Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace
“Merline Lovelace rocks! Like Nora Roberts, she delivers top-rate suspense with great characters, rich atmosphere and a crackling plot!”
—New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Mary Jo Putney
“Lovelace’s many fans have come to expect her signature strong, brave, resourceful heroines and she doesn’t disappoint.”
—Booklist
“Spicy, smart and very entertaining.”
—RT Book Reviews on Baby, It’s Cold Outside
“Ms. Lovelace wins our hearts with a tender love story featuring a fine hero who will make every woman’s heart beat faster.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wrong Bride, Right Groom
MERLINE LOVELACE
A retired Air Force officer, Merline Lovelace served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.
Since then, she’s produced more than eighty action-packed novels, many of which have made USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. More than ten million copies of her works are in print in thirty countries. Named an Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and an Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Merline Lovelace
Full Throttle
Wrong Bride, Right Groom
CONTENTS
FULL THROTTLE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
WRONG BRIDE, RIGHT GROOM
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
FULL THROTTLE
To my buds on the RomVets loop—women who all served their country and are now turning out great novels! Thanks for sharing your expertise on aircraft malfunctions, explosive devices and general all-around fun stuff.
Chapter 1
Kate Hargrave was a good five miles into her morning jog when she spotted a plume of dust rising from the desert floor. Swiping at the sweat she’d worked up despite the nip September had brought to the high desert, she squinted through the shimmering New Mexico dawn at the vehicle churning up that long brown rooster tail.
A senior weather researcher with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency, Kate had logged hundreds of hours of flight time as one of NOAA’s famed Hurricane Hunters. The pilots she flew with all possessed a steady hand on the controls, nerves of steel and an unshakable belief in their ability to look death in the eye and stare it down. So when she gauged the speed of the pickup hurtling straight toward her, she had no doubt who was at its wheel.
USAF Captain Dave Scott—a seasoned test pilot with hundreds of hours in both rotary and fixed-wing aircraft. Scott had been yanked off an assignment with Special Operations to become the newest addition to the supersecret test cadre tucked away in this remote corner of southeastern New Mexico.
He was supposed to have arrived last night but had phoned Captain Westfall from somewhere along the road and indicated he’d check in first thing this morning. No explanations for the delay, or none the navy captain in charge of the supersecret Pegasus project had relayed to his crew, anyway.
That alone was enough to put a dent in Kate’s characteristically sunny good nature. She and the rest of the small, handpicked cadre had been here for weeks now. They’d been working almost around the clock to conduct final operational testing on the new all-weather, all-terrain attack-assault vehicle code-named Pegasus. The urgency of their mission had been burned into their brains from day one. That Captain Scott would delay his arrival—even by as little as eight hours of admittedly dead time—didn’t particularly sit well with Kate.
Then there was the fact that the air force had pegged Scott to replace Lieutenant Colonel Bill Thompson, the original air force representative to the project. Everyone on the team had liked and respected the easygoing and highly experienced test pilot. Unfortunately, Bill had suffered a heart attack after being infected by the vicious virus that attacked him and a number of other members of the test cadre some days ago.
Now Bill was off the Pegasus project and probably off flying status for the rest of his life. His abrupt departure had ripped a gaping hole in the tight, close team of officers and civilians plucked from all branches of the military to work on the project. Dave Scott would have to scramble to catch up with the rest of the test cadre and prove himself worthy to fill Bill Thompson’s boots.
“Sure hope you’re up to it, fella.”
With that fervent wish, Kate lengthened her stride. She’d just as soon not come face-to-face with her new associate out here in the desert. Her hair was a tangled mess and her turquoise spandex running suit sported damp patches of sweat. With luck and a little more oomph to her pace, she could veer off onto the dirt track that ringed the perimeter of the site before Scott hit the first checkpoint.
She should have known she couldn’t outrun a sky jock. The speeding pickup skidded to a stop at the checkpoint while Kate was still some distance from the perimeter trail.
The dazzling light shooting through the peaks of the Guadalupe Mountains off to the east illuminated the vehicle. The truck was battered. Dust streaked. An indeterminate color between blue and gray. She couldn’t see the driver, though. He was still too far away and the bright rays glinting off the windshield formed an impenetrable shield.
She’d get a glimpse of him soon enough, Kate guessed wryly. From the bits and pieces of background information she’d gathered about Captain Dave Scott, she knew he wasn’t the type to cruise by a female in a tight jogging suit. Or one in support hose and black oxfords, for that matter. Rumor had it Scott was the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, with a string of satisfied lovers stretching from coast to coast.
Kate knew the breed.
All too well.
So she wasn’t surprised when the pickup cleared the checkpoint, roared into gear and kicked up dust for another quarter mile or so. Scant yards from Kate, it fishtailed to a halt once more.
