Page 15 of A Shot in the Dark (Fated Mates Collection | Triple Threat #1)

“So. What’s the lady hungry for?” He rolls out of bed, naked and utterly unashamed as he heads for his phone.

Of course, he has nothing to be ashamed of with those muscles and that tremendously bitable ass…

“I’ll order delivery,” he offers. “What the fuck town are we in again?” he mutters as, completely focused on his phone, he turns to face me.

His brow furrows, catching me staring at him.

“What?” He glances down. “Never seen a man not saluting you?” he jokes.

I swallow hard, coming up onto my knees on the bed. “Your scars…”

His expression shifts, his jaw sets. “They’re scars. Just part of my past.”

“They go straight through…”

“Oh.” He glances down long enough at the set of three to give them a quick scratch. “Yeah. Got lucky with that.”

“That’s… lucky ?”

“Oddly enough?” His gaze flicks up to catch my own. “Yeah.” He shrugs. “So. Breakfast? Brunch? Which is the right one for—” His eyes widen, having never left mine. “Nine-thirty-eight in the morning?”

The red numbers on the alarm clock facing me shift, reading 09:38. “You?—”

“—have a keen sense of time and timing,” he remarks. “Don’t question—it’s been used to your advantage,” he guarantees with a grin. “Excellent orienteering skills, too. I can find any point on a map in the real world without hesitancy. It’s as easy as finding that lovely little clit of yours.”

I laugh. “You should teach classes. The number of men who never successfully…” The words dry up in my throat at the look he gives me.

It’s a level, cool, nearly warning look. “Been a few, have there, princess?”

“A few, yes.” I lift a single shoulder and drop it. “More than a few.”

He nods, taking it in. “It’s okay. Part of what made you who you are now.

Like these.” He drums his fingers on his scars.

“Just part of the past making me who I am in the present. Only impacting my future if I allow it.” He glances back down at his phone and I watch his finger slide across its face as he scrolls. “Any of those few you need me to kill?”

“W-what?”

He looks up, his eyes catching mine. “Kidding.” He glances back down at the phone. “Unless you’d rather that not be kidding…”

We decide on breakfast, Boots calling our order in and reporting “the lady will have” when he places my part of the order.

It’s strange—he opens doors for me, pulls chairs out for me, calls me princess, and refers to me as “the lady.” Yet that deliciously dirty mouth of his also calls me unbearable, wanton, his more-than-willing whore, but the reverence with which he utters each phrase is like he’s announcing the arrival of a queen, and it only stokes the fire in me, bringing me to climax even faster.

“It’s all about the delivery,” he confides once, and I wonder if he means his work, his words, his sexual methodology, or all of it—because Boots definitely delivers.

I clean the knuckles on the hand he plowed into Fireplug’s face, suggesting, “It doesn’t look too bad…”

“One of the perks of being me.”

Seated across from him at the room’s tiny table, I watch him wolf down more food than I’ve ever seen a man eat in a single sitting. “How do you not explode?” I marvel.

“Hollow leg.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll work it all back off of me soon enough. Actually…” He tilts his head, looking at me thoughtfully. “Your schedule’s changed.”

“Has it…?”

“Definitely. By now you would have clawed your way across me at least another two times.” He squints at me. “How do you feel?”

“Nice. Cozy, but calm.”

“Not ready to go roaming in search of random dick?”

I nearly choke. “No. God. I was really that bad, wasn’t I?”

“The worst,” he volunteers, throwing a piece of sausage at me.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.”

I return fire, launching tiny cubes of perfectly grilled potatoes at him and we demolish the rest of our meals in grand melee fashion before collapsing onto the floor in laughter.

This is a Boots I’ve never seen before, a soldier finally at ease.

I like it. I know I’m not supposed to—it’s all temporary. He’s just my driver. Delivering me to safety. But there’s something here, something about him that’s gotten firmly under my skin.

I’m still sitting on the scuzziest floor in the universe, leaning back against Boots when I mention “You twitch in your sleep,” in the most normal way I can.

“You snore.”

“I do not .”

“Do, too.” He laughs. “It’s this weird, high-pitched noise… It’s not natural. Not right.”

I smack at his arm then wind it around me.

“Guess you have to have one flaw, though,” he says into the top of my head.

I turn to nibble at his jaw. “You talk in your sleep, too.”

His eyes flash, catching and holding mine. Worry sparkles within them. “Can you make out any words?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sounds reassured. “The twitching, the talking? The nightmares? They happen with people who’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

My fingers stroke the back of his hand. “You can tell me about it.”

