Protecting Remington

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

Remington

Tonight is my last night in the United States for a while. Tomorrow, I’m heading out on assignment with Danny Hennessy and have no idea how long I’ll be gone.

Danny’s a respected investigative journalist. A damn good one. Like a dog with a bone, once he’s on the trail of a story, he doesn’t let it go until he ferrets out every detail, fact, and guilty party. But that often means digging up the secrets of people who don’t want their dirty laundry exposed.

Since he’s currently chasing a story about human traffickers, chances are we’ll end up in at least one dangerous region of the world.

That’s nothing new for me. For the past eleven years, I’ve crisscrossed the globe, traveling to some of the most impoverished, war-torn, crime-ridden countries on the planet.

I’ve never been good at making friends, at least not lasting ones. It’s impossible when you’re always on the move, constantly traveling from one country to another with no real chance to keep in touch or socialize. When you’re not around, people drift away.

Which is why I’m out with Danny tonight instead of with friends. Although, after working several assignments together, I suppose Danny could be considered a friend.

While I live here in Coronado, Danny’s home base is in New York. So his editor is putting us up in a fancy hotel for the night.

I live close enough to stay at home if I wanted, but Danny insisted I take advantage of his substantial expense account. And who am I to argue with a fancy suite in a five-star hotel? Especially when our future accommodations could be dicey.

Because I’m familiar with the area, I suggested we go to McQueen’s. It’s a hot spot near the Navy base, unique for having both a popular sports bar and a trendy Michelin-starred restaurant. And, as luck would have it, it’s right across the street from our hotel.

Danny and I feasted on a delectable dinner, and about an hour ago, we relocated to the bar.

“So, are you ready to take off tomorrow?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, sure. All packed and ready to go.”

“This one’s probably going to be dangerous,” he tells me seriously. “It’s not too late to pull out.”

“Don’t worry about me, Danny. It’s nothing I haven’t done a thousand times before. What about you? Are you ready?”

He grins at me. “There’s nothing I hate more than human traffickers. I’m itching to get into the field and start this investigation. I can’t wait to expose these sick fucks.”

Danny knocks back the last of his drink and slides off his barstool. “I’m going to head back to the hotel and get some shut eye.” He raps his knuckles against the bar top a couple of times. “I’ll see you in the morning, RJ.”

“Sleep well,” I respond, watching him stroll away.

Once Danny’s gone, I swivel my barstool to face the bar while I finish my drink when I overhear the man on the stool next to mine. I can’t help eavesdropping when I catch the tail end of his conversation.

“…Oh yeah, Take It Off is my favorite Taylor Swift song.”

I’m glad I hadn’t just taken a drink, or I might’ve choked, or worse, spit it out all over the bar. I dip my chin, risking a covert, sideways glance at the man who seems completely clueless about pop culture.

He has his back to me, but I can see the girl he’s chatting up. She’s young and blonde, and if she’s over twenty-five, then I am Taylor Swift.

The girl shakes her head and dramatically rolls her condescending eyes, then spins on her heel and sashays away without a word.

I can’t hold back a chuckle. I duck my head and cover my mouth with my hand, trying to stifle it, while his inaccurate lyrics to Taylor’s popular song roll through my head. But he must’ve heard me, because out of the corner of my eye, I can see he’s looking my way.

I face him and wave my hand, momentarily caught off guard by the most mesmerizing blue-green eyes I’ve ever seen. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but that was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. It’s Shake It Off, by the way,” I barely get the words out before I start laughing again.

He cocks his head, his brow furrows, and an adorable expression of confusion takes over his face. “It’s not Take It Off? Are you sure?”

My laughter renews, and I nod my head. “Pretty sure.”

“Well, no wonder she stared at me like I was an alien from some far-off planet.”

“I want you to know, I’m going to re-tell this story…a lot.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “Damn, I feel old.”

Crap. Now I feel bad for laughing at him.

“You’re not old,” I try to reassure him. “I know I’m a complete stranger, and it’s none of my business, but can I make a suggestion?”

He gives me his consent with a slight tilt of his head. “Please.”

“Maybe try a woman with a little more mileage. One closer to your own age, whose cultural references you understand, so you can be yourself.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to kick myself, thinking I’ve overstepped. If this guy wants to chase girls who are barely legal, who am I to judge?

Instead of getting angry, he asks me seriously, “You think that would work?”

“Based on what I just witnessed, it can’t get much worse.” I smile at him. “For instance, it’s clear you’re not a Swiftie. What kind of music do you actually like?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tips his beer back and takes a long swig. A move I recognize as a stall tactic.

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” I prompt.

“You’ll think I’m weird.”

Interesting.

“Are you in love with showtunes?”

He smiles at me. “No.”

“Addicted to yodeling?”

Caught off guard, he chuckles and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Can’t get enough Mongolian throat singing?”

There’s that adorable frown again. Okay, maybe adorable isn’t the right word for this man. Devastating is much more appropriate.

“I don’t even know what the hell that is.”

“Okay. So how bad could it be? Be brave, fess up. What’ve you got to lose?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Classic rock,” he finally admits with a flustered sigh.

“Why would I think you’re weird for liking classic rock?” I scoff. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing a Queen shirt.”

His eyes rake over me in a way that makes my skin tingle. “I noticed.” The way he says those two words in his husky voice may have singed my panties. “But that’s different.”

It’s my turn to frown. “Why?”

“It’s Queen.”

I smile and bob my head. “You know, somehow, that makes sense to me. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I like all kinds of music, but there’s something special about classic rock.”

