Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air

by Rhonda Nelson

  Sophia leaned forward, obviously surprised at the news of the exclusive. “This photographer, is it von Schilling by any chance?”

  The General shrugged, scooping up some potatoes. “Something like that. Marshall paid more attention than I did. He was stationed here at the time. I was over in Germany.”

  Max could see Sophia’s mind working. Obviously she’d never seen this contract, but it could only work in her favor. He made a mental note to tell her to push for a higher commission since they had von Schilling in a corner.

  Obviously finished with the polite chit chat, the General turned his attention toward Max. “Now, I’ve got some good news, Sergeant. I’ve made a few calls, pulled a few strings. I’ve found a stateside post for you. One with enough prestige and potential to set you up quite nicely.”

  Sophia’s eyes rounded, her gaze bouncing between the two men while Max’s mother continued to silently eat her salad-only lunch.

  “Perhaps this is something we should discuss later,” Max suggested, amusement fading as his almost-victory began to fizzle. Irritation surged at the interference, well-meaning though he knew it was.

  “This post won’t be open for long, Max. We need to get the orders written, get things moving immediately.”

  “We have a guest,” Max pointed out tightly.

  “Charles, this isn’t the time.”

  Sophia’s gaze bounced around the table.

  “Bull pucky,” the General said with a hearty laugh, waving away both Max and his mother’s protest. “If the girl is interested in you, she’d be glad to hear you’re sticking around.”

  “My leave is up in two weeks,” Max said, his tone calm.

  “Which is why we need to get you reassigned right away.”

  “I don’t want to be reassigned,” Max stated, leaning forward and staring straight at his uncle.

  “You’d question orders?”

  “I’d question nepotistic interference in my career,” Max said, at attention even though he was seated. Familiar frustration pounded through him. All of his training meant he took orders from his superiors. He accepted that in the field. When he was on duty, he never questioned a command, no matter how much he might personally disagree. But here? At his mother’s table? Because his uncle was brass and wearing his freaking uniform, Max was expected to silently follow along.

  “It’s my job to oversee your career.”

  “No, sir,” Max denied, using every bit of control at his disposal to keep his tone level and emotionless. “I’m not under your direct command. I appreciate your advice, but I prefer to stay where I’m currently stationed.”

  Max’s uncle sat stock-still, his stare a lethal weapon. Max felt Sophia’s tension radiating off her like a heat wave. His mother, used to these skirmishes at mealtimes, signaled Sterling to bring her a drink.

  Regret washed over him for bringing Sophia into this mess. He reached under the table to take her hand and squeeze it in silent apology.

  Before he could let go, he felt her take a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement as she knocked her ice water across the table.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she exclaimed, jumping up and shaking the fabric of her now soaked skirt. “I’m so sorry. I’m a total klutz, obviously.”

  Tabby jumped up, using her napkin to try and stem the pool of water. The General rolled his eyes. Max’s lips twitched.

  Before anyone could say anything, though, she continued. “I hate to be a bother, but I’m going to be miserably uncomfortable in this wet dress. Would you all mind terribly if Max rushes me home?”

  His uncle’s frown was rivaled only by the patent relief on Tabby’s face. Sophia continued to babble apologies and thanks all the way out of the room, glancing back only once to make sure Max was following.

  By the time they reached his car, Max’s grin was full-fledged and he was laughing out loud.

  “Subtle,” he complimented her as she slid into the passenger seat.

  “Hey,” she said when he took his place behind the steering wheel, “now can we focus on what really matters? Didn’t you promise me a naked dessert?”

  10

  FLIPPING THROUGH THE MAIL, Sophia tried to remember the blissful pleasure she’d woken up to, with Max doing naughtily delicious things to her body. But with each envelope, her mood sank deeper.

  Bill, bill, bill, letter from Rico, bill, letter from her attorney, bill.

  This sucked. She’d rather be back at Max’s mother’s being treated like a hooker with open sores. Between Tabby—and what the hell kind of name was that?—and her horrified chilly looks, and the General—what the hell kind of name was that, did the man sleep with his combat boots on?—and his over-bearing attitude, that had definitely been the most miserable lunch she’d ever experienced. And to discover von Schilling had an exclusive contract with Esprit? Now that had been a shock.

  And still it’d be preferable to this morning.

  She might as well face it. The gallery was sinking fast. The most exciting thing that’d happened at her big show was a skunk attending. She’d sold nothing in the past week. Artists were pulling their work.

  At this rate, she’d lose the gallery before summer.

  She sank into her desk chair and threw the mail, half of it unread, onto her desk so it scattered in an angry fan of envelopes. The movement jostled her computer mouse, pulling her computer out of hibernation.

  On the screen, mocking her, was her goals chart. Bright colored rectangles, each filled with an unachieved goal.

  At least she could highlight the purple box with its dream of having a fabulous and fulfilling sex life. Who knew, the one goal she’d been sure was a pipedream was the only one she’d achieve.

  No wonderful career. No returning the gallery to its former glory. No proving she was savvy, strong and in control. The only time she was on top these days was when she had Max stretched out beneath her.

  Too bad finally finding the key to great sex couldn’t solve all the rest of her problems.

