Violet

The relief of my orgasm is so great that I collapse in the Major’s arms. If it weren’t for his quick reflexes, I’d be on the ground right now, melting into a puddle of post-orgasmic glop. This man is talented, as in majorly talented—pun absolutely intended.

“I’ve never seen anything so erotic. You are indeed a tribute to the flower you’re named for,” he says in a low, gravelly tone that makes my toes curl.

I wilt against the wall, and he slides his hand out from between us and under my ass to support me more comfortably.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.”

His blue eyes burn with desire when he responds. “Maybe no one has ever brought it out in you properly. Actually, I like that, being the first to see Violet bloom. You’re a wildflower, violet—free, open, abandoned, liberated. When you came, I saw every emotion on your face as if you were communicating on some other level. It was beautiful. So beautiful, I’d like to see it again. Come home with me.”

I release my legs from his waist and attempt to stand on my own but initially fail. He supports me like he would never let me fall under any circumstances. It takes me a few seconds, but when I have my strength back, I stand and look past him over his shoulder.

I’m not one to keep things bottled up. I’m a good communicator, and I suspect the Major is as well, or he wouldn’t have shared his feelings so openly just now. I want nothing more than to go home with this man, but I need to be smart about this.

I really don’t know a thing about him. He says he’s a Marine, but what proof do I have? He seems normal enough, and I was totally looking for a one-night stand this week, but whatever’s going on between us doesn’t feel one-night stand-ish. It feels like the base of a lasting relationship, and I’m done with those—or at least I thought I was.

He moves his head into my line of sight. “You’re hesitating. Why?”

I blink and wonder that myself. “I don’t know. I want to say something, but I don’t want to freak you out or upset you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m a United States Marine, Violet. It’s not easy to freak me out or upset me. Say what you need to say, always.”

I’m still hesitating, and I can’t place my finger on why.

“Okay, I’ll go first. Maybe that will help. I know we have only known each other for a few hours, but I like you. I would be honored if you agreed to come home with me tonight.”

Honored. Wow, you don’t hear that every day. Hell, I’ve never been told that. Maybe I should go with my instincts on this one. Could my jerk magnet be demagnetized? Anything’s possible, right? Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Vie, and you’ll end up with a pulverized heart and a bucket of tears.

“Your turn,” he says, gently taking ahold of my chin and tipping my face up to his.

“I’m scared.” I blurt it out like word vomit. Hey, it’s communicating at least.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know you. Not really, anyway. And this feels . . . different.”

“Different how?”

“Like . . . like it could be something.”

He chuckles. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all. Well, it’s not. I quit having relationships. I suck at them, so I stick to one-night stands.”

His left eyebrow arches high and his half-smile fades.

“I have to agree with your assessment. I too feel like this is more than just fucking, but if it’s a one-night stand you want, let’s start with that, shall we?”

“How do I know you’re not the next David Berkowitz or Jeffery Dahmer?”

As insulting as my question is, it still makes him laugh.

“You would have very bad instincts, then, I guess. I suppose you want to see my military ID to prove I’m really Marine too, huh?”

He’s joking, but I don’t laugh and his face falls.

“Really? You want to see it?” he asks. I nod and bite my lip, suddenly feeling guilty for needing proof.

He doesn’t balk, though. He slides his wallet from his back pocket and produces his ID. I should just glance at it and leave it at that, but I can’t. I feel dumb. I mean, I let this man put his mouth on mine and his hand in my panties, but I’m looking at his ID to be sure he is who he says he is.

I tilt it back and forth, looking for the little details I know an authentic ID should have. My father, brother and many of his friends are Marines, so I know what I’m looking for. While I’m looking at the card, he brushes a loose curl from my cheek behind my ear and I lift my eyes to his. Marines are typically difficult to read. If they don’t want you to know what they are thinking, you won’t know. So when I see disappointment in his eyes, I can be assured he is disappointed in my lack of trust.

I slowly hand him back the ID, and he replaces it in his wallet.

