Delta: Retribution by Cristin Harber Read Free Book Online Page B

dropped his jeans and walked toward his closet.
    Holy moly ? More like “Holy butt cheeks.” Marlena sucked a breath, fell back on the bed, and covered her face with a pillow. “Trace, you are too much to handle.”
    She heard his laugh then peeled back the edge of the pillow.
    “I thought that about you last night, and seriously, if something wasn’t very time-sensitive, I’d give the boss the finger and stay here with you. Santa-bear jammies and all.”

CHAPTER NINE
     
    Delta hit jobs hard. Trace loved that. Just like when he was on his SEAL team, they worked nonstop, pushed their operations to the brink of no return then sidled back home. But there was that catch again: home. He itched to get back to Afghanistan, itched to scour the desert for answers and find his brother’s missing personal effects. There hadn’t been much to bury after the IED had hit. All he wanted was his brother’s goddamn dog tags. Shit . Trace rubbed his hand over his face. Without thinking, he hit the only number he had programmed into his phone.
    Marlena picked up on the second ring. “Hi.”
    “How’d you know it was me?”
    “No one else has this number.”
    That made him feel good, possessive, as though no one else should have that number. “What are you doing?”
    “Trying to catch up on missed chapters. Turns out when you can’t tell your professor you were abducted by international terrorists, you don’t get a free pass on missed classes and notes.”
    He laughed dully. “Sucks.”
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “Where did you go? What’d you do?” Marlena asked.
    “You know. Same old.”
    “Rescued another one-night stand. Super stud, huh?”
    That time, he laughed genuinely then hated himself. He was on the phone; Michael was dead. Trace had been kicked off his SEAL team—that would’ve destroyed his brother—and he was flirting with a pretty girl that he’d been excited to call when he got home. What. The. Hell . It was wrong.
    “Trace?”
    The bare walls closed in on him. He moved to the couch. The fabric scratched at him. “I think I have to go. Call you later, Mar.”
    His heart beat faster, and he tried relocating to the bed, the hallway floor, the living room. No matter where he went, he itched to escape. The easiest fix would be to crack a bottle of something with a burn. Maybe he would drink the incoming headache away. But that could be a rabbit hole, starting trouble he didn’t need with Delta.
    Though… if that happened, maybe he would come to blows with Jared or Brock. It’d feel good to get knocked around and throw a few punches. He balled his fists, needing to do something.
    Trace dropped to the floor and counted off stomach crunches. After one hundred, he gave up counting, tore off his shirt, and kept going until sweat poured off him and his muscles screamed.
    A bell rang as he growled through the last sit-up. He fell back, breathing hard. What the hell? Doorbell. Hello . He wiped his brow with his shirt and popped up. It wasn’t the Middle East. There were no war zones here. Just suburbia, where people rang doorbells, trying to sell crap Trace didn’t need. He swung the door open.
    “Hey.” Marlena stood with a six-pack in hand. “Surprise. Can I come in?”
    Her eyes raked down his half-naked body. Warmth flowed in his veins. It was the kind of heat that had nothing to do with killing himself with calisthenics. And God, she looked good—the way her shirt clung to her breasts. The way her pants covered her hips. It brought a vivid, instantaneous memory of his hands holding those hips while she rode him until she moaned.
    “Yeah.” He took a step back. “Sure.”
    She walked past him as if she owned the place and threw down her purse. Then she headed toward the kitchen and stowed the beer—minus two longnecks—in the fridge. “Here.”
    “Thanks.” All he could think about was Marlena naked. Naked and climaxing on his cock. That didn’t seem like a good conversation