Out of Uniform Box Set: Books 1-3

by Kennedy, Elle

  Garrett was married now, and Carson had been in a long-term relationship for a couple years, but the others, especially Ryan and Matt, apparently kept the reputation alive by prowling the club scene and hooking up with warm, willing females.

  Becker didn’t get the lifestyle. He was only thirty-two, but he’d been in a committed relationship since he was eighteen years old. Sure, that relationship had died a fiery death four months ago, but even now, divorced and single, he couldn’t picture himself doing the casual sex thing.

  Lately, he hardly thought about sex at all. He much preferred going out on missions, even in scorching-hot parts of the world like Colombia. At least when he was stealing through the jungle he didn’t have to be reminded of Alice.

  Looking down at the map in his hands, he studied the area they were going to be dropped at. It was at least half a day’s hike from their target, but they couldn’t land any closer to the rebel camp without alerting the enemy.

  “That’s where she’s being held?” Matt said, leaning in closer for a better look.

  Becker nodded, then pointed to a ridge on the map. “I say we separate there. Split up, approach from two directions.”

  The other men offered their opinions, but it didn’t take long to formulate an extraction plan. Elizabeth Harrison had been a hostage of the rebels for three days now, and during that time the SEALs were able to get satellite images of the camp, detailed notes about the terrain, as well as the locations of the twenty or so armed guards.

  Becker wondered how Elizabeth was holding up. It had been seriously shitty luck on her part, being captured during an assignment in the neighboring village. She was a photographer in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she was lucky that the government gave a damn about her. A lot of people up on the chain of command were anxious to see the American journalist brought to safety.

  Which put a lot of pressure on Becker and his team to make sure they got her out safe and sound. Fortunately, Becker was damn good at his job.

  As he rolled up the map and tucked it in the pocket of his camo pants, he gave each man on the chopper a stern look that had them squirming in their seats.

  Then he clapped his hands together and said, “All right, boys. Elizabeth Harrison needs rescuing. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

  1

  Jane Harrison lingered in the doorway, unable to take her eyes off the man across the large workout room. As far as faces went, his was nothing extraordinary. No Brad Pitt or anything. Average features, eyes an unremarkable shade of brown, a dark buzz cut. Handsome, sure, but nobody who would make you freeze in the middle of a busy street with your tongue hanging out.

  Yet, that’s exactly what she was doing, wasn’t it? Half-drooling as she stared at him. It was the body. She’d never seen anyone so ripped, so masculine. He was about six feet or so, with broad shoulders, a chest that looked rock-hard, and a trim waist that led to a taut backside.

  He wore a light blue T-shirt, and his biceps flexed and bulged each time he lifted one of the weights in his hands. A tall, brown-haired woman stood next to him, frowning, and even from across the room, Jane heard the woman tell him to take it easy. But this wasn’t the kind of man who took anything easy. Intensity rolled off him in waves.

  She’d planned on approaching him here, in the brightly lit gym at the physical therapy center, but she hesitated by the door. Liz hadn’t mentioned how commanding this man was. Or what a great body he had. Then again, Liz was probably too busy getting shot at to notice what her rescuer looked like.

  Jane watched as the therapist finally took the weights from Thomas Becker and set them down on the rack. The brunette looked annoyed. Probably because her patient seemed determined to push his physical limits when four weeks ago he’d taken a bullet to the arm.

  “See you on Friday,” the physical therapist said.

  Thomas Becker just nodded, then headed for the door.

  As he got closer, Jane drew in her breath. Okay, she had to quit focusing on his body and remember why she’d come here. This man had saved her sister’s life. She was here to interview him, not fuck him.

  “Mr. Becker?” she said when he reached the door.

  He glanced at her, forehead wrinkling. “Who’s asking?”

  “My name is Jane Harrison. You were in charge of the rescue mission for—”

  “Elizabeth,” he finished. “She okay?”

  “She’s great. Thanks to you and your team.” His serious expression unnerved her. He hadn’t even smiled in greeting. “Liz is my sister.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Jane faltered for a moment, not sure what to say next. It was obvious Thomas Becker didn’t have much interest in talking to her—his brown-eyed gaze kept darting toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

  “Do you have a moment?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he admitted. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll walk out with you, then.” She took a step down the corridor, and he followed her, his strides a million times longer than hers.

  He didn’t do the gentlemanly thing and try to match her gait, just barreled down the hall, while she struggled to keep up in her three-inch heels. She still wore the short black business suit and heels she’d donned for her morning meeting with her editor at Today’s World, the magazine she worked for, and the outfit hadn’t been designed for chasing after a very tall, very hot Navy SEAL.

  “So, I came here to ask you a favor,” she said as she hurried after him.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  They reached the elevator, which triggered a spark of panic in her gut. She usually avoided elevators like the plague, but she wasn’t about to ask this man to go down ten flights of stairs after he’d gotten shot rescuing her sister. As he reached to punch the down button, she noticed how large his hands were. He had long fingers, oddly graceful considering the size of his hands, but covered with just enough calluses to give him that manly, rough edge.

