Colorado Connection (Colorado Heart Book 6)
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Authors: Sara York
Colorado Connection
By Sara York
Colorado Connection
The sixth book in the Colorado Heart Series
By Sara York
Colorado Connection Copyright © 2016 Sara York
Cover Art by Sara York ©Copyright 2016
Electronic Edition
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of Sara York.
Love is what makes the world go around. Don’t throw it away.
Colorado Connection
Sara York
Middle East, months and months before the Wild Bluff mission to Turkey in Colorado Hitch…
Matthew Miller slowed his breathing as he stared through the scope, praying the guy in his sights pulled out a Koran or maybe a loaf of bread. He didn’t want to pull the trigger yet again, adding one more person to his kill list. He hated that list and didn’t keep it to brag, but to remember each person who’d found themselves on the wrong end of his rifle.
His guys had been walking through mostly rubble, clearing another street, putting their lives on the line, all because some fuckwit had decided to detonate a bomb at a hospital. Who the fuck did that type of thing?
The local dude he’d been watching reached into his robe and grabbed something, revealing it slowly. Matthew pressed his lips thin as he watched, waiting for the first glimpse of the item. A kid, maybe seven or eight, ran out of one of the buildings. Matthew didn’t want to fire his weapon and end another life, but his men were at risk if this idiot had a bomb.
He kept his gaze trained on the action below and blew out a breath of relief once he saw the man hand a loaf of bread to the boy, who took a bite then gave a toothy grin before running back to his mother.
“That was close,” Bounder quipped over the headset.
“Tell me about it,” Matthew replied.
Bounder was his spotter and a damn good one at that. His team was full of good men, all except Jazz, but not everyone could be cool. Jazz worked at making life hard for him. He hated drawing duty with Jazz because that meant he would spend his day with the guy. And as luck would have it, every single time he had gone out for the last six weeks, he’d fucking drawn duty with Jazz.
Back when they'd been stationed stateside, he and Jazz had been forced to spend the afternoon cleaning out cars and trucks for the officers on Motor Pool Monday. That task almost got them both time in the brig. They freaking hated each other, and that was the nicest thing he could say about Jazz.
Before the sun dipped too much in the sky, his guys cleared the last street on their grid, and he left the roof, meeting up with the rest of his unit on the ground. Bounder slapped him on the back, giving him an
‘attaboy
.
“Good day out there, Tex,” Bounder said.
Once the guys had found out he was from Texas, his nickname had automatically been assigned as Tex. At first, it had driven him crazy then he just went with it.
“Thanks.” Matthew knew how good he was and didn’t need the praise, but he smiled, trying to play nice.
He turned and saw Jazz staring at him. The look wasn’t what he'd expected. There was something in Jazz’s gaze that made him hot all over. For two seconds, maybe more, his breath hung in his chest as he stared into Jazz’s beautiful green and gold flecked, mostly brown eyes. He wanted to study those eyes, really get a good look, because they were stunning. Something passed between them that wasn’t the normal hate he typically felt coming off Jazz. This was hotter, edgier, and made his whole body pulse with the need to find out more.
Jazz’s lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes narrowed. Gone was the man he’d just seen staring up at him. “You ain’t that good, Tex. How many have you shot? Two?” Jazz spit the question out like just saying Matthew’s nickname was painful.
Anger blasted through him. Lust, or some crazy feeling had taken over his good senses, making him stupid for thinking Jazz was anything but a jerk. He’d let his guard down and thought for a second he and Jazz could be friends, or at least friendly to each other. He stiffened, his words sharp as ice. “The goal isn’t to kill a bunch of people, Jazz. It’s to make this transition as peaceably as possible.”
Matthew wished he could teach Jazz a lesson, and somehow, the visual he got ended up with Jazz's bare ass over his knees while he spanked Jazz's round butt cheeks with his flat palm. He shivered and shook his head. Jazz must have seen something in his eyes because an evil grin, filled with something like malice, came over Jazz’s face.
“Bullshit. You just ain’t got what it takes.” Jazz laughed and drew the attention of the rest of his crew. “Tex said he’s tired and wants someone to put him to bed. Anybody got bedtime stories for the baby.”
