Page 44 of Silver Elite

Damn it.

The door buzzes at our arrival. He’s expecting us. Hadley gestures at the open doorway and grunts something before turning on his heel.

“So sorry to inconvenience you,” I call after his retreating form.

His shoulders stiffen, but he keeps marching.

I enter an office so enormous you could fit several smaller offices inside it. The ceiling is a snakelike expanse of pipework. A commanding desk takes up one side of the room, while a long conference table surrounded by black padded chairs takes up the other. Maps and paperwork are strewn on the table, and I resist the urge to walk over and snoop.

Of course, there isn’t a single window. It’s all artificial lighting, lending the space a forbidding atmosphere.

I find Captain Cross leaning against his desk. He’s in all-black, his short sleeves revealing the swirl of ink on his arms.

“What does the base have against windows?” I ask him.

He folds his arms on his chest. “What do you have against rules?”

“I find them limiting.”

He sighs and picks up a tablet. Then he starts to read. “ ‘Recruit 56 found in compromising position with Recruit 42. Sharing the same bed.’ ” He brings his gaze back to me, a cynical glint in it. “Man of few words, that Hadley. You care to fill in the details?”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to sleep on the floor.”

“It’s one to a bed in the bunks.”

“There weren’t enough beds.” I give him a knowing look. “Oh no. I failed your little test.”

He watches me, unimpressed.

“I gave up my bed for another recruit. I’m the bleeding heart.” I tip my head in defiance. “Aren’t you going to cut me?”

“No.”

“But I broke the rules.”

“You did,” he agrees.

There’s something very aggravating about his face. It’s just so…symmetrical. And that dimple is always on the brink of appearing, as if hewantsto smile but can’t quite let it happen.

“I heard the bleeding heart gets cut,” I say through my rising frustration.

“Usually. But I’ll make an exception for you, Dove.” He sets his tablet on the desktop, drawing my gaze to his defined biceps and golden, tattooed flesh. “With that said, it hasn’t been twenty-four hours and you’ve already been written up. This doesn’t bode well.”

“You should cut me,” I say hopefully.

“No.” The dimple threatens to appear again.

I grit my teeth. “Does it get you off, the idea of forcing women to do things they don’t want to do?”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in what gets me off.”

I recoil. “I’m not.”

His gaze locks with mine. “Are you sure?”

“Fucking positive.”

“That’s a shame. I’d be happy to satisfy your curiosity.”

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