That perks him up. “Are you just saying that?”

“No. 80’s rock, Motown…that’s music you can belt out when you’re driving.”

“Exactly! There’s nothing better than cranking up the music and rockin’ out in the car.”

He studies me for several long seconds. The intensity of his blue-green gaze is unexpected and electrifying. A long, breathless moment passes between us. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Why the hell not?

“Sure.”

While he gets the bartender’s attention, I take the opportunity to study him. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved emerald green Henley. The way the material stretches and hugs his broad chest and muscular arms is enticing as hell.

His shoulder-length, dark blonde hair has lighter streaks from time spent in the sun. He has a strong jaw covered with sexy scruff that’s darker than his blondish hair. And of course, those eyes, framed by long dark lashes, are more hypnotic and unique than they have any right to be.

And as if he wasn’t already perfect enough, he smells exactly how a man should smell. Earthy. Musky. Sexy.

The man’s an enigma. He’s got a laid-back, hey-there-baby exterior, but beneath it, he pulses with restrained power.

A magnetic masculinity surrounds him, but it’s tempered by a boyish charm I find appealing and irresistible.

I’d have to be dead not to notice how good-looking he is.

And based on my body’s instantaneous and potent reaction to him, I’m definitely alive.

I have goals and ambitions for my life. A romantic relationship with a man has never been part of those plans. But life is short, and a night of hot sex with the most stunning man I’ve ever met could certainly be added to my agenda.

I have the attraction, now it’s a matter of finding out if we have chemistry. Although with this particular man, I’m not sure that’s a deal breaker since I find myself drawn to him like a magnet.

After ordering our drinks, he smiles and sticks his hand out. “I’m Colton.”

He’s movie-star gorgeous when he smiles like that.

When I shake his offered hand, an unexpected electrical pulse zips up my arm. “Remington.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“I’m an only child, and my dad was hoping for a son. It’s awful, I know.”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “It’s unique…like you.”

After the bartender swaps out our drinks and leaves us alone again, I grin at him. “See? You’re not as bad at this as you thought.”

His smile grows and we clink our bottlenecks together.

He swivels his barstool to face me. I mimic the move, putting us facing each other knee-to-knee.

“Should we get the obligatory questions out of the way?” he asks.

Everything else he’s got going, and he has a sense of humor. I like it. I like him.

“Seems like a good place to start,” I reply with a grin.

“Are you married?”

I shake my head. “No. You?”

“No. Boyfriend?”

“No.” One side of my mouth tips up. “You?”

“Nope. No girlfriend either. Kids?”

I like that he’s secure enough not to be offended that I asked if he was gay, even if it was in a roundabout way.

I shake my head. “No. No kids.”

“Me either. Where did you grow up?”

“Here, in California. You?”

“Virginia Beach.”

“With a name like Colton, I was expecting you to be from Texas or maybe Oklahoma.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to say so I can’t make that promise, but I’ll try.”

“My mom is a huge fan of romance novels. She read a cowboy western book when she was pregnant and named me after the hero.”

I can’t help my big smile. “No way.”

He nods and holds up his right hand as if swearing an oath. “It’s true. It could’ve been worse though. My younger sister’s name is Nancy Drew. First name Nancy, middle name Drew. But we call her Drew.”

At first, I’m stunned, thinking he’s pulling my leg. When I realize he’s serious, I start to giggle. “Oh, that’s not right.”

“My sister doesn’t think so either.” He rests his arm on the bar, casual and relaxed. “Now that we’ve established neither of us is attached, what’s your story, Remington?”

“My story, huh? Well, Colton, I’m a photographer.”

“Really? Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who made their living as a photographer. That’s awesome.”

“Yep. I’m here commemorating my last night in town. I’m leaving for a job in the morning.”

“What kind of photographer are you?”

“I’m freelance. I pretty much do whatever the job requires. What about you? What do you do?”

He hesitates for half a beat like he’s considering what or how much to tell me. “I’m in the Navy.”

Coronado is a tourist town. But it’s also home to a Naval Air Station and the training center for Navy SEALs and Special Warfare Combatant-Craft Crewmen. Most of the residents are connected to the Navy in one way or another.

“In this town, that’s not a shock.”

Because of his hesitation and his shoulder-length hair, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to the story. He might be something other than regular Navy, which would make him a SEAL. I’m curious, but I don’t pry. If he doesn’t want to share, that’s his business.

“So, out of all the things you’ve photographed, what’s your favorite?”

My brows furrow as I consider the question. “I’m not sure I can choose a favorite, but I’m really proud of a picture I recently took of a bee.”

“A bee?” he repeats, genuinely confused.

My shoulders rise and fall with my shrug.

“Like the insect?” he clarifies.

“Uh-huh. A close-up of a honeybee in flight.”

If he thinks I’m out of my mind, he doesn’t let it show. “Why that one?”

“Because of how difficult it was to capture an extreme close-up of a single, tiny bee in flight.” It was an impossible shot that took me most of the day to capture.

“How did you get into photography?”

It’s a common question I’ve been asked many times before, so I give him my standard answer.

“I took a class for fun when I was sixteen. Something about it just clicked. I started seeing the world differently. Paying attention to the play of light and shadows. I noticed things I hadn’t noticed before.

I can’t take all the credit. I had a great teacher.

What about you? What made you go into the Navy? ”

“I come from a Navy family. Signed up right out of high school. Guess it’s in my blood, I never considered doing anything else.”

The conversation flows easily between us. We talk about music, movies, food, and books. But we both avoid the topic of travel. Interesting.