Cover Design: Sara Eirew
Release Date: October 4, 2017
One blind date. One case of mistaken identity. One Navy SEAL faced with his high school crush. What could go wrong?
Holy cow, my blind date is rawr-hot. Everything in me aches to explore more with this man, but I can’t. I’ve got too much on the line professionally, with me starting at my new medical practice on shaky ground. But I can’t deny that I want the sex. A fling is perfect. Bonus—I will prove my idiot ex-boyfriend wrong. I’m not cold.
Or Not to Score…
Once she mistakes me for her blind date, my plan is clear. Be this Rick the Lawyer she thinks I am. And for the space of this coffee date, talk to the only woman who’s ever made me feel any spark outside of combat. Best case scenario, I get to be outside my skin—free to be whatever the hell I want. Worst case—she recognizes me as we chat. She’ll be pissed, call me an asshole, but it won’t be anything she hasn’t called me in the past, so… Win/Win?
We’re not going to make it to the credits for Deadpool. We started out innocently enough—popping popcorn (plain for me), fussing around looking for blankets, and arranging our pillows on the couch—but there was a quality to all the innocence, as if we knew more than watching a movie could happen here and were going through all these maneuvers to bide our time and see if the other was on board before fully committing.
First, we shared a blanket, a royal blue one with some kind of stitching in the corners. Pretty, if you like that kind of thing. Then we kept inching closer until I had my arm around her shoulder and she was snugged up against my side. Then I threaded my hand through hers.
Deadpool says, “Love is a beautiful thing. When you find it, the whole world tastes like Daffodil Daydream.”
We were both unmoving under the blanket, but now that stillness has more weight. Deadpool continues to seemingly talk straight to me by telling me to hold onto love and not to make mistakes.
Now each quiet pause in the movie amplifies our awareness. I can hear her heightened breathing. The anticipation tightening her muscles before the next crescendo of the music score drowns our breaths out. Not that there’s a lot of quiet pauses in this movie—it’s pretty kickass. Both action and dialogue, which would normally snag me, but it can’t compete with Pepper. Not even when the hot chick from Firefly pops onto the screen.
“Hey, it’s Inara.”
“Okay. We need to rectify this lack in your life. Firefly?”
“Never got a chance to see it.”
I make a mental note to change that.
Our conversation is like this, like we’re both glad to be talking about things other than the tension building between us. “Oh damn, nice hit,” or “Shit, what did he just say?” Things like that.
The tension skyrockets, though, when things get hot and heavy between Deadpool and the Inara chick. I shift under the blanket. I think her hand shifts closer.
Shit. I give in and lean down to her temple. I hold myself still, my lips just an inch away from her beauty mark. Her breath hitches. I brush my lips across that dot of temptation.
She’s rock still, and I’m psyching myself up to move away, pretend for her I’d misjudged the situation, when there’s movement under the blanket. Next, there’s a death clutch around my neck—her hand has my T-shirt twisted into a fierce grip. Then she’s yanking my head down to her, and our mouths bump into each other.
I angle around and plant my elbow on the back of the couch and cradle her head with my other hand. With my fingers and my thumb resting against her cheek, I guide her in for a more controlled but no less desperate kiss, my heart pounding as if I’d just finished log PTs.
Just like the other day at my apartment, we’re attacking each other with our lips, our hands. I stroke my tongue inside and groan. God, she tastes…tastes like…I don’t know what, but it’s Pepper, and it’s intoxicating. And I want it. I want her.
But I hold back, taking my cue from her for how far she’s willing to take this.
She tugs on the snap at my jeans.
Well, okay then.