Page 3

TWO

REIGN

Elizabeth swallows hard and looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes.

“W-what makes you think there’s a real story?”

The question comes out breathless, and there’s something vulnerable underneath it that makes my chest tighten. She’s fidgeting with her cocktail napkin, tearing little pieces off the edge, and I have the sudden urge to reach over and still her hands.

“Call it instinct,” I reply. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

The way she’s looking at me right now, those green eyes wide and uncertain, makes something primal stir in my gut.

I’ve been trying to keep my attraction in check since I walked over here, but it’s getting harder by the second.

From the moment I spotted Elizabeth across the bar, something in me went on high alert.

Not the kind of alert that comes from years of military training.

This was something else entirely. Something that made my blood run hotter, and my focus narrow to a single point.

Her.

I’d been listening to Marcus go on about married life when my eyes locked with hers from across the bar. And in that moment, I felt the entire world tilt beneath my feet.

“You’re right, I do have a lot on my mind,” she admits quietly. Then she catches herself, and her cheeks flush pink. “I mean... I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” I lean forward slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with being honest.”

She bites her bottom lip, looking down at her hands. “I don’t normally talk to strangers about personal things.”

“I’m not exactly a stranger anymore. You bought me champagne, remember?”

That earns me a small smile, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

“My friends bought you champagne. I just went along with it.”

“But you looked right at me when your server pointed us out.”

Her blush deepens. “Was I that obvious?”

“Only to me.” I study her face. “And I’m glad you were.”

She looks up at that, surprise flickering across her features. “You are?”

“Absolutely. Otherwise, I’d still be sitting over there wondering what it would be like to talk to the most beautiful woman in this place.”

The compliment makes her duck her head, but she’s smiling now. “You’re very smooth.”

“I’m being honest.” I pause, watching her fidget with her napkin again. “Your friends seem to be enjoying themselves.” I nod toward the dance floor where the two women she was sitting with are laughing and moving to the music.

She smiles, and for the first time, it reaches her eyes. “They’re making the most of our last night together.”

“Why aren’t you out there with them?”

“Dancing isn’t really my thing.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Besides, someone had to guard the drinks.”

I find myself wanting to hear that laugh again. “So, what is your thing, if not dancing?”

She considers the question seriously. “I like painting. I just graduated with my Master’s Degree in Art History with a minor in Studio Art.”

“Art, huh? Impressive. So I’m guessing you paint pretty often?”

“I used to. I mean, I still do, but just for fun now.” She looks wistful. “I always dreamed of having my own studio someday. You know, a real space where I could just create without worrying about making a mess.”

Something tightens in my chest at the longing in her voice. I file that information away.

She studies me over the rim of her glass. “What about you? How do you spend your time?”

“Security consulting,” I say, the standard answer I give to civilians. “My partner and I run our own firm.”

“The partner who just got married?”

I nod. “Marcus. We served together, started the business when we got out.”

“Marines?” she guesses.

“That obvious?”

“The haircut gives you away.” Her eyes linger on my face. “That, and the way you walked over here earlier. Very efficient.”

I chuckle. “I’ve never been good at walking away from trouble.”

She giggles, and the sound hits me straight in the chest. “Am I trouble?”

“I think you might be the best kind.”

Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us.

I’ve been with beautiful women before, but I’ve never felt this immediate connection.

It’s like there’s something about her that calls to me on a level that bypasses rational thought.

I want to know what put that sadness behind her smile.

I want to know how she tastes, how she sounds when she comes, how her body would feel under mine.

Suddenly, I hear a commotion behind me.

I turn around just in time to see Marcus carrying Lainey over his shoulder, both of them laughing as he heads for the exit.

Elizabeth giggles. “Looks like the bride and groom are calling it a night.”

“Can’t blame them.” I finish my whiskey, setting the glass down deliberately. “So, Elizabeth who doesn’t like dancing but loves art, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

She bites her lower lip. “Not too much. I’ll probably go check on my friends soon.”

“You could,” I agree. “Or you could stay here and talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About why a beautiful woman is spending her last night of freedom looking like she’s heading to her execution instead of celebrating.”

