I leaned up on one arm and looked down at the clothes I was still wearing. Huh, maybe we hadn’t then. I really fucking wanted to.
“Sorry about that. We can make up for it now if you like?”
Yeah, that could have come out better. Fucking word vomit.
“Astonishing as this may seem, Sebastian,” she said in a voice that could have frozen helium, “your charming offer doesn’t thrill me.”
Shit. Fucking bitch was always on my case. Hell, she’d invited me into her room. I think.
“Whatever.”
I started to get up, but realized I only had socks on my feet.
“Where are my boots?”
“Under the chair,” she said, pointing. “Along with your jacket.”
Ah hell, morning wood, just to add to the overall sense of joy. I don’t suppose she’d let me … nah, no point thinking about it.
Then she said, “Why did you come here last night, Sebastian?”
The look on her face was so sad, my heart crashed. Her eyes were hurt and confused, and all the words I wanted to say to her just dried on my tongue.
Christ, just let me get the fuck out of here. If she says one more word, just one, I’ll be down on my fucking knees begging her to take me back. I wouldn’t survive her leaving me twice.
I shrugged, pretending indifference. “I don’t remember.”
I turned around and looked at her—confusion and anger were all etched into her expression.
“See you around, Caro,” I said.
When I closed her door behind me, shutting out her image, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I still needed her.
And she hated my fucking guts.
I stood outside her hotel taking deep breaths, trying to slow the pounding in my heart, wincing at the pounding in my head. The artificial smile I’d given her had long since slipped from my face.
I was tempted to find a bar and get shit-faced, but goddamn it, no! I was a fucking US Marine—first into battle, last out, and I was not giving up. I needed a plan.
I also needed some sleep that wasn’t alcohol induced. And I smelled like shit.
Walking slowly, thinking hard, I made my way back to my apartment. I had to convince Caro to give me another chance. And I might not have much time: she could be shipping out any day now that her course was finished. The first thing I had to do was fuck with her travel docs. If I could stop her from leaving Geneva for a week, I’d have time to work on her.
All that took was a single phone call—there were times when having connections with Military Intelligence was useful.
Now I needed to get her to meet with me. I could be fucking charming when I wanted to. Although I wasn’t sure that was going to work with Caro—she knew me too well. Or she used to. Shit, I wasn’t even sure I was the same person anymore. In fact I was pretty certain that I wasn’t.
I wasn’t vain, even though I was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, and I knew that women liked the packaging. Six-two, sun blond hair, weird blue-green eyes that chicks seemed to dig. That was only skin deep—I didn’t know if they liked what was on the inside, not that I ever showed that. Except with Caro—maybe.
But like all grunts, I kept myself in shape: every morning I did 20 pull-ups from the full hang position, 100 crunches in two minutes, and a three-mile run in less than 18 minutes. Some guys let themselves go a little in a non-combat zone, but being a terp, I never knew when I’d be sent out on a mission. My CO said that they needed US interpreters who spoke the Afghan lingo. There weren’t enough US born terps. Recently, there had been an increase of green-on-blue attacks. These were sudden and often fatal attacks on US soldiers by either the Afghan National Police or Afghan National Army. Most of them were good guys, but they’d also been infiltrated by Taliban. So for a top secret mission, they needed someone like me. The fact that I’d been kept non-combatant for so long was down to my asswipe former CO. The new guy said there was nothing definite, but in three weeks or less, I could be sent to the front line, even if it was in the armpit of the world. I’d make sure I was ready … but now there was Caro…
My apartment was what you’d call minimalist. I didn’t really care what it looked like—it was just a place to sleep. If I wanted to get laid, I went to the woman’s hotel.
The narrow single bed and lack of heating didn’t bother me. It had an awesome view of Lake Geneva, and since I’d grown up next to the ocean, I missed the peace that comes from being beside the water.
I didn’t miss home, fuck no. My old man was a drunken bastard who used to whale on me all the time. Not that he’d be able to now; I’d kill him if he tried.
But after tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, where all I saw was yellow dust and endless lunar landscape, I wanted to be close to the ocean. A lake was the best I could get in Switzerland.
Caro. My memories betrayed me.
That woman had shred my cold heart. I’d known her my whole life—well, since I was eight years old and she was 21, and I’d been in love with her forever.
When I was a kid and had already learned that my parents hated me, Caro was the one good thing in my life. I’d go to her house after school every day and we’d bake cookies and read stories, and she’d talk to me endlessly, never treating me like I was dumb kid.
And then her fuckwit of a husband had been redeployed and she’d left.
Life had been pretty shitty until I was 14, when my buddy Ches and his family had moved to the military base in San Diego. If it hadn’t been for him and his parents, I’d have gone crazy.
I dated some in high school, but nothing serious. I’d rather go surfing than on a date. Maybe it was because I was waiting for her—for Caro.
When I was 17, her husband was moved back to So Cal. She was 30 then, and just as beautiful as I’d remembered. I was in love with her all over again. And she made me feel like a man, not a boy.
I could see the unhappiness inside her, and it made me furious that her asshole husband didn’t treat her like a fucking queen. If anything, he treated her more like a servant. Her beautiful brown eyes were sad even when she smiled. I would have done anything for her, anything. It blew my mind when she let me touch her that night.
God, the memories. Her skin was so soft, her hair brushing over my chest, her fingers on my body. The humiliation of that first time when I lost my load the moment she touched my dick. The words that healed me, putting me back together one piece at a time. Being inside her. Laughing, loving, planning for our future.
My dad found out about us and made sure she couldn’t be with me. I was a few short weeks from my 18th birthday, but he made it sound like she was some dirty pedophile. I hated him for that, even more that I already did. My mom was too drunk to care one way or another.
I shook my head, trying to shake away the pain. It didn’t work; it never had. What a joke. She left and didn’t look back. Not even once.
But now I’d been given another chance. I was on a mission to win Caro again, and I didn’t care how I did it.
A few hours sleep and I was good to go. So, shit, shower and a shave, and then head back to Caro’s hotel room.
But when I got there, I was gutted because the receptionist told me she’d gone out for the day. And totally fucking furious when she said Caro had left with that French cunt Lebuin. He’d be learning what my extreme fucking irritation looked like. But I smiled at the receptionist and watched her cheeks color with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. Why the hell couldn’t I have that effect on Caro?
And then I hit the motherlode of inteclass="underline" Lebuin had asked Mademoiselle Receptionist to recommend a restaurant. She’d suggested a family run Italian place not far from here.
“C’est très romantique, m’sieur,” she giggled, fluttering her eyelashes.
I wanted to smash her computer through the desk when she said that—the thought of Lebuin taking my Caro somewhere romantic. No fucking way!