Dust swirled. The truck’s engine idled with a low, throaty growl. The driver’s-side window whirred down. A well-muscled forearm appeared, followed by a rugged profile. With his creased straw cowboy hat and sun-weathered features, Scott might have been one of the locals who’d adapted so well to life here in the high desert. The hat shaded the upper portion of his face. The lower portion consisted of the tip of a nose, a mouth bracketed by laugh lines and a blunt, square chin. The rolled sleeve of his white cotton shirt showed a sprinkling of hair bleached to gold by the sun. Mirrored aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes, but the grin he flashed Kate was pure sex.
“Well, well.” The drawl was deep and rich and carried clearly on the morning air. “This assignment is looking better by the moment.”
Kate had heard variations of the same line a hundred or more times in her career. Her ready smile, flaming auburn hair and generous curves had attracted the attention of every male she’d ever worke
d with. She’d long ago learned to separate the merely goggling from the seriously annoying and handle both with breezy competence. Edging to the side of the dirt road, she jogged toward the idling vehicle. Her voice held only dry amusement as she offered a word of advice.
“Pull in your tongue and hit the gas pedal, flyboy. Captain Westfall’s expecting you.”
His chin dipped. Eyes a clear, startling blue peered over the rim of the sunglasses and locked with hers.
“The captain can wait,” he replied. “You, on the other hand…”
He didn’t finish. Or if he did, Kate didn’t hear him.
She’d kept her gaze engaged with his a half second too long and run right off the edge of the road.
Her well-worn Nikes came down not on hard-packed dirt, but empty air. With a smothered oath, she plunged into the shallow ditch beside the road. Her right leg hit with a jar that rattled every bone in her body before going out from under her. A moment later she landed smack on her rear atop a fat, prickly tumbleweed.
So much for breezy competence!
Scott was out of the pickup almost before Kate and the tumbleweed connected. His low-heeled boots scattered rock and dirt as he scrambled into the shallow depression. When he hunkered down beside her, she expected at least a minimal expression of concern. What she got was a swift, assessing glance followed by a waggle of his sun-streaked eyebrows.
“And here I woke up this morning thinking the next few weeks were going to be all work and no play.”
Kate cocked an eyebrow. Best to set him straight right here, right now. “You thought right, Captain.”
“I don’t know about that.” Dipping his chin, he gave her another once-over. “Things are lookin’ good from where I’m squatting. Very good.”
Kate sucked in a swift breath. Behind their screen of sun-bleached lashes, his eyes were electric blue. The little white lines at their corners disappeared when he smiled, which he did with devastating effect.
Thank heavens she’d been inoculated against Scott’s brand of lazy charm and cocky self-assurance. The inoculation had been painful, sure, but once administered was supposed to last a lifetime.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been inoculated against the effects of sharp, stinging barbs to the backside. The prickly weed had penetrated right through her spandex running tights. Now that Kate had recovered from the initial shock of her fall, she felt its sharp, stinging bite.
“How about unsquatting,” she suggested dryly, “and helping me up?”
“My pleasure.”
Rising with the careless grace of an athlete, he reached for her hand. His palm felt tough and callused against her skin, his skin warm to the touch.
Of course Kate’s blasted ankle had to give out the moment she gained her feet. With a grunt, she fell right into his conveniently waiting arms. This time he had the decency to show some concern. At least that was the excuse he gave for swooping her up.
“You must have come down hard on that ankle.”
Hefting her not-inconsiderable weight, he cradled her against his chest. His very solid, very muscled chest, Kate couldn’t help noticing.
“I’d better get you to the base.”
He was already out of the ditch and striding around the back of the pickup before she could tell him she had a more pressing problem to worry about than her ankle. She tried to think of a subtle way to inform him of her dilemma. None came immediately to mind. Sighing, she stopped him just as he opened the passenger door and prepared to deposit her inside.
“Before you plop me down on that seat, I think you should know I’m sporting a collection of needle-sharp stickers. I landed on a tumbleweed,” she added when he flashed her a startled look. “I need to remove a few unwanted thistles from my posterior.”
“Damn!” His mouth took a wicked curve. “And I was just thinking my day couldn’t get any better.”
His leer was so exaggerated, she didn’t even try to hold back her sputter of laughter. “Let’s not make this any more embarrassing than it already is. Just put me down and I’ll, er, perform an emergency extraction.”
He set her on her feet and gave her a hopeful look. “I’ll be glad to assist in the operation.”
“I can manage.”
Making no effort to hide his disappointment, he watched with unabashed interest while Kate grabbed the door handle to steady herself and twisted around. It took some contorting to reach all the thorny stickers. One by one, she flicked them off into the ditch.
