ROMANCE: Military: SEALED BY APACHE (Military Soldier Navy SEAL Romance) (Alpha Male Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Short Stories) (142 page)

They returned to the kayaks and paddled back to their beach, their tent. But the entire time Eve was thinking how they could cycle the winding Oxford path she used to get to the city every day, with the sheep dotted fields beyond the grey rock walls and the wildflowers that grew in the verge.

They would make coffee for him and tea for her on cold days. Endless pots of steaming coffee and tea in front of the fireplace in her living room that was so small there was barely room for a coffee table.

And the eat-in kitchen, with her single bar stool, painted bright blue. She'd have to find another one, in a different style, but painted to match her own. In the summer, they could eat in the tiny conservatory that looked out over her back garden and then on toward the rolling hills of the southern England countryside.

The sound of an outboard engine broke her thoughts, and the two of them finally drifted around the last bend in the island that brought their tent into view.

The sound was the boat carrying Mr. Dutta, arriving a day early to take the both of them on to the dig site.

“Am I still fired, Ms. Cavanaugh?” Cooper asked.

“Consider yourself back on the payroll, Captain Cooper.”

They quickly packed their bags, pausing every now and then when Cooper pulled her in for a kiss. Once or twice they fell onto the bed, at risk of getting lost in each other again, but Eve whispered in his ear that they had to go.

CHAPTER NINE

The dig site was on a secluded island that was covered in trees. The path beneath the canopy was cool and had been cleared for easy access to the dig. It was muddy in places from the hundreds of footsteps it had endured for the past week since the dig started.

Eve had her backpack on and although she was used to hiking out to sites like this one, she couldn’t help but wish she and Cooper were still in their tent on that idyllic little island, alone.

When they got to camp a young American girl named April showed them to a tent they could share.  It was nothing like the tent at the resort. This was a true pup tent: dirty, torn, tiny, with barely room for two cots.

"We can push them together," Cooper said, pulling her in close and biting her bottom lip. She kissed him and realized that for the three hours they were in the boat, she missed doing that. She was just about to pull him down onto the cot when the tent flap swung open.

"Niamh!"

They looked up to see Piers standing in the opening. He had a lopsided grin on his face.

"Guess I'm not the only one with a close working relationship with you," he said smugly, stepping into the tent with exaggerated arrogance. Eve felt the muscles in Cooper’s arms tense.  She stepped between them.

"I didn't realize you would be here," she said. "I've never known you to go to a dig site. You usually wait until everything is clean and housed inside a spotless glass box to take a look." She realized that she was putting her internship at the museum at risk, but she didn’t care.

Piers smiled, unfazed.  "Yes, well, I thought I'd get a little field experience under my belt," he said, looking Cooper up and down.  Cooper’s stare seemed to push him back toward the opening of the tent.

He said, “I'll leave you and your Man Friday to it then."

“Please do,” Eve said, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. She sat down on one cot and Cooper sat on the other. He sat looking down at his boots.

"I didn't know he would be here," Eve said apologetically. "I'm sorry for what he said. It isn't like that."

Cooper held up a hand to shush her. "It's okay. I understand." He took a deep breath, then stood and picked his rucksack off the floor.

"Where are you going?" Eve asked. But she already knew the answer. She could feel the pit of anxiety growing in her stomach, like a black stone that was multiplying inside her. She swallowed hard and got to her feet to face him.

"I think I should go, Eve," Cooper said quietly. "It's been fun, but I just can't deal with..." His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the opening.  “That.”

"Please... don't go..." Eve said desperately. Cooper forced a smile for her, but his expression was one of complete sadness. The sight of it made Eve want to cry.

"I hope you understand that I can't put myself into this situation, not after what happened with Ashley," he said sadly. “I have… anger issues… I’m afraid I might…”

“Cooper, please.”

He pushed open the flap and turned to her, briefly. "It was an amazing few days, Nee-Iv," he said.  He let the tent flap drop and he was gone.

Eve covered her eyes and sat down on the bed, hard. She cried silently, knowing it wouldn't do any good to chase him and make a scene in the middle of the campsite.

She spent the rest of the night in her tent, zipping up the door and slipping a padlock through it so no one – namely Piers -- could slip in. She could smell food cooking over the fire and hear laughter, but she remained on the cot staring at the shadows the fading light created on the fabric of her tent. Eventually, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the morning, she awoke earlier than she needed to.  The camp was quiet as she got up and hiked through the trees to the dig site. She was the first one there, so she chose a square meter to excavate.  She took a moment to write her name and qualifications on a clipboard hanging on the door of a small utility trailer containing generators and lights.

