Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 8
12
Juliana
I stared at myself in the mirror, fingering my smooth hair. My blonde hair. I hadn’t seen myself with my natural hair color since leaving the Army.
But I didn’t really mind it. I still felt most comfortable in purple or pink hair, a flash of color to mirror my own internal rebellion, but I didn’t look bad as a blonde. It was like putting on a comfortable old jacket. And it was what needed to be done for the mission.
I would do anything to track down the man who killed my father. Dyeing my hair? That was easy.
I used to have dreams about killing Blanco. Ridiculous fantasies where I gathered my weapons and supplies, dropped into the jungle like goddamn Rambo, and killed everyone in my way until I reached him.
I’d given up on those dreams years ago. But now I had a chance to make them a reality.
I was eager for it. I was hungry.
There came a knock on my bedroom door. I opened it to find Michael standing there in grey sweat pants and nothing else. They hung low on his hips, revealing the wonderful V lines trailing inward…
“Juliana,” he said. Fine wine being ordered from a menu again. “We have an itinerary. Be prepared to leave at 1300.”
It felt good hearing the military time system again. My eyes drifted down to the thick grey bulge in his sweatpants…
I smacked my forehead. “Oh shit! I just realized I don’t have my passport.”
“Donovan is arranging your identification,” he said simply. “We will go over the mission when we arrive. Get some sleep.”
Without another word he turned and walked away, disappearing into one of the bedrooms on the other end of the hall.
I closed the door. These guys were legit if they could get me a fake passport in a day’s notice. I wondered what the mission would entail. How we would hack into that Swiss accountant’s system. I imagined crawling through ventilation shafts like in Mission: Impossible, dropping down from the ceiling and accessing a computer while floating in the air so we didn’t trigger the floor alarms.
Life was rarely that exciting. But it was fun to imagine.
I opened my suitcase on the bed and began packing away my new clothes. I’d mostly bought the basics—underwear, two more bras, a pencil skirt and a variety of professional looking tops—but I also purchased a cream colored evening gown and matching heels. The guys had said to buy something like that, just in case. I wondered what occasion might call for it. A night at the Swiss opera?
Another knock on my door. This time it was Donovan standing there, arms crossed over a tight white t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. Like he was about to go to bed.
“Wanted to keep you up to speed,” he said. “We’ve got everything in place. You need to be ready—”
“By 1300 tomorrow?” I finished.
He squinted at me. “Michael told you?”
“That’s all he told me. What are we going to be doing once we get there? Are we taking a direct flight, or is there a layover? I’m the kind of girl who likes details.”
“You guys are transferring through Dulles. The flight to Zurich is an overnight, so you’ll land the following morning.”
I gave a start. “What do you mean you guys? You’re not going?”
“This one is just you and Michael.”
“Oh.”
“No need for all four of us to go. Would raise too many flags.”
“Makes sense.”
“There’s something else.” He pushed past me and sat on the bed. I closed the door and waited for him to find the words. He stared at the ground, not looking up at me.
“I wanted to apologize again for everything. I should have been straightforward with you at the convention. I can see why you were hurt when Gregor and Michael showed up in the hotel room.”
“I’m over it,” I lied.
“And I’m sorry if I…” He hung his head and scratched the back of his neck.
“Spit it out, Donatello.”
“I shouldn’t have slept with you.”
“What?”
“You were moving fast in the cab. I tried to hold off, to get you up to the room so I could give you the test and explain everything, but then you kissed me outside the room and I… I couldn’t help myself,” he admitted. “I had to have you. It was a fucked up thing to do, but I should have come clean about everything before we got physical.”
I clamped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. “You did a lot of stupid things yesterday, but fucking me wasn’t one of them. That was the best decision you made. Aside from hiring me, of course.”
His relief was obvious. “It’s weird being on the other side of it,” he said. “I’ve never been one to lead a woman on. Usually it’s the other way around.”
I scoffed. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re telling me there are women who reject you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I gestured up and down his body. “Because of all this.”
He looked down at himself. “I’ve lost some muscle mass since the Marines.”
I barked a laugh. “Now that has to be a joke.”
“I’m the youngest of three boys,” he said. “Both of my brothers are Navy SEALs. They make me look scrawny.”
I tried to imagine him any more muscular. All I came up with was a swollen balloon of a man in a camo uniform. “Honestly, if you were any bigger you would cease being hot.”
He finally looked up at me. “So you think I’m hot?”
“Fuck yeah I do. Did you not see me do this?” I gestured up and down his body again.
He smirked. “You probably had your pick of men when you were in the Army.”
“Because I was one of the only women?”
“Because you’re hot as fuck.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Hot is a relative term when you’re one of only three women on base.”
