7
7
A DECENT PROPASAL
E verything escalated at a frightening pace, after that shocking New Year’s Eve kiss. Thinking back, I could almost pinpoint my transition in his head, from hapless mentee to something else. It started that day when he took Mikey and me to the beach. I caught him staring at me unguarded. Lust. Girls feel it emanating off guys like Pepe Le Pew’s skunk scent. Usually, I just autotune it out. It scrambles for mind space along with whispers of other feelings, private thoughts, and endless assimilation of knowledge. To be honest, I’d seen it on him before, just never so blatant. Guys always try to hide it before the horny transforms their face into a toad.
But not Ranger. So ballsy.
I’d already realized, a while ago, he’d been chasing boys away. Didn’t take intuition to figure that out. But I had wrongly surmised it was to keep me miserable and focused in equal measure. (Although I’m sure that was part of his intent in the beginning.) Anyhow, it was all just plain unnecessary—my heart still belonged to Pete. I was only making friends. They were just of the wrong gender. In general, I’ve found boys to be easier to get along with than girls. Easier to read. Their intents are clear. No petty jealousies to contend with. I had quite enough to contend with already. Plus, I was accustomed to boys; they were almost all I knew.
But Ranger was a man.
So I was a bit more nervous than excited about going out with him tonight. Wasn’t sure I was up for it. But really, how could I refuse? My life was indebted to him. Literally. It was to be an honest-to-God Saturday night date. I even got to pick my own clothes from the spring “Look Book,” a new app downloaded on my PAC that allowed me to “borrow” outfits from the vast Academy closet. I chose a patterned Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress in tan with killer cute knee boots that were warmer, but not much safer, for walking around in than their stiletto friends.
Getting ready for Ranger took my normal prep-work from five minutes to forty-five. I blew dry my hair, put the cans in, and did my makeup. I was an Ashley-Leigh pro now, although I preferred a lighter touch. I still eschewed foundation, preferring the light dusting of a bronzing powder, subtle shading of the eyes, a little eyeliner, and loads of black mascara. Wham! Mod lashes blinked back at me from the mirror. I wrapped my dress, took my cans out, glossed my lips, and was ready to roll.
Mikey, of course, was thrilled that his two favorite people were going out. He blinded me with his high-beams every time I so much as glanced his way. I still didn’t know what to make of it. Nerves stirred my stomach and fidgeted my hands into helping Mikey pack a bag. Like making his bed or cutting his meat, I wasn’t supposed to do that. But the omniscient eye in the corner hadn’t snitched on my cheats, so I refolded his tumble of clothes and added his toothbrush. He was to have a sleepover tonight—Ranger’s arrangement.
A hearty knock on the door knocked my heart against my ribcage. My pulse began racing at an alarming rate.
Mikey bounded over and swung the door wide. “Wanger!” he exclaimed before hurling himself into his mentor. This was followed by a complicated mess of slaps and elbows that was their customary greeting and secret bro-code.
After which, our eyes met. Ranger’s lips curled as if my palpable nerves were amusing. “Come here,” he ordered, in a lower-than-normal tone.
I swallowed before advancing a couple of steps. One side of his cheek lifted, winking a dimple at me. He beckoned me closer like he was reeling me in. I stepped forward again until I was right before him, staring at the crisp white shirt beneath his black jacket. Without preamble, he reached for my belt and undid my tidy bow, pulling the strings tighter before looping them into a neat knot. My breath hitched in my throat. I was acutely aware of how the heat from his skin was transferring to mine, and the possessive way in which his palms were gripping my hipbones. After he finished, I breathed out my pent-up air, and in a lungful of spicy cologne and alpha-maleness. A knowing smile lifted his lips before he pushed me back to reassess his work. He nodded at me with a satisfied smile. The belt was now super-cinched in, the strings dangling jauntily by my side.
Ranger was always readjusting me to suit his tastes, an entitlement I wasn’t sure he had earned, but one I allowed. Turned out he had wonderful taste. The strings did look better dangling rather than in a bow.
His blazing blues met mine again. “Let’s hit it,” he said.
“Yeah, wet’s hit it!” Mikey took this literally, and after a few more whaps and slaps, Ranger peeled him off so we could leave. Together we escorted our brother out the door. Mikey was a monkey in the middle, grinning and swinging between his two parental figures. I’d never seen him so happy. Sidelong glances followed us along the flagstone path leading to “the shorties’ barracks.” Ranger and I shared a warm smile over our brother’s head, an auspicious start to the evening. The night was January cold, inky dark, and fresh with the night’s possibilities.
