Alpha Mountain: Warrior

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

KENNEDY

Four weeks earlier

She was in the shower.

Naked. Just a few feet away from me.

But I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about what she looked like unclothed. Dripping wet. That long hair unbound and streaming down her back.

Nope. Not at all. Living with Quincy was not a daily torture for me. Not in the slightest.

After the s**t show with Indi, or Indigo Buchanan, Ford’s girlfriend, being stalked and then kidnapped on top of a mountain by Tully, the psycho involved in her brother’s–and our SEAL team member’s–murder, we all agreed that a helicopter would come in handy.

I’d been all for it. Taft and Hayes had been in as well. Even Mrs. L had been eager for the alternate mode of transpo although a helicopter was a big step up.

Except I hadn’t thought about who would fly the bird.

Until it was too late. After we built a landing pad. After we built a hangar.

Because not only did the brand new chopper arrive, but so did the pilot.

Melissa Mason, aka Quincy.

The best damned pilot I knew in the Navy. She should’ve been a TopGun, but the barriers to female pilots were still too significant.

She was also the best damned lay I ever had.

Which posed really big f*****g problems. We weren’t in the Middle East any longer. We weren’t on gripping, hellish missions where a sweaty bout of s*x released all the excess adrenaline.

She’d avoided me like the plague while I sniffed around her for months when I saw her around missions. Then she finally gave in to what we both knew was between us, and it was beyond spectacular. It had been the heat of post-mission that made her cave–that s****l affirmation of life that was so damned necessary after coming close to dying. It probably stemmed from some deep biological survival instinct–reproduce before it was too late that ensured the survival of the species.

Whatever the reason, after that night, I wanted to survive just to get between those sweet thighs again.

Our chemistry had been off the charts.

Still was. And that was the issue.

Now we were out of the Navy, living in close quarters in Sparks, Montana. Population… less than what filled a major league ball stadium. Hell, half that. We’d worked together before but only in passing, and that sure as s**t hadn’t been long enough.

Her job had been to shuttle whomever and whatever. Wherever. That included SEAL teams in and out of tricky and dangerous situations. She’d done it with precision, focus and integrity. And full of threats.

Now the most dangerous situation the two of us faced was bumping into each other in the bunkhouse in the middle of the night. Me seeing her in skimpy sleep shorts and a tank top that did nothing to hide her perfect body, those lush t**s that were topped with pert n*****s I remembered licking and sucking on and went hard every time I was around.

I knew this because I couldn’t help but look.

Every f*****g time.

Which was all the time. Because this new team we were on was small. So far, besides Ford, it was me, Hayes, Taft, and now Quincy.

Which meant it was nearly f*****g impossible to keep from grabbing her from her bed and tossing her over my shoulder, carrying her back to my room and giving her round two. Or tossing her over my shoulder after she finished the obstacle course, her skin slick with sweat.

Yeah, I wanted to toss her over my shoulder 24/7.

Because she might be a badass in the pilot’s seat of a helicopter, but I wanted to be in charge when it came to her orgasms.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. She’d set a clear boundary after the first time we had s*x and reaffirmed it when she got here.

“Not. Happening,” were her exact words, each delivered with an index finger poke to my chest. “Find another hookup. I’m not your FWB.”

My forehead had scrunched up at that, and she had to explain, “Friend with benefits. Find someone else.”

I’d expected that stance to change once she realized how slim the pickings were around Sparks, but it hadn’t.

Yet. Besides, my d**k seemed to only want one woman. The one who didn’t want anything to do with me. Quincy.

“Dude, you having a stroke?”

I stirred and blinked at Taft, who’d come into the industrial kitchen in the bunk house. I had been Ford’s first hire, and we’d designed this space together. Eight bedrooms, each with its own full bath. A common family room and kitchen combo with a dining area that seated twelve.

Mrs. L, Ford’s grandmother, always cooked in her kitchen in the house, enjoying feeding us all. But at five in the morning when I got up–not something I could break after years in the service–no one expected her to have a full breakfast spread. She got up early but not this early.

I’d made the coffee and had been pouring a mugfull when I heard Quincy’s shower kick on. Which meant she was naked and wet and soapy.

And I was staring at the steaming brew without doing s**t.