  Heart heavy and confidence skimming the floor, Sophia found her fingers moving of their own volition. They slid the mouse arrow over to the photo file and opened the pictures she’d taken of Max. Other than highlighting them in the upload box on her computer, she hadn’t once looked at them. What was the point?

  Pictures were windows to the soul. A snapshot of the inner self. Without the force of his commanding—albeit charming—personality, she’d see what was underneath all that sexy sizzle. It’d be one of two things.

  She’d either see that he wasn’t what she thought—and she’d be heartbroken—

  Or she’d see that he was everything she’d ever dreamed of—and she’d be terrified.

  Because Max wasn’t sticking around.

  Oh, sure, at first his being a sexy soldier boy who’d be heading back overseas had been one of the things in his favor. After a lifetime of men bossing her around, the idea of having one who had a defined deadline, who’d head back to his job defusing bombs and saving the world, held a lot of appeal. There was a freedom in opening her life, her body, to a man like that.

  The plan had been to have a great time, with the built-in relationship deadline keeping her from opening her heart.

  She poked her finger at the ugly splay of envelopes on her desk and sneered. Apparently all of her plans equally sucked.

  Still…

  Her heart pounded a heavy beat in her chest, so loud she could feel it all the way to the tips of her hair. No matter, she had to look.

  Two quick clicks and she’d pulled up the slideshow of Max’s pictures. The first one had her laughing aloud. There he was, hot and sexy soldier boy, wrapped around a marble cock almost as tall as he was. His muscles bulged beneath the cotton of his shirt. Muscles she had since spent delightful hours stroking and enjoying. Sophia clicked the plus key and zoomed in on Max’s face. Sexy, focused on lifting the heavy marble. His mouth was set. His jaw determined. She zoomed in more, and there, his eyes
laughed. Amused delight, both at the situation, at Sophia and at himself.

  She smiled a little. For such a driven man, Max always seemed to find a way to enjoy himself.

  She clicked through a few more pictures, stopping at one where Max was naked. The shot was only his head and shoulders, but since he’d been spread out on her sheets, she knew he’d been completely bare right down to his sexy toes. The look on his face made her thighs tremble.

  Pure sex. Those amused eyes promised a good time. The half smile had a satisfied tilt to it, speaking well of the intense passion they’d shared right before she’d grabbed her camera.

  Sophia zoomed in on Max’s face and tried to push past the desire and focus on what she saw.

  Honesty. Pride. Intelligence. Amusement and desire. A hint of stubborn determination.

  And love.

  Her eyes burned. She pressed her lips together, and, trying to focus, blinked away the moisture.

  He hadn’t said anything about love. He’d barely said anything about like. They didn’t talk about those things. No mention of a relationship, no hint of the future. Max wasn’t going to make promises, and he definitely wasn’t going to corner her into making any.

  Which was exactly what she wanted.

  And yet…there was that love. Real, intense, accepting. She stood toe to toe with him, sometimes arguing just for the sake of proving she had a spine, and he didn’t leave. He just watched, sometimes he yelled back, always he helped her defuse. And he still cared.

  He tried to point out a smarter way to do business, and she ignored him. He suggested ways for her to fight for her inheritance, and she told him to mind his own business. He took her to meet his family, and she dumped water on the priceless furnishings. He listened to her plans for the future, her pie-in-the-sky hopes for the gallery. He’d even coaxed out of her the deep, hidden dream of being a professional photographer.

  All the while, he wore that charming smile and made her feel great about herself. He might have rolled his eyes and stalked off a few times when she refused to listen, but he’d never made her feel stupid. Never, ever made her feel less than capable, less than in full control.

  Except, of course, in bed. There he’d taught her that giving up control brought both of them more pleasure.

  No man in her life had ever looked at her, really looked at the real her, and accepted what they saw.

  “Soph?”

  She swiped a tear from her cheek and looked at the doorway. Gina, in her ripped stovepipe jeans and Metallica T-shirt, stood with a worried look on her face.

  “What’s up?” Sophia asked. That it would be something bad was inevitable. Everything lately had been bad. At least, when it came to the gallery.

  “Special delivery.”

  “Another penis?”

  Looking like she didn’t know whether she should give Sophia a hug, run out for chocolate or ignore the tears, Gina finally settled for a grin. “I wish. Nope. A letter. It looks legal.”

  Sophia’s stomach jittered. “Lynn must be upping the game.”

  “Maybe it’s time to kick her where it hurts?” Gina said, unconsciously echoing Max’s argument.

  “She can afford harder boots than I can,” Sophia said. It wasn’t defeat, she told herself. She wasn’t being a wimp by not fighting. She was choosing her priorities and ensuring she achieved them. That was control. Not cowardice.

  And maybe if she recited that a few million times, she’d actually believe it. Because obviously she wasn’t doing much of a job at convincing anyone else.

  A case in point was standing in front of her. Gina opened her mouth to argue, then gave a grimace that reached all the way to her eyes, half-hidden behind the huge seventies-style, bug-eyed glasses she wore today. Then she set the eight-by-ten envelope on Sophia’s desk.