“Now that we have determined that I am indeed not Jeffery Dahmer and that I am indeed a United States Marine, can we go?”

“Yeah, we can go . . . wait, where are we going?”

“My house. I live close by.”

“Sorry about the ID thing.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re a smart girl. It’s not safe to let a stranger touch you in an alley outside a restaurant, of course, but this once, I’m glad you did. And I don’t expect you to do anything like that ever again. Unless it’s with me, and in that case, I won’t be a stranger, because we’re friends now.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are. Now come on. My car’s down the street.”

He takes ahold my hand and tugs me off the wall. He leads me out of the alley onto the sidewalk. There are more people strolling up and down the street now that it’s past the dinner hour. I’m glad we weren’t caught messing around in the alley by an innocent person passing by. I like the possibility of being caught making out in public. Just the thought, though, not the actual getting caught part.

I was so wrapped up in the moment that I didn’t get to experience the thrill, but I have a feeling there will be a next time. At least, I hope there will be.

We stop next to his white Lexus SUV and he points his key fob at the door and opens it like a perfect gentleman—or a perfect Marine. They are interchangeable, in my opinion.

My experiences with Marines have all been good ones. My dad set the bar so high that I think that’s why I’m a jerk magnet. There has never been anyone who even remotely came close to living up to my dad’s expectations, so I lowered mine exponentially. Major Steele is the first man to come close to proving his worth, and he’s done it in less than twenty-four hours. Impressive.

The drive isn’t far, only twenty-five minutes or so, but the alcohol in my system is beginning to wane and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. Major is quiet—too quiet—and the music is turned down low, making me even sleepier.

“Can I turn this up?” I ask.

“Yeah, sure.”

I turn it up, and it’s set to an old school country station playing a twangy, sleepy song. I switch the channel to a more upbeat, pop channel to keep me awake. Selena Gomez starts to sing about keeping her hands to herself. I chuckle and hum along.

“So you’re here for a wedding?” he asks, striking up a casual conversation.

“Yes, my brother, Taye’s, best friend, Mattie, is getting married. We grew up together, so he’s like family.”

“And they’re both Marines?”

“Yea, my dad too.”

“Did he retire?”

“He was seventy years old, twenty years older than my mom. He died three years ago, but yes, he retired a long time ago. He was a Major General,” I say with pride.

“Major General, huh? What was his name?”

“Lamar Washington.”

His brows shoot up, and I’m not surprised. My dad was well known and respected. He may have retired a long time ago, but he was always involved in the Corps.

“Your father was Major General Lamar Washington?”

“Yep, the one and only.”

He murmurs under his breath, and I barely make out what he says, but I’m pretty sure it was something like good thing he’s not around or I wouldn’t be taking you home.

“Did you just say you wouldn’t take me home if he weren’t dead?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Your father wasn’t a man to cross. I’m pretty sure he’d have a few million things to say about me dating his daughter.”

“You knew him?”

“I met him once, but for the most part, I only knew of him. He was a great Marine, but great Marines are protective of their daughters—very protective. I’m not saying I’m glad your father is dead, just that I’m grateful I don’t have to pass his inspection.”

“I think he would have approved.”

“That’s quite a compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So do you live near Oceanside?” he asks.

“San Diego.”

His expression changes microscopically when he learns that I’m not from Oceanside, but only for a moment. It was such a quick transition that I can’t tell if that was good or bad news to him.

“How do you feel about that?” I ask, forgetting that not everyone is as forward and blunt as I am.

“How do I feel?” he says, glancing in my direction.

“Yes, are you glad I’m forty-five minutes away or disappointed?”

“You’re pretty forward, aren’t you?”

“This coming from the man who took my blouse off without asking first?”

“It needed washing.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Well it did, and for the record, I’m disappointed you’re not local.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends now, and I like to spend time with my friends.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. I almost forgot. So, friend, what do you do for fun?”

“I don’t have much time for fun, but I play golf.”

