Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  "The stars aren't even there," she said softly. "The twinkle is just light traveling to us from the past." Still, she stared up at them and enjoyed their beauty, knowing that, despite the scientific facts, there was plenty of romance in this cold night with this hot man beside her. As much as she should fear his hard demeanor, and the power he held over her right now, she was somehow drawn to him in a way she couldn't explain. It wasn't the aura of danger around him, nor his flashes of kind consideration, nor even the gleam of interest she'd spotted in his eyes. The other men were equally as hard-bodied, as competent, and even as good-looking. But only Dec plucked this chord of awareness and interest deep within her.

  A long moment stretched out between them. "The stars are the only way we have to see the past," Dec finally said.

  "Think of a shooting star," she said. "Such an evocative name, as if a star could come down from the heavens and sprinkle its magic brilliance upon us. And yet, the shooting star is nothing more than dust from a comet heating up as the earth passes through it." She settled herself a bit more firmly, hoping she'd accidentally end up a little closer to his warmth. "'Cosmic dust' simply doesn't have the same ring as 'shooting star'."

  He closed his eyes again. "All I ask of the night sky is that it remain peaceful. Good night."

  "Night." She wished he didn't have to go to sleep. Night brought to her only the terrors of her journey, and her fears of what might be happening to her sister. There was no peace. But she knew he had to recruit his energies for whatever he was doing with his band of not-so-merry men. She knew he wasn't here in Iraq on a hiking trip, despite what he said. So he was lying to her. But she couldn't complain. She was also lying to him.

  Chapter Eight

  Declan's internal alarm clock went off exactly four hours after he laid down on the ground. He knew exactly where he was, and that he had to get up and get going. What he didn't know was why there was a woman pressed up against his left side, keeping him warm and arousing him to the point of pain. Her soft breasts hugged his bicep, her arm was thrown over his abdomen, and one of her knees was wedged against his thigh. It had been months since he'd felt the soft curves of a woman, and pleasure feathered up the back of his neck, and down to his groin.

  In the next instant, he knew exactly who the woman was. He also knew that was Zack standing in the moonlight, watching them with a frown on his face. Of course, Zack couldn't see much because the sleeping bag covered them. But anyone could see that Laila's face was right against Dec's shoulder, and Dec doubted that the outlines of their bodies were completely obscured by the bag.

  He raised his free hand and pressed a finger to his lips in the classic 'shh' motion. Shaking his head, Zack turned away and began peeing. Dec carefully moved Laila's hand off his stomach, lowered her knee to the ground, and unhooked the handcuffs. He inched away until they were no longer touching. Then he stood up swiftly, copied Zack's movement and walked back to Laila.

  Gently, he shook her awake with a hand on her shoulder. "Time to go," he said.

  She blinked up at him, her almond eyes sleepy. It only took a second or two for awareness to register in her gaze. She sat up, looked around, and then got to her feet. "There's a mesquite bush over there if you need privacy." Dec pointed.

  She yawned and began rooting around in her backpack, finally brandishing a toothbrush and toothpaste. "I'll be right back."

  He could see that it took her considerable effort to walk over to the bush, but then he had to turn around to give her privacy. He was sorry she was so stiff, but the situation couldn't be helped. Unless she collapsed, they had to move on.

  Zack moved toward him. "What the fuck was that," he said in a low voice. "I hope you're not gonna fuck her right in front of all of us."

  "Don't be such a dickhead. She was probably cold. She was definitely zonked out and unaware of what she was doing."

  "What she was doing?" Zack cracked a laugh. "Like I don't know how you work, bro."

  "Believe what you want." Dec shrugged his shoulders. He had to make light of the damn situation so the men wouldn't rag on him.

  "It's my turn tonight," Zack muttered. "I miss a woman as much as you do."

  In one step, Declan had reached his friend and gripped his arm hard. "Stay the fuck away from her."

