by Cathie Linz
“Hard to forget that, ma’am,” Striker noted with a nod toward the huge map of the state on one wall.
“And Texans are different.”
“By different, she means better,” Kate said.
“Shoot, I would have thought that much was obvious.” Tex said.
“I can’t work here,” Striker growled in frustration an hour later. He stood in his grandfather’s office. Before him were the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a great view of the skyline. The San Antonio River with its well-known River Walk meandered through the city while the Alamo rested in solitude to one side.
Striker felt like those men stuck in the Alamo, fighting against incredible odds. Not only was Kate inundating him with information about the company, but he was surrounded by the presence of his grandfather.
The walls were filled with photos of Hank standing beside former and present leaders of the free world. A pair of bronzes by some famous Western artist, Kate had told him the name but he’d forgotten, were on either side of a dark green leather couch that would have seated five comfortably.
There were no photos of family on Hank’s desk or anywhere in the office. No personal items. Only indicators of power. And a mural of oil rigs painted on the far wall that had at its core a saying by fellow oilman John Paul Getty— “Success: Rise early, work hard, strike oil.”
Striker supposed Hank had done all that. But what did he really know of his grandfather? There were few clues here.
Pausing at the desk, Striker reached out to touch the fountain pen sitting there. This he did remember. Hank had never liked ball-point pens. He’d been old-fashioned in his preference for fountain pens. And for baiting his hooks with handmade lures he’d devised himself.
It was as if everything had been left just as it was, waiting for Hank to return. Only he wasn’t returning.
Striker wasn’t listening to a word Kate was saying, and he needed to. This was important. He needed to be successful in this mission. But to do so, he had to make some changes.
Striker strode to the door and called out to Tex. “I need a conference room to set up my ops H.Q.”
“You want to speak English?” Tex said.
“A conference room. To set up my operational headquarters.”
“What are you fixin’ to operate on?”
“This company.”
“There’s a meeting room down the hall to the right.”
“Affirmative.” He resorted to his military language. It made him feel more in control.
Ten minutes later he and Kate were seated in a small conference room.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous by refusing to use your grandfather’s office?” Kate said.
“Ridiculous?”
The tone of his voice should have warned her that she was entering dangerous waters, but it was too late now. “I just meant that it would be simpler to review the company’s status in his office where we would have easy access to files.”
“Marines aren’t into easy.”
“I’m learning that.”
“This laptop computer is supposed to be able to access any information I need, so what’s the problem?”
The problem was proximity. Unlike yesterday when she and Striker had sat across from one another at a conference table, today she had to sit beside him to show him how to use the spreadsheets displayed on the laptop computer.
The conference room he’d chosen was one of the smallest on this floor. Her shoulder kept bumping against his, her arm warmed by his body heat.
He was wearing jeans today, which reminded her of those times she’d seen him wearing jeans—and nothing else—that summer.
Or there was that first time, when he’d been skinny-dipping down by the pond. Wearing nothing at all.
She really had to get a grip here. She couldn’t keep allowing her thoughts to stray. They were discussing important topics, subjects that affected the livelihood and well-being of hundreds of people.
What had they been talking about before she’d gone off the deep end? Oh, yes. Striker had asked her if there was a problem using the laptop computer.
“No problem,” she belatedly replied. Which was a total lie of course. There were problems galore. Like her inability to keep her mind on business. Or the fact that Striker was getting more irritable by the minute.
“Who was that sexy redhead?” he asked out of the blue.
“Pardon me?” Kate blinked at him. Here she was having fantasies about Striker and he was interested in a redhead?
“That sexy redhead who was seated at Tex’s desk earlier. Who is she?”
“Tex’s granddaughter. I wouldn’t recommend messing with her. Tex is very protective of her family.”
“What makes you think I’d do anything Tex wouldn’t approve of?”
“Experience.”
“You don’t have much experience with me.”
True, but what experience she had had was definitely memorable. Except for her losing her clothing last night. That part was still hazy.
“Did you undress me last night?” she demanded abruptly.
“Define undress.”
“Don’t dance around the question.”
“Marines don’t dance around questions.”
“Fine, then answer it. Was Consuela the one who put me to bed last night?”
“I carried you upstairs to the bedroom, not Con-suela.”
“But then Consuela came and took things from there, right?” Kate said hopefully.
“No, ma’am. Consuela was in Corpus Christi last night visiting her mom. That left Tony and me.”
“So you were the one who undressed me?”
“What makes you think it wasn’t Tony?” Striker countered.
“He’s too much of a gentleman.”
“I thought I was being a gentleman by making you more comfortable.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Not a surprise. You always seem to think I’m doing the wrong thing. You’ve acted that way from the second you walked into my C.O.’s office in Quantico.”
“Me? You’re the one who isn’t the happy camper, the one who made it clear that you didn’t want to leave the Marines to come down here, that you think this entire idea is worthless. And now you throw a hissy fit and won’t even work in your grandfather’s office.”