Donovan shook his head, maintaining intense eye contact. “You know what made me walk into that convention center room yesterday? I was just passing by when I caught a glimpse of you through the doors, walking around on stage talking about network security. You strode around with confidence, that curve to your hips and your tight grey pants practically painted onto your ass. Before that I was focused on recruiting a specific candidate for this job. Then I saw you. You totally distracted me. I don’t even remember going inside to watch your presentation. I was just there. Like my body had teleported, or I’d blacked out for 20 seconds. And then, when I realized you were a super competent hacker on top of all that, I put aside my attraction and checked your background.”
Having a rippling god of muscle compliment me like this turned my insides to jelly. He was sitting on my bed talking about how hot I was. It was enough to silence all the self doubts that had plagued me since I was a little girl.
“Anyway,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize before you left. We’ve got errands to run tomorrow so I might not see you in the morning.”
“And now what?” I asked nervously. “We screwed last night, but now that we have a professional relationship we can’t do anything more?”
I knew what he would say. That we couldn’t act on any feelings because we were working together. Any physical or emotional baggage would complicate what really mattered: going after Jose Gonzalo Blanco.
Donovan stood. He towered over me. “Jules, this isn’t the army,” he said in a voice full of promise. “We can do whatever we want.”
“And what’s that?”
He stalked toward me slowly, sliding a hand around my lower back. My skin tingled underneath my night shirt where he touched, tentative pressure that pulled me toward him. The tips of my breasts were hard against his chest, and I couldn’t help but remember what he looked like without a shirt on.
Donovan held me there, like he was trying to decide how I felt in his arms. God he was strong. I ran my fingertips along his bulging arms, feeling the ripples underneath the smooth skin.
His kiss was slow and sensual, but it went no further than that. “Get some sleep, Jules. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
He left without another word, closing the door behind him.
13
Juliana
Watching Donovan go was torturous. I wanted more than just a goodnight kiss. I wanted him to fuck me so hard I was sore the next morning. I wanted to tell him my deepest fantasy, to feel the hot warm splash of his love on my skin, to make him come again and again until sunlight brightened my window.
But I knew it was probably for the best. I didn’t want to seem too eager. And there was the question of what Gregor and Michael would think. Were there ground rules for this sort of thing? What happened when half of a mercenary team bumped uglies the night before a mission?
It would probably only complicate things. And complications were bad.
I rested my head against the pillow and settled for dreaming about him taking me again, and again, from every different position against every piece of furniture in the apartment. Picking me up and placing me on the marble kitchen counter and fucking me so hard the plates in the cabinet rattled. Soon I was spreading my legs in bed and touching myself, imagining Donovan’s warm seed dripping from the tip of his throbbing cock, and within minutes I was writhing and moaning by myself in the sheets.
I slept better than I’d slept in years.
The morning flew by as we made our preparations. Donovan and Gregor might not have been traveling with us to Switzerland but they had their own tasks to complete, so when Michael and I packed up the car to leave there was nobody in the apartment to bid us farewell.
That might have been a good thing because I wasn’t sure where things stood with Donovan. Would we have kissed goodbye? That might have been awkward in front of the other guys. For that matter, would he want Michael and Gregor to know we’d fucked? Would that ruin our squad dynamic? At best it would give Gregor ammunition to tease me some more. I didn’t want them to get the wrong impression of me.
What impression is that? There was no shame in what we’d done.
From the passenger seat of the 4Runner I pulled out my phone to send Donovan a text.
Me: Last night was nice, but the night before was better. Do it again some time?
Hopefully that was casual enough that I didn’t seem needy. Guys didn’t like a girl who was all over them once you had sex. I didn’t want to be that girl.
I wasn’t that girl.
Michael was stone-faced as he drove to the airport. “Are you always this serious?” I asked to break the silence.
He glanced at me, then back at the road. “We are departing for an intelligence gathering operation on another continent. If we misplay our hand, JGB will be tipped off that we are coming for him. What part of the situation merits levity?”
“Just trying to lighten the mood,” I muttered.
I pulled out my new passport. It looked totally legitimate even though we had just taken the photo last night. For the purposes of this trip I was Jessica Bayern, born March 10, 1989. That was older than my true age but I didn’t want to sound like I was complaining.
“Jessica Bayern,” I said. “Every Jessica I’ve ever known was a bitch.”
“It is too late to change it now,” Michael said casually.
“I was just making conversation.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Donovan: Me too! Definitely do it again some time
Donovan: Unless you guys get caught by drug dealers
Donovan: Do me a favor and don’t get caught
Me: Wait. So I’m not supposed to run toward Accola waving my hands and screaming about JGB?
Donovan: Maybe recruiting you was a mistake
Donovan: I wonder if it’s not too late to find a hacker that isn’t totally crazy
Me: Good luck with that. I’m one-of-a-kind.
Donovan: I’ll say :-)
I smiled to myself the rest of the way to the airport.
The first flight was comically quick. We had hardly been in the air long enough for the drink cart to go down the aisle when the pilot announced our descent into Dulles. The plane for the international flight was much larger. A Boeing 777 with 10 seats per row split by two aisles.
