Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,166

Another long, drawn-out suckle… But no. Not yet. They had business to discuss. Work first. Play—a lot—later.

“Before we head up to Virginia for work, I’d like to meet your parents,” he declared, his voice uncommonly ragged, his throat dry. “Remind me what your dad’s name is? I don’t think you’ve ever said.”

She hooked one arm around his neck. “I’d love you to meet them, my sister and her family, too. But I’ll bet you’ve probably already heard of Dad. He’s Dupree Coltrane.”

Oh. My. Hell. “As in General Dupree Coltrane? The officer who accompanied Schwarzkopf into Baghdad back in 1990, after the invasion of Kuwait?”

“He was only a colonel then, but yes. That’s my dad.” She cocked her head, those sultry browns so damned sexy.

A man could fall into those deep, dark pools and never be seen again. It was an effort to pull back far enough from this alluring woman to collect his senses. Her scent enveloped him and her fingertips were fluttering like velvet butterflies over his skin. Everything Persia was turned Walker inside out. He couldn’t think!

“Sugar,” was all that came to his lips.

“Are you afraid to meet him?” she breathed in that come hither, kiss-me tone she did so well.

Yes! “No. Certainly not. I just…” Damn. I was going to ask you something, wasn’t I? Oh, yeah.

“So you’re an Army brat,” Walker said once he could speak again. Only that wasn’t what he’d wanted to ask, not by a long shot. General Coltrane was her father? My hell…

Walker had never once connected her cotton-growing dad with that particular, hard-driving US Army officer. General Dupree Coltrane? Holy shit! Being who he was certainly explained Persia’s audacious nerve. Her dedication to country. Her tough as hell work ethic, and her innate ability to lead.

“No, I’m your brat,” she murmured suggestively as she pressed her lips to his chin, then ran the tip of her tongue up his neck to his ear. “Want to do something about it?”

“I do,” he purred, slipping his hand beneath the mint icing on tonight’s dessert and his fingers into Persia. She was bare to the touch. Slippery. Ready for the real question of the day.

Her lips parted on a heated sigh. The long-ago day when he hadn’t been able to perform was a fuzzy memory. He’d proven himself a hundred times since then. Meant to prove how much he loved her again on this very beach. Until the stars came out.

The sensation of her fingertips scraping over his scalp worked shivering magic up his spine. Walker tipped flat to the blanket and took Persia with him. She was right where he wanted her when she landed, straddling his hips. No panties. Just the way he liked her.

Arching his back, he slipped his swim trunks down his hips, then toed them off.

She tipped over him, her long fingers splayed on his pecs, her dark eyes shining on him with sparkling light. The rest of the world disappeared. He was so damned in love.

They were different people now. On the night they’d first met, she’d been running on empty and fighting demons. There’d been sparks in her eyes then, too, but they’d been warning shots. Staunch declarations for him to move on and take off.

He hadn’t been in much better condition. Hell, he hadn’t been able to make love to her correctly. But now? She owned him, his ass, his yacht, this beach house, and together they were shopping for a stylish home in Falls Church, Virginia. Her nightmares had stopped, and they hadn’t had so much as a beer in months. He had his life back, and a career that promised not only out-of-sight benefits, but the satisfaction of knowing he’d make a difference at the end of every day.

When her hair spilled like cool, silky ribbons over his chest and neck, he pulled her in for an urgent kiss. Persia was everything good and sweet and holy in his life. She was perfect. The moment he deepened the kiss, he knew it was time.

But the moment he opened his mouth to ask, she whispered, “Alex and his wife are expecting a baby. Do you like kids?”

That seemed like the perfect segue, so he licked her lips and replied, “Love ’em.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“Ten? Really?”

Walker didn’t really want to discuss kids at this moment, but he knew what this line of questioning was about. Persia had grown pensive and quiet their last days aboard the yacht. Knowing she’d almost become part of Goff’s harem—or whatever he called