Soldier In Charge: Ripped!

SERGEANT SANCHEZ SHOT TO HIS feet. “Can I help you, sir?”

Dugan waved him back down. “As you were, Sergeant. I’m here to pick up Ms. Walters.” Mitch continued to maintain eye contact with the soldier behind the desk but every other part of him was fully tuned into the woman in the room. He heard her sharp intake of breath at his announcement.

His body tightened in a totally involuntary response to her scent, the memory of that quick, but oh-so-sensual, slide of her curves against him, the taste of her kiss. “I’m Ms. Walters’s escort for this project.”

He glanced at her, judging her reaction. Her amazing midnight-blue eyes widened with surprise and a flicker of something indefinable. There was something in the way she’d looked at him when she lay sprawled at his feet, a slight recognition, a touch of familiarity. Mitch, however, was sure he’d never met her before. Given the way he responded to her, he’d have definitely remembered. She wasn’t a woman a man easily forgot.

“You’re Captain Gibbens replacement?” Sanchez said.

The disbelief in the sergeant’s voice didn’t surprise Mitch. This certainly wasn’t Mitch’s typical assignment but then again, Hardwick was making an example of Mitch and having a little sadistic fun at Mitch’s expense. Hardwick was that kind of fun-loving guy.

Mitch offered a short laugh, mocking himself. “Do you think I can’t handle the assignment, Sergeant?”

For a split second Sanchez looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh along with him or not. Sanchez opted for the not. “No, sir,” he said. “I’m one-hundred percent sure you can handle any assignment, sir.”

Sitting in the chair to Dugan’s left, Eden Walters made a choking sound.

Mitch turned to her and felt a tightening inside him. “Are you okay, Ms. Walters?”

She had a way of smiling with her eyes. It was like the sun coming out. He’d noticed it this morning in the hallway. “I’m fine.” She brushed her fingers against her throat and he found himself fascinated by the pale column of flesh. Would it taste the same as her mouth? Would her pulse throb against his tongue if he licked just the right spot? “Just something stuck for a moment.”

Right. Like maybe a laugh.

“Okay. Paperwork completed,” Sanchez said. “You’ve got a guide. You’re on your way.” Sanchez rounded the desk and nodded.

Eden rose to her feet and Mitch automatically glanced down at her red heels and the shapely curve of her calf. Those shoes were going to have to go before they went out to Sicily, today’s jump site. They were sexy as hell, but totally impractical. And every guy there would be thinking about stripping her down to nothing but those heels…well, and maybe a pair of panties. That’s sure as hell what he was thinking about right now and he was damn certain every other man at Sicily would be doing the same. The heels had to go.

“Thank you…for everything,” she said, giving Sanchez a quick hug and a smile. “You’ve got my number. Call me when you want to get together. I’m serious.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Good. I’m really looking forward to it.”

She was friendly, Mitch would give her that. She’d kissed him a couple of hours ago and now Sanchez was her new best friend.

Mitch held the office door for her. Fixing her oversize purse more firmly on her shoulder, she brushed past him into the hallway. Her perfume teased his nostrils with its light, flirty aroma. The image of her in those heels, her arms twined around him, that scent surrounding him suddenly flashed through his mind.

He determinedly dragged his thoughts elsewhere. What was it about this particular woman that slid in beneath his radar? It didn’t matter, he just better get the hell over it—walking down the hall with a hard-on struck him as a piss-poor idea.

Was she setting up a “get together” with Sanchez now, even though the guy was married? It was absolutely, totally none of his business…except for the fact that she was his mission for the next few days.

“Sanchez has a wife,” he said, as they walked down the hall.

For a stretch of thirty seconds or so, the only sound between them was the tap-tap-tap of those ridiculously high heels of hers against the tile floor. And then she laughed—a rich, full vibration of genuine mirth. “You thought…I know he’s married. We discussed his wife and daughter. He was so nice and helpful I offered to shoot his family when they get back in town. Shoot as in photograph.”