We arrived at the gabled two-story boys’ dorms, where Mikey squirmed out of my hug, punched Ranger a farewell, and then forgot all about us, running off with his little friends. Ranger escorted me out with a large lingering hand to the small of my back. He offered his arm, which I accepted, and together we clopped over the flagstones in our boots and overcoats. Another lingering hand helped me into the boxy Mercedes SUV, curbed at the entrance of the always bustling Academy garage. He even took a moment to buckle me in. He followed that up by a look. One that stirred something up besides butterflies. What exactly I still wasn’t sure.
This time, we went over the bridge and into the heart of the city. A little place in the Financial District with painted brick, curbside valet, and subdued but expensive cars pulling in and out. The uniformed valet helped me down, his greeting a little too warm until Ranger froze him into silence with his glacier blues. As soon as we stepped into the darkly paneled restaurant, a hostess informed us our table was ready. This time, Ranger checked my coat. This elicited a shared reminder smile of our first, first date. After Ranger snapped the QR code into his phone, we followed the composed face of an Asian lady of indeterminate age to a quiet table by the window, center of the room. Candle light and swanky jazz this time. A humming busy. Less meat market, more monied. The “Nob Hill” crowd I was informed by my date. I smiled as if I knew what that meant. Another code to add to my growing collection.
Five minutes later, my hand found itself holding a flute of champagne. “By the stem,” he corrected, “is the proper way.” I rearranged my fingers, and he relaxed back in his chair with his amber-colored liquid, the same color as the subtle lighting. Even though his squat glass wasn’t even half full, I knew that shot of alcohol could feed a family of four at a middle-America restaurant.
“Here’s to a new year and a new beginning,” he toasted. This brought a smile to my cheeks which brought the endearing creases to his. That something stirred in my stomach. Something I didn’t think I’d ever feel for the handsome brute sitting across from me. I took a long swallow and half the glass slid down my throat.
Ranger lifted his thick jet brows. “Easy. I’m limiting you to two tonight.”
“That’s a lot of twos,” I quipped, trying to break through my sudden shyness.
He huffed out a chuckle at my stupid joke. I grinned at him. That was the first time he’d so much as cracked a smile at one of those. As soon as the staid waiter appeared, dinner was immediately ordered and my menu plucked from my hands. A handful of minutes—listening to Ranger small-talk—later, and an assortment of his favorites came marching in one after the other: Dim Sum, some Pad Thai, crab and cream cheese wantons, something called Pho with spicy little jalepeno slices that made me yearn for nachos. I didn’t mind not knowing what was going into my mouth. Easier to eat that way. Honestly, I don’t even think Ranger knew another way of doing things.
A lot of it was delicious. A little of it strange. I could see his enjoyment witnessing the experience through my eyes. He was “expanding my horizons.” Not that he asked, but for future reference, I informed him my favorite food was cheese quesadillas. “Not many Mexican restaurants around here” was his response to that bit of revelation about me.
The conversation was sprinkled with a few awkward pauses, during which I took in the stark contemporary setting, or nodded and smiled through tech talk that was way above my paygrade. And there were a lot of loaded looks, which I smiled and blushed through. I could tell Ranger thought things were going well. The happy alcohol buzz I’d managed to procure for myself had my unfocused eyes gazing longer at him than usual. He was one of the most magnetic and handsome men I’d ever met. And scariest. I’d been on the receiving end of his animosity for what seemed like half my life, and the relief I felt that it was over was akin to cancer being in remission.
The dimples flashed quite a bit. I’d dare say Ranger was happy. Close to, at least. I laughed at something he said, and the charm quotient amped up. At one point I suppose I had a grease smear on my lip, undabbed off. After another of those loaded looks, he reached out and brushed it off with his thumb. I mentally braced for what was coming. In a strange way, I wanted it to happen. It seemed inevitable after all the built-up feelings we had, the good and the bad. They needed an outlet.
But I was still the kind of nervous that stammered your speech and dampened your palms, so I laughed off the moment rather than leaning into it. Fudged on dessert I didn’t want but ordered. Unfortunately, Ranger made good on his word to limit my alcohol intake. So, when he excused himself to the restroom, I cheated with a hard swallow of his fiery liquid. We traded places while he paid the check and collected my coat. Then he sallied out the door with me in tow. While we waited for the valet, I found myself holding hands with my superior officer. He didn’t even let go when he tipped the valet to conjure our ride. My heart fluttered around a bit. I’d never seen Ranger hold hands with another cadet. Not a kiss or a hug. Just the other stuff I’d heard about. His reputation preceded him.
My heart fell to my stomach.
