Xtreme limits xtreme ops.., p.1
Xtreme Limits (Xtreme Ops Book 8), page 1
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Xtreme Limits
Xtreme Ops
Book 8
Copyright Em Petrova 2022
Ebook Edition
Electronic book publication 2022
Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs
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Xtreme Ops
HITTING XTREMES
TO THE XTREME
XTREME BEHAVIOR
XTREME AFFAIRS
XTREME MEASURES
XTREME PRESSURE
XTREME LIMITS
NORTH OF LOVE Xtreme Ops Alaska Search and Rescue
XTREME RULES
What happens when a bad boy special operative and an art nerd clash? Sparks fly…
Special Operative Jake Beckett has spent his life being in the wrong place at the wrong time. After he joined the Xtreme Ops team, he thought those days were supposed to be over. But his attempt to protect an innocent hostage goes south in a hurry, and soon he’s on the run with the quirky art curator—who isn’t as quiet or compliant as he first thought.
As director of a museum, Violette Ashley is entrusted to protect the fine art she curates, and she takes her job very seriously. She just never thought that would involve escaping art thieves or fleeing into the Alaskan wilderness with a man who looks more like a bad boy on the big screen than a protector. To make things worse, they can't see eye to eye…but their arguments get her more than hot under the collar.
With a plan to trap the art thieves in place, Beckett’s only focus is keeping Violette safe. But her methodical ways war against the gut instincts that drive him. Only one of them can be right…except when they’re between the sheets.
If scorching encounters up against cabin walls hit all your buttons, 1-CLICK this military action and adventure, and get ready for an opposites attract romance you can’t put down!
Xtreme Limits
by
Em Petrova
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Date nights weren’t Jake Beckett’s thing. Date nights at a big art gallery fundraiser were even worse.
And when his ex-girlfriend happened to be the museum’s fine arts director? He might as well just jump in front of an Anchorage city bus.
“We can cross now.” He took his date by the elbow and led the way across the street. As they approached the museum, it was difficult to ignore the memories of other times he’d been here with his ex.
Megan, who hadn’t once mentioned an interest in art in the six weeks they’d been dating, twisted her head to throw him a white-toothed smile. “You really do look sooo surprised, Jake. You didn’t have any clue we were coming here tonight? Not even when I asked you to dress up?”
He glanced down at his attire. He was accustomed to service dress, his Special Ops equivalent of black tie. But he had to admit what he was wearing—khaki slacks, shirt, tie and jacket were out of his comfort zone. The dress shoes pinched his wide feet too. Every step from the spot they’d parked on the Anchorage, Alaska street to the cocktail hour taking place at the Flick Museum felt like walking over shards of glass.
Being informed after the fact that he was Megan’s plus one at the affair rubbed salt in those blisters.
“Don’t look so depressed, Jake! It’s going to be fun.” She tugged on his hand and swung forward again, her long brown hair a satin waterfall over her shoulder.
He should have known what he was getting himself into when he picked her up and saw she was far too dressed up for dinner. Just more proof that he wasn’t all that good with women or the dating scene. Plenty of women threw themselves at him, but he didn’t have any luck with relationships.
He enjoyed hanging out with the beautiful data specialist when he was off-duty or got a short leave, like now. The sex was fantastic and Megan could hold a conversation, which was more than he could say for most of the women he dated. Beyond that, he couldn’t claim goosebumps and pitter-pattering heartbeats.
“Come on, Jake! You’re dragging your feet like a sulky kid!” She walked a step ahead, pulling him toward the three-story modern glass and steel building.
If he was acting like a reluctant toddler, it was because he felt like one. What happened when he walked into that gallery with a new girl on his arm and inevitably crossed paths with his ex?
It had been months since he last spoke with Violette. She’d probably moved on too. After all, what they shared had been…complicated at best.
Art wasn’t his thing, and neither were snooty art directors who curated it, so he was happy to skip the museum whenever he was in town. Now Megan had other plans for him, ones that involved sipping champagne and rubbing elbows with people in suits who wrote out big checks for the museum’s benefit.
Issuing a resigned sigh and gliding his fingers over his military high-and-tight haircut, he took the lead and guided his date into the building. The minute they entered, a prickle of anxiety crawled down his spine.
He knew his ex, Violette, wouldn’t make a scene. She was the model of propriety. On more than one occasion he thought of her as stuck up. He’d called her that once as well. That went down like a crabbing ship in a storm…then he’d done it again just to see her eyes flash and her cheeks flush with anger.
Yeah, he admitted to goading her because when she got fired up, falling into bed was sure to be a wild time.
