Reviews ...
“Strong secondary characters,
humor, a great heroine and a sexy hero
make it stand out and turn
it into a keeper book.” 4.5 Stars.
- Romantic Times
Excerpt
...
A tap sounded on Claire’s hotel room door. A black-haired
stranger stood in front of her door, his face turned to the side.
Wow, was he a looker with a strong, clean jaw and firm, full lips.
His short haircut indicated that he was probably military despite
the fact he wore jeans and a black t-shirt. What should she do?
It was past midnight. “Yes?” she ventured through
the door, tugging her peach-colored cotton robe around her.
“Miss Cook?” He stopped looking up and down the hall
and stared at the peephole.
She swallowed hard. “Sergeant Boudreaux?” she asked
faintly. Good Lord, the man cleaned up well. Better than well,
magnificently.
“You alone in there, ma’am?”
“Of course.” She undid the chain and yanked open
the door. “What brings you here, Sergeant?”
“I need to make sure you’re ready.”
Oh, she was. But probably not for what he had in mind. “I’ll
be at the base at oh-seven-hundred hours, just like we planned.”
She thought her little foray into military time was pretty good,
but he obviously disagreed.
“Real training should start at what we call ‘oh-dark-thirty’.”
“What time is that?” It sounded terribly early.
“Whenever the CO hauls your ass out of bed—three,
four o’clock in the morning.”
“My goodness, that is early.”
“The old Army recruiting slogan had it right—‘we
do more before 9 a.m. than more people do all day’.”
“Shouldn’t they have said ‘oh-nine-hundred’?”
He gave her a strange look. “I mean, using military time
and all that…”
“Let me see your stuff.” Without getting permission,
Sergeant Boudreaux hefted one duffle bag. “Crap! Can you
even lift this thing?” He easily tossed it to Claire, but
its weight pitched her backwards onto the bed and she found herself
staring up at underside of the yellow canopy.
He muttered another curse and pulled the bag off her chest. “You
okay?”
She nodded as she tried to catch her breath. Before she knew
it, he was kneeling next to her on the bed and running his hands
expertly over her shoulders and arms. He hesitated briefly as
his fingers brushed the sides of her unbound breasts but continued
his checkup. “Take a deep breath.”
Claire did, her robe falling open to reveal her sheer cotton
nightgown. His gaze fell to the rise and fall of her breasts,
and she realized the dark circles of her nipples were visible.
Boudreaux swallowed. “Does it hurt?” His voice was
thick and sweet as cane syrup.
“Does what hurt?” Her nipples were starting to hurt
from being so tight and hard. Despite his rough exterior, his
hands had been gentle.
“Your chest. I mean, when you breathe.” His own breath
was coming faster.
“You mean here?” Some little devil made Claire massage
the tops of her breasts and breastbone between.
His hands tightened on his jeans-clad knees. “Yeah. There.
Do I need to call you an ambulance?”
She stopped, disappointed. “No. You trying to break my
bones so I don’t go, huh?”
He leapt off the bed so smoothly the only evidence he’d
ever been there was his imprint on the duvet. “Back to the
bags. He lifted the smaller duffel bag. “Don’t worry.
Now that I know you have no upper body strength I won’t
throw this at you.”
“It’s a little late for developing upper body strength,
don’t you think?”
He gave her an evil grin. “It’s never too late for
pushups. And no girl pushups either where your butt’s sticking
up in the air.”
“You want me to drop and give you twenty? That way you
can check how my butt is.” She challenged him with her hands
on her hips, knowing her loose nightgown would gape all the way
down to her toes.
He realized the same thing and backpedaled. “Maybe later.”
He crouched and unzipped the smaller bag. “Ah, clothes from
the Rank Amateur Survivalist collection.” He had a fistful
each of her bras and panties and was examining them with a clinical
eye. Of course it wasn’t any of her delicate, lacy things
she had a secret weakness for—these were industrial strength
white or gray cotton sports bras and panties.
“Put those back, those are none of your business.”
She grabbed for them, but of course he was too quick.
“Everything about you is my business now, down to your
underwear.” He stuffed them into the bag. “Glad to
see you brought one hundred percent cotton. Prickly heat and fungal
infections are no joke.”
Claire winced but he had moved on to her hiking boots. He straightened,
his face serious, the boot dangling from his hand. “Did
you realize you have a tracking device here?”
“A what?”
“Somebody planted what looks like a GPS tracking device
on the tongue of your boot. See this black disc? Your other boot
doesn’t have it.”
Claire stared at the plastic circle. “I barely noticed
that—I thought it was an anti-theft device from the store.”
“It is. An anti-theft device for you. Not your boot. Whoever
planted this can log into a GPS server and find exactly where
your boot is, every minute of every day.”
“Who would want to…” Claire’s question
trailed away. Of course she knew who wanted to track her—her
father. “My father.”
“You think it’s your father?”
“Who else?”
“Disgruntled boyfriend? Someone who’s unhappy you’re
leaving him for so long?” He looked down at her in concern.
She let out a decidedly unladylike snort. “Not hardly.
I haven’t even had sex in almost a year.” She slapped
a hand over her mouth. Great. Now she sounded like some sort of
desperate weirdo.
He bit back a smile. “If it makes you feel better, neither
have I.”
Instead of clearing the air, their mutual admission of celibacy
thickened it. Suddenly the condoms on her bed seemed to beckon.
Condoms, bed and extended celibacy were a potent combination.
Who would need to know if she made a move on him? She was leaving
for San Lucas in less than a month where the sexual opportunities
were nonexistent. She’d never been so bold with a a practical
stranger, but he had shown her flashes of gentleness under his
tough exterior. “Luc.” His name was strange and wonderful
on her tongue as she ran her hand up his muscled forearm to where
his bicep met his soft cotton t-shirt.
He stood frozen as a statue, the only movement in his body under
his tight zipper. Emboldened, she brushed her palm over his rock-hard
pec, his nipple tightening instantly. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
“Oh, Luc, you feel so good.”
“Damn it all!” His eyes flew open and he caught her
wrist.
“What?”
“I feel too damn good, that what. And you’d feel
too damn good under me.” He shoved her hand away from him.
“And this is why women are not allowed in Special Forces.
Your skin is too smooth, your body is too soft—hell, even
that sweet peachy smell coming off your hair is a dangerous distraction.”
“You think I’m a distraction?” Despite his
rejection and back-handed compliments, she was pleased. She’d
never been accused of distracting a man before.
“I know so.” He pointed a finger at her. “And
you don’t need any distractions either. The only person
you can depend on is you.”
“Don’t you depend on your family? Your team?”
“Family will not get you out of a jam, and your team, well…”
he looked away for a second. “Sometime your team be gone
and it’s just you.” He stared at her. “If you
don’t want to do this, you have to back out now. But if
you want to have at least a fighting chance of taking care of
yourself, come with me now.”
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