Highly Charged!

by Joanne Rock

  Twelve military heroes.

  Twelve indomitable heroines.

  One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

  Don’t miss a story in Harlequin Blaze’s 12-book continuity series, featuring irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

  Now serving—those ready and able heroes of the U.S. Navy…

  HIGHLY CHARGED!

  by Joanne Rock

  April 2011

  HIGH STAKES SEDUCTION

  by Lori Wilde

  May 2011

  TERMS OF SURRENDER

  by Leslie Kelly

  June 2011

  Uniformly Hot!

  The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.

  Available wherever Harlequin books are sold.

  Dear Reader,

  Back in my graduate school days, I studied literature and really enjoyed it. But sometimes the reading was dense and difficult, so I read romance in between the texts on critical theory to mix things up a bit! When it came time to write a Master’s thesis, I thought it would be fun if I could combine some of the scholarly needs of the paper with a racy topic that would keep me engaged at the same time. Enter French diarist and erotica writer Anaïs Nin, a brilliant writer and a true character in her own right. I penned a thesis on this intriguing, groundbreaking writer and was sucked right into the drama of her life.

  Fast forward a decade and a half and I found myself writing about a literature professor (hmm…). Wouldn’t it be fun to have this character inspired by a diarist and erotica author, too? My heroine, Nikki Thornton, is a fun combination of academic and sensualist. Only, what she really needed was to get in touch with her sensual side. Luckily, Brad Riddock, an explosives expert on leave is more than willing to take on the job.

  It turned out to be a highly charged tale! Please drop by my website http://joannerock.com this month to enter a contest for a gift card to the bookseller of your choice and a few books to get you inspired!

  Happy reading,

  Joanne Rock

  Joanne Rock

  HIGHLY CHARGED!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Three-time RITA® Award nominee Joanne Rock is the author of more than fifty books for a variety of Harlequin series. She has been an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Nominee and multiple Reviewer’s Choice finalist. In addition to her own writing, Joanne teaches writing, film and fiction at Plattsburgh State University in New York. The proud mother of three smart, athletic sons (not that she’s biased), she spends a great deal of time on the sidelines or on the bleachers, cheering them on. Learn more about Joanne’s life and writing at her website http://joannerock.com or find out what she’s working on today by friending her on Facebook!

  Books by Joanne Rock

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  171—SILK CONFESSIONS

  182—HIS WICKED WAYS

  240—UP ALL NIGHT

  256—HIDDEN OBSESSION

  305—DON’T LOOK BACK

  311—JUST ONE LOOK

  363—A BLAZING LITTLE CHRISTMAS

  “His for the Holidays”

  381—GETTING LUCKY

  395—UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL

  450—SHE THINKS HER EX IS SEXY…

  457—ALWAYS READY

  486—SLIDING INTO HOME

  519—MANHUNTING

  “The Takedown”

  534—THE CAPTIVE

  560—DOUBLE PLAY

  582—UNDER WRAPS

  HARLEQUIN HISTORICAL

  749—THE BETROTHAL

  “Highland Handfast”

  758—MY LADY’S FAVOR

  769—THE LAIRD’S LADY

  812—THE KNIGHT’S COURTSHIP

  890—A KNIGHT MOST WICKED

  942—THE KNIGHT’S RETURN

  To my sister-in-law, Karen C. Rock, who made brainstorming this story so much fun. I appreciate your “year-in, year-out” enthusiasm that helps me stay excited about whatever I happen to be working on at the moment. Our visits never fail to generate ideas and new creative energy. Thank you for sharing your storytelling wisdom!

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “CRIMINY!” NIKKI THORNTON punctured her thumb on a thorn from a locust tree branch in her haste to clean up the yard.

  A literature professor who was completely out of her element in the landscaping department, Nikki balanced on a stepladder at the edge of her recently inherited property, a home that had belonged to her friend and mentor, Chloe Lissander.

  “Of all the luck,” Nikki muttered, tugging off her work gloves to assess the damage. She’d been trimming low-hanging branches in a cleanup of the property before the local historical society came in to assess its potential as a historical site. She could not afford to screw up her chance to honor the memory of the only person who’d ever really been there for her.