A few of the guys laughed, and Bounder rolled his eyes. Matthew breathed out a sigh, not willing to rise to Jazz’s bait anymore. The things Jazz had said tugged at his thoughts. Jazz wasn’t one of his close friends, and should be ignored. Whatever the heck he’d seen in Jazz’s gaze wasn’t real. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with Jazz about work. It was hard enough being here. He didn’t need to add more to the list of shitty things about this place. He knew what he was doing and knew how good he was at his job. Jazz was just being an asshole like usual.
They loaded into their vehicles, Matthew watching for snipers along the way. Once back on base, safely concealed behind the fences keeping the locals out and them inside, he relaxed. After showering, he headed to the retrofitted cargo container he and Bounder had requisitioned for their quarters. It wasn’t perfect but it was home for now. He and Bounder kept the place clean, well, as clean as they could for this sand trap of a country, but he felt comfortable in their home away from home.
Matthew dropped to his thin mattress and rolled to his side, the air leaking slowly out of his lungs before he drew in a quick breath, wishing he could stop the aching in his chest and head. He missed Lafferty and the ranch but what he did here was important. He could have stayed at home and let Lane and Gresh pay for college, but for some strange reason he’d needed to make his way in life, be his own man. He wanted something to be proud of once he went home. Maybe he was fooling himself, but letting Lane and Gresh take care of him seemed wrong. Military life allowed him to make a base for his future. There were things, like shooting an object at a thousand feet, he did that others couldn’t, and that gave him purpose. Lane had taught him how to fire a shotgun then a rifle, when he’d moved out to Crazy Hills Ranch, and those first lessons had helped him get this job as a sharpshooter. He closed his eyes and thought about Crazy Hills, the cowboys, Lafferty, and didn’t open them when he heard the door swing shut, because Bounder would understand and think he was asleep or something.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said but that voice didn’t belong to Bounder. It was Jazz.
Matthew shot up, moving from snuggling his pillow to standing by the side of his bed. His heart thundered as he braced for a fight or something nasty coming from Jazz. But Jazz didn’t move. Actually, he didn’t look up from where he was staring at the floor.
Matthew narrowed his gaze, trying to decipher why Jazz was in his container. Jazz wasn’t bad looking, but God, he was an insufferable prick. The guy loved to pick at him. Maybe it was because he was gay or from Texas, Matthew didn’t know, but having Jazz in his house was odd. Jazz folded and unfolded a piece of paper that looked like it was a letter. After a few long seconds, Jazz’s gaze flashed from the letter to Matthew then Jazz closed his eyes and sighed.
“Jazz, why are you here in my house?”
Jazz shook his head and glanced up, tears in his eyes. They didn’t last long as he stiffened and swiped them away with his arm. His mouth angled down in a harsh frown as he shook his head once.
“I-I can’t get it out of my head,” Jazz mumbled.
Now Jazz sounded crazy, insane almost, and Matthew started thinking about weapons to fight off an attack from Jazz, and something to bind him with until an MP arrived.
“Say again,” Matthew said.
“Her kiss. Before I left home, she told me she would always love me and now this.” Jazz tossed the paper onto Matthew’s bed and threw up his hands before spinning and dropping to the mattress, sitting on the sheets Matthew slept under.
Matthew didn’t want Jazz on his bed, didn’t want him in his container, but this wasn’t the Jazz he normally was forced to deal with. This guy was hurting hard.
“I need more, Jazz. Why are you here?”
Jazz stopped his sniveling and stared up at Matthew, his brown eyes huge, shining with unshed tears. Jazz blinked and his cheeks turned pink. “You can help me,” Jazz whispered.
Matthew cocked his head to the side, his heart stalling as he tried to decipher Jazz’s words. “Excuse me? How can I help?"
“Kiss me,” Jazz stated in a no-nonsense way. His gaze stayed on Matthew’s, leaving him no room to deny what he’d heard.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matthew said.
“No, no, not at all.” Jazz stood and stepped forward, coming uncomfortably close.
For some reason, Matthew noticed the gold flecks in Jazz’s eyes, how full his lips were, the sharp angle of Jazz’s jaw, the curve of his neck, the way his lips trembled when he looked at him, but he didn’t stop there. He watched as Jazz lowered his eyes, staring at Matthew’s lips. Hot need slid through Matthew, and he couldn’t stop his cock from twitching when Jazz bit his own lower lip like he was unsure of himself.