“You missed one,” Scott advised as she dusted the back of her thigh. “A little lower.”
Removing the last twig, she leaned her weight on her ankle to test it. The pain was already subsiding, thank goodness. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to her would-be rescuer.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave, by the way. I’m with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency.”
As a lieutenant commander in NOAA’s commissioned-officer corps, Kate outranked an air force captain. The fact that Scott had just watched a senior officer pluck thorns out of her bottom appeared to afford him no end of amusement. His eyes glinting between those ridiculously thick gold-tipped lashes, he introduced himself.
“Dave Scott. Airplane driver.”
To her profound disgust, Kate discovered her inoculation against handsome devils like this one wasn’t quite as effective as she’d thought. Or as permanent. Shivers danced along her skin as she gazed up at him. He was so close she could see the beginnings of a bristly gold beard. The way his cheeks creased when he smiled. The reflection of her sweat-sheened face in his mirrored glasses.
She got an up close whiff of him, too. Unlike Kate, he still carried a morning-shower scent, clean and shampooy, coated with only a faint tang of dust. No woodsy aftershave for Captain Dave Scott, she noted, then wondered why the heck she’d bothered to take such a detailed inventory.
This wasn’t smart, Kate thought as her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. Not smart at all. She’d learned the hard way not to trust too-handsome charmers like this one. If nothing else, her brief, disastrous marriage had taught her to go with her head and not her hormones where men were concerned.
Added to that was the fact that she and Scott would be working together for the next few weeks. In extremely close proximity. Despite her flamboyant looks and sensual figure, Kate was a professional to her toes. A woman didn’t acquire a long string of initials after her name and the title of senior weather research scientist at the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency without playing the game by the rules.
“Do Not Fool Around With the Hired Help” ranked right up there as rule number two. Or maybe it was three. Within the top five, anyway.
Not that Kate was thinking about fooling around with Captain Dave Scott. Just the opposite! Still, goose bumps danced along her spine as he took her elbow to assist her into the pickup’s passenger seat. Once she was comfortably ensconced, he rounded the front end of the truck and climbed behind the wheel.
“So how long have you been on-site?” he asked, putting the vehicle into gear.
“From day one.”
When his boot hit the gas pedal, Kate braced herself for the thrust. Instead of jerking forward, however, the pickup seemed to coil its legs like some powerful, predatory beast and launched into a silent run. Obviously, Scott had installed one heck of an engine inside the truck’s less-than-impressive frame.
Interesting, she thought. The captain was a whole lot like his vehicle. All coiled muscle and heart-stopping blue eyes under a battered straw cowboy hat and rumpled white shirt.
“So what’s the skinny?” he asked. “Is Pegasus ready to fly?”
Instantly, Kate’s thoughts shifted from the man beside her to the machine housed in a special hangar constructed of materials designed to resist penetration by even the most sophisticated spy satellites.
“Almost,” she replied. “Bill Thompson had his heart attack just as we were finishing ground tests.”
“I never met Thompson, but I’ve heard of him. The AF lost a damned good pilot.”
“Yes, it did. So did Pegasus. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she warned him, “and not much time to do it.”
“No problem.”
The careless reply set Kate’s jaw. She and the rest of the cadre had been hard at it for weeks now. If Scott thought he was going to waltz in and get up to speed on the top secret project in a few hours, he had one heck of a surprise waiting for him.
Unaware that he’d just scratched her exactly the wrong way, the captain seemed more interested in Kate than the project that would soon consume him.
“I saw your career brief in the package headquarters sent as part of my orientation package. Over a thousand hours in the P-3. That’s pretty impressive.”
It was, by Kate’s standards as well as Scott’s. Only the best of the best got to fly aboard NOAA’s specially configured fleet of aircraft, including the P-3 Orion. Flying into the eye of a howling hurricane took guts, determination and a cast-iron stomach. Honesty forced Kate to add a qualifier, though.
“Not all those hours were hurricane time. Occasionally we saw blue sky.”
“I went up once with the air force’s Hurricane Hunters based at Keesler.”
Kate stiffened. Her ex-husband was assigned to the Air Force Reserve unit at Keesler Air Force Base, on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. That’s where she’d met John, during a conference that included all agencies involved in tracking and predicting the fury unleashed all too often on the Gulf by Ma Nature.
That’s also where she’d found the jerk with his tongue down the mouth of a nineteen-year-old bimbette. Kate had few fond memories of Keesler.
“So how was your flight?” she asked, shoving aside the reminder of her most serious lapse in judgment.
“Let’s just say once was enough.”
“Flying into a maelstrom of wind and rain isn’t for the faint of heart,” she agreed solemnly.
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