. He hugged Sam. “What have I missed?”

  “Oh, I was just telling Sam why Jack Roman’s probably panting after her. She doesn’t believe me. I think I’ll have to get her drunk as punishment,” Willa laughed, wagging her finger at Sam.

  “He is,” Carey agreed readily, glancing at Sam. “The man’s not blind. Most guys would have to be blind not to be blown away by Sammy,” he agreed.

  Sam rolled her eyes, about to make a smart remark before Willa jumped in.

  “And what about you then?” Willa asked, leaning toward him. “You ever had a crush on our girl?”

  “I changed his diapers,” Sam replied before Carey could answer. “And I taught him how to field dress a deer. He’s worshipped me ever since.”

  Willa’s eyes widened. “I knew you two were close but, ewww. Diapers and deer guts? That’s… ewww.”

  Carey barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “I was an infant when she changed my diapers, and I was twelve when she taught me and her little brother how to hunt with our dads. Way to traumatize your friends, Sammy.”

  “Wait…what?” Willa’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two.

  “Carey’s six year’s younger than me. His parents helped raise me and my little brother. We grew up together,” Sam explained.

  “You have a brother?” Willa asked with a how-did-I-not-know-this look.

  “Had,” Sam corrected succinctly, sliding off her stool. “I’m getting another drink. You two want anything?”

  Sam ordered more beers for them as the two got to talking. She lingered at the bar, partly to give them more alone time and partly to avoid any more psych 101 drilling from the far-too-intuitive Madame Willa. When she returned to their table, Willa and Carey were engaged in a lively debate on whether the Bears had any kind of chance this season. Sam sat back, enjoying her beer and listening to the music, involved in their conversation only peripherally.

  When Willa finished her margarita, Carey went to the bar to order her another. She grabbed Sam’s hand, her expression conspiratorial. “Damn, your boy is hot! I think he’s hitting on me!” she shout-whispered.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Sam teased. “You good if I bail?”

  Willa’s eyes narrowed. “You set this up!”

  Sam shrugged. “I like you. He likes you. You like him. What’s not to like? You two make a cute, super-sized couple.”

  “Ha ha, very funny, shorty,” Willa drawled. “Though it would be nice to date someone I don’t have to lean down to kiss in heels,” she murmured contemplatively, eyeing him as he headed back toward their table with her drink.

  “And if keeping you busy keeps you out of my business, more’s the better,” Sam grinned. “I’m gonna head out,” she declared as Carey set the drink down. She tossed a couple bills on the table before shrugging into her jacket.

  “Did you drive?” Carey asked.

  She shook her head. “Gonna catch a cab.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Carey said as she hugged Willa goodbye.

  “And let another man come chatting up on this one?” Sam teased, gesturing toward Willa. “It’s all good. I’ll stick close to the front while I wait for a cab. Don’t worry,” she said, hugging Carey briefly before turning to go.

  “You packing?” Carey asked, letting go of her shoulders grudgingly.

  “It’s Chicago, Bear. Not Caracas. I’ll be fine,” Sam chuckled. “I’ll text you when I get home, ’kay?”

  When she made it back to her street, she dutifully texted Carey a thumbs up before getting out of the cab, surprised to see Jack coming down the carpeted stairs of their building as the doorman opened her taxi door.

  Jack looked casually elegant in a slim cut gray suit with a dark blue dress shirt open at the neck, and her blatant up-and-down perusal clearly told him so. He smiled at her unspoken compliment, taking her hand in both of his as she got out of the car, his silver eyes twinkling.

  “Hey, lady killer,” she grinned. “You look like you’re up to no good.”

&nb
sp; “After that much continuous sleep, I have enough energy to light up half the town,” he joked.

  “Well, damn,” she laughed, pulling her hand out of his and sweeping it toward the open door of the cab. “Don’t let me stop you. Here, take my cab.”

  Jack shook his head, helping her shut the door. “I’ll walk you up first.” He looped her hand under his arm as he escorted her up the steps to the building’s front door. It felt easy and surprisingly natural to have her hand tucked in his arm, so she let him lead her to the elevator, wondering where he was heading out to this close to midnight.

