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Yesterday had been an unequaled rollercoaster of a day, from the low of the crash and coming whisper-close to being roasted alive and blown to bits, to the high of Duke giving me the quickest orgasm of my life. My God, the bossy man turned me on.
How would he look at me today? We hadn’t had a moment alone to talk about it. Was this the start of something, or had it already run its single-night course without even getting to thegood stuff? The not knowing ate at me. I hoped for more than an interrupted one-night stand.
I thought about texting him, but in the movies, the techie on the team had access to everybody’s communications to coordinate them, and his brother Jordy was no slouch. I couldn’t risk it, so I’d have to wait for a chance to talk in person.
Thinking about that discussion tied my stomach in a knot this morning. What a letdown if the moment I’d finally gotten a taste of the incredible man Duke had grown up to be, he decided I wasn’t worth more than the few minutes we’d had.
Did they have rules about that sort of thing in his line of work, in his company? I doubted it was as unethical as a doctor-patient hookup, but what did I know?
A knock sounded at my bedroom door. “Serena, are you coming down to breakfast?” It was Constance.
“Soon.”How will he look at me?
I finished dressing. To avoid the cut on my side, I had to choose my low-back bralette. It wasn’t often I disobeyed the master chief’s rule to always wear an underwire bra.
Duke
Tuesday morning,in front of Serena’s stove, I marveled at how homey her kitchen was—a pepper grinder with a cat’s head, frilly pot holders, and dish towels with funny sayings. Even the spatula I held had a flower pattern on it. It was all quite different to my kitchen of black, white, and stainless.
Since my omelet pan still hadn’t warmed enough, I checked the text message that had come in overnight.
Ursula: Want to meet up later?
Ursula had been an almost-world-class gymnast before becoming a flight attendant for Scandinavian Airlines. She was a firecracker in bed and quite the contortionist. Her work schedule also made her a relationship-phobe. In other words, she was the perfect match for me—no expectations, just a nice meal, hot sex, a night here, a weekend there. Ursula was an exception for me. Repeats with her wouldn’t lead to a relationship.
Since Marilyn, I’d only hooked up with women interested in onetime encounters. No repeats meant no attachments, no pain, no more nightmares.
But this time, I did the un-Cobra thing and ignored the message.
Constance had shown up just as Terry was walking out the door to take up watch on the street. He’d walked the long way around the tree camera, hoping to get lucky and spot the guy cruising the street. Constance took the same winding path inside. Instead of her favorite leather flight jacket, she wore a professional pantsuit.
With her here, I now had no chance to get a minute alone with Serena.
“What is that?” Constance asked, peering around me into the pan as I poured in eggs.
“What does it look like?” She was new to the company and wasn’t aware of all my skills.
“It looks like you may know how to cook a respectable omelet.”
I puffed out my chest. “I’m a frogman. Of course, I can cook. In the field, if we can’t cook, we don’t eat.”
“I thought you tough guys subsisted on dry grass, worms, crickets, and MREs.”
“You try MREs for thirty days straight. They’ll keep you alive if you have to eat ’em, but having to and wanting to are two different things.”
“That smells great.”
“Yesterday was a pretty rough day for Serena. This is the best way I know to start off a new day. I think she deserves it.”
“And here I thought you were doing something special for me.” She pouted.
“Your turn will come. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have a psycho after you someday.”
“Yeah, she had a rough day.” Constance checked her watch. “I’ll try again to get her moving.”
“Tell her not to spend an hour on makeup, or we’ll be late.”
Constance left with a middle finger raised high.
