Chapter 7
Kiera Lane
He was a photographer too?
We’d been here for four days, and I was more convinced than ever. I wanted us to have a shot. He lived in DC; I lived in Annapolis—it was less than an hour’s drive.
Funnily enough, it was only a slightly longer drive from my old hometown, except in the other direction.
Dad would like James.
I leaned forward and stirred the fish soup.
The sun was setting over the mountains, and I was happy to prepare tonight’s dinner outside.
We’d had pheasant yesterday, and it’d been delicious.
Today, he’d caught us fish. But the best part of sitting out here by the fire was watching James go about his little routines, whether he was checking things with the helicopter, collecting wood for the fire, or reading.
Or like tonight, he’d brought out a camera.
He stood on a rock and took pictures of the sunset and things around him, and every now and then, he’d glance my way and smile.
He had the most charming smile.
He also fucked like a god.
I was so damn sore, but I couldn’t help myself. He made me feel wild. Twice yesterday, once this morning, and then again when he’d returned from his daily trip down to the valley. And when he came back up, he was all sweat and glistening muscles and scruff.
What was a girl to do?
Something told me a future for us wasn’t on the horizon, though. Not for him.
I wanted to change that. I wanted…something simple. I wasn’t asking for the world or marriage or any promises whatsoever, aside from one thing. When we flew home in three days, I wanted a plan. I wanted a date. A chance.
James returned to the fire a while later, and he sat down in the low chair next to mine and stowed away his camera in the bag.
“Gorgeous sunset tonight,” he murmured.
“It really is. How many pictures did you take of it?”
He chuckled and leaned back. “Dozens. I took a few of you too.”
Oh, really? I decided that was my cue. The food wasn’t ready, so I dropped my hoodie on the ground between James’s feet and kneeled there. His little smirk was too sexy.
“What will you do with them?” I asked, unbuttoning his pants. His skin was still a bit cold from his last shower.
“Do with what?” He tracked my every movement.
“The photos of me.” I tugged at his pants enough to give me better access, and I leaned forward and kissed his stomach. “Do you have a wall of pictures at home for all the women you’ve rescued?”
He snorted quietly. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”
It really didn’t.
He grabbed his camera bag again. “I’ll show you—but don’t let me stop you from whatever you plan on doing.”
I grinned and pulled down his boxer briefs. He’d certainly liked my mouth on him this morning. Hell, I’d loved it.
I kissed the base of his cock as he turned on the camera, and he hummed and flipped through the photos on the screen.
“Here. The only thing more stunning than the sunset.”
Whoa. That was… Holy shit. Did you say that to someone you were casual with for a week in the mountains?
I lifted my gaze and saw the photo. I was sitting here by the fire, a smile playing on my face, my hair a little wavy and messy, and I was sprinkling spices into the soup.
Heat bled onto my cheeks, and I didn’t know how to respond, so I did what I knew I could. I sucked his cock into my mouth to get him hard.
He smirked and packed away his camera once more. “Is my little hellcat stunned to silence?”
Um, yeah.
Your little hellcat.
He combed his fingers through my hair, eyes filled with amusement, lust, and affection. A heady mix.
I had to fight against closing my eyes. There was just something about feeling him grow hard along my tongue that made me want to shut out the world and savor the moment. Like, it was for me.
But I was on a mission, so I maintained eye contact, and I teased him good and proper. Not unlike he’d done this morning when I’d lost my English on his tongue.
“So, um… We live an hour away from each other back home.” I flicked the tip of my tongue across the head and stroked him firmly but slowly.
He hummed again.
“For argument’s sake,” I went on, “say I’ve just spent six months in uncertainty and wondering if I’m ever coming home—and I survive, and all I want is a date with the guy who brought me home safe and sound… Wouldn’t you say I’ve earned that?”
The amusement faded from James’s expression, leaving behind the affection. And some of the heat.
“I’d say you deserve more than a date.”
Hint, hint. So, ask me!
I sucked him in again, waiting for his elaboration, and he cupped my cheek and brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” he murmured. “Despite my history with bad relationships, it would be the easiest thing in the world to ask you out. But you—” He paused and shifted in his seat. “Can you maybe do that later?”