Thankfully, the methodical digging, panning, dusting and note taking consumed her, and for the next three days she thought of little else. The team made some great discoveries, and every so often she could hear Piers, his tone high and child-like with excitement.

On the third night, she met Piers coming back from the row of makeshift showers. "Are you over that American?" he asked, stepping in front of her and taking her left hand. He squeezed it sympathetically, and then slipped his arm around her to slide his fingers into the back pocket of her jeans. "If you are I have a fantastic bottle of..."

Before he could finish, Eve pulled her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. He staggered backward, shocked as the sound of her hand striking his cheek reverberated through the camp.

“I told you to never touch me again!” she screamed.  She tugged her museum ID badge from the lanyard around her neck and threw it in his face.  She left him standing on the trail rubbing his cheek, with tears in his eyes like a hurt little boy.

She stalked back to her tent and locked the flap down tight. The next morning she was gone before sunrise.

Eve bypassed Frank’s island completely, opting instead to go directly to the main airport.  She made a call to Oxford and was booked on the next flight home.

The flight was predictably bad; her anxiety so consuming that tears streamed down her face as the plane taxied down the runway. As the plane bumped and lifted into the sky, she peered out the window onto the retreating coastline, and she couldn't decide if the tears were from fear of flying or that she was leaving Cooper behind.

Just as clouds began to obscure the land below, she realized that she had no way to get in touch with him. If he didn't go back to Frank's, if he chose to move on again, to become a solitary nomad once more, she would never find him again.

The thought terrified her, and she leaned her forehead against the window, for once not thinking about the terrifying prospect of a crashing into the ground below.

CHAPTER TEN

At home in England, the weather was cold and rainy. Eve took a crowded train from London to Oxford, and then a black cab home. She stared out the rain-streaked window of the car. It was autumn, a fact that she forgot while in Asia, and the leaves had almost all fallen from the trees. They covered the ground and streets in muted tones of yellow, orange and brown.

Her house was cold when she got in and smelled damp from disuse. The first thing she did was crank the heat and turn all of the lights on to remind herself of Frank’s house.

Her cat greeted her with a series of mews and rubs against her legs. Eve's neighbor had left a note on the table.  "Sorry you had to come back early, Clive the Cat was a star while you were gone, but he misses you! Xoxo".

Eve smiled at the note. Clive spread his time between all four of the mews houses on this small stretch of road. The houses were only 20 feet wide, making the rooms tiny, long and narrow. They were attached to each other and were hundreds of years old.

Eve loved the character of them, the small, tidy front gardens and ivy covered walls. There was a young couple with a baby on her right and an elderly woman on her left. Clive stalked the front and back gardens of each house, going inside for a snack when allowed. She picked up Clive to give him a kiss and then braved the weather outside one more time. She drove to the shop down the road to buy Clive some food and herself dinner.

Her house had warmed up nicely by the time she returned.  While the chicken stew bubbled gently on the stove she lit a fire in the living room fireplace. It was roaring nicely when she finally sat down with her dinner.

She turned the television on as a distraction against the onslaught of anxieties that were waiting in the shadows of her mind. She'd probably never see Cooper again, and that idea distressed her to no end. She had never been much of a believer in love at first sight, and although there were times when Cooper's mood was almost too much to deal with, she felt the lure of him as soon as she looked into his eyes the first time.

Maybe that's what love at first sight is, she thought. Not the everyday intimacy that comes with a long-term relationship, but the magnetic pull between two people; that string that ties them together.

And then there was her job, which she had all but given up. Her Ph.D. was basically completed anyway. The dig experience was simply to add some spice, some evidence that she could actually apply the skills in the field; that, although an academic, she wasn't
just
an academic. She was useful and experienced.

Eve recalled that, shortly before she left, she received an email from the University of Manchester about an open researcher position in her field. Perhaps that's what she needed, a change of scenery.

"What do you think about going north, Clive?" she asked the cat who had curled up on the couch beside her. He purred in response.

Eve brought her bowl into the kitchen and dropped it into the dishwasher. She made a pot of tea and pulled a box of assorted cookies out of the cupboard.

She was carrying the pot and cookies on a tray into the living room when there was a knock on the door. She paused, looking through the window, but the rain, the heat from the fire and her cooking has caused the window to steam, and the only thing visible was a blurred figure dressed in black. She placed the tray down and went to the door.