I couldn’t help think what Pete would think if he saw us like this, and felt a dose of guilt swirl around with my heart. I must’ve been transmitting waves of doubt, because Ranger looked down on me and squeezed my palm reassuringly. I managed a smile but it was thin. He lifted one corner of his mouth. He wasn’t worried; he knew he had me. I wasn’t so sure. He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. A faint flutter in my chest led me to believe he might be right.
The luxury box was brought round in a scurrying rush, and the ride back felt even faster. I mostly stared out the window as the blinking lights of the city rushed behind us. More road noise than conversation was going on, so Ranger snapped on the stereo for filler. It took me a while to notice it was a rap station. I cut my eyes to his. He glanced sideways at me, and I could see the indention in his right cheek. This elicited a little huff of amusement from me. He let out a hearty chuckle that transformed him from Superman to Clark Kent. I could hang with Clark.
We swept up the tree-lined hill and past the sleepy security check and slipped into a designated parking space, next to a Tesla and black Suburban that reminded me that he’d abducted me and my brother and then drove away in a similar getaway car. Ranger cut the engine and stared at me. I found I was able to meet his eye now, as there was no ice, just heat. But it only lasted a second before I began fumbling with the buckle on my seatbelt. At least I managed to unbuckle it. I looked up to find him still staring. I shook my head, wondering if Ranger was something I could handle. He was volatile. It’d be like working with plutonium—I’d need personal protective equipment to shield me from over-exposure. At least my alcohol goggles helped my eyes not burn when I looked directly at him. He seemed to be waiting for something from me.
I drew in a breath. “Thank you so much for takin’ me out for dinner. It was . . . really an interestin’ experience.”
He smirk-smiled, knowing I knew what was coming next. “Come on, country girl, I’ll walk you home.” He came around and got my door, and we traipsed back over the flagstone, slick with sprinkler dew. While we stamped along, our breath puffed out in clouds of frosty air. The sharp wind stung my face. It was beyond cold. I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned into the wind.
“Are you cold?” The first words he’d spoken since leaving the vehicle.
“I’m f-f-freezin’!” I dramatized with a vicious shiver.
“Doesn’t it get really cold in New Mexico?”
“Yeah, but I guess I dressed for it better there: thermal underwear, overalls, hats, gloves . . . the works.”
He looked sideways at me. “Thermal underwear, huh? I’ve never seen a girl in thermals before. Were they pink?”
I laughed. “No, just plain white.”
“Even better. I’ll have to buy you a pair, but only if you promise to model them for me. I’ve seen girls in lots of things, but thermals is one I’ve missed.”
I laughed again, and he joined me as we approached my building. The glass doors slid open smoothly, and we stepped into the comfort of the foyer, lush with plants and cushy seat options. The contrast in temperature tingled my cheeks (along with the topic of conversation). We automatically modulated our voices as we tapped through the hall that led to my room. Framed pictures of austere former commanders lined the walls, eyeing us as we passed. Rumors abounded about the black-bearded Commander Rutherford Shafer, deceased since 1969, who would haunt any cadets out past midnight. It reminded me of my father’s rule about the witching hour: Nothing good happens past it. After passing Commander Rutherford Shafer’s portrait, two more doors down, and we arrived at my door. A weird sensation ran up my spine. We turned to face one another.
“Um, thanks again for takin’ me out,” I said conventionally. “I, uh, really had a lot of fun.” Did I? I wasn’t so sure now that it was over. The quiet night and dark hallway were a stark contrast to the loud revelry of the New Year’s Eve party and the benign setting of a table for two, in a crowded restaurant. Way different vibe, and I was way nervous. My stomach clenched.
Did I want this?
Ranger smiled down at me. “You look like I’m about to eat you.”
I laughed out loud, then clapped a hand over my mouth. After a beat of silence, I whispered, “I’m sorry . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Usually, this is the part where the girl invites me in.”
“Right.” I squirmed under the bold statement and all that it meant. He was waiting with the same smirk-smile that caused my skin to turn pink in places other than my face. I bet if I tried to seduce him tonight, I’d succeed. Our rocky history was still fresh in my mind. Did he really think he could smooth it over with a couple of weeks of good behavior? He saved your life , flashed as neon as the eyes staring down on me. He was very good-looking. And very intimidating. I noticed yet another difference between him and Pete—Ranger liked to keep it that way.
I fumbled the code on the door panel a couple of times before he intervened, punching in the code and pushing the door open for me. “After you.”
I stepped in and immediately picked up a couple of stray articles of clothing, needing to keep my hands busy. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it over my desk chair, then reached over to turn on the desk lamp. Then helped himself to my PAC to punch in some more numbers. I noted he didn’t even have to ask for my code to fire it up. The roving eye of the camera suddenly stopped and drooped downward like a dead flower. I just stood there and watched it all go on. He eyed me hovering by the door.
