Off Base(40)

This was insane. Her body was primed and ready to go. It had been four years since she slept with a guy. Since sex. Four years since Jackson broke up with her. Since then, there had only been the occasional kiss on a rare date. Maybe a little fondling over clothes. Her body was a drought and right now Cullen the long-withheld water. She swallowed and scratched at her itchy skin. She couldn’t handle the proximity to him.

She shifted her weight, scooting to the edge of the mattress, as far as she could go without falling. She was never going to relax, and she was stuck here for the entire night. Sleep was impossible.

That was her persistent and final thought, the last she would remember before falling asleep.





Chapter Two




Huntley was asleep.

In his bed.

It was a hell of a situation, and he could not quite wrap his mind around it. The one woman he would never fool around with was in his bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, her skirt riding high enough for him to glimpse her white cotton panties. White cotton panties that shouldn’t have been hot, but for some reason they got him as stiff as a pike. His palms itched to grip the flesh, to discover if her ass felt as firm as it looked.

He cursed and flipped to the History Channel. A war movie was playing. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to watch, but it might cool his ardor. After thirty seconds of explosions, he cursed and flipped to Comedy Central.

The comedian only held his attention for so long before his gaze strayed to Huntley again. He tapped the remote control anxiously against his leg and eyed the length of her smooth thighs on display. The swell of her ass pushed against the white cotton of her underwear.

She normally wore jeans and bulky sweaters. Blouses when the weather was warmer. He’d never seen so much of her body on display. Never had a clear idea of her shape before. He knew she was tall. Not thin. Not fat. She had always simply been Huntley.

Right now, she reminded him of those pinup girls from the 1940s. Juicy curves. Soft swells and dips and hollows that screamed femininity. He adjusted his cock, hoping to ease the throb there. No relief. Instead, he gave himself a few strokes as he stared at the long stretch of her legs and the two dimples on her lower back, directly above the top of her panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Getting a hard-on for his best friend’s sister could not be happening. Beck trusted him. He expected him to treat her with respect. She wasn’t some hook-up.

He should have brought someone home from the bar tonight. A regular at Bombs Away who he’d f*cked before who knew how to play the game. It would have been one way to get his mind off Xander, and Huntley wouldn’t have insisted on following him home. He wouldn’t be so cock-hungry for her right now.

Flinging back the covers, he picked up his beer bottle from his nightstand. He deposited it in the trash and shut off all the lights in the house. Moving to his bathroom, he brushed his teeth before flattening his hands on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror.

He never should never have recruited Xander. If he hadn’t, the guy would still be alive. His bloodshot eyes stared daggers back at him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and tried to push back the urge to shout or hit something.

Beck’s words played over and over in his head. He got it wrong. He got it wrong.

Cullen had trained him. Xander wasn’t supposed to get it wrong over there. Maybe Cullen was the one who got it wrong. Maybe he left something out, some key point of instruction. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a bad call. According to his father, he only ever made bad calls. Going into EOD instead of intelligence was his worst. He was twenty-nine years old, but his old man never missed a chance to remind him that he was a total disappointment.

With a disgusted snort, he flipped off the bathroom light and then the TV as he passed it on the way to bed. The room was shrouded in shadows, the only light creeping in from the blind slats. The neighbor had left their back porch light on and a low glow suffused his bedroom, outlining the furniture.

He slipped into bed and turned on his side. Huntley had rolled onto her back, and he watched her chest rise and fall with breaths. She was still stretched out on top of the covers.

Sitting up on one elbow, he lifted her slightly, tugging the comforter all the way down. His nose brushed her hair and he inhaled the fruity scent. Some kind of melon maybe? Strawberry? He resisted the impulse to bury his nose in her hair. “Shit,” he laughed lightly, without mirth. “You need to lay off the booze, man.”

For no other reason could he fathom his response to Huntley. They’d been hanging out for years. Never had he inhaled her hair or entertained salacious thoughts of her ass.

Even if she wasn’t Beck’s sister, she still wasn’t his type. She was a good girl. She wanted marriage, white picket fences and a passel of kids. And she wanted it yesterday. For God’s sake, she joined an online dating service. He hadn’t missed that gleam of interest in her eyes as he explained his sexual preferences, but he would forget it. He had to. He wouldn’t ruin her.

He lowered her back down, tugging the covers over her. She sighed softly against his throat and his skin reacted, tightening almost painfully. He quickly released her.

Dropping back on his pillow, he made certain a good foot separated them. Flinging an arm across his forehead, he gazed up at the ceiling where his thoughts found their way back to Xander. The pain was still there, slicing through him. Guilt so deep he felt like he was drowning in it. His fault. His failure. His father always said he had no business in EOD. It wasn’t a Thanksgiving without that reminder. You have no business in EOD. It takes nerve and guts. You lack both, boy.