Saving Simone: Florida Veterans, #3

1

Simone

Crossing and uncrossing my legs restlessly, I continue to sneak peeks at the man across the L-shaped bar. He keeps rubbing his hand over the little bit of light brown stubble on his jaw like he wishes it wasn’t there. I strolled in here about 20 minutes ago, slid up on a barstool and spotted him immediately. Definitely the kind of man every woman notices when he’s in the room. Something about him conveys quiet confidence, strength, and masculinity in its

purest

form

. 

I decided that I liked the view enough to stay for a little bit, so I ordered a Crawley on the rocks. The bartender looked at me like I was crazy, so I elaborated. Double shot of vodka—the good stuff—shot and a half of grenadine, two muddled limes and a slice of lime. The husband of a good friend of mine invented the drink and I can’t seem to drink anything else when I’m out now. When I was explaining the concoction to the bartender, I noticed the delicious man across the way paying close attention and I was hoping he would relocate closer—like to the only open barstool next to me—and strike up conversation, but he hasn’t. For a few minutes he fussed with his phone, texting maybe, and then he placed his phone face down on the bar and turned his attention to the Tampa Bay Rays baseball game playing on the large-screen television directly above the

bartender’s

head

. 

The bar is moderately crowded, with the majority of patrons being a bunch of salesman-type guys with rumpled button-down shirts and loosened ties drinking and getting loud. A few women are sprinkled throughout the place, looking at their phones as they nibble on some food or sip on drinks. But overall this is a normal hotel bar and grill, with art deco light fixtures and interesting but uncomfortable furniture.

While I’m savoring the taste of my Crawley, a guy approaches to my left, rests his elbows on the bar and turns to face me slightly. Drunk may not be the best way to describe this guy but he’s certainly crossing the line to one too many. He grins as he throws out a lame pickup line. You drinking alone?

No, I’m waiting for someone, I answer as I eye him cautiously. He’s clearly younger than I am by five or more years, handsome in a frat boy kind of way, but not my type. My ex-husband was just like this dude, which is an automatic turnoff. He turns slightly to the side, still leaning on one elbow but facing me all the way now as he waves his hand in the air to gain the bartender’s attention. 

Everything about this guy screams entitled and overconfident. Not like the man across the bar who looks like he works for a living, spends time in the gym and could make any bedroom into a pleasure palace just by stripping me down to nothing and using his mouth on me. I shake my head a little, trying to lose the image of the guy across the bar naked, and focus on the idiot in front

of

me

.  

When the bartender approaches, the dude glances at him and says, Get me a vodka tonic. No please or thank you. Just an order. Jerk. Can I join you? He doesn’t wait for my response as he perches on the stool next to me. I need a better resting bitch face to scare guys like this off before they even approach.

No, like I said, I’m actually expecting someone. I lie easily because I’m so disgusted by his rude, pushy demeanor. I have no one coming to meet me, but I don’t want to talk to this guy all night. My words don’t faze him. Great, a douchebag who doesn’t take no for an answer. I’m past the inebriated pretty boy idiot stage of my life, but I don’t want to draw unwanted attention by making a scene if I don’t

have

to

. 

To make matters worse, the sexy, stubble-faced gentleman across the bar stands up, pulls cash from his wallet and tosses it next to his bill on the bar, turns and strides toward the bathroom without a second look my way. Now I’m stuck here with this dork and no hope of meeting the other guy. That’s my luck in the man department. Never getting what I want, always offered second best. The difference now is that I no longer accept

second

best

. 

I slide off the side of my stool, adjust my sundress, and pull some bills from my wallet. The drunk, who was trying to ask me questions that I have no interest in answering, stops and stutters. "Wha, wha, what are ya doin’? I just

sat

down

."

He no sooner gets those words out of his mouth when his eyes widen and focus behind me on something above my head. At the same time, I feel a large, warm hand skim my waist and pull me in tight against a very tall,

hard

body

. 

Hey, Pumpkin. Sorry I’m late. You ready to go to the room? a warm, manly voice purrs.

My brain short-circuits a little at the feel of masculine warmth behind me and I turn around so I’m face to face with the hot guy from across the bar. Inside I do a serious happy dance. He’s saving me! It’s no damsel in distress up in a castle tower scenario, but he’s keeping me from having to deal with the drunk dude, and he’s

super

-

hot

!

Then, to really twist my brain, the hot guy’s hand moves up to my neck and threads into my hair. The next thing I know, his soft yet strong lips have covered mine and his tongue is sliding into my mouth. The slightly bitter tang of beer that he must have been drinking mixes with my sweeter drink and I finally respond and engage fully in the kiss. It’s crazy, kissing a stranger. I mean, hell, I don’t even know his name, but when a man can kiss like he does, it apparently doesn’t matter. My body is complete putty in his hands right now. In this moment, my entire world is focused on the way his lips and tongue guide mine along on what I can only describe as an amazing journey of a kiss. It goes on for what seems like ten minutes, but is probably only a minute or two, before he finally pulls away. It takes me a second to blink my eyes open and recover from the lust-filled haze he induced. I…I... I can’t quite form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. 

