Ripped!

by Jennifer Labrecque

  He held the door and she preceded him out into the parking lot and the warm, October sun. “If you say so.” She nodded her thanks as he held the door for her, then shot him an infectious smile he found himself wanting to return. “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll be ready. I’m quick.”

  Once again, same as this morning, he watched her walk, the sway of her hips capturing his attention. Deliberately he looked away. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be caught ogling Brigadier General Max Walters’s daughter’s ass in the parking lot—even though it was ogle-worthy.

  He checked out the horizon. Clear skies, moderate wind in from the northeast. It’d be a nice day for the training jump.

  Only someone who’d ever jumped understood the rush of adrenaline, that roar of the wind as your body hurtled toward the ground and then the yank and glide as your parachute unfurled and you rode the air currents once more back to terra firma. Unfortunately, his ass was grounded this time around by a woman with an infectious smile, midnight-blue eyes and a helluva kiss.

  EDEN SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT of Lieutenant Colonel Dugan’s immaculately restored red-and-white Ford Bronco.

  “What year is this?” she asked, rubbing her hand over the seat.

  “Sixty-nine,” he said.

  She swallowed hard and redirected her mind from the very sexual place it had just jumped to and back to his truck. “Very nice.”

  “Thanks. It was a two-year project. Just a hobby of mine.”

  She suspected nothing was “just” with him. He struck her as very focused, very intense. “When you’re not deployed?”

  “Right.”

  Eden knew better than to ask where he’d been, what he’d done. She’d been nine years old when her father had been in the First Gulf War. When he’d come home, it had never been talked about. What happened on a deployment wasn’t up for conversation in the Walters household. Training, however, frequently popped up.

  “So, how hard will it be to show up and not jump today?”

  After an initial moment of surprise, he laughed. “It’s pretty dam—I mean darn hard.”

  His changing the damn to darn struck her as sweet. And she’d bet Lieutenant Colonel Special Ops Hard-ass would just love to be thought of as sweet. She smiled at the thought.

  “It’s okay. I’ve heard curse words before.”

  “I guess I better work on my poker face,” he said, with an unexpected self-deprecating sense of humor.

  “Not necessarily.” She shrugged. It wasn’t his expression. It was more as if she were picking up vibes from him, which would just sound beyond strange if she shared that. Instead, she reasoned, “Most jumpers love to jump.”

  “Have you ever done it?”

  She absolutely couldn’t stop thinking about sex around him. She knew good and well he was asking if she’d ever parachuted, but all she could think about when he said done it was, well, doing it. She’d been in some jacked up hormonal state ever since she’d found herself at his feet this morning.

  The close confines of his truck didn’t help, either. She was achingly aware of everything about him. He smelled good—a mixture of faint aftershave, uniform starch and yummy man. She’d grown up around men in uniform and they’d never done a thing for her. But Mitch Dugan was smokin’ hot in his…and she’d bet he was even hotter out of it.

  “How can you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” The timbre of his voice rippled over her.

  In a flash she was imagining the two of them, naked in her courtyard, surrounded by the sultry New Orleans heat and the inky dark night. The brush of his skin against hers, his breath warm against her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter against him….

  She drew a slightly unsteady breath. “I’m open to trying lots of things—” If he only knew. “But some experiences are better left untried. The only way I’m jumping out of a plane is if someone throws me out the door.”

  “Then it’s probably better that you don’t get on a jump plane. It’s been known to happen.” His grin held a wicked edge. “And here I’d pegged you to be the daring type, Ms. Walters.” There was no mistaking his challenge. The air between them felt fraught with sexual energy. When was the last time she’d felt so engaged by someone?

  “Really? Does a woman have to be daring to kiss you, Lieutenant Colonel?”

  The look he shot her set her nipples tingling. Sweet mercy. “I was talking about the red heels. They send a message.”

  “Really? Is that your specialty? Decoding intelligence?”

  “Red heels don’t require a specialization.”

  “So, exactly what message do you think they send, Lieutenant Colonel?”

  He made an efficient left turn. “They say ‘I’m bold. I’m not like everyone else here.’ And that kiss, that was all about telling everyone they might do what they’re told, but you’ll do what you want to do.”

  “Maybe you’re partially right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  “Not this time, soldier. Do you ever do something just because the impulse strikes you?”

  “No.” Unequivocal.

  No surprise there. Her question had mostly been rhetorical. Lieutenant colonels, especially one his age, were not men of impulse.

  She shifted in her seat, turning toward him. “That kiss was pure impulse. The only message there was I wanted to kiss you, so I did.” She did feel a tad remorseful although she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. “I know that’s why you wound up assigned to this. You no more volunteered for this assignment than I did.” He slanted her a quick glance. “Colonel Hardwick’s warped sense of humor is almost legendary. I’ve heard my dad talk about him more than once. He obviously thought you needed slapping down for being indiscreet.” She shook her head. “Trust me, I’m fairly familiar with soldiers and how they think.”

  “I guess that happens when your father is a Brigadier General.”

