Crash and Burn (Crash and Burn, Book One) (A Military Romance) (3 page)

I plod back up the stairs and grip the door handle. Go to turn it, but it won’t twist. I frown and try harder. “Is this stuck? Or…” No, it can’t be locked. I turn to face Cole. “Do you have a key?”

He blinks at me and his brow furrows. Reaches past me and tries to twist the knob. It won’t budge for him, either.

“Please tell me you have a key,” I whisper.

But the apologetic look in his eyes is answer enough.

Shit.

We’re locked in the murder basement.

L
auren’s eyes grow wide
. She turns back toward the door and resumes pulling on the knob, like it’s suddenly going to unlock itself. Her back is one long line of tension, and I can see her arms straining. “Shit, come on, open up, you stupid door!” Under the anger in her tone I can hear a hint of panic.

I reach over and cup her shoulder. “Kitten, you have to stop. It’s not going to open. We’re locked in.”

“Don’t you have one of those Swiss Army knives or a lock-picking tool?”

My lips quirk and I struggle to keep my expression even. “I left my thieving tools in my other pants, sorry.” In my rush to shower and dress and get back here before Lauren in order to surprise her, I nearly forgot my wallet, and I didn’t think about my multitool at all. After all, why would I need it here?

The fear in her eyes makes me kick myself.

I know exactly why she hates dark spaces like this. In sixth grade, some asshole eighth grader locked her in the janitor’s closet, with a broken light bulb and only a sliver of light under the door to see by. She was in there for hours before anyone discovered her.

It’s not something she talks about to anyone. But I know it petrified her, since she’s always been afraid of the dark.

She doesn’t know how I retaliated against that little cocksucker. I waited weeks to do so, in order to keep him from blaming her. Then I stuffed a tuna sandwich through the slats of his locker on the Friday afternoon right before spring break. His locker smelled so badly when we returned to school that it made the entire hallway reek, and the janitorial staff had to work overtime to purge the smell—okay,
that
part I felt bad about. Everyone called the bully kid Fish after that, even through high school.

I draw her into my arms and rub her back. I keep my voice firm to help pierce through her panic. “Lauren, relax, it’s okay. Let’s just take a moment and think this through. But I need you to stay calm.” Her skin is warm and soft even though her shirt, and I resist the urge to let my fingers stroke her the way I want to. I feel my dick stirring due to the soft brush of her breasts against my chest, and I make sure my pelvis is far enough to not give away my desire.

She draws in a shaky breath and nods. The fear is still there, but that stubborn pinch of her lips shows her struggling to stay calm. Her courage in spite of her panic makes me proud. I fucking love this woman.

I pull out my phone. Maybe my carrier has more bars down here. No dice—I don’t even have one bar of service.

“What are we going to do?” she whispers. Her gaze casts around the room below us. “I can’t stay in here. I need to get out.” She darts down the steps and eyes the tiny block windows at the top of the room, where the dirt is packed on thick enough that light barely penetrates. “Can we knock those out or something? Maybe I can wiggle through.”

I shake my head. “We both know you’re not going to fit. That’s way too small.” I clutch her shoulders and allow myself to rub my thumbs along her collarbone. “Lauren,
stay calm
. We’re fine, and safe. Worst case, we stay here overnight and Xander finds us tomorrow morning.”

Her eyes well with tears and she starts to shake. “But…I don’t want to stay down here. I’m trying to stay calm but I just need to get out of here. I’m freaking out.” Her voice is so throaty it makes my heart clench.

Fuck. Frustration tightens my chest and I stomp over to the cooler against the wall, filled with dozens of bottles of beer. I grab two, pop the tops off, and hand one to her.

“Drink,” I order her in a tone harsher than I intend. First step, get her to calm the fuck down. Beer should help. I chug mine fairly fast, and she follows suit, seeming happy to have something else to think about besides our predicament.

When we finish, I go fetch us two more bottles.

She eyes the new bottle of beer. “Seriously, we can’t just get loaded down here.”