Hey, man! the idiot behind me protests. I was talking to her first.

Never taking his eyes from mine, he responds, But she was mine already. Sorry about your luck, buddy. Like something out of a dream, the man places his lips against mine once more, softly and briefly this time. Hell, both kisses were so perfect I don’t think I could even give them justice in one of my novels. Again, he’s rendered me speechless. 

I continue to stare at him and an amused half-grin tips his lips. Come on, Pumpkin. Time to go back to the room. Oddly, I don’t argue with this stranger who guides me with a simple grip on my waist out the door of the bar and across the lobby to the elevators. What the hell just happened?

When we get in the elevator, he presses the button for the sixth floor and I turn to face him to ask what’s going on, but he kisses me again. When he pulls back, I finally find my voice and ask, "What’s

going

on

?"

"That’s up to you. You can come to my room, I can go to yours, or I can say goodnight right here and send you on

your

way

."

"How did you know I wasn’t with

that

guy

?"

I could hear the conversation. I also noticed you watching me from the time you strolled into the bar. Besides, he was a drunken amateur. He didn’t have a chance with you. The doors open on the elevator and he leads me out. This isn’t my floor, I tell him, still a little kiss-drunk and bewildered by the turn of events. 

"No,

it’s

mine

."

Oh, is all I can think to say. We stop and he waits patiently with a hand on my hip. My eyes search his face, trying to decide if I’m in some kind of bizarre dream. Seems like that’s the case since nothing like this has ever happened to me before. In fact, I’ve never even had a one-night stand before or met a man who is so fabulous he gets my motor running in every way possible.

Tired of experiencing my fantasies only in the books I write, I pull out courage I didn’t know I had and respond, "Let me send my friend a text so someone knows where I am, and then, yes, I’ll go to

your

room

."

A cat-that-ate-the-canary smile spreads across his ruggedly handsome face and I melt a little more inside, despite the little pack of hummingbirds that have taken up residence in my belly.

2

Thomas

The Rays game and a cold beer are the only things that drew me to that bar. I was considering turning in for the night since I have an early start planned for tomorrow, but then she walked in. All the oxygen disappeared from the room in an instant. This beauty was a little taller than average with cinnamon-colored, wavy, above-the-shoulders hair, a lean, slender figure and a confidence that intrigued me. But there was something else...something soft about her. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was a hidden tenderness most might not see at first glance. I, however, am a pro at reading people, a characteristic that served me well in my Army career and will hopefully do the

same

now

.

My first instinct was to join her across the bar and see if my first impressions were accurate but something made me play it cool and wait. Listening to her order her drink, I found that she had a slight rasp to her voice, a sensual one, not like a woman who smoked two packs a day, but one you want to hear moan your name in the dark. Her drink order was unique, like her. The smile she flashed the bartender when she took her first sip and realized he got her drink right was breathtaking. You could tell the bartender wasn’t immune to her charm and he likely melted a bit when she

thanked

him

. 

Waiting to join her ended up working well for me because some idiot from a table by the entrance made his approach and as soon as I saw her reaction to him, I knew what my play would be. If he stuck around for a little bit—like I figured he would—he would make this easy for me. And he did. Her agitation grew the more he

settled

in

.

Claiming a woman as if she were my own in the middle of that bar was risky, but I had to make a bold move to capture her attention and possibly keep it. My play worked and now I’m leading her into my room. When I gave her the choice a minute ago to say goodnight or join me, I wasn’t sure what she was going to choose. She was fidgeting slightly and chewing on the inside of her lip a little as she contemplated. When she chose to join me, I wanted to jump up and let out a holler, but realized that would make me look like an idiot and she would change her mind, so I played

it

cool

.

I slide the key card over the little panel and watch for the green light. Once it flashes, I open the door, step inside and reach my hand out for her without a word. I want to give her one more chance to back out. Her slight hesitation tells me that she doesn’t do this often, if ever, while her eyes indicate her excitement about what’s coming.

Did you text your friend? Tell her room 1421? I ask to make sure she knows she’s safe

with

me

. 

I’ll text her the room number now, she says as she pauses close to me, and I release the door to close on a thud. After a quick slide of her fingers over the keyboard she turns her phone off and shoves it in her purse. Not wanting things to get to an awkward place, I take her face in my hands and gently kiss her. Her mouth opens immediately and her tongue glides out to meet mine while her hands grip my wrists as if to say don’t move an inch. I tilt my head a little more to delve deeper and am rewarded with a soft purr that I swallow. She releases my wrists