  Zack's dark eyes bored into his, even as he wrenched his arm out of Declan's grasp. "This is exactly the fuck why we shouldn't be messing with a woman. Already, we're fighting. You let Greg or Harp see you snuggling with that bitch and their minds are gonna start thinking along the same lines as mine. And yours."

  "She's not a bitch." Declan clenched his hands into fists to keep them from reaching again for Zack. "I let her choose who she'd lie down with. There's no point in blaming me for the choice she made."

  "We still haven't searched her," Zack snarled. "Are you too lovelorn to do that?"

  Dec froze. He'd completely forgotten the need to search Laila. "You're right," he said tightly. "We'll do it before we move out."

  Dec was both angry and ashamed. He didn't like searching women. It was an invasion of their privacy. Laila hadn't shown any signs of violence toward them, but he couldn't deny the possibility that the two hajjis they'd killed had been working in concert with her.

  The terrorists often used women and children as decoys in order to take military personnel off guard.

  He still didn't know how Laila had known they were outside the tent last night. Why had she warned the tangos about them? He didn't think she was working with the two jihadis who'd been following her. But where were the other terrorists? He couldn't rule out the possibility that this was all a plot to lure them into a trap. He couldn't know.

  She could be dangerous and he needed to search her thoroughly. Despite his reluctance to work with women, he had no doubt they could be dangerous and effective adversaries.

  So, as much as he didn't want to perform this chore, he wasn't going to risk their safety on an unknown woman. Nor was he going to let anyone else touch her. He couldn't say why he felt so strongly about that, but he wasn't going to waste time plumbing his psyche to answer pointless questions.

  He gestured to her when she returned from the mesquite bush. "Time for the search. Let's start with the burka." Damn if she hadn't put the fucking veil back across her face after brushing her teeth.

  "You—you aren't going to make me strip in front of everyone?" Laila pressed her lips together, as if holding in more words.

  He frowned. "You don't want to give me the idea that you have something to hide."

  Slowly, she began removing her headgear.

  Declan found he was holding his breath. The sky had lightened with the oncoming dawn. A few pink tendrils decorated the mountain peaks. He'd be able to see her more clearly than he had last night under the light from Zack's headlamp.

  She moved her hands behind her head and pulled down the piece that covered her face. He was surprised to see it was a rectangle with a piece that had been pulled up over her head to form part of her hair covering. The rectangle had two thick strings extending from either side. That must be what she'd untied.

  However, only her face was exposed by that maneuver. He scanned her features. The eyes he already knew, although they looked larger and more liquid in daylight, with their darkness set against her white face rather than the black veil. Her nose was straight and small, her mouth wide, with beautifully formed lips that glowed a pale pink in the rising dawn.

  Of course, she wore no makeup, although he'd seen plenty of Muslim women in veils wearing heavily made-up eyes. Perhaps Laila didn't like makeup. Perhaps she didn't have a mirror on her, or saw no need for adornment out here in the desert.

  It didn't matter. She still had an even-featured, appealing face, maybe not classically beautiful, but alluring in its classic simplicity.

  Her head was still mostly covered by a large billowing black scarf. He gestured to that. Her graceful hands rose again and she began removing pins, one on either side, and at least one i
n the back. The scarf fell in loose folds against her face. It was some kind of soft fabric, not stiff like cotton, nor as luxurious as silk. That's where his ability to name fabrics foundered. Was it jersey?

  She unwound the scarf and he saw that it was a long, rectangular piece. Lord, she must be hot under all that during the daytime. On the other hand, it kept her from being burned by the sun.

  Her hair was black, shiny and smooth, like a raven's wing. Surprisingly, she had it tied back with an elastic. He wanted to tell her to let it free, so he could see how magnificently it fell around her shoulders.

  Of course, he couldn't do that. For his purposes, it was actually better that her hair was out of the way.

  "This is going too slow," Harp grumbled. "We'll check the backpack."

  Declan nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from Laila.