“No, precious.” He lifts my hand to pet along the side of his stubbly jaw. “I most certainly cannot.”

A sigh escapes me. “I like that: precious.” I regain control of my hand and take his, running my fingers along each of his.

He shifts beneath me. “Don’t do that unless you want to head right back to bed…”

As tempting as the offer is, I stop. “You growl,” I add as lightly as I can.

Every muscle in him goes rigid. “That’s…not great. Maybe the bond’s lowered my defenses.”

“Can it do that?”

“I don’t know everything it does. My kind… We don’t get to know much about things that are normally outside our established duties. I’ve never tested the bond before.”

“Oh.”

He sweeps my “oh” away like it’s nothing. “It’s taught as a last-ditch method of protecting someone.”

“It’s not a special forces thing then, is it?”

He barks out a laugh. “Most definitely not.”

“What is it then?”

“Magic.”

“Tsk,” I scold. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m—”

I stand and he joins me. “Your phone’s ringing.”

He casts it a sidelong glance. His lip curls in a snarl when he sees the caller ID. “ Fucker ,” he mutters, hitting Decline Call.

“Tell me about it.”

His eyes narrow obstinately. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Niiice.” I stand up, throw out the trash and announce “I’m taking a shower.”

He grunts and glares at his phone again.

I shouldn’t push—I’m not answering any of the calls or texts coming to me either. Part of it’s because I’m following Officer Newbuck’s instructions, and part because my mind is focused on other things.

Like Boots.

Besides, almost all of my messages are from Laryssa and what would I even say to her?

“Hey, girl, I’m on this crazy roadtrip with this stranger I’m fucking who won’t even tell me his name, but he’s so hot sometimes I forget! Hope you’re gettin’ some! Kisses!”

“Hey, slut, sorry I haven’t gotten back to you for a while—been losing my mind between the sheets and everywhere else to the winner of the Red Flag Award… Hope you’re having fun! Kisses!

“Hey, bitch, no I haven’t seen the new projected colors for fall fashion—too busy banging things out with a sexy chauffeur who may or may not kill me. At least he’s ‘grown used to me’—yes, like an old pair of shoes! Sexy! Kisses!”

I have no words for her—not yet. I can barely explain my situation to myself.

It’s as I’m standing in front of the mostly steam-covered mirror, wrapped in a towel after my shower’s concluded, that he appears in the reflection, startling me. “I didn’t hear you come in. Hey! What are you wearing?”

“Clothes,” he grumbles, looking down at the flannel and khakis. “I went out to the car—my suits… I needed a change.”

“It’s just…so different.”

“Do you like it? Nevermind.” He sounds angry with himself. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I do,” I respond anyway. “But…flannel and khakis?”

“I don’t always wear a suit.” He glances away a moment. “I can be quite…normal,” he insists. “Used to drive a truck.”

My heart pounds faster at even this little bit of information he’s providing. “Like a tractor trailer or…?”

“Not a tractor trailer. Don’t like the way they handle. Had a beast of a pickup.” He shrugs.

“I like that.”

“Had a dog, too.” His gaze flicks to mine and he arches one beautiful eyebrow at me.

“What was your dog’s name?”

“Spot.”

“I knew a dog named Spot once.”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

“True. I used to have a horse,” I return. “Nutter Butter. ”

“I ride. Well, I did.” There’s a note of regret in his voice that’s unmistakable. “Played around at rodeo. Briefly.”

It takes all of my self-control not to visualize him on the back of a bucking bronco. It’s surprising the mirror hasn’t filled with fresh steam from the heat rolling out of my imagination.

“No more truck?”

“No more truck, no more dog. I’m a bit like a country song, I guess,” he remarks wistfully.

“Sounds like a sad one—so much loss…”

“Mmhm,” he murmurs. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, lifting my towel-dried hair up off my neck to inspect his earlier handiwork. “ Shit .” He lowers my hair gently. “Sorry… I was…” His volume drops to a bare and breathy whisper. “Shit. I kinda lost my head there for a moment.”

I snort. “Oh, I knew exactly where your head was the whole time,” I tease.

His lips curl. “You dirty little vixen…” he growls, eyes glowing as he presses tight to me, herding me out of the bathroom and backwards until the backs of my legs brush the bed.

“I’m okay right now. You don’t have to…”

He grabs the top of the towel and opens it, looking me up and down appreciatively.

“Maybe not everything’s always about you,” he says, throwing me onto the bed and mauling me like I’m raw meat and he’s a ravenous beast. The way he lavishes every inch of me with such relentless and worshipful attention, I know he’s wrong.

It’s all always about me.