“Why the fuck not? You got a hot date waiting for you?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. I can tell downing the beer that quickly is working; her shoulders aren’t hunched around her ears anymore, and her eyes are a bit softer. “Hardly.”

“Then you can hang out with your old buddy and drink a few. We wanted to catch up anyway, right?”

She nibbles her lower lip, and I catch my gaze darting to look at her mouth. She takes a few deep draws from the fresh beer.

Beer therapy for the win.

* * *

A
little over
an hour into our accidental incarceration, our pile of beer bottles is starting to grow. To Lauren’s credit, she’s matched me beer for beer so far, and we’re working on our third now. I found a dusty blanket folded up on a rickety old chair and spread it out on the floor for us to sit on. Lauren’s legs are stretched out across my lap. The weight of her limbs is welcome, and I rest my free hand on her knees.

In between sips of beer, Lauren keeps trying to send texts out. I can see the frustration on her face every time it fails.

“Kitten, put it away,” I tell her. “It’s not going to work. Let’s make the best of it.” If she obsesses over this, she’ll never shake off the last vestiges of anxiety lingering around her.

She sighs heavily but does as I ask, tucking the phone into her purse. “Fine. Bossy man. When did you get so demanding, anyway? I don’t remember you being like this when we were kids.”

I remove her legs from my lap and stand, heading toward the shelves to see what packaged food is down here. “Years of army life,” I offer as an explanation, perusing the shelves. Nacho cheese, bags of tortilla chips, salsa, a jar of jalapeño peppers—the makings of a fine meal. I grab a paper plate and start working on dinner. “I moved up the food chain and eventually became responsible for men. If you don’t exude authority, they don’t respect you. If they don’t respect you, they don’t listen as well to instruction. Which puts lives in danger.”

I was forced fast to grow a set of balls. And thank God for it, because I stopped being that weak little chicken shit boy who was afraid to try anything. I discovered the rush of adrenaline that comes with living life on the edge, and it’s a high I’d never experienced before.

I’m starting to feel that rush right now. The small hum beneath my skin at the thought of being locked in here overnight with Lauren. I didn’t intend this to happen, no, but I’d be a fucking moron if I didn’t take advantage of the situation presented to me.

One-on-one time with the woman I want more desperately than anything else. A chance to find out if there is a possibility of something between us. Because I want it to happen so badly, but she’s proving a bit hard to read so far.

I turn around with the overflowing plate. “Dinner is served, madam.” I say it in my snootiest British accent.

She gives her first genuine smile since we got locked in here. “That looks amazing. I’m so hungry. I didn’t eat anything before coming here because I was going to make some pasta when I got home.” Her eyes narrow just a touch as she remembers our predicament.

None of that. I drop the plate between us and sit back down on the blanket. “Then eat. But you have to share—I know how much you inhale nachos.”

She glares at me. “I do not.”

I raise a brow.

Her mock glare gets more heated. “You think you know everything about me, mister.”

“I know you’d stick your face in the jalapeño jar if it would fit,” I counter. “I know you consider nacho cheese a food group.”

“Lucky guess,” she mutters, but picks up a nacho and closes her eyes. Sighs. Swipes that fucking pink tongue out to taste the cheese before she eats the bite.

With that, my dick stirs again. Oh God, it’s going to be a long night. My balls might kill me if I don’t get some relief.

We eat in companionable silence, drinking our current beers. I let myself take in her form, the mature curves of her body, the smile lines around her eyes and mouth. Middle school Lauren was pretty and insecure. High school Lauren grew a bit more confident, but still carried some of that residual youthful awkwardness.

Adult Lauren is a whole other sight altogether. This woman’s clothing molds to her body to flatter her figure. Her breasts are heavy and full, her hips round. Her thighs are curvy. And that red hair…I’ve thought about curling her hair around my fist and baring her throat to me so many times I’ve practically chafed my dick with the mental image.

We finish eating. I sigh in pleasure and pat my flat stomach. I can see Lauren’s gaze drift back to her purse. I have to admit, part of me is disappointed that she’s still so fixated on escaping. Is it that awful being stuck here with me?