“You—” Matthew was going to say hate me but he didn’t want to give Jazz that power, knowing his words would only egg Jazz on. “Quit horsing around. Who set you up to this?”
Matthew turned to go to the door and escape the madness, but Jazz grabbed his arm, holding him in place. “It’s not a joke. She kissed me before we left, and all I can think about is her kiss. I need…” Jazz took a huge breath and blew it out. “I need something else, something which will take my mind off her. I’m going crazy and I knew you would be able to do this."
Jazz was close, and Matthew was having trouble breathing, trouble thinking, trouble not getting hard at the thought of shoving Jazz up against the wall and fucking him. “Wha-what makes you think that?”
“Because you’re…”
Jazz spun him with a gentle pressure on his arm. They locked gazes, and his heart stuttered. It was the first time he’d really been this close to Jazz when he hadn’t been angry or rolling his eyes in annoyance. There was more than the current desperation swimming in Jazz’s gaze; there was real attraction. Suddenly all of the taunts, the teasing, and the asshole behavior made sense, when he mixed it with the look he’d caught from Jazz today.
Disgusted with his reaction, his intense desire, Matthew squared his shoulders as anger rolled through him. Kissing Jazz would be wrong. The guy would use it against him, torture him later, bringing it up over and over again.
Matthew shook his head. “Stop.”
“No. Please. I know the other guys would make fun of me. I-I can’t… they wouldn’t do it like you would.”
His breath hitched as he took another good look at Jazz, taking in the strong shoulders, the thin waist, and God, those thighs. Jazz didn’t ever skip leg day. The guy’s thighs were thick and strong, sexy as hell, and it made Matthew hard just thinking of touching those legs while they did things, nasty things that would leave them both hot and sweaty.
“How do you think I would do it,” Matthew whispered. Jazz met Matthew’s gaze and held it as he lifted his hand, placing it on the center of Matthew’s chest, pressing gently, causing Matthew’s cock to twitch. Fear whispered through him. He didn’t want this dangerous desire.
“You would be careful, sweet, like honey. You would really kiss me and never make fun of me for it. A kiss from you would burn in my mind for hours, days, hell, maybe even months. I’d think about the way you touched my face, how you held me, the hardness of your body, your pecs, your arms—fuck, your arms are amazing. I’ve dreamt about those arms holding me.”
Matthew’s heart slammed hard and a bead of sweat trailed down his face. “Why me? There are girls on base—doctors, nurses, other women.”
Jazz lowered his gaze then looked up through thick lashes. “I don’t want them. I want you.”
“Jazz,” Matthew whispered, his heart aching and his mind fuzzing.
Jazz stepped closer, and his hands skated over Matthew’s sides. Jazz’s tongue snaked out and slid slowly over his lower lip. Matthew was hooked. He wanted Jazz for more than a kiss, wanted to hold him in his arms and touch him, tease him, then sink into his body, claiming him. But Jazz was only here to excise a ghost. He wasn’t interested in Matthew, wasn’t interested in being close with him. Jazz didn’t want to lay in his arms all night long while they listened to crickets make music and whispered words to each other that only lovers said.
This wasn’t love, or even like, this was an exercise to rid Jazz of a memory and replace it with another. He hated that he was being used, but it had been so freaking long since he’d had another man in his arms. What he hated more was that he wanted Jazz to use him. Jazz’s begging made him feel unstable, unsteady, and horny as fuck, but he wouldn’t play fair, couldn’t play fair or he might lose himself in the dark pools of Jazz’s eyes that were drawing him in.
Matthew grabbed Jazz’s shoulders and spun him to the wall, pressing his back against the warm metal. He’d moved so swiftly he must have taken Jazz by surprise. Jazz’s eyes were wide, his lips parted. Matthew didn’t go for the easy kiss. Instead, he kept one hand on Jazz’s shoulder and slid the other down Jazz’s chest to his abs and then lower. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of Jazz’s pants and into his boxers, wrapping them around the semi-erect cock he found there. Jazz’s eyes grew wider, his breathing deeper, as he moaned and thrust his hips forward.