She flinches slightly, confirming my suspicion that there’s more to her “moving home” story than she’s letting on.

“That’s a bit personal for someone I just met.”

“True.” I lean in slightly. “But sometimes it’s easier to tell the truth to a stranger. No history, no judgment. Just two people being honest in a moment that won’t matter tomorrow.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out behind those dark eyes. Finally, she takes another sip of her gin and tonic and leans back.

“You’re right. Tomorrow won’t matter.” There’s something hollow in the way she says it. “So what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” The word comes out rougher than I intend. “But let’s start simple. What makes you happy?”

A genuine smile touches her lips. “That’s simple?”

“Simpler than whatever’s got you looking like the world’s ending tomorrow.”

“Fair point.” She thinks for a moment. “Hmm, things that make me happy…Rainy Sunday mornings with nowhere to be. The smell of oil paint. That moment when you’re working on a piece and everything just clicks.” She pauses. “Bad reality TV.”

I laugh. “Bad reality TV?”

“The worse, the better.” She’s grinning now, and it transforms her whole face. “Give me a marathon of Mountain Makeovers, and I’m set for the weekend.”

“ Mountain Makeovers ?”

“Don’t judge me.” She points a finger at me, but she’s laughing. “It’s my guilty pleasure. There’s something oddly satisfying about watching city people try to renovate cabins they have no business buying.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m not judging. I may have seen an episode or two myself.”

“Liar. Nobody watches just one or two episodes. That show is designed to trap you.”

She’s right. Marcus got me hooked on it last year during a particularly boring stakeout. We’d burned through two seasons before the job was done.

“Fine,” I admit. “I’ve seen every episode. Twice.”

Elizabeth giggles. “I knew it! Nobody can resist the siren call of watching rich idiots try to install their own plumbing.”

Her eyes are sparkling now, all traces of that earlier sadness gone. She looks younger, lighter, like whatever weight she’s been carrying has temporarily lifted. And Christ, she’s beautiful when she’s happy like this.

“Season three, episode seven,” I say, testing her. “The couple from Manhattan who?—”

“Bought the cabin in Montana and tried to DIY a hot tub on the deck!” She finishes, practically bouncing in her seat. “And the whole thing collapsed!”

“Taking half the deck with it,” I add, grinning at her enthusiasm.

“The way she screamed when it happened.” Elizabeth does a perfect imitation of the woman’s shriek, then immediately covers her mouth, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, that was loud.”

“Don’t be sorry, Princess.” My eyes lock with hers. “That was perfect.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” she says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Here I am, supposed to be having some elegant last night out, and instead I’m debating the merits of shiplap with a stranger in a bar.”

“Disappointed?”

“No.” She meets my eyes, and the laughter fades into something else. Something that makes my chest tight. “This is...this is exactly what I needed tonight.”

The air between us shifts. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time, and I’m looking at her like I’ve been looking at her all night.

Like I want to devour her.

“Elizabeth,” I say, her fake name feeling strange on my tongue.

“That’s not my name,” she admits quietly. “But you already knew that.”

“I figured.” I lean forward, close enough to catch her scent again. “Want to tell me your real one?”

She shakes her head. “I like being Elizabeth tonight. Is that okay?”

I reach for her hand, letting my fingers brush hers. “We can be whoever we want tonight.”

She turns her hand palm up, letting our fingers intertwine. Her touch sends electricity shooting up my arm.

“I should go,” she whispers, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Should you?”

“My friends?—”

“Are fine.” I stroke my thumb across her knuckles. “Stay.”

Fuck.

She’s young. Too young for me, probably. Early twenties if I had to guess, while I’m staring down the barrel of forty-five. But the way she looks at me—those eyes tracking every movement, lingering on my mouth, my hands—tells me she doesn’t give a damn about the years between us.

Acting on pure instinct, I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers.

It’s brief, but it hits me like a fucking thunderbolt. She tastes like gin and something sweeter, something uniquely her, and I know immediately that one taste will never be enough. When I pull back, her eyes are wide, and her lips are slightly parted in surprise.

She swallows hard, and I can see her pulse racing at the base of her throat. “That was...unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

“Good,” she whispers. “Definitely good.”