  “I’m a journalist, and I’d like to write a story about my sister’s rescue. Since you were in charge of the operation in Colombia, I was hoping to interview you.”

  Thomas Becker studied her for a long moment, his gaze sweeping up and down, side to side. She felt it the second those brown eyes rested on the cleavage spilling out of the camisole under her suit jacket, because her nipples tightened and poked against her bra. She could tell he was assessing her. Not in a sexual way, since his eyes remained expressionless, but like he was figuring out whether to take her seriously or not.

  Evidently he decided not was the answer to his internal question, because he offered a brusque shake of the head and said, “Sorry, not interested.” The elevator doors opened, punctuating his stiff response.

  Without glancing back, he stepped into the car.

  Jane stood frozen in place for a moment. Insulted. A tad pissed. Then she bounded into the elevator after him, hoping he couldn’t see the hot flush on her cheeks. Why was this guy so rude? Liz had said he’d been extremely warm and gentle as he’d lifted her into the helicopter. So either Liz was wrong and Becker was an asshole or, as usual, Jane’s Playboy Bunny body had caused yet another man to reach an unfair conclusion about her.

  Sometimes she hated the way she looked. And to this day, she still wondered if her mom had engaged in a torrid affair with some Irish stud in order to produce a daughter like Jane Harrison. Because really, how else could she explain how different she looked compared to everyone else in her family?

  Her parents, sister, and younger brother were skinny as twigs, with sandy-blond hair and dark brown eyes.

  Jane, on the other hand, had a head of shocking red hair that nobody ever believed was natural, blue eyes that were far too big for her face, and a centerfold body. Her sister was willowy and graceful, a few inches short of six feet, like everyone else in the family. Jane? She was a paltry five-six, with huge boobs, a small waist, and curvy frame—all guaranteed to make sure most people lumped her in the airhead
, sex kitten category without a second’s thought.

  Well, she was no airhead. A bit of a wild child, sure. Definitely at one with her sexuality. But stupid? Nope. And she was a damn good journalist, with a big brain in her head to match those big breasts.

  Setting her jaw, she fixed Thomas Becker with a steely look and said, “Why not?”

  He blinked, looking startled that she was in the elevator with him. “Huh?”

  “Why aren’t you interested in doing the interview?” She crossed her arms. “I can assure you, Today’s World is a very prestigious magazine, and I’m very good at what I do. I could paint you as an All-American hero, a regular GI Joe.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “It sounds very tempting, Ms. Harrison—”

  “Jane,” she cut in.

  “Jane,” he amended. “But I’m still not interested in having an article written about me.”

  “It won’t be just about you. Look, Mr. Becker—”

  “Just Becker, or Beck.”

  “Okay, Becker. It’ll revolve around Elizabeth and her experience. I’d just like some quotes from you about the rescue itself, how you planned it, the strategy, maybe a picture.”

  His features hardened. “No.”

  Frustration bubbled in her stomach. “Will you at least give me a reason why you’re so determined not to do it?”

  He glanced at the flashing numbers over the doors, his stiff shoulders telling her he couldn’t wait to get out of this elevator. Wonderful. Now he was dying to get away from her.

  Glancing at her again, he released a sigh. “I don’t like being in the spotlight, okay? And I definitely don’t like having my picture flashed around.” He rolled his eyes. “For someone who considers herself a good journalist, I’d think you’d understand why that is.”

  She bristled. “Why a man who saved a woman’s life doesn’t want some good old praise? No, I don’t understand.”

  “I’m a SEAL. My job requires keeping a low profile, getting in and out of places before people even realize I’m there. How well do you think I’d do if everyone knew my face?”

  Jane paused. Fine. So he made a good point. “Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I get that. But there are ways around it, you know. We don’t have to print a picture, and we can change your name in the article. What’s your next argument?”

  A flash of amusement filled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re very persistent?”

  “Yep. Goes with my line of work.”

  The elevator slowly ground to a stop. Jane glanced up and noticed they hadn’t reached the lobby, but had stopped on the third floor. She waited for the doors to open to let in a passenger, but nothing happened.

  Wrinkling her forehead, she glanced at Becker. “Why did we stop?”

  “I have no idea.” He moved toward the panel and punched in the lobby button again.

  A shrill ringing suddenly blared in the elevator, startling her so badly she nearly fell over backwards. “What the hell?” she shouted over the noise.

  Becker studied the panel then jammed his finger against the intercom button. The ringing died immediately, replaced by the sound of static. Becker leaned into the speaker. “Hello, anyone there?”

  A moment later, a voice responded. “Hi there, folks, what seems to be the problem?”

  “The elevator stopped on the third floor. It might be stuck.”

  “All right, just stay put. Let me see what the trouble is.”

  “Stay put?” Jane echoed as the static crackled and disappeared. “Where the hell else would we go?” Her suit jacket suddenly felt way too tight, her skin super hot.

  Becker shrugged. “He’s probably scared we’ll try to climb out the ceiling panel and rappel down the cables.”

