HIS BABY TO BEAR - 9

HIS BABY TO BEAR - NINE

Jerome stood up and marched into the throng writhing in the middle of the bar, dancing to some music that seemed to him like bass on bass.

His leg had a hole in it from a lucky bullet wound, and his arms were bruised from wrist to elbow from scaling a stone wall that no man should have been able to scale. He'd gone over it three times during a thirty-minute assignment in the middle of an unfamiliar wilderness.

His step became a little softer as a result of the wine, but it also cleared his mind. Sharp eyes searched for the body he desired, as well as the dazzling grin that could bring him to his knees like no foe ever could. He melted into the whirling wave of bodies, as if he belonged there, and he was no longer noticeable. Yet another facet of his schooling. He could stand out when he wanted to, and disappear into the background when he needed to.

He didn't know what he wanted right now, other than to fucking find her.

What on earth is she doing here? He clenched his teeth as the search took longer than expected.

Jerome shoved someone out of the way, prompting the knucklehead to respond, "Hey, what the fuck man?! " A single glare from him prompted the would-be fighter to fold in half and mutter an annoyed half-curse under his breath.

That is just what I was thinking.

No one wanted to deal with a bear who screamed murder on his face.

He finally noticed her in the back bar, patiently waiting in line for her drink. He vanished into the dim light of a staircase going to the second floor, leaning against a wall and stared at her. That red dress clung to every curve beautifully, and he was growing tired just staring at her standing there, calmly speaking with the attractive blonde she'd brought in with her.

Jerome, on the other hand, was uninterested in the blonde. Libby absorbed his mind and body, as well as all of his attention.

He'd been picturing her face and body every day since the last time he saw her, and she was even more beautiful than he remembered. She seemed to be gleaming. She wasn't completely satisfied, but she felt at peace with herself. Her hefty form had become even more enticing, wanting to be grasped and kneaded by strong fingers.

His fists were clenched, and he shivered slightly from the effort of not sprinting over to her. He was well aware of the fact that he couldn't. He was well aware that he should not have done so. And he was well aware that he was going to do it whatever.

After turning her over to the other team, he hadn't cracked for a month. They'd had so much sex that the effort of back-to-back missions seemed trivial in compared to the fucking Olympics they'd put on in the little cabin. He couldn't get enough of her, and she seemed to share his feelings. And it wasn't only her body that tasted like the best honey; her entire being did. Everything she did, from the way she walked to the sound of her voice to her clever little jabs, appeared to be targeted at getting under his skin. The longing drove him nuts. But then it was daybreak, and she was gone, doomed to be forgotten like any other task. He couldn't take her off his mind. There was no such thing back then, no such thing now, and never will be.

As a result, he attempted to carry on as if nothing had happened. Concentrate on what was vital, on the task at hand. His first goal is to keep his troops safe and their targets alive. However, he was no longer conscious of it. When the adrenaline coursing through his veins used to seem like precious lifeblood he couldn't get enough of, it now felt like gasoline to get him through the task. His blood was boiling in his chest as he pulled down one sleazy drug dealer or unlucky mafia boss after another, but his heart was missing.

Jerome couldn't take his mind off her. So, during a particularly difficult mission in Guatemala, he rushed into his superior's office and demanded to know where she was.

Colonel Kirkstone had stared at him as if he'd eaten too many 'shrooms in the jungle and it had eaten away whatever little sense he had. The rejection was unequivocal, and that was the end of it. The identities of their marks were kept under strict lock and key. Jerome had a feeling the colonel had no idea where she had been taken or whether she was still alive.

They were occasionally like the damn mail messengers, transporting an object in relatively excellent shape from one spot to another. And he couldn't handle it this time.

Jerome's fury flared. He became irresponsible and destructive. He'd been given time off for beating a man who couldn't even fight into a bizarrely shaped pile of gory ooze in the middle of Siberia. He'd only recently returned to active rotation, and now his carefully cultivated self-control was unraveling and vanishing around him like strands of silk.

It had occurred before. Almirah. That was the reason he had left the Navy.

Surprisingly, when a Navy SEAL slashes through half the opposing group with a switchblade and a lot of wrath, his superiors don't approve. Or, as he'd completed, in bear form. He'd nearly died as a result of his injuries, and he was given an honorable discharge after getting a Purple Heart. It had taken a long time for him to restore his functional capacity.

Libby was really gorgeous.

Going up to talk to her may cost him his job, his squad, and everything else that kept him sane. However, only if it was discovered...

He licked both of his lips together. He was not going to let her go like that again. This isn't the case.