When she opened it, tears spring to her eyes. Cooper was standing in the rain, holding the original sign from the airport, now soggy from the rain. He smiled at her with water dripping from his hair.  His rucksack is at his feet.

"Hello, Naimh. Can I come in?"

Eve didn’t have to answer.

She pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his lips down to hers.

THE END

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DIVERSION

An Erotic Romance

By

Aubrey James

CHAPTER ONE

Oxford in the summertime was just awful.  The streets were crowded with students and tourists, the fetid smell from the canals rose to street level, and the unforgiving glare of sunshine did little to burn off the oppressive humidity that smothered the old town. 

Vanessa Stephens realized that this might have been an uncharitable view of everyone’s favorite “destination- university”, especially when she looked out the bus window at the flamboyant flower baskets hanging in every available nook, on the bright whites of cricket players on the green, and the ribbon-lined straw boaters of the young men punting along the Thames. 

Everywhere she looked, it seemed that the residents of, and the visitors to, Oxford were on vacation.  They were soaking up the sunshine in floral dresses and cotton shirts, huddled under the shade of trees lush with leaves, sipping Pimms and chilled wine, and getting the most out of the longer, warmer days. 

Vanessa, on the other hand, was wedged between the side of a bus and a fellow passenger, a larger, older gentleman who had fallen asleep after the first hour of travel, and who had increasingly encroached on her limited space. 

She thought of Sheena, the administrative assistant back at the London office, who had booked the bus ticket on her behalf, and began composing a very harshly worded email in her head.  One of many she would send if she got off this damnable bus alive.

On the rare occasion she had to leave London, which was typically only for the occasional work assignment, she preferred the train.  It was faster, cooler, more spacious and she could charge her phone- and therefore check her emails- as she travelled. 

After what felt like the better part of the day, the bus finally stopped, her slumbering co-passenger shook himself awake and Vanessa was able, finally, mercifully, to stretch her legs. 

However, as soon as she started the short walk to the conference venue, she found that even walking in Oxford was more difficult than it probably needed to be. 

The old, still-cobbled streets wreaked havoc on her ankles, as she struggled to maintain both her balance and a reasonable pace in her professional-looking high-heels. 

By the time she arrived at the Cowley Business School, she felt sweaty, sore and extremely distressed.  Still, she had her first session booked in ten minutes, and she wasn’t about to let one smelly bus and a badly-paved walkway get her down. 

“Sorry!” an unwelcome and unusually chipper voice disturbed her as she made her way to the breakaway room.  She turned to find a woman dressed in a drab suit and sensible shoes poking a finger at her.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to sound more polite than she felt.

“Do you have a badge?” 

“A what?”

“A badge, dear,” the woman said, tapping a finger to the plastic conference badge hanging from her neck by a black lanyard that had the words “Behavioral Economics Conference 2015” printed in tiny white letters on it.  “All conference attendees must have a badge.”

Vanessa repressed a scream and substituted it instead with a forced smile. 

“No, I don’t have a badge.  Could you give me one?”

The woman wrinkled her nose and gave a little sniff, as if she were testing the air between them.  “I am not in charge of badges, dear.  You’ll have to get it at registration desk.”

“Fine,” Vanessa said with a sigh.  “Where is that?”

“Oh, it’s on the other side of the building.  Two floors up, on the right, in the Honda room.”

“Of course it is.” Vanessa felt her smile growing wider and wondered if she may be on the verge of going completely hysterical.  She’d never tell anyone back in London, but the only way she was able to make it to the registration, acquire the all-important name badge, and get back to the designated meeting room, was by clutching her high-heels in her hands and running the distance between the rooms on her tip-toes, in her stockings. 

Still, she managed to miss the official start time by a whole five minutes, and the speaker made a point of singling her out as she struggled to get her briefcase and her bag through the packed hall to the one available open seat at the back. 

By the time she collapsed in her seat -- and despite being crushed into a similar position for the better part of the morning on the trip here -- she was extremely grateful to be seated again.  She had also lost her sense of good humor entirely. 

The speaker, being quick to chastise her tardiness, seemed to slow notably when it came to discussing his own frightfully dull content.  He seemed to insist on discussing the outcomes of his research in the most frustratingly rudimental way, ignoring the calibre and dwindling interest of his audience. 

Not only that, but within the first ten minutes, Vanessa could see that his methodology was wholly flawed, and the way he’d chosen to visualize his data was unnecessarily confusing and convoluted.  She huffed to herself, annoyed that she’d expended so much energy to attend a session that would clearly be of no real use to her. 