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” he confessed as they neared the elevator bank, his silver eyes earnest. “I wanted to thank you for last night. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

  Sam arched a brow, glancing back at the concierge who was giving a decent impression of not eavesdropping.

  Jack glanced at him too before guiding her closer to the elevator. He pressed the button. “I was wondering how you feel about craft beer?”

  The elevator doors opened and he ushered her in, keying in the code to their floor.

  Sam’s brow furrowed. Was he going back upstairs with her? “I’m generally a fan of alcohol. But I’m not a beer aficionado. I just know what I like,” she answered cautiously. “Why?”

  He smiled down at her, his attractiveness magnified by the rest and the natural confidence of a man used to getting his way. “I thought we could take a drive up to Milwaukee. They have some of the best microbrews in the Midwest. I used to love to go up there in the fall, but I haven’t had the chance in the past couple years. What do you think?” he asked, leaning one shoulder against the elevator as he regarded her.

  She caught a heady whiff of his cologne. Divine.

  What did she think? She thought he could probably talk her into just about anything right now with that you-know-you-want-to smile and enough charismatic wattage to blind anyone in the downtown radius. Sam struggled to reconcile this vibrant man with the sexy sleepyhead who had been sitting at her kitchen counter last night. It was amazing how much a little sleep seemed to zap the sizzle right back into him.

  She realized he was waiting for her answer. Sam blamed her uncharacteristic slowness on her buzz. “Hey, sorry.” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “You got a helluva lot more sleep than I did, and I think I’m reeling from a just a few drinks. Did we talk about doing something tomorrow and I forgot?” she asked, buying time.

  Jack looked surprised before recovering his footing easily. “I left you a note. Thank you again, by the way, for letting me crash. You have no idea how badly I needed it. I was hoping you’d be free tomorrow?”

  “Oh, it was no big deal, Jack,” she answered casually. “I don’t think I could have woken you if I’d tried. You would have slept through heavy artillery fire at that point. Now you can’t give me a hard time if I ever come over, eat your food, and pass out on your couch,” she teased.

  “Mi casa es su casa,” he replied easily.

  The elevator doors slid open. Jack held the doors open as she stepped out.

  “Where are you coming from?” he asked, taking in her jeans, knee-high boots, and leather jacket.

  “Buddy Guy’s,” she answered, stopping just outside her door.

  “Ah,” he nodded in understanding. “You seem like the kind of lady who appreciates the blues.” He stood near her, sliding his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing,” Sam replied.

  They looked at each other for a moment, squared off in their long hallway.

  “It’s a compliment,” Jack replied. “You have to feel intensely to really listen to the blues. You, clearly, are not the kind of woman to go half-measure. Of course it makes sense you’d prefer music that tears straight to the truth of what men are capable of,” he reasoned.

  She said nothing, the mixture of that perfect amount of alcohol, lassitude, and sexual awareness making her seriously consider laying down her guard for the night. Oh, she knew plenty about what men were capable of, and she wanted badly to know what this man was capable of.

  Jack pulled his hands out of his pockets and started toward her.

  Sam backed up a step. She had the distinct feeling Jack was doing more than advancing. He was coming for her. He lifted his hand, drawing long fingers down her cheek to run under her jaw, tilting her head up slightly. His head came down just a fraction. She felt her eyelids drop. It would be so easy to take what she needed from this man…

  “You never answered me about tomorrow,” he murmured, face close to hers. His scent surrounded her. Sam imagined briefly what it would be like to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, breathe him in, touch the tip of her tongue to his skin…yes…

  “Where are you headed tonight?” she heard herself ask, her voice lazy.

  Jack didn’t move. She watched his pupils dilate, the silver shards of his irises shifting and altering as he thought through his answer. Sam felt the distance between them widen into a chasm. In three hours, probably less, he’d be in someone else’s arms. Enjoying the warmth of her body, pressed underneath him in cool sheets somewhere. Probably here, not even thirty yards away. That’s what a man like Jack Roman did on a normal night, when he wasn’t wracked with exhaustion and laid out on some Good Samaritan’s sofa. And Sam would just be an accession—a pleasant addition to his normal range of activities. A nice tee-up to tomorrow evening.

