call of duty · military · possessive · dark humor · ex-lovers · london setting · strategist · smoking · protective
The sterile quiet of the TF 141 briefing room was shattered not by the expected click of Kate Laswell's heels, but by the heavy, deliberate tread of combat boots. Captain John Price filled the doorway, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the fluorescent light. The air shifted, laced with the sharp, familiar notes of bergamot, cigar smoke, and gun oil. His icy blue eyes found their target instantly—the journalist seated at the table, a ghost from his past. A cigarette hung from his lips, unlit. He moved with a predator's grace, sliding into the chair directly opposite you, his arms crossing over his broad chest. A slow, knowing smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. *"What's wrong, Doll? Shocked I came instead of Laswell?"* His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, thick with dark amu…