“You do? So do I. My dad taught me to play. Do you play on the base?”

“Mostly yes, but like I said, I don’t have much spare time.”

“But you’ll find time to come to my brother’s best friend’s wedding?”

“I will so I can see you again.”

I smile at his honesty. He doesn’t play games either. That’s good.

“What do you do in San Diego?”

“I’m a computer software developer for Facebook.”

“A computer geek, huh? I would have never guessed. Do you have an ID? You know, to prove you’re really a computer designer for Facebook?” He never looks directly at me, and I’m pretty sure he’s holding back a smile.

“Touché, Major.”

“No, I’m serious. Hand it over. I need to see some form of identification so I know you’re not some black widow looking for her next victim.”

I roll my eyes and sigh when I slip my work ID card and my driver’s license out of my phone case. He tilts and turns them carefully, the way I did his earlier, until I snatch them away.

“Point taken, smarty pants,” I say.

He laughs, and I notice tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. Men age well. I don’t think I look too young for him, though, but I’m asking.

“How old are you, Major?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Well, you have to have been in the marines ten to fifteen years to reach your rank, so I’d say thirty-five.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” he yells, holding his hand over his chest.

“Okay, thirty-two. Is that closer?”

“Ding, ding, ding, give the lady a prize.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how old I am?”

“Nope, saw it on your license. You’re twenty-seven.”

He turns off the main road onto a residential street and pulls into the driveway of a moderate-sized Mediterranean house. He presses the garage door opener and I watch the door rise, revealing the cleanest, most organized garage I’ve ever seen.

He pulls inside and closes the door behind us.

“Wow.”

He cuts the engine and looks at me with a question on his rugged, handsome face.

“Wow, what?”

I look out the window of the car at the garden and lawn tools that are perfectly aligned on hooks. Everything in his garage looks brand new. A workbench in the corner with a long pegboard holds what looks to be every tool ever invented, but it’s so . . . sterile.

“You’re just super tidy,” I say, downplaying the perfection of his garage.

“I like things a certain way.”

“I see that.”

“Stay. I’ll come around,” he says, opening his door. I watch him walk around the front of the vehicle. He is damn near perfect himself. He’s physically fit, intelligent—or so I assume, since he’s a Major in the Marines. He couldn’t have gotten that rank with an empty head. He’s successful, so he doesn’t lack motivation or drive. He’s educated, and so far, he’s kind. I could do a lot worse on a one-night-stand, that’s for sure . . . and I have.

He opens my door, and I slide down out of my seat. He takes my hand to steady me. It’s a big step, even in heels.

“You’re a little thing, aren’t you? How tall are you anyway?”

I straighten up taller and hold my head high.

“I’m five foot one and a half,” I say with pride.

“And a half, huh? You may as well claim that half-inch.”

“Okay then, five foot two. I like that better anyway.”

“Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll fix you a drink. I’m afraid I don’t know the ingredients for a Red Velvet Martini, but I can get you some wine.”

“Wine is good. The martinis are my mother’s drink, not mine.”

He opens the door that connects the house to the garage and immediately toes off his shoes and places them on a rubber matt. I don’t want to track anything in. If his house is anything like his garage, nothing goes unnoticed, so I follow suit.

At the end of a long hall is a kitchen. When he reaches it, he flips on the lights. It’s beautiful—not exactly my style, but still nice—and clean. I lean against a large island, feeling much shorter without my heels, and watch him move around the kitchen.

He works on pouring us two glasses of a blush wine while I look around. The rooms flow one into another, starting with the kitchen flowing into the dining area with French doors that open out to a deck. The living room is next, facing the front of the house. All the spaces are sparsely furnished. The essentials are here—table with four chairs, a couch, coffee table and a television mounted on the wall—but no personal touches, no knickknacks or photographs. Nothing, just bare, unlived in looking space.

“Did you decorate yourself?” I ask.