  Was he reminding himself or her? “This is what happens when your father is a Brigadier General—I’ll get a phone call tonight from my mother and in the conversation she’ll manage to work in my father’s disappointment in my behavior. It’s yet another reason I avoid Army bases,” she said, looking out the window. A group of soldiers stood at attention on a bare expanse of ground, obviously some review or another. They were all alike. There was no room for any individuality. Everything here was all the same Army-issue green or tan. She suppressed a faint shudder and looked back at Dugan. “It’s like living in a glass house and every action and reaction reflects back on my father. Believe me, I know.” She’d been reminded often enough in the past. Damn straight she knew now. Reminders weren’t necessary. “Growing up, our household was run with military precision and structure.”

  “It beats the hell out of the alternate. Without structure you have chaos. No one thrives in chaos.”

  He hadn’t glanced at her but there was a slight change in his tone, his inflection that said more than the mere words. Authenticity. Authority. That’s what it was. His tone bespoke firsthand knowledge.

  “Something in between would be nice.” He merely quirked an eyebrow at that. The sun slanted through the windshield, etching his profile against the backdrop of blue sky outside his window. Gooseflesh prickled her. Good Lord but he was beautiful. She could look at the sharp slant of his nose, the slope of his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones, and the clean-shaven jaw that gave way to that faintly clefted chin all day long. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

  “Things are almost never fifty-fifty. They usually tend to sway one direction or the other. I’ll take structure and precision any day.”

  Why did she have this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she’d been handed a treat and then told she couldn’t have it? “Obviously,” she said in a crisp tone, “or the Army would be an impossible career choice for you. But it’s not for everyone. Take this morning, for example. Public Affairs wanted to give me a list of calendar ca
ndidates.”

  His look clearly questioned why that was a problem. “It does seem more efficient considering the size of this base.”

  “But it’s not efficient if they’re not the right candidates. That’s part of my specialization. I’ve got an eye for people. And that’s the reason I’m here. See, a little flexibility would’ve actually made this morning much more efficient.”

  “What makes one candidate better than another? Don’t you just need twelve well-built, easy-on-the-eyes guys?”

  “It’s not that straightforward. There’s something, and I don’t know exactly how to describe it, that sets people apart in a photo. You would be perfect to photograph.”

  “Forget—” He stopped himself. “I’m certain you’ll find twelve much better candidates than me.”

  She laughed. “Relax, soldier. You’re not calendar material.” The idea of Dugan posing for the camera instinctively struck her as all wrong.

  That elicited a surprised laugh. “I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or insulted.”

  “That came out wrong.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Of course you’ve got the face and build—” Her gaze skimmed his trim but muscular frame. “And there’s an intensity about you that would photograph well.” She was thinking aloud, trying to understand her reticence. While he did have all the components for a good candidate, every part of her protested putting his photo on display for everyone to see. “But not for this project.”

  Technically, putting Dugan in the calendar shouldn’t be any different than including any of the other hard-bodied jumpers, men that women would be willing to part with fourteen dollars and ninety-seven cents plus tax to ogle to their heart’s content. But it was different. He was different.

  He was private project material.

  4

  MITCH WATCHED THE LAST OF the jumpers glide through the sky. It was the first time he’d had to stand idly by and watch a training jump—the high-altitude, low-opening HALO that he liked so much, at that—since he’d earned his wings. It sucked. Once you knew that feeling, that exhilaration of free-falling through the sky, the adrenaline kick that came with the chute engaging, it was hard to stand by and not participate.

  Not, however, as hard as it might have been under other circumstances. Eden Walters intrigued him. Despite their interesting conversation on the drive out to the jump field, she’d been all business in assessing potential subjects once they’d arrived. So far she’d pegged three guys that fit her criteria. Mitch had been observing her, intrigued in spite of himself when she’d get that particular “ah-hah” look on her expressive face, the signal that she’d spotted someone who clicked for her.

  “Okay, what about him? Who is he?” she asked nodding toward the last five guys on the field gathering their chutes.

  “The guy with the dark hair?” Her other three choices had dark hair.

  “No. The blond.”

  Sonofabitch. Of all the soldiers at Fort Bragg, McElhaney sure as hell didn’t deserve to represent paratroopers in a calendar. Nonetheless he gave her his name, rank and platoon contact information.

  She jotted it down on her notepad.

  McElhaney was a terrible choice. Mitch’s gut told him the guy was bad news. Although his squad was never in danger of failing, they were certainly the worst prepared. As a leader, McElhaney left a lot to be desired. Hell, from what he’d seen of the guy so far, McElhaney left a lot to be desired even as a human being.

  “He’s not a good candidate.” Mitch hadn’t commented on any of the others, but Eden needed to know McElhaney would be a problem.

  Eden paused. “How’s that?” She turned her gaze on him and for a moment he was snared in the dark blue of her eyes. Damn it all to hell, he felt as if his stomach actually somersaulted. He’d faced down armed enemy combatants and not felt so off-balanced.

  “You’ll find him difficult to work with.”

  A frown creased her forehead. Funny how that only made her look sexier. “In what way?”