I squinted at the seat numbers while following Michael down the aisle. “The seats start at row eight,” I said. “I’m in row six. Where are our…”
I trailed off as I followed him through the First Class curtain. The seats up here were slanted in pods, with a foot rest and computer screen that could be swiveled around.
“We’re sitting up here?”
Michael put away his bag. “Why did you think we got to board in the first group?”
“I thought you paid for priority boarding or something. We didn’t sit First Class on the first flight!”
“There is no point for a one-hour trip. But for an eight-hour transatlantic flight…” He lowered himself into the seat and stretched out his long legs.
I was giddy as I examined my pod, which was across the aisle from Michael’s. There was shitloads of leg room, something a wide-hipped girl like me appreciated. The cushion felt more comfortable too.
“Would you like something to drink?” the flight attendant asked. “Champagne?”
“Oh my God, yes!” I yelped. She placed the glass into my waiting hands.
I giggled as I sipped the bubbly drink. Michael looked over at me, shook his head, then went back to closing his eyes.
Sitting in First Class on a transatlantic flight was like being at a five star resort. Dinner was chicken in savory gravy with asparagus and mashed potatoes, and it was better than any airline meal I’d ever had. Desert was a slice of cheesecake drizzled with a strawberry reduction sauce. We were given a little fabric bag of toiletries: tooth brush and toothpaste, mouthwash, eye shades and ear plugs. The flight attendant even came by to ask if I would like turndown service. She had me stand up, then she folded my seat out until it connected with the foot rest, creating a flat bed. I started to thank her but she wasn’t done: she had a white sheet to arrange over the seat like an actual bed, and an extra pillow for sleeping.
“Michael!” I whispered as they dimmed the lights in the cabin. “I’m having too much fun to sleep!”
He flashed me a thumbs-up without opening his eyes.
Despite what I said, I slept shockingly well. Before I knew it I was being shaken gently by the flight attendant. “Ma’am, would you like breakfast?”
Little pancakes and fruit, a glass of orange juice, and fresh coffee helped me wake up easily. A banquet all my own. I wondered how much this ticket had cost.
The thick cloud cover kept me from seeing any of the Alps as we landed in Zurich, but once we were below the cloud deck I caught a glimpse of a long, dark lake south of the city.
“Is that Lake Geneva?” I said out loud.
“No,” Michael said.
“You didn’t even look.”
“I do not need to,” he said, eyes still closed. “Lake Geneva is 300 kilometers to the south-west. That would be Lake Zurich.”
I turned back to the window. “I’m not good with geography.”
“Clearly.”
I didn’t let him sour my mood as I watched our plane circle and land. The flight attendants blocked the aisles so First Class could deplane and get to customs first. “I could get used to this,” I told Michael as we walked down the jet bridge.
“It’s the only way I fly,” he said.
Michael’s Israeli passport was almost the same shade of blue as an American one, but with a menorah etched in the center and “STATE OF ISRAEL” written in both English and Hebrew. I noticed something else as he handed it to the custom’s agent: he wore a white gold wedding ring. How had I not noticed that until now?
The thought was erased as I handed my passport to the customs agent and nervously smiled. She spent what felt like an unusually long amount of time examining my details and looking at me. But eventually she stamped it, stuck my declaration form inside, and handed it back to me.
“Welcome to the European Union,” she said in English.
I’d only been outside of America once—a business trip with Mr. Pendleton to Montreal—but based on the short drive into Zurich I decided it looked like any other city. Our hotel was down a wide boulevard used mostly for pedestrian traffic. The center of the street was paved for cars, but on either side of that were square cobblestones. The Widder Hotel was an unimpressive-looking building with a white exterior and blue shutters on all the windows.
“I thought it would be colder,” I said as the hotel porter took our bags.
Michael stared at me. “It is only October.”
“But Switzerland is known for the cold! And snow!”
“In the mountains, yes,” Michael said. “Zurich is not at a high elevation.”
“Donovan told me to pack warm,” I mumbled.
“It should be a beautiful day once the clouds leave!” the hotel porter said in almost perfect English.
Michael said something to him in French. The boy laughed and went inside. “What did you say to him?” I demanded.
“I told him you are an uncultured American to whom he should pay no mind.”
I laughed. “Then I’d better soak up some culture while we’re here. We have time to do some sightseeing?”
“We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Seriously? No wiggle room for fun?”
“We are here for a specific purpose. Not for leisure.”
“Geez. You don’t have to be such a party pooper.”
Our suite had two queen beds and a bathroom with an ancient claw-footed tub, although the rest of it was modern-looking. Michael pulled out a handheld device like an old Nokia cell phone and walked around the room.
“Looking for bugs?” I joked.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
When he was satisfied, he put the phone away and opened his suitcase. “We are meeting Accola at his office first. Dress professionally. We will be posing as potential customers opening a new high-interest savings account. Accola should tend to us personally. When we are done, you will excuse yourself to the bathroom and check their wireless network security for vulnerabilities.”
