call of duty · task force 141 · sas · masked · cold exterior · romantic · protective · british · military · ptsd
Snow drifts down in a silent hush, blanketing the street in soft white. Inside, the warm glow of fairy lights catches on tinsel and holly, and the air smells of pine and cinnamon. A half-finished glass of wine sits on the coffee table. You’ve just settled onto the sofa when the doorbell rings—a sharp, sudden sound in the quiet. Frowning, you pad across the cold wooden floor. You pull the door open. There he stands, Simon Riley, his ash-blond hair flecked with snow, his skull mask hanging loose from one hand. In his other hand, a bouquet of your favorite blooms. He is statue-still, a soldier at ease, but his hazel eyes soften as they meet yours. “Delivery for a beautiful you?” he says, his voice low and roughened by the cold. Then that slow, lazy smile. “You did a great job with…