“Marines do not have hissy fits!” Striker growled.
“I wouldn’t have minded if being surrounded by your grandfather’s things was making you remember him too vividly and causing your grief to overwhelm you. But I doubt that was the case. You haven’t shown the least bit of emotion about Hank’s death. He was a good man.”
“He was a dictatorial control freak calling all the shots.”
“How dare you insult him now that he isn’t here to defend himself!”
“Listen, you know nothing about me or how I feel so don’t go thinking you’re suddenly an expert on what I’m thinking. And don’t go singing his praises to me. He turned his back on my mother when she needed him most. She was struggling with kids to raise. Money was tight, Marines don’t make much, but Hank wouldn’t lift a finger to help her out. He made things rough for her when he could have made them easier.” There, the words were finally out.
Instead of agreeing with him, Kate asked, “Did she ever ask him for help?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, then how could he know she’d need it?”
Her answer infuriated him. She sat there so cool and calm, so distant on her pedestal where she remained untouched by worries about making a paycheck stretch. “There’s no talking to you!” He turned the swiveling conference chair to glare at her.
She did the same, moving her chair to glare at him, not backing down one inch. “Me? I’m not the one with issues. You are.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Striker didn’t realize how close they were until he felt her sweet breath bouncing off his lips. He saw the emotion flaring in
her eyes—anger followed by sudden awareness.
It was too late to retreat, too late to think. Striker could only act, leaning forward just enough to capture her wayward mouth with his own.
Chapter Four
Kate hadn’t expected Striker to kiss her. She didn’t have time to prepare her defenses before he was already storming them.
His approach was forceful but not in a frightening way. What was scary was the way he made her feel—all hot and shivery deep inside.
The warm pressure of his mouth tantalized her, tempted her, overwhelmed her. The gentle brush of his fingertips against her jawline was at odds with the masterful way he consumed her, arousing a passion within her that had lain buried since Ted’s death.
But even Ted had never created this kind of response in her.
Striker claimed her mouth as if exploring for riches. Her lips parted willingly, allowing his tongue to slip inside and flick inquiringly with a sensuality that drove her wild.
French kissing. She’d never understood the appeal before. Now she could. Oh yes, yes!
Her lips opened even farther under his expert tutelage, following his lead, matching his demands.
She felt the thud of his heart beneath her hand, could feel the softness of his denim shirt beneath her fingertips and the warmth of his skin beneath. She was on fire, passion throbbing through her entire body.
Her knees went weak, making her melt against him. Sexual need pooled in all the feminine places in her body—her breasts, her pelvis—both of which were pressed tightly against his fully aroused hard body.
Out of control. She was completely out of control. And out of her league. Ted may have been a risk taker but he’d never made her feel as if she’d stepped off a plane without a parachute. He’d never made her feel reckless.
This had to stop. She had to stop. But it felt so good. Dangerously good.
Remember what happens whenever you go after what you want.
The thought shot through her mind, shattering the haze of pleasure like a hammer shattering glass.
A second later the kiss was over—she and Striker breaking it off at the same time.
Striker took several steps away from her. He hadn’t expected Kate to respond the way she had—to melt in his arms, to part her lips and grant him entry. Her passion threw him. Then he remembered the last time a ritzy female had kissed him as if she’d meant it…only to later inform him that it was all an act. Carolyn Sinclair. His nineteenth birthday.
Sure, that had been a long time ago, but some things a guy didn’t forget.
And yeah, he’d kissed plenty of women since then. But none of them born with a spoon in their mouth the way Kate had been. They tended not to have any interest in a Force Recon Marine. He’d seen the type in Washington, D.C. They had dollar signs in their eyes. The size of a guy’s bank account was the most important thing to them.
So why would a wealthy lady lawyer like Kate go all hot on him?
Yeah, there were thrill-seeking Special Forces groupies who were turned on by guys because they were Force Recon Marines, but that clearly was not the case with Kate.
He could, however, see the big appeal for her being his newfound financial status. He needed a reason, he needed to get a handle on this out-of-control situation. “I get it. Hooking up with a lowly Marine with a chip on his shoulder wouldn’t look very good on your resume, but the grandson of the founder of King Oil looks excellent, right?”
Kate stared at him with disbelief. “What are you accusing me of now?”
“That you only kissed me because of my connection to several million dollars.”
She was furious. “I don’t need the money. And I wasn’t kissing you, you were kissing me.”
“That dog’s not gonna hunt,” he retorted. “You were kissing me back and enjoying it. I know when a woman melts in my arms.”
Her face turned red. “Know this. You’re just an impossibly stubborn Marine who caught me by surprise. It won’t happen again. Believe me, you don’t have anything I’m interested in!”
Okay, so maybe that was a lie. Kate was interested in his body and his kisses. Or had been. Against her will. But that was before he’d accused her of being some kind of money-grabbing social climber. Now all she felt was anger.
