Page 22 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Seven years ago

Damn, it was good to be home.

Adam literally felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he walked up the front walkway to Summer’s D.C. townhouse. His contract with the Army had been fulfilled and he was finally free to move on to something else. He’d miss the guys he served with but it was definitely time for him to switch gears, both professionally and personally.

He was moving forward with his life, and he wanted Summer at his side for the rest of it.

He’d been back from his final combat deployment for a few days already but had been busy tying up loose ends with paperwork and bank accounts, having his stuff moved up from Fort Bragg here to D.C. He already had an interview lined up for later in the week.

With his background, service record and letters of recommendation, he had a good shot at being accepted into the FBI. He wanted to make their Hostage Rescue Team one day.

He slid his key into the front lock, looking forward to what the night held. The time change, errands and Summer’s erratic work schedule meant they hadn’t seen each other much since he’d been back.

She’d been there to meet him at the airport, hair all done up, wearing one of her retro dresses and a blinding smile just for him. She’d lit up the moment she’d seen him, and raced straight for him, then blushed six kinds of red when Trevor had come up to hug her.

That picture of her waiting there to greet him would always be etched into his memory. He’d dropped his ruck and duffel, grabbed her and lifted her off the ground for a kiss filled with all the hunger and need that had built up during his absence. She’d been through the separation of three different combat deployments with him, but this latest reunion was the sweetest because they both knew it was the last.

The moment he stepped into the foyer, the smell of something awesome greeted him. Grilled meat and something sweet. Grinning, he set his backpack down in the foyer and called out jokingly, “Honey, I’m home.”

“Back here.”

He took off his shoes and headed for the kitchen. “Whatever you’re doing in here, it smells amazing.”

Summer looked up from behind the center island, where she stood putting the finishing touches on dinner, and smiled. She had on the frilly black-and-white vintage apron she’d bought with him at a market last year. “I made your favorite. Grilled steak Oscar with roasted asparagus and buttered mashed potatoes.”

His stomach growled and he almost groaned as his mouth watered. “I haven’t eaten anything close to that caliber in over nine months.”

She shot him a knowing grin. “I know. That’s why I wanted to spoil you a little.”

She did spoil him and he loved it. “Need a hand?”

“Yeah, you want to grab the wine?” She turned away to cross to the counter behind her and he stopped dead, his tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Jesus, she was wearing heels and that apron—

And nothing else.

He stared at the way the open back of the apron perfectly framed the pert little curves of her ass, those fuck-me red heels emphasizing every muscle in her bare legs.

She stopped at the counter to shoot a look at him over her shoulder, raised a red eyebrow. “Adam.”

Huh? He dragged his gaze up to her face.

Her lips twitched. “The wine.”

Fuck the wine.

He erased the distance between them in three strides and grasped her hips in his hands, pulling her back against him. “I want to bend you over right here and fuck you from behind until you scream my name,” he growled against the side of her neck, pausing to give her a little love bite in the sensitive spot he knew made her shiver.

Summer laughed softly and wriggled her ass against the hard line of his erection shoved against his zipper. “Maybe after dinner. I don’t want the fillets to get cold.” Then she reached up to cup the side of his face in one hand and turn her lips up to his. The kiss was slow and sexy, her tongue teasing his with the promise of what would happen once they finished eating.

With a low hum of appreciation, he let his hands wander over the curve of her hips to her waist, up to cup the round swells of her breasts. “I love this apron.” He’d never dreamed an apron could be this sexy.

Another laugh. “I knew you’d change your mind about it eventually.” She grabbed the blender from the counter and deftly poured what looked like hollandaise sauce over the steaks nestled on their beds of mashed potatoes, then added some crabmeat and the roasted asparagus on top.

“Oh my God, you’re the perfect woman,” he murmured, unable to hide his grin. He was so freaking lucky to have such a sexy, intelligent, driven and caring woman in his life. He hoped he made her even half as happy as she did him.

“Just as long as you realize that,” she teased, and handed him his plate. “Should we eat by the fire?”

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