“Are you going to keep your coat on all night?”
Was there an impatient edge there?
With shaking fingers, I removed my coat and, needing some space, walked it straight into the closet and hung it up. I returned from my unnecessary chore and perched on my bed like I might need to bolt any second. While he waited for me, Ranger checked his phone. While I waited for him to check his phone, I wrapped my arms around myself.
He set his phone on my desk and looked over at me. “Are you still cold?”
Was that a leading question? Like, well, if so then let me warm you up, baby.
I nodded stiffly. He picked up the remote and dialed up the heat. Warm air immediately blew in, and I shivered a little. He regarded me, a watchful look on his face I couldn’t or wouldn’t decipher. Instead, I rolled my eyes around my nearly bare room as if seeing it for the first time. His solid frame sank down next to me, no invitation attached. A warming hand ran down my arm. Human touch is a powerful thing. I found myself relaxing into it, wondering what it would feel like beneath the silky material of my dress.
He squeezed me to him. “You’re so quiet all of a sudden.”
I let myself lean into him and smiled a little ruefully.
He turned to face me and ran his thumb across my jaw line. “We won’t do anything tonight you don’t want to do.”
My stomach swirled, and my heartbeat picked up. That statement could be interpreted a couple of different ways. I took it to mean we were going to do stuff tonight. My busy stomach fell into a lurch. I managed a little head nod to indicate that I’d registered what he said. It felt like I was jumping into the deep end with a shark again. I wished I could’ve waded around in the kiddy pool with Stew-baby for a while to get my feet wet.
Without further ado, Ranger went for it. Bending his block head, thereby blocking the light, he fastened his lips on mine. His lips lingered sweetly before parting my lips in a more sensual kiss. I knew his scent well by now, yet he still seemed more foreign than familiar. He was an appealing blend of sensation: hard-bodied with a soft touch, and a manly smell that appealed to my X-chromosome at a primal level.
The kiss was . . . well, very nice. I would’ve enjoyed it a lot actually, if I was able to turn off my mind. From Pete—still at the forefront. From Reese and Savannah and Lizzie and all the girls who’d been there, done that. All of them, plus the unmentionable one I pushed back to the farthest recesses of my brain. They were all there, atop of my twin bed, staring at us.
I broke off. “God.” I growled and rubbed at my face with my hands. “I’m sorry Ranger. I-I’m still a little messed up.” That was an understatement.
“Listen.” He pried my hands from my face, “If you let that piece-of-shit mess with you, then he wins. You can’t let that happen.”
I nodded and swallowed a lump. I was actually thinking mostly of Pete, but it was a good excuse for my hesitation. He couldn’t get mad at that. Right? I drew in a deep, calming breath. His face softened. He hugged me to him. I let him. It felt good—being held tight by a strong, capable man like Ranger. He’d saved me that night. My feelings softened towards him. I buried my face in his chest while he rubbed at my back. My body loosened into his. After a few moments of kneading the tension from my back, he lifted my face back up to his, ready to get back to business. I paused to read his intentions. He palmed my face before fastening his lips to mine again. He began kissing me like he was hungry for something dinner hadn’t provided. It wasn’t a mouth assault, but it was still pretty aggressive. The kind of kiss that says this is going somewhere. Somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. My eyes flicked open in shock. He very deliberately thumbed my eyes closed, before proceeding to slow his roll. This kiss was more sensual than urgent. A growl from his throat. A humming agreement from mine. Not the pyrotechnics that Pete and I shared, but something more than a sparkler was igniting.
I hadn’t made out since that painful night with Pete, a significant amount of time for a nineteen-year-old. I felt bonded to Ranger in a way that someone is when they’ve gone through something traumatic together. We had a history, Ranger and I. A longer one than Pete and I’s. But not a stronger one.
His hot hand roamed north from my waist to cup my breast. Like an automatic combat maneuver, my hand flew up to block his. It’s just—it felt weird having my mentor’s hand on my boob.
He stopped kissing me. “First base?” He chuckled. “I haven’t stopped at first base since . . .” He looked up as though searching for a long-ago memory.
“Well, since I don’t even kiss on the first date, I’d consider myself lucky then.”
I thought he would smile at that. Maybe joke back, but his face hardened. “I’m going to tell you some harsh facts that you’re going to have to deal with.”
My heart froze in my chest. I leaned away from him.
“I’ve been protecting you for a long time. But I can’t cover for you forever . . . Weston still wants you for Missions.”