He turns and sets the wine glasses on the counter next to me and surprises me by lifting me onto the counter in front of him.

“It was hurting my neck to look so far down at you,” he says with a half-grin. I punch his rippled abdomen and wince when it hurts my knuckles. He tilts his head to the side and looks at me with a twinkle of ornery and a dash of sympathy.

The wine glasses seem to catch his eye, and he reaches out to adjust them on the counter. They don’t look to be in a different position, but he appears satisfied.

“I remodeled the house a few years ago. I was going for simple and understated.”

I twist to look at the living room again. “Well, I think you accomplished that.”

“You don’t like it?” he says, pulling me to the edge of the counter and pushing up my skirt to nestle in between my legs. I’m tempted to lie and tell him it’s lovely so he’ll just kiss me, but as usual, I say what’s on my mind.

“It’s very impersonal. I can’t learn anything about you looking around this room.”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t want people to know you?”

“People know what I want them to know and that’s all.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You avoid a lot of questions.”

His hands are traveling up and down my back in a hypnotizing pattern, and it’s very distracting, but I try to keep focused on the question at hand . . . which was what again? I groan and remove his hands from my back and hold them between us. He sighs and backs away from me a step.

“Violet, I don’t invite people into my life because I don’t want to complicate it. I don’t bring people into my home because I can’t stand to see them mess it up. I like order and neatness in all aspects of my life.”

I cross my arms over my chest, unconsciously protecting myself. His desire for neatness extends far past his immediate environment. It’s deep, personal, intimate. I am not that kind of person. I don’t live my life in a little box where everything is ship-shape and orderly all the time.

What am I doing here? This is ridiculous. Coming home with this tempting man seemed like the best idea I’d ever had an hour ago. But seeing his blank slate of a life is ebbing my enthusiasm more and more by the minute.

I hop down off the counter onto the cold Spanish tile. I don’t know where I think I’m going. I didn’t drive here. I’ll call a cab.

Major reaches out to stop me. “Violet, what’s wrong?”

I turn and look into this gorgeous, complicated man’s endless blue eyes and see honest confusion. He doesn’t even know that what he just said is a depressing turn off.

“Major, I don’t think I belong here. I’m confused. I wasn’t looking for anything more than a one-night stand, but something makes me want to know more about you. I’m supposed to be having drinks, playing golf, and going to bachelorette parties, not deluding myself with thoughts of and hearts and rainbows. But something made me want to come here, and now I see what a mistake that was. I’m a free-spirited dreamer, and you’re a disciplined Marine, and I have absolutely no idea what the hell I’m trying to say. I’m sorry. I need to go.”

He pulls me into his arms and presses my cheek against his chest.

“You’ve misunderstood me. I didn’t mean that I don’t want you here—on the contrary. I don’t bring women to my house, but I brought you. In fact, I’m a strict believer in one-night stands in hotel rooms where there are no connections, no expectations . . . but I want you here in my house with me.”

Being pressed against him makes his scent intense and intoxicating. I close my eyes to try and sort out my thoughts.

He moves my head back, placing his hands on either side of my face, and I open my eyes.

“I want you here. I don’t know what will come of it, if anything, but I brought you here instead of a hotel for a reason.”

“What reason?”

He caresses my cheeks with his thumbs while looking back and forth between my eyes like he’s trying to find something there.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you to leave.”

I cuff his wrists with my small hands on both sides of my head.

“Then tell me something about yourself that you don’t tell people.”

He blinks, and it seems like time stops for a moment before he speaks.

“I was adopted. There. No one but the Marine Corps knows that about me.”

Okay, wow. I thought he’d tell me his favorite color or football team, but he’s taken it to a whole different level.

“Now you,” he says, lifting me back onto the counter and handing me my glass of wine.

“I sleepwalk.”

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

“Lots of people sleepwalk.”

“Lots of people are adopted.”

“True. Is this sleepwalking something you do often?”

“I’m not really sure. You see, I’m asleep when I do it.”

“Watch it there, Target girl.”