  His attempt at humor fell flat, mostly because Jane was barely listening to him. She glanced wildly around the car, measuring it in her mind. Five by five, she guessed. Maybe a couple of feet more. Oh God.

  “You okay?”

  Her head jerked up. “What? Yeah. Sure. I’m great. I’m wonderful.” Her eyes ping-ponged around the tiny space. “Why isn’t he answering us?” she burst out.

  Becker came to her side, concern in his eyes. “Hey. Hey.” He touched her arm. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m sure they’ll have it up and running in a few minutes. Fifteen, max.”

  Sweat bloomed on her forehead. “Fifteen minutes? We can’t survive in this teeny little box for that long! What if we run out of air? What if—” She quit talking, her heart pounding so fast she feared it might stop.

  “I take it you’re not good with small spaces,” Becker said with a sigh.

  She sucked in some oxygen. “It’s a problem,” she admitted.

  “How the hell did you get to the eleventh floor, then? You didn’t ride the elevator up?”

  She shook her head, pressing her hands to her sides because they were beginning to sweat. And shake. “I took the stairs.”

  “You climbed ten flights of stairs to—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of static. Jane’s entire body flooded with relief as a voice filled the car.

  “Folks, you still there?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, where else would we go?” she muttered.

  Looking like he was smothering a smile, Becker moved back to the intercom. “Still here.”

  “It seems we’re experiencing some technical difficulties,” the man said apologetically. “The repairman is on his way over to take a look.”

  Jane’s heart took off like a terrified horse in a thunderstorm. Oh shit.

  “Shouldn’t take too long to get you folks out of there,” the man—no, the devil—added. “Half hour, hour tops.”

  Jane promptly dropped to the ground and stuck her head between her knees. She sucked in shallow breaths, knowing she was making a fool of herself, but unable to stop the fear spiraling inside her.

  “Okay, thanks. Keep us updated, please,” Becker said into the intercom. Then he was by her side, on his knees beside her. “Jane. Jane, look at me.”

  Miserably, she raised her head, ashamed of the tears prickling her eyelids.

  “Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”

  She opened her mouth, but when she tried to inhale, her throat tightened. “There’s no air,” she wheezed. “No. Air.”

  She grew light-headed, her cheeks so hot she knew they must look like two enormous apples. And her heart…oh God, she really was going to have a heart attack. In this miniscule elevator car with no air and walls that were closing in on her and—

  A pair of strong arms wrapped around her and suddenly she found herself in Thomas Becker’s lap. His hands cupped her scorching cheeks, those brown eyes blazing with intensity. “Jane, look at me. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll get out of here in no time, all right? And there is plenty of air, so you really need to stop hyperventilating before you pass out.”

  Pass out? She was more worried about her heart bursting right out of her chest. As panic spiraled through her, she buried her face against Thomas Becker’s sturdy chest and started to cry.

  2

  Fucking wonderful. Not only was he going to be late for his appointment with the realtor, but now he had to contend with the panicky, crying sexpot in his arms.

  With a sigh, Becker awkwardly patted Jane Harrison’s back, attempting to offer reassurance. But all he got in return were a few more muffled sobs and a growing erection.

  The hard-on couldn’t be helped. The woman in his lap was smoking hot, with high, full tits, shapely legs that were bare beneath that short skirt of hers, and a firm ass that felt pretty damn good against his thighs. And she smelled incredible, like honey and lavender and a flowery perfume that made his groin ache. He couldn’t resist pressing his face to the wild mane of red hair spilling down her back and inhaling her sweet shampoo as the soft tresses tickled his nose. Then he forced himself to pull back, because one, it was inappropriate to smell a woman’s hair while she was crying in his arms, and two, because he r
eally, really didn’t need this headache right now.

  His shoulder was fucking throbbing, the bullet wound still in its early healing stages, and he knew he’d overdone it in the physical therapy session today. But hell, he needed to get back in fighting shape, and fast. He was going stir crazy in his hotel room, dying to get back to work, and if it meant pushing himself to his physical limits, so be it.

  “Jane,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

  When she didn’t lift her head, he did it for her, grasping her chin with both hands and tilting it. He found himself staring into a pair of big blue eyes awash with tears.

  “There’s plenty of air, okay?” he said in the same calm, reassuring voice he used when dealing with hostages he’d rescued. “We’re going to be fine.”

  She didn’t respond. He could see her pulse throbbing in her slender neck, a sign that her panic hadn’t diffused, despite his words.

  He brushed away her tears with his thumb. “I get you’re scared, but there’s no reason to be, all right? We could survive in here for days. You won’t pass out, you won’t have a heart attack, and you won’t stop breathing.”

  She blinked, sending another tear down her unbelievably smooth cheek, which he couldn’t resist caressing. “You promise?” she finally murmured.

  “I promise.”

  A flicker of relief filled her gaze. “Do you…would you mind holding me a bit longer?”

  Becker suppressed a groan. Did he mind? Hell, yes, because any moment now, she was going to snap out of her panic-induced haze and notice the massive erection pressing against her thigh. But since he wasn’t an asshole, he couldn’t very well push her out of his arms when she was still so shaken up.