  “Lynn may have harder boots, but you have a better aim,” Gina replied.

  Sophia could see the frustration in the other woman’s eyes. She knew Gina, like Max, wanted her to find a way to fight Lynn. They didn’t care that Olivia, Sophia’s lawyer, was adamant that the gallery—and Sophia—stay away from anything controversial. Especially with the settlement conference coming up in a week. Olivia had just argued two days before that as long as Sophia stayed the course, she was proving all those rumors false, which would go over well with the judge.

  It was as if her hands were tied. Yes, she supposedly finally had control over her own life. But she couldn’t use it.

  “I’m running across the street to get lunch,” Gina told her. “Want to watch the front or should I lock the door?”

  A month ago, neither of them would have considered locking the door. But after all the vandalism and problems, it was now second-nature.

  “I’ll come out,” Sophia said. She skirted the desk, ignoring the envelope. The lousy news would still be there after she’d had her chili relleno.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?”

  Max glared at the letter. He wanted to wad it into a ball and throw it across the room. He wanted to rip it to shreds and stomp it into the cement floor. Even better, he wanted to punch the man responsible for it in the face.

  Years of military training kept him in check, though.

  He sucked in a breath, then met the eyes of the man behind the desk in front of him. The man who’d had the unfortunate task of delivering the letter. Apparently some things, while not better, still demanded that personal touch.

  “Colonel, I’d like to formally protest this reassignment,” he said, the letter at his side now as he stood at attention. He wasn’t in uniform. He wasn’t on duty. It didn’t matter. He was a soldier in the presence of his superior.

  “St. James, I understand your frustration. Truth be told, I don’t want to lose you from EOD. You’re a fine leader. You’re a credit to your squad, to your company and to your family’s history of service.”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Permission granted.”

  Max relaxed into parade rest and looked at the man sitting behind the beat-up metal desk. The Oakland Army Base didn’t lend itself to fancy or frills. Neither did Colonel Gilden. Like most brass in the area, Max knew the older man through his father and uncle. He also knew the guy was honest, by the book and known for doing whatever it took to take care of his men.

  Max wondered how far that’d go.

  “Sir, my uncle is pulling strings.”

  “That’s obvious, Sergeant. One of my men is pulled out of combat and put on fluff duty at the Pentagon. Doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out someone’s playing politics.”

  “This isn’t what I want, sir. I requested EOD for a reason. I’m good at it, my squad is solid. My record stands.”

  “Then you had no part in this request for special treatment?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Does General St. James know you’re against this move?”

  “Yes, sir.” Max hesitated, torn between loyalty to his family and loyalty to his uniform. The uniform won. “My uncle sees my career as a stepping stone to bigger things. His feeling is that three generations of military service would look really good on a political bumper sticker.”

  Gilden winced. “Damn politicians.”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “Be that as it may, your uncle outranks us both, Sergeant.”

  “This is clearly nepotism and backroom negotiating, sir. There has to be a way around it. Can’t I lodge a formal complaint?”

  “If it ever got through the red tape, it could get ugly.”

  Max stared at his feet. Even out of uniform, he wore boots. Solid, black, bulky. Made for defense. For standing on his own two feet. He’d be damned if he’d be railroaded.

  What choice did he have, though? The Colonel was right. Lodging a complaint through official channels would get ugly. Lodging an argument over the dinner table was useless. Max knew from long experience that people in his family believed in the chain of command. They issued commands, others followed. In other words, t
he General didn’t listen to anyone.

  So…what? He was stuck?

  “Can you talk to your uncle?”

  Max shook his head. He’d already made himself clear. That his uncle had done this, despite Max’s protest, indicated that he felt the discussion was over.

  “My ETS is up in two months, sir,” Max said swallowing the bile in his throat and taking a deep breath. ETS meant his term of service was finished. He’d signed on for another two years, but he’d be damned if he’d spend them playing toy soldier. “If I can’t do my duty on the line, I’d prefer to step down. My papers guaranteed overseas service. If this reassignment isn’t pulled, I’ll file breach of contract.”

  Gilden rocked back in a creaky wooden chair and stared over steepled fingers.

  “You’d walk instead of taking this transfer?”

  Max hesitated. He’d never wanted to be anything other than a soldier. To serve his country. In Afghanistan, with his squad, he made a difference. Playing babysitter to a bunch of suits in uniform wasn’t what he’d signed on for.

  But serving was all he’d ever known. Ten years he’d been in the Army. He’d planned to retire a soldier, not to walk away defeated. But he’d choose defeat over dishonor. And taking a fluff job while his men, his friends, put their lives on the line was absolute dishonor.

  “Yes, sir. I’d choose to walk.”

  WHILE SHE WAITED FOR GINA to bring back lunch, Sophia walked through the gallery. There was a couple in the smaller showroom, admiring the winery studies. The older man in the main showroom lounged on the settee, ostensibly looking at the black-and-white display of spring flowers. From the occasional snore, it was obviously afternoon nap time.

  Unable to help herself, she slipped the camera from her pocket and snapped a picture. From behind, so his face was obscured, but his slouched position, chin on chest, made it clear he was cutting z’s. “Art Soothes,” she’d call it.