My face blanched. “B-but I’m no good. I messed up. Horribly. Got myself captured. Almost got Reese captured, got Savannah captured, you . . . everybody was put into danger because of me.” I started quaking in my boots. “I don’t think connin’ and murderin’ are really my fortes. I don’t think I can do it, Ranger! Please ! Can’t you do somethin’?” I pleaded.
Ranger shook his head. “I’m sorry. We’re a chain of command operation. Weston has laid down the law.” He withdrew his serious gaze from me to study the shadows outside our window. “There’s nothing I can do about it. You’re to head back to Missions right after you finish CAP this spring. Weston feels that’s ample time for you to recover physically and mentally from your injuries.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. He turned back to me to rub a sympathetic thumb over my cheek, smearing a salt drop to my ear.
“Maybe if I talk to Weston myself?” I suggested.
He shook his head while running his hand from my hair to my shoulder and down the length of my arm. “You’ll never get an audience. There’s a committee—Dr. Patel, Davies, me—you’d have to go through first.” He pulled my head to his shoulder and caressed my back. “So far, I’ve been outvoted. Even if you could convince them . . . which I doubt, because your gifts have proven immensely useful, Weston still has veto power.”
I sat up to stare at his face, horrified I would be going back into something I never want to do in the first place. His hands circled my waist, drawing me back to him. He leaned in and kissed me again. I had that bunny-in-the-jaws-of-a-wolf-feeling. What’s he doing? This was my life we were talking about. I broke off the kiss.
“Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this?” I sputtered. “I-I don’t think I can go through that again, Ranger.” My voice broke.
This seemed to rouse him from his hypnotic focus on my trembling lips. He eyed me with that flash of something up his sleeve. “There is one thing.” He lifted his lips mischievously.
“Tell me . . . I’ll do anything .” Reckless words, to be sure.
“Marry me.”
“ What ?” I scanned his face. He was serious. I wondered how long he’d been cooking this up in his head.
He smiled winningly at me. “I could make you my wife. As a wife of an officer, you’d be exempt from chain-of-command protocol that governs cadets.”
My eyes shot wide. “Would Weston sanction it?” I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the idea, but there it was—a lifeline to hold on to.
“Technically, it’s in the rule book, dating back to the Fifties, the last era when Academy law was written. Back then The Academy still adhered to the traditional customs of the times. Nobody but brass really does this anymore, so the rule is over-looked. But it’s never been changed, so I think it could still work. Then you and I and Mikey could move into one of the cottages. Be a family.” He punctuated with a peck to my lips.
I let it all sink in while he cradled me in his arms. Finally, I found my voice. “You would do that for me?”
He nodded his head. “I want to make up for all the shitty things I’ve done. I could give you protection from Missions. You and Mikey could live a more normal life. A real family, that’s what we’d be.”
I was stunned into silence, picturing this in my mind. I’d always imagined it with Pete. Now here I was, once again, realigning my paradigm to match Ranger’s.
He cradled my face in his capable hands. “Whatd’ya say, Katie-Kat?” He bent his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Marry me?”
A chill, or a thrill (I wasn’t sure which) ran down my spine. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him ardently. This man was saving my life—again. I was only grateful. A law that protected me from the laws of The Academy. Sounded like the best deal I’d get here. He pulled me into his lap, so that I felt his urgent need. I sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back to stare into his eyes. “W-would this be a real marriage? Or just protection for me and Mikey?”
Ranger broke into a lusty smile, hitching me into his groin. He blew a hot breath into the valley between my breasts and growled. “I’m trying to do the right thing, but I’m no saint.” Saying that, he pulled my head to his and began passionately kissing me. Moving things along quickly, he laid me out on the bed, kissing my mouth, my neck, my exposed throat. His hands roamed to the knotted tie at my waist. My hands trembled to where his were making short work undoing the neat work he’d done earlier.
He paused to search my face. “Still waiting for marriage, Connelly?”
I shrugged and fluttered my hand up to finger his jaw. “In my old life I was . . . I guess that’s impossible now.” My voice got a little thick at the end.
He stared into my shimmery eyes. “What if I said I could make the impossible possible?” he said, breaking down my barriers. “If you can get past our rocky beginning and end your one-sided love affair with Davenport, then I suppose I can let you wait until it’s official.”
I nodded and swallowed down the words before the lie could give me away—I’d never be over him.
Ranger let out a sigh before growling again. “Then you’d better run away, while I head off to a cold shower on a cold night.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I hopped up, pulling my dress down. I needed the space to ponder this most eventful night.
Ranger hesitated in the doorway. “But I won’t have to wait long . . . the wedding will take place right after your graduation from CAP this June.” Then, with his signature smirk, my—fiancé?!—sauntered out the door.