“Jake, would you mind taking my wrap?” Megan turned her back to him.
He looked at her spine and the sweep of shiny hair over one shoulder.
“The only wrap I know has meat and condiments inside.”
“Oh, Jake! Don’t be silly.”
When she slipped the black shawl off her shoulders, his brain got the memo and he took the garment and looped it over his forearm. He stared at Megan. Had the girl he was dating been abducted by aliens? This woman who made a big production of removing what was essentially a giant scarf wasn’t the same one who asked to borrow his hockey jersey and called out for beers at the game.
Megan offered him a bright smile, and he automatically returned it even though his gut told him to make a break for the door. Maybe the two women would bump into each other and strike up a conversation about Flemish painters and art styles while laughing about how uncultured he was.
Fine by him. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t. Born to middle-class parents in Seattle, he quickly found out just how dirty the world could treat a kid.
He cast off the unhappy memories and focused on his surroundings. A sweep of the room revealed that Violette wasn’t among the people gathered around the circular tables that served as drink and hors d’oeuvre stations.
He eyed the tower of gourmet cheese as they passed, thinking it would go down better with some nachos and beer. But Megan waved toward the champagne flutes and he guided her to that table with a palm on her back.
“This looks just as good as last year, and I thought that couldn’t be topped.” Her eyes glimmered at him as she brought the glass to her full, red, perfectly painted pout. “What do you think?”
He glanced around, more for a sign of Violette than to check out the place. “I’m surprised this is your thing. I thought you liked hockey.”
“Well…I do, Jake. I like hockey when I go to the game with you.”
“In other words, you just told me that to be with me.” He slurped down half his glass of ritzy champagne in one big swallow.
She tipped her head. “Of course I want to do things you enjoy, silly. That doesn’t make it false.”
He felt duped. At least with Violette, he’d known what he was getting into from the start, known that she was higher class than him with smarts in subjects he didn’t share smarts in. After he took care to make sure Megan wasn’t anything like his ex, now she came clean with him that she didn’t share his same interests?
She looked around at the people dressed in jackets that cost more than a month of his military salary. “Let’s mingle.”
This night was getting worse and worse. On their way past the cheese tower, he grabbed a couple pieces from the top. Several toppled off and landed on the lettuce garnish below, but he stuffed the cheese in his mouth and kept his senses peeled for his ex.
He’d recognize the sound of her voice anywhere. And a whiff of the perfume she wore—that always drove him crazy—would raise an alarm for him to hightail it out of here.
Megan stopped to talk to a
“Women’s studies? If the class teaches you how to decipher a woman, sign me up.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he saw three other sets compress in distaste. The McKays exchanged a look, and Megan tittered a carefree laugh.
“Jake’s always joking around. He’s such a comedian.”
Her attempt to cover up his personality irritated him even more.
He extended a hand toward Professor McKay first. “Nice to meet you.” Jake knew how to shake hands and greet people with a smile. His years of military training came to his rescue there. Before he joined the Marines at eighteen, his momma tried to instill some manners in him too, but he was always viewed as rough and bad-tempered. Maybe he was born to always be viewed as an outsider.
He was the kid who jumped in to stop a bully from beating up his victim, but instead of getting a pat on the back for lending a helping hand, he received a month of detention for fighting. Things got worse in middle school, and in high school finally escalated to the point where he only saw prison as his future.
Which sent him running, not walking, to the nearest Marine recruiting center to sign his name on the dotted line. Eight years with his platoon earned him enough credibility to get called up for another kind of war on US soil, fighting terrorism with the Xtreme Ops unit here in Alaska.
After introductions were made and the sour expressions left all their faces, he stood silently listening to Megan talk women’s studies and the latest political stances for women’s rights with Professor McKay, and then she asked Doctor McKay about a mutual friend of hers on the hospital administration staff.
Jake wished he had something harder than a glass of bubbly right now. This woman was a chameleon if he ever saw one. A person who wasn’t genuine to anybody, probably not even herself. She flipped and flopped from one interest or hobby to the next based on who she was talking to at the time.
Hell, even the stuck-up art director was more his type. She’d never misrepresented herself.
He glanced around again, searching the groups of people for a glimpse of Violette’s thick auburn hair. At least she was easy to pick out in a crowd because of the rich color.
His sigh of relief didn’t last long, though, because Megan suggested that they walk through the exhibits. The McKays politely declined to accompany them, and he was glad he wouldn’t be judged for liking beer, hockey and shooting heavy artillery—when he wasn’t attending art gallery fundraisers, that was.
He glanced around once again.