  “For starters, he doesn’t like me worth a damn because I called him on some substandard training. And since I’m part of this project now…” He shrugged.

  Her frown deepened. “I just need to photograph him for the calendar. So far he’s the only blond I’ve found.”

  “He’s going to hit on you.” Mitch got to the real point.

  Her frown disappeared and she shrugged. “What? Does he make a pass at anything in a skirt?” She shook her head with a look that said typical guy.

  Anything in a skirt? Did she not have a clue just how damn hot she was? “Let’s just say he’s got a point to prove. He was already planning to make a play for you.”

  She nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  That was it? He was used to giving orders and having them followed. “You should strike him from your list.”

  Dammit, difficult, contrary woman that she was, she laughed at his directive. “I’m a big girl, Lieutenant Colonel. Believe it or not, I’ve had men make passes at me before.”

  He could believe it. All day. Even now, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of a damn jump zone, her gorgeous mouth had him tied up in knots. The thought of McElhaney making a play for her had him seeing red. What was up with that?

  “I can handle it,” she continued. “After all, I’ve got to be professional about this. I need a blond and he’s got the looks and the build. Thank you, though.”

  “Sure.” She hadn’t exactly been professional when she’d kissed him this morning, but whatever. If he was honest about it, that’s what had his back up—McElhaney would make a play for her.

  The cocky bastard’s overly large ego would be inflated when she picked him out as a potential calendar candidate. That would only make him more determined to show everyone he could seduce the woman who’d kissed Dugan right out from under his nose.

  As if their conversation had summoned the sneaky son of a bitch, McElhaney strolled over.

  “Hi, I’m Captain Don McElhaney,” he said, offering his hand to Eden, patently ignoring Mitch.

  She offered McElhaney her hand and that same open, sunny smile she’d had for Sanchez. Mitch gritted his teeth. “Eden Walters. I was just telling Lieutenant Colonel Dugan I thought you’d make an excellent calendar subject.”

  Dugan wanted to smack the smugness right off of McElhaney’s face. “I’m flattered. What month were you thinking?”

  She retrieved her hand from McElhaney’s grasp and laughed. “I was thinking April or May. One of the spring months. Do you have a preference?”

  “July. It’s always…hot.”

  Honest to God, McElhaney was an asshole of the highest order.

  “It might work. I’ll pencil you in for July and we’ll see.” Was her smile just a tad more distant as she wrote in her notebook?

  “How about dinner? We could talk about the calendar shoot…and things people can do in hot months.”

  Mitch clamped his jaw down to keep from telling McElhaney what he could do to himself in any month. It shouldn’t matter who Eden went to dinner with. Hell, he’d only just met her. But, insanely, unreasonably it did. And since he didn’t trust McElhaney as far as he could throw him, it mattered even more.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head. “I’ve got other plans.”

  “You could always change those plans,” McElhaney said, pressing the matter.

  For just a second, she glanced in Mitch’s direction. It was enough.

  “No, she can’t,” Mitch said, verbally stepping into the fray.

  McElhaney’s arrogant smile remained but his eyes hardened at Mitch’s intervention and the implication that Mitch was part of her plans. “You’re going to miss your ride, McElhaney.” Mitch nodded toward the transport buses waiting to haul the soldiers and gear back to the hangar.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Dugan.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with you on this,” McElhaney said
to Eden. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, passing it to her. “Give me a call if you want some company.”

  McElhaney had obviously planned to approach her all along. Mitch didn’t know anyone who went on a jump carrying their name and phone number in their pocket.

  “Well, that was interesting. I thought I might pass out from the amount of testosterone zinging around me,” she said dryly. “You pegged him dead on.”

  “And he’s still on your list?”

  “Of course. I need a blond and those intense blue eyes of his should pop in a photograph. I don’t have to like him to shoot him.”

  “I usually don’t like the people I shoot,” he said in a moment of dark humor, relieved to hear she hadn’t actually liked McElhaney. That meant she’d be on her guard with him. She needed to be on her guard with him.

  She wrinkled her nose at Mitch and tucked her notebook into her purse. “So, where are we going for dinner, Lieutenant Colonel?” she asked, her look bold, direct, flirting, challenging.

  Dinner wasn’t required of him. They both knew that. Dinner was a bad idea. Kissing her again was an even worse idea, yet he had a feeling that dinner would lead to just that. She was the daughter of a brigadier general. She was trouble. Trouble he didn’t need.

  He opened his mouth fully intending to say no. That was the plan. To politely turn her down.

  “What are you hungry for?”

  Dammit. That was not what he meant to say. Instinctively he glanced at her mouth and then to her dark blue eyes. What he saw in her gaze confirmed what he knew in his gut.

  She might be trouble he didn’t need, but she was trouble he wanted.

  AN HOUR LATER DUGAN PULLED HIS red-and-white Bronco into the empty parking spot next to her rental. She’d accomplished much more than she’d thought she would, given the fact that half her morning had been spent being shuffled from office to office. Actually, she and Dugan made a very efficient team. She’d found half a dozen soldiers for the project, as well as four potential shot locations.