  "Please—" Laila reached out a hand of entreaty. "Let me unpack my things."

  "We won't hurt them," Harp snapped. "Don't travel alone in the wilderness if you don't want unpleasant things to happen."

  "There's no need to be hostile," Declan said calmly. He looked at Laila. "As soon as I finish searching you, you can supervise the backpack search. Unless we run out of time, and then the men will have to do it without your input." Maybe that would hurry her along.

  With her headgear all removed, her next garment was an enveloping black coat, which covered her all the way from her neck and down past her shoes. In fact, it was a little too long which was surprising. Why wouldn't she have a burka that fit? The extra inch or so of fabric was a tripping hazard.

  His fingers itched to tear it off. If she'd been a man, he'd already be 'helping' her to disrobe. He knew the removal of the outer layer wouldn't show anything anyway, because Muslim women were always fully dressed under their outer garments, no matter the weather.

  Her coat had a placket that covered a row of buttons that marched down its front.

  She took so long to move her fingers to those buttons that he had to issue a gruff order. "Hurry up. We have a lot of ground to cover today."

  One by one, the buttons opened, torturing him each step of the way. Which was amazing, because he knew she was still fully clothed underneath. He felt a twinge of fear at how aroused he was becoming, not physically, thank God - he still had some control, and the guys would never let him live it down if he popped a boner. But mentally, he was on fire.

  The damn coat finally dropped to the ground. He sucked in a breath. She wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and long, flared pants that were made of the type of nylon material used for athletic wear. Comfortable, he presumed. Despite the fact that both shirt and pants were baggy, the material was thin and the outline of her body was finally revealed to his hungry eyes.

  High, tight breasts. A gently curved waist, barely visible. Long legs, although he'd already known that. They ended in black ankle boots that were dusty with use, but sensible for walking.

  She'd dressed carefully and prudently for whatever role she was playing. Silently, he saluted her.

  But they weren't done.

  "Bring that thing," he ordered, pointing to the burka, "and come over here." He pointed to a spot near the spreading mulberry tree that would allow them to be somewhat apart from the other men.

  She glanced at her backpack, whose contents were being laid out on the ground by Harp and Zack. Greg was standing guard, his rifle at the ready. She seemed to be balancing the need to see what was happening with the backpack with a need to have some privacy.

  Finally, she followed him over.

  "Thank you for taking me away from the other guys," she said.

  "I don't want to do this," he answered. "Mostly because I want to do it too much."

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She gazed into his face. "What does that mean?"

  "I think you know." He met her gaze briefly. "I'm a little too interested to have the necessary objectivity. But the alternative, would be to have one of the other men search you. And you preferred me to sleep near so—" He shrugged.

  She dropped her gaze, biting her lip. "You aren't as hostile as some of them. I thought they might be rough, or lewd."

  He nodded. "If you were a man, we'd already have you stripped to your underwear. But we do have different protocols for women. Normally, we have female Marines or soldiers available to search women whenever necessary. We don't want to piss people off for no good reason. But in your case, we have no women available. So I think it's okay for us to allow a little leeway in this search. But if I find one suspicious item"—he raised a finger—"just one, you understand? Then I won't be able to show you any mercy."

  "I don't have anything else that you wouldn't expect."

  "No knife?"

  "No. I thought a knife could be used against me more than I could use it against someone. The gun, if I had to use it, would be quick."

  He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The odds of her using a gun successfully before a trained fighter brought her down were slim to none. But there was nothing to be gained by frightening her.

  "If you spread out your burka and lie down on it, you'll have some protection from the other men."

  She nodded and did as he suggested.

  Slowly, he stalked toward her, trying to calm his racing pulse.

  "I do have to feel you up." He cleared his throat. "You know that, right?"

  She stiffened. "I thought you talked about leeway?"