“Jake, is everything all right? I know this isn’t exactly your thing, but will you at least try to relax?” Megan’s tone took on that of a nagging wife.
He inwardly rolled his eyes but offered her his arm. She took it with a happy smile and they entered the first room of the gallery, which he knew from being here with his ex, was reserved for an artist in the spotlight that month. Last time he was here, it was a modern mixed media artist from Colombia. The plaster, paint and wood they’d used hadn’t been his thing.
Neither were these paintings, but at least he didn’t have to decipher the meaning behind the pastures with lots of hills and sheep.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of auburn hair. Beckett swallowed a groan and ducked his head before she could spot him.
Damn his luck, though. As if she sensed his presence, Violette lifted her head and looked straight at him.
Oh god. It really was Jake Beckett.
And he was here with a gorgeous woman dressed in that effortless yet impeccable style that drew every eye in the room to her and made most women feel inferior before they ever heard her speak.
Violette hurried around a group of people lingering at the new art installment, but she only made it two steps before someone called her name.
“Miss Ashley!”
Violette managed to slap a smile on her face and hold it firmly in place even as the striking woman hauled Jake Beckett across the room.
And just how did this woman manage to get him into dress clothes and to an art function? Violette hadn’t managed that in months of dating him.
Her eyes betrayed her by dropping over the man’s chiseled physique. From his short, slick military haircut to the shine on his shoes, Jake looked amazing. Violette shouldn’t be taking notice of him, especially since she was the one who broke things off.
That breakup had left her confused for months. Heck, she was still confused by why they’d found each other so attractive, been so drawn to each other, when they were clearly all wrong.
“Miss Ashley, it’s great to finally meet you. I’ve come to the museum often but never had the pleasure of speaking with you.” The radiant woman offered her hand. “Megan Washington.”
Violette straightened her shoulders and took her hand in a professional squeeze. “Nice to meet you. If you know me by name, you must know I’m the art director here at the Flick Museum of Fine Arts.”
“Yes, of course, everybody knows you. All of your hard work here has benefited the community by bringing in so much refinement to an area that can definitely use it.” As if remembering that she had a smoldering-hot man next to her, Megan wrapped her arm around Jake. “This is my boyfriend Jake Beckett.”
How was Violette supposed to react to the introduction of a man who’d spent a lot of steamy nights between her thighs, making her scream his name?
A glance at him showed that his level of discomfort matched hers. She took the high road…and pretended not to know him.
“Mr. Beckett, hello.” She held out her hand.
If he refused to shake hands with her, Megan would know something lay between them. Boy, did it—miles of disagreements and knocking heads trying to find some common ground on which to build upon the desperate attraction already between them.
When he slipped his hand into hers, the perfectly rough, perfectly callused feel slingshot her back through time to the first time he’d ever touched her.
She quickly dropped his hand and threw a smile at Megan. “I hope you both enjoy yourselves tonight.” She started to walk away.
“Miss Ashley, I’d love to discuss your choice for the spotlight artist tonight of all nights.”
That stopped Violette in her tracks. She pivoted, trying to ignore Jake as he closed his eyes with what appeared to be resignation.
“Miss Ashley is very busy tonight, Megan. Maybe you can find time another day to ask her about the artist.” He avoided Violette’s gaze.
“This is what she’s being paid for, silly!”
Silly? How anybody had the guts to call the big, hot, dangerous military man silly, Violette couldn’t fathom. They must be closer than she ever got with Jake.
She chose not to let that sink in and turned her attention to the svelte woman in front of her. “What would you like to know about tonight’s artist?”
“I wondered what made you choose a painter whose subjects are so clearly old-fashioned.” She issued a low, velvety laugh. “I mean, how quaint, but is it really art?”
Violette blinked. She swore she heard Jake let out a quiet groan.
“Are you implying that the subject matter the artist chose isn’t valid in today’s modern world? I felt Dupris deserved his place here among other masters because of his view of the world.”
Megan shook her head. “Surely you see that his brushstrokes are not that of a trained artist, say one who studied in Vienna.”
Violette took a step toward her. “Surely you see that his brushstrokes are very trained. He has the skills of a master painter, but he breaks all the rules to depict how restless and unstructured the world around his subject has become. The shadows indicate as much to anybody who knows art.”
She wasn’t imagining Jake’s groan that time.
“I happened to study art history, so implying that I’m untrained in the subject is quite presumptuous on your part, Miss Ashley.”
Jake was looking at Megan Washington like she’d grown a second head. Didn’t he know her background? That seemed odd, since he knew Violette’s from the very beginning.