“Quite boring, isn’t he?” asked a hushed voice in an Irish accent. 

Vanessa found her attention drawn quickly to the man at her immediate right, a man in his late sixties, of Indian descent.  He looked back at her, perplexed.  Behind him, another man leaned forward, so as to better see her, and to let her see him. 

Instantly, she knew this was the real owner of the voice.  He had a young, smiling face, pink cheeks and glittering brown eyes beneath an incongruous mop of thick, curly, silver-streaked hair.  In spite of her current mood -- and the mood of the man directly to her right -- she found herself smiling back. 

“Only two more days of this,” the man said.  “I bet he’s got a thousand slides just like this one.”

The older man shushed the Irishman, going as far as actually raising his finger to his lips.  Vanessa, for the first time that day, allowed herself a little laugh, which in turn earned her a shushing of her own. 

The Irishman wouldn’t be hushed.  “Classic example of corporate R&D silencing the media.”

The older man made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and stood up, moved two rows back and found an empty seat away from the two of them.  Almost immediately, Vanessa’s Irish admirer slipped into the seat right next to hers.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she reprimanded, but with a touch of amusement in her voice. 

“No, it wasn’t.  I’m sorry.  Can I make it up to you?  Perhaps over a drink, tonight?”

Vanessa could feel herself blushing beneath the hot flush from the poorly air-conditioned venue. 

“I think you’d do better to make it up to our friend at the back over there.”

“No, he’s alright.  We go way back, he’ll forgive me.”

“How far back?”

“Oh, you know....  About five minutes before you walked in.  So basically ages.”

Vanessa, to her personal horror, giggled a little.  She blamed his stupid, charming, sing-song accent.  The speaker looked up from the notes in his hands, over the top of his spectacles, straight at her and cleared his throat before continuing with his presentation.  Another slide, cramped with text and poorly illustrated statistics appeared on the projection screen. 

“You know, I think the pubs stop serving soon, so we better make tracks if we want to quench our respective thirsts.”

Vanessa cocked an eyebrow and subtly looked at the man from the corner of her eyes, not wanting to attract the disdainful glare of the presenter again.

“The pubs
stop
serving at four ‘o clock in the afternoon?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.  Better safe than sorry though, yeah?”

He tapped the side of his nose, then stood, gathered up his blazer and, with an ostentatious little bow to the speaker, departed the venue. 

Vanessa sat where she was, her briefcase still clutched on her lap, her overnight bag mashed beneath her seat and the one in front of her.  She had never, in her entire career, left a conference session before the time was up.  It went against everything she’d been taught, it was extremely rude, totally not done, and if her manager ever found out...

But then, she rationalised, it
was
the last session of the afternoon, and she still had two more days to attend.  She was so tired, and so distracted, and totally bored out of her mind. 

She tried to focus, but failed miserably.  She thought of the Irishman, his cheeky smile, and that damned accent, and a thrill passed through her. 

She did want to go for a drink with him, but it had been several minutes since he’d excused himself.  He was probably already talking up someone else at one of the hundreds of bars in town. 

Vanessa was about to resign herself to her usual, regimented professional discipline, and stick out the rest of the talk when yet another slide cluttered with tiny text and gaudy graphs appeared on the screen.  She shot up out of her seat as if she’d been electrocuted, and the presenter, clearly irritated, stared at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, fumbling for her things.  “I just....” she gestured at the slide, “Can’t take anymore.”

She hurried out of the breakaway room, hoping to see the man from inside standing there, waiting for her, but as she’d expected, he was long gone.  Still, she thought, trying to quash her disappointment, she could go find her hotel now; take a nice, long shower; and then order and drink an entire bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio from room service to make up for her frustrating day. 

Vanessa squared her shoulders, pulled the extending handle out from her bag and prepared to make the uncomfortable walk to the bus stop.  

“Well, well, well...  Last to arrive and the first to leave.  You
are
a bad girl.”

Vanessa whipped her head around to see the Irishman standing near the elevators. 

“Technically speaking,
you
were the first to leave.”

“And now you’ve joined me,” he said with a smile.  “Good thing I came back up to see if you’d changed your mind, I thought you’d chosen to die out of boredom instead.”

Vanessa couldn’t help the mischievous smile that began to turn her lips up at the corners.  The elevator pinged as the doors opened. 

“No,” she answered, “not today.”