“Right. Just making sure.” Dammit, for the second time in less than six hours she had thrown him for a loop, and he didn’t do loops. He moved on to the day’s events. “You’re scheduled to observe a training jump at 1500 hours today.” Fantasies would be flying and especially after the conversation between McElhaney and Carter. The thought of watching her choose other men didn’t sit well with Mitch. “You need to change your shoes.”

She arched an amused brow in his direction. He was glad she found him entertaining. “I have shoes.”

“I’m aware of that, but they’re not practical.”

Her nose tilted up slightly at the end with the faintest sprinkling of freckles across the bridge. “Lieutenant Colonel, I have a pair of flats in my car, along with a pair of slacks. I know I can’t go to a jump dressed like this. Despite the impression I might’ve given you earlier, I’m not a total idiot.”

Regardless of the fact that they were in the Public Affairs building, and that a small knot of soldiers stood at one end of the hall chatting, that kiss loomed suddenly between them, binding them as firmly as the silk cords on a parachute. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she moistened her plump lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Heat charged through him and for a second his only thought was to pull her to him and thoroughly explore her mouth. And then sanity returned, yanking him back on-task. He was never off-task. “Idiot wasn’t exactly the term that came to mind, Ms. Walters.”

He held the door and she preceded him out into the parking lot and the warm, October sun. “If you say so.” She nodded her thanks as he held the door for her, then shot him an infectious smile he found himself wanting to return. “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll be ready. I’m quick.”

Once again, same as this morning, he watched her walk, the sway of her hips capturing his attention. Deliberately he looked away. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be caught ogling Brigadier General Max Walters’s daughter’s ass in the parking lot—even though it was ogle-worthy.

He checked out the horizon. Clear skies, moderate wind in from the northeast. It’d be a nice day for the training jump.

Only someone who’d ever jumped understood the rush of adrenaline, that roar of the wind as your body hurtled toward the ground and then the yank and glide as your parachute unfurled and you rode the air currents once more back to terra firma. Unfortunately, his ass was grounded this time around by a woman with an infectious smile, midnight-blue eyes and a helluva kiss.

EDEN SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT of Lieutenant Colonel Dugan’s immaculately restored red-and-white Ford Bronco.

“What year is this?” she asked, rubbing her hand over the seat.

“Sixty-nine,” he said.

She swallowed hard and redirected her mind from the very sexual place it had just jumped to and back to his truck. “Very nice.”

“Thanks. It was a two-year project. Just a hobby of mine.”

She suspected nothing was “just” with him. He struck her as very focused, very intense. “When you’re not deployed?”

“Right.”

Eden knew better than to ask where he’d been, what he’d done. She’d been nine years old when her father had been in the First Gulf War. When he’d come home, it had never been talked about. What happened on a deployment wasn’t up for conversation in the Walters household. Training, however, frequently popped up.

“So, how hard will it be to show up and not jump today?”

After an initial moment of surprise, he laughed. “It’s pretty dam—I mean darn hard.”

His changing the damn to darn struck her as sweet. And she’d bet Lieutenant Colonel Special Ops Hard-ass would just love to be thought of as sweet. She smiled at the thought.

“It’s okay. I’ve heard curse words before.”

“I guess I better work on my poker face,” he said, with an unexpected self-deprecating sense of humor.

“Not necessarily.” She shrugged. It wasn’t his expression. It was more as if she were picking up vibes from him, which would just sound beyond strange if she shared that. Instead, she reasoned, “Most jumpers love to jump.”

“Have you ever done it?”

She absolutely couldn’t stop thinking about sex around him. She knew good and well he was asking if she’d ever parachuted, but all she could think about when he said done it was, well, doing it. She’d been in some jacked up hormonal state ever since she’d found herself at his feet this morning.

The close confines of his truck didn’t help, either. She was achingly aware of everything about him. He smelled good—a mixture of faint aftershave, uniform starch and yummy man. She’d grown up around men in uniform and they’d never done a thing for her. But Mitch Dugan was smokin’ hot in his…and she’d bet he was even hotter out of it.

“How can you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” The timbre of his voice rippled over her.