  Chloe Lissander had been a noted author who helped spur the feminist movement with her groundbreaking stories of female sexual empowerment. Nikki had been drawn to the literature’s gutsy strength—and more than a little intrigued by the erotic factor. When she’d discovered five years ago that the author lived in close proximity to the university where Nikki was working on her Ph.D., she had wasted no time interviewing her about her writing.

  That interview had led to a life-changing friendship with a woman who’d been an inspiration on so many levels. Chloe had become like family to her since Nikki’s parents had never been all that interested in the role. Even so, no one had been more blown away than Nikki when Chloe had followed through on her promise to leave her rural Virgina Beach property to Nicole upon Chloe’s death six months before.

  Chloe’s relatives were still in an uproar over it. And as much as Nikki hated to deprive them of the charming farmhouse and surrounding property, she could not ignore Chloe’s wishes for the place that had been falling into disrepair for decades. Chloe had entrusted Nikki to live in her childhood home and bring it back to the way it had been in her youth. Nikki had grieved for the loss of her friend for months while Chloe’s relatives fought over the will. But now, the probate had been cleared and Nikki had every intention of making Chloe’s final wishes for her old home come true.

  As soon as she got some antibiotic for the thorn injury.

  Setting aside her clippers, Nikki figured the wound was a sign she should quit her work for the day. Tomorrow would come soon enough and she had a to-do list a mile long to get the home ready for the historical society. She was about to climb down her stepladder when a light in a window of the small house next door caught her eye.

  Was it dark out already?

  She blinked in surprise at how well she could see into the house—the only other home visible from her property. There were no curtains on the windows, just a set of blinds still open. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say hello to the neighbor since she knew from Chloe that the lone resident was a military guy who was gone most of the time.

  Although…he certainly wasn’t away right now. Because there he was in all his buff glory, standing in the window half-naked.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight. Her stinging thumb quit hurting.

  Taut muscle everywhere. Bronzed skin like a man who’d spent long days in the sun even though it was only April. His hair was dark and slick against his head like he’d just emerged from the shower, a fact underscored by the fact that he had a towel slung low aro
und his hips.

  Really low. As in, follow-the-dark-line-of-hair-southof-his-navel type low. He stalked over to the middle of the sparsely furnished space—a living room, she thought—and retrieved a remote for a big-screen television that he flipped on with a press of his thumb. When he turned to chuck the remote back on a crate that served as a coffee table, Nikki noticed one leg was swathed in gauze up to his knee. An injury of some kind—far worse than the lame hole in her thumb.

  Her heart sped at the sight of him. She hadn’t meant to spy on him, but she could hardly look away now. A hockey game filled the screen behind him, but the V of his back made for more compelling entertainment than anything carried by a major network.

  In a word—yum. Despite a formidable command of the English language she could find nothing else that summed it up so perfectly.

  As she stood there, the towel-clad stud turned to face her. Laser-blue eyes flashed on her and for a moment, she was terrified he’d caught her leering at him. Crouching, she tried to hide herself in the overgrown foliage she’d been trimming.

  But then he reached for the cord on the wooden blinds at the window and yanked it sideways, slowly disappearing behind the slats. The view went dark, leaving Nikki breathless and buzzing with a physical hum that could only mean one thing.

  G.I. Joe had turned her on more in a ten-second peep show than most of the guys she’d gone out with in her spotty dating history. And damn, but that felt much too shallow of her. For a well-educated woman, she sure had gotten carried away by the sight of great abs. A powerful set of shoulders. Then there’d been that intriguing landscape the towel had hidden when he’d turned toward her….

  Not that she had any business thinking about that. Chastising herself for ogling an unsuspecting stranger, Nikki climbed down the ladder and wondered what Chloe would have said if she could have seen her just now.

  Screw the yard work, honey, go knock on his door!

