Trusting a Warrior (Loving a Warrior #3) - Melanie Hansen Page 0,48

spite of himself.

“Hey, Tariq.”

A pause. “You okay? What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Geo blew out a breath. “Just a lot of things on my mind.”

Tariq gave a low chuckle. “Well, you know I’d be happy to, er, suck all your problems away. Just say the word.”

Geo waited, but there wasn’t a shred of temptation, not one. He couldn’t help but wonder why, even as he said, “I have to be on a plane in the morning, T, so the only thing I’m taking to bed tonight is a bottle of vodka.”

“Shit, baby, I’m down with that. Where d’ya want to meet?”

Sighing in resignation, Geo named a bar east of the city that wasn’t known to be a military hangout. “Twenty minutes?”

“See you there.”

Thankfully, the traffic eased up after the transition onto the I-8 freeway, and so did a bit of Geo’s tension. As he relaxed, the inevitable regret started to creep in.

What was the deal with him? One minute he’d been talking to Lani, the next swamped by a tidal wave of grief so strong he’d almost started howling. An ambush moment, she’d called it, and like any ambush, he’d immediately fought back against it. He’d won, but it was a narrow victory, and he’d managed to wound Lani during the battle.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. She had her own war to fight. She didn’t need to be dragged into his.

After turning into the parking lot of the neighborhood bar, Geo locked his truck and strode inside. It was the type of place where people simply went to talk, and drink. No music blared in the background, there was no dance floor, just the bar counter and some tables scattered throughout, along with a pool table and dartboard.

He spotted Tariq even as the other man waved him over. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he ambled in his direction, smirking at the sight of the vodka shots lined up on the table in front of one of the empty chairs.

He dropped into the seat and downed three of the shots in quick succession, welcoming the burn. “Ah, thanks, I needed that.”

“I could tell.” Heavy-lidded topaz eyes traveled slowly over Geo’s face. “I’ve missed you, habibi.”

At the sound of the Arabic word, more memories rose to the surface—of raw need, brown skin slick with sweat, begging whispers in a velvety mixture of languages breathed in his ear...

Geo downed another shot. Tariq lifted an eyebrow, although he didn’t say anything, just poured him a beer chaser from the frosty pitcher in front of him. They studied each other over the rims of their glasses.

Lean and wiry, with black hair and those unforgettable eyes, Tariq Aimen—although Geo was sure that wasn’t his real name—worked for one of the alphabet agencies in their counterterrorism unit. He spoke English, Arabic and Spanish with flawless accents, and was able to morph in and out of various personas like a snake shedding its skin. They’d met in Afghanistan on a long-ago op, and added benefits to their friendship during a long, drunken night in Germany.

“So what’re you doing in San Diego?” Geo asked, leaning back in his chair and kicking his legs out.

Tariq mirrored his pose, his long fingers cradling his own beer glass. “Eh, following up on a case I was working way back in my narcotics days.” He shrugged. “Overseas, I’m mujahid. In the States, I’m just a cop.”

Geo drank steadily as they caught up, and he was drifting in a most pleasant haze when he felt Tariq’s foot nudge his, then slide discreetly up to stroke his calf. Their eyes met.

“It’s been a long time,” Tariq murmured. “Spend the night with me. I’ll make sure you get on your plane.”

The pleasant haze sparked into a flame of desire, which almost immediately fizzled out. Geo cleared his throat. “Don’t think I’d be good company tonight, T.”

Disappointment flitted across Tariq’s face even as Geo wondered at himself. Not only was Tariq a satisfying lover, he was a good friend, and Geo enjoyed spending time with him. Besides, booze and sex had always been his favorite training trip send-offs. What the hell was the matter with him?

Tariq’s foot fell away. “Maybe next time.”

In the sudden awkwardness, Geo mumbled, “I’ll get another pitcher,” and stood to weave his way toward the bar. As he did, a beefy white guy bumped into him.

“Excuse me,” they both muttered, and when Geo glanced at his face, saw that he was wearing a black ball cap, nothing special, except for the words