In a flash she was imagining the two of them, naked in her courtyard, surrounded by the sultry New Orleans heat and the inky dark night. The brush of his skin against hers, his breath warm against her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter against him…

She drew a slightly unsteady breath. “I’m open to trying lots of things—” If he only knew. “But some experiences are better left untried. The only way I’m jumping out of a plane is if someone throws me out the door.”

“Then it’s probably better that you don’t get on a jump plane. It’s been known to happen.” His grin held a wicked edge. “And here I’d pegged you to be the daring type, Ms. Walters.” There was no mistaking his challenge. The air between them felt fraught with sexual energy. When was the last time she’d felt so engaged by someone?

“Really? Does a woman have to be daring to kiss you, Lieutenant Colonel?”

The look he shot her set her nipples tingling. Sweet mercy. “I was talking about the red heels. They send a message.”

“Really? Is that your specialty? Decoding intelligence?”

“Red heels don’t require a specialization.”

“So, exactly what message do you think they send, Lieutenant Colonel?”

He made an efficient left turn. “They say ‘I’m bold. I’m not like everyone else here.’ And that kiss, that was all about telling everyone they might do what they’re told, but you’ll do what you want to do.”

“Maybe you’re partially right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Not this time, soldier. Do you ever do something just because the impulse strikes you?”

“No.” Unequivocal.

No surprise there. Her question had mostly been rhetorical. Lieutenant colonels, especially one his age, were not men of impulse.

She shifted in her seat, turning toward him. “That kiss was pure impulse. The only message there was I wanted to kiss you, so I did.” She did feel a tad remorseful although she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. “I know that’s why you wound up assigned to this. You no more volunteered for this assignment than I did.” He slanted her a quick glance. “Colonel Hardwick’s warped sense of humor is almost legendary. I’ve heard my dad talk about him more than once. He obviously thought you needed slapping down for being indiscreet.” She shook her head. “Trust me, I’m fairly familiar with soldiers and how they think.”

“I guess that happens when your father is a Brigadier General.”

Was he reminding himself or her? “This is what happens when your father is a Brigadier General—I’ll get a phone call tonight from my mother and in the conversation she’ll manage to work in my father’s disappointment in my behavior. It’s yet another reason I avoid Army bases,” she said, looking out the window. A group of soldiers stood at attention on a bare expanse of ground, obviously some review or another. They were all alike. There was no room for any individuality. Everything here was all the same Army-issue green or tan. She suppressed a faint shudder and looked back at Dugan. “It’s like living in a glass house and every action and reaction reflects back on my father. Believe me, I know.” She’d been reminded often enough in the past. Damn straight she knew now. Reminders weren’t necessary. “Growing up, our household was run with military precision and structure.”

“It beats the hell out of the alternate. Without structure you have chaos. No one thrives in chaos.”

He hadn’t glanced at her but there was a slight change in his tone, his inflection that said more than the mere words. Authenticity. Authority. That’s what it was. His tone bespoke firsthand knowledge.

“Something in between would be nice.” He merely quirked an eyebrow at that. The sun slanted through the windshield, etching his profile against the backdrop of blue sky outside his window. Gooseflesh prickled her. Good Lord but he was beautiful. She could look at the sharp slant of his nose, the slope of his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones, and the clean-shaven jaw that gave way to that faintly clefted chin all day long. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

“Things are almost never fifty-fifty. They usually tend to sway one direction or the other. I’ll take structure and precision any day.”

Why did she have this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she’d been handed a treat and then told she couldn’t have it? “Obviously,” she said in a crisp tone, “or the Army would be an impossible career choice for you. But it’s not for everyone. Take this morning, for example. Public Affairs wanted to give me a list of calendar candidates.”

His look clearly questioned why that was a problem. “It does seem more efficient considering the size of this base.”

“But it’s not efficient if they’re not the right candidates. That’s part of my specialization. I’ve got an eye for people. And that’s the reason I’m here. See, a little flexibility would’ve actually made this morning much more efficient.”

“What makes one candidate better than another? Don’t you just need twelve well-built, easy-on-the-eyes guys?”

“It’s not that straightforward. There’s something, and I don’t know exactly how to describe it, that sets people apart in a photo. You would be perfect to photograph.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.