I gave Taft my signature grin as he went to the mega-fridge and pulled out a carton of OJ. “Debating adding sugar or if I’m sweet enough.”

Who was I kidding? I liked sugar with everything.

He chugged directly from the carton, which had a sticky note on the side that had his name on it. Now that he’d just contaminated the whole thing, I didn’t need the reminder.

“It’s those lollipops.”

I didn’t reply because he was right. I had an oral fixation that was constant–and not only for Quincy’s p***y… f**k, I was mental–that I’d had since I was a teen.

I’d gotten into drinking and smoking in ninth grade. A rebellion against my parents’ stiff rules and proper etiquette required of a rich, social climbing DC family.

When I realized they weren’t going to change from the fake f***s they were, I had to. I’d stopped my self-destructive ways and enlisted. That got my ass in gear.

I heard the shower shut off, but Taft didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Which was good because I didn’t want to punch his face in for even thinking about Quincy as anything but a teammate and pilot.

Not that I was supposed to, either.

He set the carton back in the fridge, the door slapping shut behind him. “You coming? We got PT to push through.”

I gave him a middle finger salute, then worked my way through my coffee. “I’ll be there in ten.” Before Quincy came, I was always the first out the door in the mornings, but now I found myself lingering, unwilling to leave any building in which Quincy was naked.

I doubted Hayes was in his room. He usually spent his nights at his girl’s place in town. Megan was one of the sheriff’s deputies and had a sweet little house near the station. I didn’t blame him for wanting to stay there. There was no question they were hitting it hot and heavy and didn’t want an audience.

I was thrilled with that. No reason to listen to others getting off when I wasn’t getting any.

Leaning against the counter, I worked through my brew.

A few minutes later, Quincy’s door opened. She came out in a pair of leggings which did nothing to hide her toned legs. Or tight ass.

She stopped short at the sight of me.

“Morning,” I said.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she replied. She was braiding her hair into a long tail even though it was wet.

I arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Figured you’d be in the redhead’s bed.”

She was referring to the waitress who’d come onto me last night. We’d gone to dinner in town as a group for Indi’s birthday. While she was pretty and eager, I didn’t touch the woman, only flirted. Not that Quincy needed to know that. She didn’t want me, my s*x life, or lack thereof, and it was none of her business. Besides, the last thing I wanted her to know was that I was pining for her like a teenage boy with his first crush and first hard-on. It was better for her to think I wasn’t affected. “I don’t linger, sweets.”

She rolled her eyes at the name, one I started calling her after I got a taste of her that long ago afternoon.

“Not your sweets. And I’m all too familiar with your f**k ‘em and leave ‘em routine.”

A routine? Yeah, well… I was known as a player. A man w***e. Whatever.

The reputation meant I was safe from any woman wanting seconds.

That meant attachment, and I didn’t do strings. Except I wanted strings and seconds with her. But since she didn’t want it in return, I had my pride.

I only shrugged, which made her huff.

She turned and her long braid whipped over her shoulder.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want repeats,” I reminded.

She glared. “I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

“See you out there,” I called, gritting my teeth. She didn’t want me, that was fine. But I wasn’t going to have her think I was pining for her. Even though I f*****g was.

She bent down, her ass in the air for a brief moment, as she grabbed her flip flops which were on the shoe rack by the door. We all agreed the bunkhouse was a no-shoe zone.

“Nah. I’m headed with Mrs. L to yoga. We’re meeting the others for the class at six.”

The others were probably Indi and Megan. Maybe even Holly from the coffee shop. The ladies were tight, and I was glad for it.

The thought of Quincy doing yoga, bent over, ass in the air, made my c**k stir. It also made me think about how flexible she was and how much fun that could be.

Yeah, I was obsessed with her, which made me cranky. I didn’t obsess about any woman. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Except I couldn’t stop with her.

“Good thing I already had my workout with the redhead,” I lied.

She stilled at that, glared daggers over her shoulder before she left, slamming the door behind her.

Yeah, I was a d**k. While we never mentioned our little f**k-fest overseas, the air was constantly thick with tension about it.

I’d go back for seconds. Thirds. Hell, I was afraid I’d never get enough of her. And that was why I was pissed. And cranky. And a downright asshole to her.

Because the more she hated me ensured that I wouldn’t get her beneath me again. She’d felt too good. Too perfect. And that meant trouble.