  "You're still as covered as a nun in choir." His gaze raked the long-sleeved shirt, the endless pants. Despite the all-encompassing clothes, she looked like a long, cool drink of water to him. "I don't need to see skin, but I do need to know you aren't hiding anything."

  He placed his rifle on the ground and knelt down beside it. Lifting one hand, he glanced into her face, to let her know he was about to start. But his gaze got caught.

  It was amazing how much he enjoyed seeing her face after being denied the opportunity since he'd first met her. It was so much easier to communicate with a person whose expression you could see. Right now, he could see that her lips were trembling faintly, but her softly-rounded chin was firm, tilted up in a small, probably unconscious, expression of defiance, as if she insisted on holding some part of herself back from this indignity.

  Her eyes were grave as she watched his hands lift up and come down around her neck. He spread his fingers and pressed all around her neck, from the sides to the back. If it was more of a massage than a search, well, who would know?

  When he felt goose bumps erupt, he knew he had to move on. His own lust was bad enough. If he encouraged himself to believe she shared his interest, he'd be in big trouble.

  He continued down, covered the territory of her upper chest, and then, traveling slowly, he moved his hands to her sides. His trailing fingers brushed the sides of her breasts as his gaze rested on her.

  She drew in a deep breath, and her shirt gaped a bit just where her breasts were fullest.

  His hands sent an emergency message to his brain even as his eyes glommed onto the shocking sight of something bright red underneath her shirt. His first thought was blood, because the glimpse had that vivid and unmistakable hue.

  But his fingers had uncovered another surprise.

  She wasn't wearing a bra.

  He almost groaned. What the hell?

  "What's wrong?" she whispered.

  That was when he realized he'd stopped moving. "What's that red thing?"

  He silently congratulated himself on getting that sentence out, instead of asking the question that burned through his mind. Where was her bra? How was he supposed to walk beside her for two days, knowing she was braless? How would he keep himself from checking out her boobs every—oh, second—to see if they were bouncing?

  She clutched a hand to her breast, closing the telltale gap. "It's a camisole," she said, but her voice was breathless. "I'm surprised you've never seen one."

  "I didn't say that. But I didn't expect to see one on a burka-clad Muslim woman, that's
for damn sure." He managed a frown, even though the only thing he wanted to do was look again. "We don't like surprises on a search."

  "No?" She gave him a small smile. "You're suspicious of my camisole?"

  "I'm suspicious of anything unexpected." But he was drowning in the after affects of that stupid smile. Maybe these people with their veils were onto something. When you couldn't see the expressions on a woman's face all day long, a mere smile was a huge treat.

  "I don't want you to have to worry about me," she said softly. Her fingers moved quickly and before he could imagine what she intended, she'd undone a few buttons and spread open her black shirt to show a red lace camisole.

  Between the swirling pattern of the lace, he could see a glimpse of the pale, plump skin of her breasts. He stopped breathing.

  Her chin tilted up. "Satisfied?" she asked.

  "I am a damn long way from satisfied," he said, his voice an unexpected growl, "and I know perfectly well that you pulled that stunt on purpose."

  "You didn't like it?" Her smile was as sly as that of a cat who'd just spotted an injured bird.

  "Oh, yeah, I liked it." He sat back on his heels. "Show me some more." He knew she wouldn't. She'd caught him off-guard, and she was pleased with her little maneuver. But she wasn't really a tease.

  "What the fuck is going on over there?" Harp's deep voice broke into the cocoon of intimacy they'd woven.

  Laila's fingers fumbled as she quickly buttoned the blouse.

  "Almost done," Dec called back.

  He had to move quickly now because he'd reached the point where the temptation of her body was overruling his good judgment. Had she intended that?

  He brushed his hands over the front of her blouse, careful not to touch her nipples.

  Fuck! He wanted to. He was dying to. He could even have justified taking the liberty. Many a body search had turned up items that were not supposed to be found where they were found. But as much as he wanted to fondle her, he didn't want to touch her intimately when she was under duress.