I smile at the dumb nickname.

“I find things in places they shouldn’t be all the time. Like I put my brush on the counter in the bathroom when I go to bed, and it’s in the kitchen sink when I wake up—things like that.”

We are close to each other. He has his hands on my thighs, and he’s standing between them. He takes a drink of wine while he unconsciously rubs his thumb back and forth over my bare skin. When I tell him about my mysterious brush story he cringes—like, he actually cringes—and a little shiver runs through his body.

“Have you ever left the house?” he asks. “That you know of, I mean.”

I chuckle. “Yes, I have, on several occasions.” I avert my eyes to a tall vase in the corner filled with long sticks that look like pussy willows. It’s one of the few decorative pieces in his house, and I find it strange that of all things to choose, he would choose pussy willows.

“On foot?”

“Yes, and once in my car.”

He leans back and takes ahold of my chin to bring my gaze back to his eyes. He’s worried, I think, or anxious.

“Violet, that’s serious. Have you seen a doctor about it?”

Only my closest friends and family know about my sleepwalking. It’s something I’ve always been self-conscious about. I don’t tell people for this exact reason. They worry, and there isn’t much that can be done about it.

“Yes, I’m a rare case. I’ve been studied a lot. People usually grow out of it when they’re teenagers, but I haven’t. I just have to be careful, you know—lock up my car keys, special locks on my windows and doors, stuff like that.”

He still looks worried, and I find it odd that a stranger seems to care so much about my idiosyncrasies.

“Do you know your birth parents?”

He shakes his head. “Oh no, we aren’t done talking about you yet. Where did you drive to?”

“The last time, I drove to the beach. I woke up in the middle of the night in the sand. My feet were wet, so we weren’t sure if I’d been walking in the water.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Six months ago. I lock my keys in a safe when I go to bed at night now.”

“What if you remember the combination in your sleep?”

“I haven’t.”

“But you might.”

“Don’t worry, Major. I won’t sleep drive up to Oceanside to see you in the middle of the night.”

“I’d much rather you stick to awake driving to Oceanside to see me in the middle of the night.”

I smile and take a drink of wine.

“I don’t know my birth parents.”

“So a sleepwalker and an adoptee. Interesting pair we are, huh?” I say.

“Tell me something else. It doesn’t have to be something people don’t know, just something I don’t know . . . which is anything, I guess.”

“I love tacos, I play golf, and I love social media,” I say with pride, sitting up a little straighter.

“Tacos are messy, I enjoy golf, and I am not a part of social media.”

“You don’t do messy well, do you, Major?”

He looks around the pristine, sterile clean house and then back at me. “No, I don’t do messy well at all.”

I yawn and cover my mouth, internally groaning. I don’t want him to think I’m uninterested or tired, but truth is, I am tired. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night on the kitchen floor a lot lately, and it’s a little unnerving. I make light of my sleepwalking, but it can be very dangerous living alone and wandering around at night.

I should just put a pillow and blanket down on the kitchen floor so I can roll over and go back to sleep when I wake up there. If it were only that easy. Instead, I end up staying awake for the rest of the night no matter what time I find myself there.

“You’re tired.”

I wave my hand at him dismissively. “No, no, I’m fine.” But my body betrays me, and I try like hell to suppress another yawn.

He rolls his eyes and takes the wine glass from my hand. He sets it on the island, and before I know what he’s doing, he has scooped me up in his arms and we are moving across his neutral, uninspiring living room toward the staircase. Halfway up, he glances down at me with warm, lazy eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.

“Where are you taking me, Major Steele?” I ask.

“To bed, Ms. Washington.”

I lay my head against his chest and my pulse quickens. I’m far from tired now.

“How do you know my last name anyway?”

He shakes his head. “Driver’s license?”

“Oh yes.”

We reach the top of the stairs, and he proceeds down the hall to an open door at the end—his bedroom. Moving through the dark with ease, he strides straight to the bed and places me on my feet. My feet, not on my back on the bed where I want to be.

