Page 12 of Delta (Alpha #12)

His gaze rakes over me, lingering blatantly on my cleavage—which, if I'm honest, feels nice.

I don't have the biggest boobs in the world.

They're not mosquito bites, but they're not Rin's monster knockers, either.

So to have a hotter-than-sin bad boy like this guy checking out my rack? It just feels good.

"Be a real shame if a perfect pair like yours froze off," he says. "So then, we best find a shop, hadn’t we?"

A taxi sidles past right then, and he flags it down. He speaks to the driver in rapid, excellent, Cockney-accented German.

"A perfect pair," I mutter, half to myself. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"What, has someone told you otherwise?" he asks.

I shrug. "Not explicitly, no. I just know when it comes to men and boobs, bigger is better, and mine aren't exactly tipping the scales."

"See, love, that's where you're wrong. Are there men out there who have a fetish for women with beach balls stapled to their chest?

Sure. And that's all good and well, live and let live, says I—like what you like and I'll do the same.

" He lets his gaze linger on my chest again, a smirk curving his lips when my nipples harden under his scrutiny.

"But most of the blokes I know feel as I do. "

"Which is?"

"A tit is a tit, no matter how small, and I love them all."

I frown. "But you used the word 'perfect.'"

"I did, yes. And I meant it. Because if I had a gun to my head and was told to say what I consider the perfect pair of tits, I'd say yours."

"I'm going to require an elaboration. Because I'm not sure I believe you."

"You're just fishing for compliments, now."

I gasp in mock outrage. "How dare you! I thought we had something, Rush. And then you go and point out the truth like a heartless jerk.”

"Had me in the first half," he says, chuckling. "You really want me to explain? Or is this where playful banter gets my head done in when I take it too far?"

"Speaking from experience, are you?" I ask, laughing.

"Let's just say that, speaking from personal experience, I'd rather walk into a firefight unarmed than deal with a woman I've pissed off with jokes about her body."

"I don't know where to start with that statement, Rush."

“Don't start, then?" He laughs.

"I mean, you can't say something like that and then expect me not to ask questions."

He sighs. "Such as?"

"You've been in a firefight unarmed?"

"Oh yeah. That was a fun one."

I just stare at him expectantly.

"Fuck. Fine. Story time, is it?" He rubs his jaw. "My first tour in Afghanistan. Me and my unit were supposed to be working with one of your Yank SEAL teams to take out an H-V-T in the mountains."

"Sorry, sorry, but I have to ask. You weren't regular army, were you?"

He grins. "Nah, love. S-A-S."

"Figures. The way you dropped those four, yeah, I pegged you as an operator."

His gaze sharpens on mine. "Familiar, are you?"

"Let's just say yes, I'm familiar. You might say it's sort of a…family business."

"Shoulda known when you didn't go into hysterics."

"Hysterics are for later. I'm saving it. Right now, I need to be Badass Bryn."

"That's the spirit, innit?" He grins at me.

"I've got questions, but we can get to them later.

So, yeah. We had a hell of a hike into the mountains.

Supposed to rendezvous with the Yanks at a specific location and time.

Remember, this was my first deployment. I'd been in the military for a few years by then, but I hadn’t seen combat yet.

I got pulled into the S-A-S, trained up, assigned to a unit, and shipped out.

Very first mission, we're totally fuckin' lost. Those mountains are no fuckin' joke, and that ain’t a word of a lie.

Brutal place, that is. Top of the world, can't breathe for shit, everything looks the same.

You're always cold. Fuckin' miserable. Nothin' to eat but tinned rations.

Might be T-M-I, but it's important to the story—I was all clogged up.

Know what I mean? Pipes were plugged. So, I was off on my own, fightin' for my life.

Cliff edge was a few feet away. I mean, one wrong move and I'm taking a thousand-foot tumble. "

"I can't imagine that helps you relax your bowels," I say.

"Nah, not exactly. I'd set my rifle aside so I could balance. I was halfway to success, if you know what I mean. Had a loaf half-pinched off."

I make a disgusted face. "Yes, Rush, I knew what you meant. I was good with the euphemism. Don't need the details."

He just chuckles. "Well, of course, that's when the enemy decided to ambush us.

Heard the gunfire start up, heard my mates shouting and what all, tryin' to find cover and figure out where the tangos were.