The other part of me thinks I’m a shit-heel for taking it personally…and for looking at this as an opportunity to advance my cause. Of course she wants out of here. She doesn’t like being trapped. If I despised enclosed spaces the way she does, I’d hate it too.

I need to stop thinking with my dick. My friend needs me to be strong, to help her survive a difficult situation. I can put my own desires aside and do that for her, because she deserves it.

“Truth or dare?” I find myself blurting out of nowhere.

That gets her attention. She rips her gaze away from the purse and stares at me wide-eyed. “What?”

“Truth. Or. Dare.” It was a random impulse, but maybe a game is just the thing to help her focus. And to help me stop thinking about how badly I want to touch her naked skin.

She laughs. “I can’t believe we’re going there. I haven’t played this game in years.”

“Have a better idea?” I challenge.

She shakes her head. “Not in the least. Truth.”

I knew she’d pick that. So easy to read. “Tell me about the last bad date you went on.” I’m starting with a softball here, because I know griping about her terrible dates will get her to loosen up and laugh more. When I was in the service, it killed me to know she was out there dating, and I took more pleasure in her whining about how poorly they went than a friend should have.

She tilts her head to think, then starts to laugh in earnest. Her smile lights up her face, and I find my chest tightening again. Every time I make her smile, I feel like I’ve accomplished something monumental. “Okay, so, it was bad,” she tells me. “We met for breakfast—”

“Who the hell takes a date to breakfast?” Unless you were with the woman the night before, that is.

“Shh, don’t interrupt.” She waggles a finger at me then takes another deep swig of beer. The bottle is empty now, and she just rolls it along the floor. I get up and grab another before she can say anything. She doesn’t even protest, just takes it, but doesn’t drink from it. “Anyway. He orders, like, fifteen pounds of bacon. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her eyes roll hard. “He eats the whole thing in what has to be a world-record time. I swear, his plate was empty in five minutes. Then he proceeds to fart for the rest of the meal. He didn’t even try to disguise it.”

I bark a laugh so hard it causes her to laugh in response. “What the fuck? That’s so gross.”

She makes a face, her cheeks stained a delicate pink. “I know! It was nasty. I hate dating.” When Lauren drags in a deep breath, it makes her breasts strain against her shirt, and suddenly I’m thinking about how fucking badly I want to touch her tits right now.

“Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I say without thinking.

She huffs a laugh. “Wow, no hesitation there. I wasn’t ready for you to answer that fast. Crap.” She eyes the ceiling as she thinks. “Um, I dare you to…recite the alphabet backward.”

“Seriously?” I tell her, not bothering to hide my sarcastic tone. “That’s all you got? Lame. You can do way better than that.”

She drops her attention back to my face and studies me in total seriousness for a long, quiet moment. The scrutiny makes me a bit uncomfortable.

“What are you thinking?” I ask her. I can’t read what’s on her mind right now.

“It’s so strange talking to you right now,” she says in a tone that almost sounds confessional. “You seem very…different. I’m not used to it, I guess.”

“I’m still the same in many ways,” I retort. I still have the same fucking feelings for her I’ve had since I was a kid. They haven’t faded at all.

Her eyes narrow and her lips curl in a wicked smile. The beer, and the conversation, are kicking in good now, I can tell. She doesn’t look tense or stressed anymore, but is completely relaxed and distracted. She stretches for a moment then says, “Okay, fine. Here’s a better one, then. My official dare is for you to take off your pants.”

I blink in sheer shock. Not what I was expecting. Still, a dare is a dare. And at least the old heater is working well in the bar—I didn’t have a chance to shut it off, which I was going to do before locking the building down for the night, so it’s fairly comfortable down here.

I stand and shuck my pants, toss them to the side, then sit back down. Lauren doesn’t say a word, just remains quiet, but every couple of seconds, her eyes keep darting to my thighs and her mouth is a soft O.

She swallows and looks at a spot over my shoulder. I can see a pink flush working its way up her throat. In a flash so fast I almost don’t catch it, her gaze flicks down to my dick, then back over my shoulder again.