I can’t see at first, but my eyes quickly adjust to the dark. I watch an outline of Major as he removes each decorative pillow and places them on a chair on the far side of the bed. He pulls back the comforter by one corner, creating a perfect, inviting triangle.

When he’s finished fussing with the bed, he silently stands in front of me. Barely touching me, he brushes his lips against my cheek and a shiver flows through my body. He smiles and drags his nose down my neck. I drop my head back to offer him easier access, and he glides along the curve of my throat and down to the tiny space between my collarbone and my neck. He kisses this spot as if he already knows it’s the start button to my engine, and I moan in appreciation.

His hands are still not on me when I reach for him. I’m confused when he takes ahold of my wrists and places them back at my sides and begins to unbutton my shirt. When he’s finished slowly opening my shirt, he slides if off my shoulders and lays it on the bed. His hands are on my shoulders, turning me away from him, I hold my breath and close my eyes. Slowly, he pulls the thin zipper on the back of my skirt down, down, down, until it slides off my hips and onto the floor around my feet with a soft whoosh.

He is quiet. The only sounds in the room are our breathing and the ticking of a clock near the bedside table. A ticking clock? Why doesn’t he have a digital clock that glows in the dark so he can always see the time?

That fleeting thought is gone in a puff of smoke when his fingers return to my shoulders and begin descending down my arms. He leaves a smoldering trail in their wake, settling on my bare hips. His hands almost circle my whole body. He is very big, or I am just very small. Either way, he holds all the control.

He leans closer to me, and I feel his warm breath against my ear before he speaks.

“I’m putting you to bed,” he whispers.

Putting me to bed? I sure hope he means he’s taking me to bed. I straighten my spine and turn my head to the side to clarify.

“You mean you’re taking me to bed.”

“No,” he says, turning me around to face him. He points at the open spot he’s created in the bed.

“In you go.”

His words are ones I’d use when tucking a young child into bed, but the tone he speaks them in is commanding and assertive.

Without thinking, I stick out my bottom lip and frown. I’m disappointed. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to get into bed unless it’s to be worshiped by this man.

“Don’t pout, sleep.”

“I can’t sleep here. My mother is back at the hotel. She’ll be worried sick, and . . . and . . .” I stammer and wonder what part of my having a sleepwalking problem he didn’t understand earlier.

“I don’t sleep well away from home,” I say. That’s really only a half-truth, because I don’t sleep well anywhere, ever.

“You will sleep fine, trust me. And you can call your mother and tell her you’re having a sleepover at the Major’s house.” He tweaks my nose and gently shoves me into bed. A sleepover? What the hell? I’m not calling to check in with my mother to tell her I’m spending the night with Major. She would have an absolute stroke. I’d never hear the end of it. All week long, it would be, so Vie, how was it with the Major? How big is his cock? When’s the wedding? How big do you think the diamond will be? Are you going to make a grandma out of me? No way, uh uh.

He’s across the room now, draping my shirt over the back of a rounded back chair. He’s scooped up my skirt and already has it folded and placed on the seat.

Meticulously.

I’m beginning to wonder if his neatness is a result of the military or if the military is a necessity for his neatness. Most men come out of boot camp knowing how to keep their clothes clean and pressed and their belongings well organized. But Major is a little more than just neat and tidy. He’s obsessive.

“Do you need your phone to call your mother? I can go downstairs and get it for you,” he says, ambling back to the side of the bed where I am still sitting on the edge with my feet on the floor. I’m halfway between spending the night and grabbing a cab back to the hotel. This is weird. How the hell did a one-night stand turn into a pajama party . . . with no pajamas? I need to make a decision. If I stay, maybe I can seduce him, he did say he was going to sleep with me, after all. It’s worth a try.

“Yes, I need my phone,” I say, swinging my feet into bed and pulling up the comforter. I bend my knees and hug them while he leaves to go downstairs and retrieve my phone.

