Page 56 of Chief-of-Security

I shake my head. “Nope. When I found out Kim was pregnant, I knew I’d have to enlist in something in order to support us.” My cheeks go pink when I remember how I acted back then. So desperate to be a “real man,” I’d done the most obvious thing I could think of. “But I was trying not to get stationed overseas, so I joined the Coast Guard.”

Liam pulls Emma into the kitchen, their low voices carrying toward us. How do I explain the mess in there?

“Did you like it?” Sophie’s question interrupts my thoughts.

“Like what?”

“The Coast Guard.”

“Oh, yeah. It was good, except I didn’t factor in that the US has a lot of coast that isn’t in Oregon. Kim made it very clear that she didn’t need me to take care of her as long as I was there for Liam. After a two-year stint in Guam, I decided it wasn’t for me, and I chose not to reenlist.” I shrug. I don’t tell people my story often because there’s not a lot to tell. I did it. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t horrible. I appreciate everything I learned while enlisted, but it wasn’t a calling so much as a means to an end.

“Hmm.” Sophie has an appraising look in her eye. “So—”

“Mom, Julian is not going to answer your million questions just so you can write a military romance. We need to go.” Emma walks between us, catching Sophie around the shoulders and pulling her toward the door. “Bye, Mr. Lockwood.”

I stop Liam with a hand before he can follow them out the door. “Everything okay?”

He smirks. “Yup. I would ask you the same question, but it looks like everything is just fine here.” He takes off out the door and down the hallway before I can do more than growl and swat at him. “Bye, Dad! See you Monday!” he calls back before I ease it shut.

As quietly as I can, I sneak back to my room to check on Frankie. She looks like she’s still asleep, her orange hair the only thing visible above the blankets. Did she really sleep through all that? “Frankie?” I whisper, perching on the edge of the bed.

She doesn’t respond, so I twitch back the blanket. She’s a picture of peacefulness—eyes closed, lashes resting against her cheekbones, mouth slightly open, the faint sound of her breathing not loud enough to be considered a snore, but still audible.

I’m insanely jealous. I don’t know if I’ve ever slept that deeply in my life. Studying her for a moment, I let images of what we did last night float through my mind.

Instead of waking her, I head to the kitchen to make some coffee. It’s not her fancy stuff, but it gets the job done. While the coffee is brewing, I debate with myself. Do I stay out here and give her space? Her question last night—if this was a friends with benefits arrangement—doesn’t sit right in my gut. Part of me wants nothing more than to crawl back under the covers with her. But another part of me is worried that I’ll scare her, that she’ll run away from me the same way she ran from Derek last night.

She’s Frankie. My Frankie. The little ball of nerves and sass who’s wormed her way into my life. I don’t want her to run from me.

So, instead of going back for a round of morning sex, another one of my favorites, I settle on the couch with my book and coffee.

An hour later, there’s a muffled thump from the other room. “Good morning, sleepy-head,” I call, putting my book down on the couch beside me. Pushing to my feet, I make my way to the bedroom, leaning against the doorway with my second cup of coffee in hand.

“Okay, that is just not fair.” Frankie is sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over the side. She looks me up and down before scrunching her face and speaking again. “Seriously. How are you”—she waves a hand up and down—“How do you make sweatpants look that good?”

She plucks at the T-shirt I gave her last night, and my dick twitches. Seeing Frankie sleepy-eyed and in my shirt does something to me. A prehistoric chant of “mine, mine, mine, mine” starts at the back of my mind, the pulse of it stiffening my cock with each beat.

“You sleep okay?” I ask, resisting the urge to toss my mug aside and dive face-first into the pussy I know is bare under that shirt.

Instead of answering, she pushes to her feet and crosses to me, plucking the mug from my unresisting hand and taking a deep swig. “Ugh! That is disgusting! How can you drink that?” Tongue working to rid herself of the taste, she pushes the mug back into my hands.

“It’s coffee.”

“That is not coffee. That is an abomination masquerading as coffee.” A full-body shiver runs through her. Slipping past me, she makes her way to the kitchen. When I catch up, she’s standing in front of my off-brand single-use coffee maker in dismay. She turns to me with the saddest expression on her face. “Please tell me this is a joke. This is what you drink? What? How? Who hurt you, Bullwinkle?”

Laughing, I cross the few steps left between us. “Rocky, I never knew the difference between a French or breakfast roast until I met you.” I set my mug down on the counter and pull her against me, her back pressed to my chest, giving in to my need to touch her. She’s so adorable, berating me for my low-brow coffee habit, that I can’t resist any longer. “I’m still not sure I do, to be honest. Coffee is coffee. The blacker the better, right?”

Leaning down, I hesitate for a moment before skimming my lips down the side of her neck, one arm holding her tight against me. Lifting her hair with the other, I kiss along the back of her neck. “Julian…” Her sigh is breathy and still a little sleepy, and I want to make her do it again. Making my way back across her neck, I use my thumb to tilt her head a little, giving me more access.

I kiss my way down the side of her neck until I get to the delicious spot where her shoulder and neck meet. Without a conscious choice to do it, I bite down on it, satisfaction curling in my gut when her knees wobble. She sighs my name again, one hand lifting lazily to stroke the side of my body.

My hips rock against hers, my cock stiffening when she presses back against me. “I could get used to seeing you in my shirt.” I slide my hand down her stomach, praying she wants this as much as I do. Maybe last night was a fluke. A reaction to Derek scaring her. Maybe she only came to me for safety, not because she truly wants me.

She wouldn’t be the first woman to use me that way. But this is the first time the idea bothers me.

Still kissing along her neck and jaw, I hesitate. My fingers brush the hem of her shirt but don’t pull it out of the way. We stay like that for a long moment, my lips exploring the soft skin behind her ear until she sets her hand on top of my own and guides it past the fabric and to the damp patch of curls hiding beneath it. “Touch me.”

Two words are all I need to slide my fingers between her slick folds and get to business. I’ve barely worked her before she’s bracing one arm against the counter, her back arched and pussy soaked. I’ve got two fingers inside her and my thumb circling her clit when a loud, rattling buzz comes from the living room.

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