  She stepped back; put a hand on her door.

  “Jack, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” Sam began, putting a friendly smile on her face as she got ready to deliver the let’s-just-be-friends speech.

  “And what idea would that be?” he asked, regarding her with a sardonic look, like he could see right through her. And he probably could, but she still wasn’t going to agree to be added to the good thing that he probably already had going.

  “That I’m looking to borrow any sugar,” she answered affably. “Consider last night gratis. I might need you to do me a good turn one day, but I’m not keeping a ledger. Let’s just leave it there, shall we?”

  He seemed to consider that, light eyes narrowing momentarily. “You’re a negotiator?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

  “Among other things,” she nodded, unlocking her door. As she opened it, she turned back to him, her face pleasantly distant.

  Jack stepped forward, and her hand tightened fractionally on the knob. He leaned in, giving her a soft, barely-there kiss.

  “So am I,” he murmured into her ear.

  Sam fought not to react. Her hands itched to run up his arms, loop around his shoulders.

  Jack straightened, his eyes smoldering. He ran one long finger ran along her temple, pushing a strand of hair back. “And I’m going to be doing you more than a good turn, Samantha,” he told her, studying her face.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls, Jack,” she replied, notably breathless.

  “You’re no girl, Samantha,” he replied with a sexy little smile as he stepped back, releasing her from his gravitational pull. “The offer stands.”

  Sam made it inside and up to the comfort of her room, a bemused smile on her face. When she undressed, she imagined what his hands might feel like doing it for her. She decided to forgo a shower in favor of a bath. As she ran her hands along slick skin of her belly and her thighs, fingers curling into the wet folds of her sex, she thought of him. She thought of his slow burn smile and the intense light in his eyes. Sam considered his skin, still gold from the summer sun, the way his arms had curled around her waist as he slept, oblivious to everything except his own dreams. She recalled the heady and delicious scent of him. The curve of his spine. The way his hair felt twined in her hand.

  Sam came in a luxuriant, supine ripple, imagining his mouth on her under the warmth of the water. And as she lazed in the aftermath, eyes still closed, Sam saw him rising up the slope of her body, trailing the water with kisses, his mouth warm, his tongue luscious.

/>   He moved over her. And in her mind’s eye, when she opened her eyes to look up at him, she didn’t see bright silver eyes. She saw hazel eyes with striking striations.

  “Shaghayegh,” he whispered in Persian.

  Poppy.

  Sam startled awake, the water cold around her.

  Chapter 9

  June 2006

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  S A M A N T H A

  Dawn rose over the mountains surrounding the city, its long rays spreading across Eid Gah Square, already bustling with the sunrise prayers, merchants, and commuters. Sam walked into a non-descript building, partially shuttered, the heavy wooden doors closed behind her by US Army guards. They exchanged greetings before she pulled the dark hijab off her head. Sam glanced across the dim, vaulted room to look at a series of makeshift interrogation rooms, which sat still and silent.

  “Lieutenant Wyatt.”

  Sam turned, setting down the bag she was carrying before saluting the man who emerged from the darkness lining the farthest wall. “Good Morning, Lieutenant Colonel Collins.”

  He eyed the bag. “You bring enough for all of us?”

  She smiled in return. “Only if you like chai and kulcha, sir,” she answered, referring to local tea and biscuits.

  He shook his head, muttering, “What I’d give for a good cup of coffee and my wife’s chocolate chip cookies,” before turning back to the darkened area he’d come from. Collins was a thin man of medium height with steel gray hair and a tidy moustache. He had cool blue eyes and a nice smile when he cared to show it. He was also one of the scariest military interrogators she’d ever met.

  Sam followed him down a short hallway into a surveillance room with a long, one-way mirror and observation glass. Computer screens and monitors displayed the inside of the interrogation rooms and makeshift cells. She greeted the four other men in the room, her eyes drawn nearly immediately to the monitor showing a man sprawled on his side on a mattress, his arm covering his face.