Now I have to think of a lie to tell my mom.

My eyes have totally adjusted to the dark, and for the first time, I take a look around. His lack of decorating is just as bad up here. The bed is huge and comfortable, but other than a night table and a chair, there’s nothing else in his room. I can make out three doors. All are closed, but I imagine one is the en-suite bathroom and one is a closet, with the last being the door that leads to the hallway where the Major just disappeared.

I need to be naked. If I’m going to seduce him, there can’t be a barrier between us under these sheets. Quickly, I shimmy out of my panties and unclasp my bra and work it off my shoulders. I can hear him coming up the stairs, so I stuff my underthings under the pillow behind me just as he opens the door.

I feel busted, but he couldn’t have seen what I was just doing without x-ray vision to see through the walls.

He returns to the bedside again and hands me my phone. It’s dark, but I can see his eyes roaming over my bare shoulders. He knows I’m naked. Good.

I take the phone, trying to make eye contact with him, but it’s no use. It’s too dark. I pull up my mother on my contact list and press call still not knowing what my story is going to be.

“Hello? Vie? Where are you? You disappeared from the bar with that hot Marine and I couldn’t find you anywhere. I’m back at the hotel. Do you need me to come and get you somewhere?”

“Hey, Mom, I’m sorry. I totally wasn’t thinking. I’m fine. We just decided to go for a drink somewhere quieter.”

“Quieter.”

“Yes, Mom, quieter.”

“And more intimate? Like maybe back to his place?” she says, her voice rising an octave with each word.

What should I say? What should I say? Fuck, why can’t I be a good liar?

“Mother, I’m an adult and I’m on vacation. I don’t have to check in with you if I want to stay out past my bedtime,” I say lightly so her feelings aren’t hurt.

She laughs, and I know I’ve blown my own cover by being defensive.

“All right, sweetie, go have fun with your Marine,” she says.

“But Vie?” she says, more serious now.

“Yes?”

“Be careful. Tell him you sleepwalk and make sure you can’t drive off or hurt yourself.”

“Thanks, Mom. I will, and I’ve already told him.”

She gasps, and I imagine her hand covering her mouth and her eyes bulging out of her head. I don’t tell people I sleepwalk. She knows I think it’s weird and embarrassing.

“I’ll make sure the doors are locked and his keys are hidden.”

“Is he safe, Vie? I’m not sure if I like the idea of you staying the night with a stranger.”

“We aren’t strangers anymore. We’ve been talking for hours.”

And kissing and grinding on one another, and coming harder than I have in my life.

“Oh well, maybe you’ll get lucky and he will have some handcuffs. He can cuff you to the bed so you don’t wander off in your sleep,” she says, and I hear her clap her hands together with her great new idea.

“Mo-ther, stop. You’re not into things like that, are you? Wait! Nevermind. I don’t want to know the answer to that question. Gross.”

She’s really laughing now, like all out belly laughing. I have to sit and wait for her to get ahold of herself.

“Okay, I won’t tell you, but if you get the chance, ask him if he has a pair.”

“Ew, Mom, I’m hanging up. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait, wait, Vie. Tell me where you are just in case. Give me his address.”

“Just in case what?”

“Never mind that, just give me his address.”

I hold my hand over the phone to ask him, but he’s not standing there anymore. He’s so quiet, I didn’t hear him go into the bathroom, where I see a sliver of light coming from under the door.

“Major?” I say, and he swings the door open right away.

“Hmm?” he says, but I lose every thought in my head when I see him standing there in nothing but navy blue Calvin Klein boxers that are doing a marvelous job of showing off his pride and joy. I saw him shirtless earlier tonight on the street, but now, almost totally naked, he makes my mouth water and my brain scramble.

He chuckles when he catches me speechless and strides to his side of the bed. He places his knee on the mattress and reaches out his hand for my phone that I am now holding frozen away from my face like a foreign object.

I hand it to him and watch as he leans back on his knee to speak with my mother about our sleepover.

