Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

her mental struggle to find herself facing another tall and powerful man. He had dark, close-cropped hair and intense amber eyes that fairly screamed Dominant, causing a shiver to run over her skin. She could tell he noticed, but he remained smooth, professional. “I’m Tyler Winterman, one of the owners here. I wanted to make sure we were treating you right.”

“Yes, sir.” Only hours with a drill sergeant made Sergeant Dana Smith manage not to stutter the response. The “sir” was an instinctive deference to his status here that he seemed to take as his due, which everything about him said he should.

“Good.” He ran a light, reassuring hand down her arm. “You look beautiful. A fortunate person should be very happy to meet you tonight. Would you like an introduction to someone?”

“I . . . um. Well, he might not . . . I don’t know him.” Her gaze flickered, a brief flash.

Still, Tyler shifted and determined exactly whom she’d been looking at.

“Hmm. Why don’t I leave it in his hands, then? You chose well, Dana. Let us know if you need anything.”

He moved onward, leaving her gaping like a trout because he’d known her name. That surprise didn’t keep her from noting he had a fine, fine walk. Slacks fitted right, shirt tucked in, thank you, Jesus. As a rep of the female gender, she was obligated to watch that tight ass, the predatory grace of a sex-on-Gucci-soles prowl.

Stopping at one booth, he stroked a proprietary hand over the moonlight-colored hair of a tall blue-eyed woman there. From the way her gaze warmed, whatever he said to her was obviously intimate. The amber eyes flamed in response. Giving a lock of her hair a tug, he moved away. Straight toward the table where Dana’s blond soldier was sitting.

“Oh, no, don’t. Don’t you dare . . .” She stood, mesmerized, as he put a hand on her guy’s shoulder, spoke low to him. If every man at that table turned around and stared at her, she was going to respond as if a grenade was hurled in her proximity. She’d dive behind the bar.

The blond stilled, glancing up at Tyler. Then he shifted his gaze right to her.

In those few milliseconds, Dana turned over thoughts of whether to meet his eyes, not meet his eyes. Smile, not smile. Oh, crap. This was what she always did. Worried about what she should or shouldn’t do, when all she wanted was to be completely swept away, where no choices were hers, except the one where she needed to say good night at the end of the incredible experience and head back to her real life. Even if she found her fucking romance novel, she had no delusions that it could be more than a one-night-only

engagement.

This guy was perfect, because he had nothing in common with her—white, wealthy,

likely an officer—but there was that irresistible vibe coming off of him. Drawing her like a bug to a zapper, which meant she might get disastrously burned. She wasn’t

complaining— I promise, Grams—but nothing in her life had been a fairy tale. Was it too much to ask for one solitary night that was like one?

She got her answer when his eyes locked with hers. While she knew she was standing by the bar, people moving past her, music vibrating the floor beneath her feet, dim light strobing, it all disappeared. She’d had that spark of sexual connection with Masters before. It was always thrilling, a toe-curling, delicious shot of anticipation. But this . . .

Her breath went short, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be near him. It was scary as hell. And yet she stood stock-still, like some dumbass golden-haired princess, waiting to see if the prince would take command, bring her out of stasis into full, vibrant life.

“There’s someone worth your attention at your two o’clock.”

When Tyler Winterman, part-owner of The Zone, put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, bent, and murmured that statement into his ear, Peter blinked. There’d been plenty of available women hovering since they arrived, and of course Ben had hinted they had someone special lined up for him. While Peter was down with that, he knew Tyler wouldn’t draw his attention to just anyone. So he looked. And the second glass of Macallan he’d been lifting to his lips stopped halfway there.

Holy shit.

For a second, he thought he was looking at Ben’s special arrangement, but because Ben knew Peter’s tastes, he wouldn’t have arranged for this girl. Not unless he’d reached ass deep inside of Peter and pulled out some unconscious dream he hadn’t realized he had.

All the attributes that Peter usually sought weren’t obvious in this one. In fact, she wasn’t anything like the women who usually attracted his attention. Yet here he was, unable to look away.

She was a black woman, for one thing. While the beauty of dark skin had teased his gaze before, he’d never felt pulled toward it as he did now. He had the taste of toffee on his tongue, making it easy to imagine her skin tasting like a complementary caramel, or a swirling chocolate. Or perhaps something spicy, exotic.

He liked his women tall and well endowed, with tits that he could fuck with his cock, lubricated with his pre-come. Or watch the curves move with generous abandon while he fucked her from behind, in front of a wide, well-lit mirror. This woman was petite, with an athlete’s lean, hard muscle. The elegant slimness of her bearing made him wonder if there was Ethiopian in her background. She had a proud slope to her high forehead, the suggestion of sculpted cheekbones and a precise chin, though the rest was hidden beneath a mask. When light strobed over her face, he saw the mask was deep purple and green with dangles of amethyst and emerald beads framing the delicate jaw.

A simple, short sheath covered her body, the black fabric translucent, fluttering as she breathed. Despite the fabric and dim light,