“We have a working relationship, Mr. Kozlowski. Nothing else. You’d do well to remember that and act in a manner accordingly.” Her words dripped ice.
“The same goes for you, ma’am.”
His comment pierced the protective cloak she’d placed around her emotions. He was right. What had she been thinking, responding to his kiss that way? She should have tossed her laptop at him the second he’d touched her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, surprising her. “I shouldn’t have said that. And you’re right. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Like you said, we have to work together.”
Her anger diffused like a balloon that had suddenly had all the air let out of it.
“I’m sorry, too. I should have stopped you. But you caught me by surprise…and I…I was thinking of someone else.” The words inadvertently tumbled out.
“Ouch.” His voice was rueful. “That put me in my place. So who were you thinking of? An old beau?”
“My fiancé.”
“I didn’t know you were engaged. You’re not wearing a ring.”
“I’m not engaged now. He died a number of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Ted was a risk taker like you. Believe me, I’ve got no desire to get tangled up with another man who is an adrenaline junkie.” Turning on her heel, Kate walked out of the room, leaving Striker erotically imagining what it would be like to be “tangled up” with a woman like her.
The steamy heat of the jungle was all around Striker. One false move and he’d be a dead man. He had to remain perfectly still, as he had for hours.
His face was blackened. So was his soul. He’d seen and done so much. Nothing that could be talked about, nothing that could be revealed. But nothing that could be forgotten, either.
Faces appeared out of nowhere, hands grabbing for him.
Striker fought back, sweat pouring off his face. His muscles bunched as he tossed one man after another off him. But there were too many of them.
The next thing Striker knew, he was being staked out in the hot sand, the sun beating down on him. He pulled against the restraints holding him down but couldn’t get free.
Then she was there. Kate. Standing above him, looking all cool and calm.
“Believe me, I’ve got no desire to get tangled up with another man who is an adrenaline junkie,” she told him.
Infuriated, Striker yanked free of the wrist manacles and tugged her down to him. She sprawled over his aroused body and kissed him as they rolled over and over in the hot sand….
Striker woke up as he landed on the floor with a thump.
Damn. He rubbed his right elbow. He’d been dreaming. About Kate. And had ended up rolling out of the bed.
He felt like an idiot. What kind of Force Recon Marine was he to hit the deck like a raw recruit?
Well, at the moment he was a fully aroused Force Recon Marine.
A cold shower took care of that. There was no point going back to bed, since it was almost daylight anyway.
Striker hated dreams. Most of the time he refused to acknowledge he even had them.
He’d never been the type to analyze stuff, unless it was data relating to a mission. But there was something about Kate that was different.
Women had never thrown him before. He’d found plenty of them attractive. But there had never been this curiosity to know more and this inability to remain focused.
Kate wasn’t the first woman he’d known to throw his work as a Force Recon Marine in his face. Several women over the past decade thought they could seduce him away from the Corps, only to call him names when they couldn’t succeed.
He’d always tried to be upfront with them. Had always tried to make th
e rules of engagement clear, even in his sexual relationships. He was a Marine first and foremost. He wasn’t giving that up for any woman. He didn’t have a regular nine-to-five job that allowed for long-term relationships.
Kate was right. She didn’t need to get hooked up with him.
But that didn’t stop him from wondering about the fiancé who had died. And it sure didn’t stop him from remembering the taste of her parted lips, or the feel of Kate’s lush body pressed against his.
“What do you know about Kate Bradley?” Striker asked Tony as the two men sat in the big kitchen, downing a plateful of Consuela’s tasty huevos rancheros an hour later. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows onto the surface of the pine table that could seat a dozen easily. Everything at Westwind Ranch was larger than life, reflecting Hank King’s philosophy that bigger was better.
But Striker wasn’t consumed with thoughts of his grandfather this morning. He was consumed with Kate.
“What do you want to know?” Tony countered.
“She told me she was engaged once.”
“Si, that is right.”
Getting information from Tony was like pulling teeth out of a porcupine. But Striker wasn’t about to give up. Surrender was not in this Marine’s vocabulary. “What happened?”
“He died.”
Striker gritted his teeth and reined in his impatience. He could tell by Tony’s slight smile that the older man was enjoying yanking his chain. “How?”
“In a car crash. She was there.”
“In the car?” Striker’s chest tightened at the thought of her in a serious car accident.
“In the crowd.”
“What crowd?”
“The crowd watching the race. Her fiancé liked racing cars. His family was very wealthy. He did not need the money. It was the thrill. He was always doing wild things. That last one, the car racing, killed him. Only days before their wedding. She was so young and pale at the funeral.”
“When did this happen?”
“After that summer you were here. Maybe a year later. Maybe a little less.”
Yet Kate still thought about her fiancé when she kissed Striker. She must have loved the guy a lot. And to have seen him die in front of her that way, that had to be rough.