“Mrs. Washington, it’s nice to talk to you again. I’m sorry I stole your daughter while you’re on vacation. I promise to bring her back tomorrow.”

I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I’d be willing to bet she’s flirting with him.

“Of course, 544 98^th Street. We aren’t far from your hotel.”

98^th Street. Well, at least I know exactly where I am now. Thanks, Mom. Unless he’s giving her a fake address, in which case I am probably in big trouble.

Mom says something, and he hands me the phone.

“She gave me permission to keep you as long as I like,” he says with a wink and a smirk.

“Mom?”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Vie. I told him to keep a close eye on you and to bring you back by ten a.m. so we won’t miss the bridal shower. Call me if you need anything, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she sings.

“Goodnight, Mom.”

“Night, baby.”

The line goes dead, and I narrow my eyes at the Major sitting on the bed too far from me.

“She didn’t say you could keep me.”

He shrugs his shoulders in surrender. “Caught me. What else did she say?”

“That I should ask if you have handcuffs and not to do anything she wouldn’t do—which is pretty much anything.”

“I like your mother.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“Lie down while I shut off the lights.”

He stands up and I lie down. I watch him lift the chair where my clothes are—or were—and carry it to the door. Where are my clothes? And what’s he doing with that . . . oh, now I see. He wedges the back of the chair under the doorknob. He thinks he’s keeping me safe, but if I’m going somewhere in my sleep, I’ll find a way. I’ve tried the barrier thing before myself. Doesn’t work. It’s a sweet gesture, though, so I don’t say anything. Then he walks to the windows and secures the locks on both of them.

He turns out the light in the bathroom and slides into bed facing me.

“I’ve got you all locked up.”

“Now what are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to watch you sleep.”

“All night?”

“If I have to. Do I have to?” he asks.

“I guess we’ll see. Your house is unfamiliar. Maybe that will keep me in bed.”

“I have a better idea.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He scoots closer under the soft sheets, and a whiff of fabric softener fills the warm air around us. He nudges my shoulder so that I’m lying on my back, breathless with renewed hope. Maybe he’s decided to keep me busy after all. One muscular arm slides under the pillow and the other slinks around my waist. He pulls me against him so that we are spooning, and my mind goes to every naughty place it’s ever been. My back curves along his front, our bodies fitting together perfectly. Instinctively, I press my ass against his solid cock. He has me caged in with his arms locked firmly around mine and his face is nuzzled into my neck.

“You won’t be going anywhere now,” he says in a low growl.

“I won’t go anywhere anyway if you just keep me occupied. I don’t sleepwalk unless I’m asleep,” I say, wiggling against him.

“You’re quite the temptress, but we are going to sleep for now. I happen to know exhaustion exacerbates sleepwalking. I had a private years ago who was prone to taking off on foot during the night. He had to be discharged because we couldn’t keep him in the barracks. He was always worse when he was sleep deprived.”

Earlier he said sleep for now. I wonder if that means we can have our one-night-stand after our sleepover in the morning. A one-morning-stand. That’s a new one for me. I like it.

“How about a compromise, Major?”

He groans. “I should have seen this coming. What are we compromising?”

“I’ll willingly try to go to sleep now if you promise to fuck me in the morning.”

I feel a puff of air against my neck when he snorts at my frankness.

“Deal, now sleep.”

I don’t know if I can sleep now. I have so much to look forward to in the morning. I’m too excited to think about sleeping. The minutes literally tick by. I can hear his clock next to my head, and it seems to tick even louder now. His regular breathing becomes deep and easy when he drifts off to sleep. I feel safe in his arms, and for the first time in forever, I’m not anxious about sleepwalking. I couldn’t squirm out of his grasp if I tried. I close my eyes and try to sync my breathing with his.

Tick tock. Breathe in. Tick tock. Breathe out.

My eyelids are heavy, and I feel myself drifting away with thoughts of what’s to come in the morning—pun intended.