I shook my head and tightened my lips around him.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You said it yourself, Kiera. You spent six months wondering if you were ever coming home again. You weren’t just uncertain.
You were scared for your life. That shit leaves scars.
You haven’t even begun to process everything you went through. You’re in survival mode.”
There was a lot of you, you, you, you in that speech and very little “This is why we can’t date.”
I wasn’t saying he was completely wrong.
He knew what he was talking about, and I was prepared for nightmares and grief.
On the other hand, he didn’t know how much of a support Noura had been.
I actually had processed a lot of what I’d gone through.
And coming home, finally feeling safe again, might bring all that up again.
To which I said, Come at me. I was ready to heal.
“To be honest, I want you to come talk to our psychiatrist at work,” he continued. “Doc specializes in trauma. He helps operators process shit from conflict areas every day.”
This was officially the weirdest blow job ever. How was he managing to stay hard?
“That’s sweet of you,” I said, running my tongue up the underside of his cock. “I’ll consider it if you get back to the topic.”
He chuckled and scrubbed his hands over his face. “My point is, you’ll need time to recover. And then you’re gonna go on your husband search and pop out a few kids…”
A few was a stretch. “One or two, yes.”
He flashed me a warm grin and touched my cheek. “He’ll be the luckiest fucker on the planet, and I already wanna punch him in the face. I know, very toxic of me.”
I smiled around his cock, and he narrowed his eyes and made a picture-frame gesture with his hands, as if he wanted to take a photo of me right then and there.
But then the humor disappeared, and it was the first time I saw hesitation from him.
“You don’t want me to be that guy, sweetheart. I’ll be forty-eight this summer.”
Was that the problem? His age?
I eased back and tucked him into his boxer briefs, because I wanted to settle this before things got unnecessarily complicated. What we’d started was too new for complications.
“Have you ever wanted children?” I wondered. “If the answer is no, I respect that. It’s not for everyone.”
He weighed his response. “Sure. But I’ve told you about how much I’m gone for work.”
I nodded. “You also told me you’re looking at retirement from fieldwork in the next year or two.”
“True,” he said slowly. “Doesn’t the age thing bother you, though? If we have a kid in two years, I’ll be over seventy by the time they graduate college.”
I’d heard that argument as recently as last year when a friend of mine married an older guy, and it just made me smile. Because while I took the concern seriously and understood his point of view, his age wasn’t advanced enough for me to worry much.
“That’s one way to look at it,” I murmured. “You know what I would see? That you’d be fifty-one when they turn one. Fifty-two when they turn two. Fifty-six when they start school. We’re talking about so many years of milestones and family moments before you start feeling old for real.”
It was easy to see he hadn’t considered my point of view, ’cause he looked like he was trying to hide a smile.
“I feel old now,” he half joked.
I leaned forward and gripped the armrests so I could kiss him. Just a quick peck.
“James Hyatt, do you reject the sheer notion of having a baby in the future?” I asked.
He deflated with a sigh and tugged on a lock of my hair. “No, ma’am.”
I grinned. “Do you like me so far?”
He shook his head, amused. “I think I’ve made that clear, hellcat.”
We were totally flight ready.
“Then ask me out on a fucking date, pilot,” I said and kissed him. “I’m not predicting the future. I’m not demanding anything other than a chance to see if there’s more.”
He finally unleashed his smile on me, and he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me—
I squeezed my eyes shut as the chair squeaked and protested, and a second later, the whole thing crashed to the ground. “Gah!” My stomach did a somersault as we went down.
“Fucking—hell.” James laughed through a painful groan, and I cracked up, sufficiently comfortable on top of him. But this poor man! He’d landed on solid ground and probably more than a few rocks.
“Oh my God, are you okay, honey?” I giggled and scrambled off him.
He huffed a chuckle and slipped a hand underneath himself to rub his ass. Had a rock hurt him? I’d kill the rock!
“Yeah.” He looked my way and smiled. “I’m more than okay.” He grabbed my hand and kissed the top of it. “Have dinner with me when we get home. Then breakfast the morning after.”
I beamed and dipped down to kiss him. “What a wonderful idea. I’d love to.”
And they said you couldn’t teach old dogs new tricks.