Bullets were whipping over my head, and my mates were yelling for me, so I, y'know, shook off the halfsie and ran for my mates. Forgot my fuckin' rifle."

I can't help but laugh. "No! That's, like, rule number one. You never, ever, let your rifle out of your sight."

"I know, believe me. When I got to where my mates were taking cover, I got reamed out, and I mean all the fuckin' way.

My C-O damn near killed me himself for that stunt.

And of course, by the time I realized I'd forgotten it, we were taking fire too heavy to go back for it.

So I had to plink at the bastards with my sidearm. I never did live that one down."

"You made it out okay, though, obviously."

“Yeah. The Yanks showed up and helped us sort the fuckers out proper-like. Our target'd done a runner by then, though, so it was all for nothing."

"And the whole jokes about a woman's body?"

He glares at me. "She asked if the dress she was wearing gave her a fat arse."

I snicker. "Oh, shit. You said something idiotic, didn't you?"

"I said no, the dress don’t give you a fat arse because you already have a fat arse."

I splutter a laugh, covering my face with my hands. "And you live to tell about it?"

He turns his head to show me his left cheek, pointing at a thin scar on his left cheekbone. "Backhanded me and left me this with her ring."

"Ring?" I ask, eyebrow arched.

He rolls his eyes. "Not a wedding ring, no." He looks away, though, which seems to be hiding a guilty conscience.

I gape at him, mouth open. "You fucked a married woman!"

He rolls a shoulder, not looking at me. "She made the choice, didn't she? I wasn't married. Her marriage was her business."

"That's a bullshit excuse. If you knew she was married and you still fucked her, you're part of the problem, Rush."

He sighs. "In hindsight, it may have been an error in judgment, yes."

"Why? Because you got caught?" I ask, my tone droll and openly judgmental.

"I did get caught, yes. Not with the fat-arse girl, but someone else.” He gives me a flat, annoyed, side-eye stare. "No, I'm not tellin' you the story of that one. Wasn't my finest hour and it fucked my life up but permanent-like. Not somethin' I care to relive."

I shrug. "Alright, then. That's fair."

He pauses, eying me as if waiting. "What? That's it?"

"I don't play head games, Rush. If I want answers, you'll know. If you tell me you're not talking about it, I accept it, if only because you've afforded me that same consideration."

He nods. After a moment, he grins at me. "We got sidetracked, and I'd like to get back to discussing my favorite topic."

I blink at him. "What?"

"Tits. Specifically yours."

"I thought we'd covered that already," I say.

"You said you required elaboration on why I think yours are perfect." He meets my eyes, and then pointedly takes a nice, long gander at my chest again. "Still interested in that elaboration?"

I roll my eyes. "This feels like a setup to get me to show you my boobs."

“Is it workin'?" That stupid, fucking smirk.

"Nope."

"Shame. We can still talk about 'em though, can't we?"

I laugh. "I'm good."

Truth be told, I'd like to hear what he has to say.

But I don't want to come off insecure or needy.

I'm not insecure about my boobs, I swear.

I mean, sure, when your BFF, who's basically your sister, has the biggest, most perfectly tear-drop shaped natural melons I've ever seen and I'm sporting these cute little grapefruits, yeah, there might be a bit of inferiority complex happening. Or maybe just a little jealousy.

Zero, when I confessed this to him during pillow talk one night, offered to buy me, and I quote, 'an upgrade.

' Yeah, guess who slept on the couch that night?

Was it a bit of an overly-sensitive reaction to an offer coming from a place of love?

Yes. But I maintain that saying he'd get me implants would be an upgrade was insensitive.

He admitted it the next day and apologized, and we never discussed it again.

Because I don't want implants. Most of the time.

When Rush looks at me the way he does, with that lecherous little smirk, telling me my boobs are perfect? Yeah, that feels nice.

"You're thinkin' about it, aren't you?" Rush asks, and I realize he's been watching me carefully this whole time.

"Stop staring at me. It's creepy."

"Remember what I said? Art is meant to be appreciated. What's the point in you being so fuckin' stunnin' if I can't have a look at you?"

I roll my eyes at him, but my cheeks feel warm, and I can't bring myself to look at him. "You and the charm."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing. I'm just callin' it like I see it."

At that moment, the driver pulls into the parking lot of a department store, right as an employee unlocks the doors.