Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting New York (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read Online Free Page A

also knew she was nervous about this evening so she was almost sure he wouldn’t touch. Almost.
    To up her odds, she diverted his attention. “What about the dress? You think this is okay for tonight? Not too much black? Should I add a scarf or some jewelry?”
    The dress was new. It was a cool brisk night so she’d chosen a sweater dress, solid black and long sleeved. It was saved from being too severe by the deep vee in both the front and back, showcasing her average cleavage and magically transforming it to well above average.
    She loved the skirt too—it flared with her steps and was so responsive she hadn’t been able to resist a girl-like swirl when she’d first put it on. Paired with some killer red pumps and she felt like a million bucks.
    Cheyenne felt a flush of pleasure when Faulkner took his sweet time to look her over thoroughly. “Don’t change a single fucking thing.”
    “Thanks.” She lowered her eyes and rocked back on her heels a bit. “You look pretty damn hot yourself, there.”
    Boy, did he ever. Dressed in designer jeans and a gray silk dress shirt, he looked good enough to eat.
    “You keep looking at me like that, Shy,” he said in his deep sexy as hell voice, “and we’re not leaving this room.”
    She opened her mouth to tell him that actually sounded like a plan she could work with but the shrill ring of the hotel room phone broke the sexual tension like a splash of icy water, so she answered it instead.
    “Hello?” Shy tried not to giggle as Faulkner glowered and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Oh, thank you. Tell them we’ll be right down.”
    Their hotel was home to one of the finest and most sought-after chefs in New York City. It had come as a pleasant surprise, and she and Faulkner had agreed readily when the others asked if they wouldn’t mind eating in the hotel’s restaurant tonight.
    “Too late to back out now.” What felt like a thousand frogs doing the Irish step dance in her belly brought an anxious sweat to her palms and a tingle to the back of her neck. “Or is it?” she added, only half joking.
    Faulkner shook his head in mock disappointment and even pursed his lips. “What would Alabama and Summer say if they could see you now? Tryin’ to chicken out.”
    He tsked at her for emphasis and it worked. The steel came back to her spine at the mention of some of the other girls among their friends. Cheyenne’s momentary nerves disappeared as fast as they’d come.
    “Just kidding. Kinda,” she added, because who was trying to fool? Dude saw through her to the bone. When it came to the woman he loved, he didn’t miss even the smallest detail.
    One of the many reasons she loved him back.
    Shy walked into the dining room on Faulkner’s left, clinging to his scarred and damaged hand like it was her lifeline. Because it was. His hand served as a daily reminder to her. If he could face what he had done to earn those scars and live to tell the tale, then anything she had to face would be a cakewalk in comparison.
    “Good evening, sir, ma’am,” the hostess greeted them as they approached her glossy podium. “Do you have a reservation for tonight?”
    “Yes, we’re meeting some friends. I see them over there; we’ll seat ourselves,” Faulkner told her politely, barely stopping as he made his way. Shy took a deep breath and told herself to relax.
    Then she got a look at the table they were headed toward and almost chickened out.
    These people all looked like movie stars. The men as well as the women. She reminded herself that they were just people; no more special than her or anybody else. No matter if they all looked like they could buy and sell entire cities and spent their days sipping mimosas on yachts.
    “Hi.” One of the women popped up from her seat with a beaming smile and wrapped Shy in a hug before she knew that was her intent.
    Cheyenne felt more at ease instantly.
    “I’m Riley. I’m a hugger, so if you’re not”—she pulled