  Her friend’s voice in her head was so vivid that Nikki had to laugh out loud. Unfortunately, she’d never been as sexually adventurous as Chloe Lissander, whose infamous love life had filled several diaries and inspired her fictionalized erotica. Maybe one day. After she’d gotten the house classified as a historical site, fended off Chloe’s relatives and found the two missing diaries so Chloe’s publishers could release the full set in their original, uncensored form.

  Her fantasies about G.I. Joe would have to wait. Although now that she knew about the view from under the locust tree, Nikki wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to resist the temptation to trim the branches as frequently as possible. Because although she hadn’t reached a point in life where she was comfortable being less academic and more sensual, a girl could always dream….

  1

  Five days later

  NAVY LIEUTENANT BRAD RIDDOCK stared at the red numbers counting down his last seconds on the explosive device in front of him. Constructed with deceptive simplicity, the bomb had only a handful of wires. A modest amount of firepower that would take out a building or two instead of a whole city block.

  But looks were deceiving. The wires passed through a fragile glass casing flecked with white powder on the inside. Anthrax? Worse? Someone had gotten inventive to discourage tampering.

  Brad knew how to disarm it. But with seconds ticking by…

  Four, three.

  He didn’t have enough time.

  Two…

  Sweat rolled down his back as he thought about all he would lose.

  One.

  Bang!

  Brad jerked upright, gasping. His heart knocked the hell out of his chest; covers tangled around his bare legs like seaweed. The injury on his left calf stung from his sweat.

  The soft sounds of a suburban weekend just outside of Virginia Beach greeted his ears. No explosions. No screams from the wounded or dying. Just a few bird calls and the occasional dog bark.

  Taking deep breaths to dislodge the cold grip of panic at his throat, Brad wondered why the navy recruiters never warned you that time overseas would make you as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  Bang!

  The second time the crash sounded, he could differentiate the sound from the explosion in his recurring dream. He was home in his own bed, strung out from lack of sleep but still in one piece. And, thankfully, he would remain that way for at least the next two weeks before he shipped out again. Explosions were unlikely in the backyard of a neighborhood so rural it bordered farm country.

  “What the hell?” Gladly giving up on sleep after the replay of a nightmare he was already intimately familiar with, Brad reached for a T-shirt at the end of his bed and shrugged it on before grabbing a toothbrush.

  Through the crack in his blinds, he could see an obnoxious amount of daylight filtering through as he rinsed and spat. He’d been sleeping so fitfully lately he didn’t know if that meant it was past dawn or past noon.

  Kicking over a stack of unread newspapers, Brad nearly stepped on a bristly haired stray mutt that had taken up residence with him since he’d been back in town. Scruffing the mutt’s head before he pulled on his jeans, Brad strained to hear what was going on outside. A motor thrummed nearby. A road crew at work, maybe?

  Bang! Bang!

  The thumping was loud and metallic and he ambled onto his lawn to check it out. His yard was quiet—a couple of bent camp chairs pulled up to a fire pit where he’d had a beer with one of his buddies the night before. A bowl he’d bought for the mutt even though he had no business feeding a stray since he wouldn’t be around to take care of it next month.

  But through the hedges, he could see activity in the neighbor’s yard.

  He’d heard the woman next door—an eccentric writer who was more wild and crazy at eighty-five than he’d ever been—had died a couple of months ago while he was overseas. Which begged the question, who was the new resident?

  Yanking a beer from the cooler that still rested near the fire pit, he took a quick drink—hair of the dog and all that—and then dunked his face in the half-melted ice. Hoo-yah.

  Skin stinging, he left the beer on a flat rock and strode through the hedge line for a better look at what was going on at the neighbor’s place. With two more weeks’ mandatory leave, thanks to the navy’s resident headshrinkers, Brad had nothing to do but play Good Samaritan anyhow. Dreaming more ways to blow himself up didn’t hold much appeal.

  And—wow.

  The sleek brunette astride a bright red International Harvester tractor was well worth the trip. Brad leaned against the trunk of an old dogwood tree to survey the scene as the woman he didn’t recognize steered the old model-A toward a dilapidated metal storage shed that appeared to be bent in half as if it was already begging for mercy. Lowering a plow that had no business playing demolition derby with a garden shed, the brunette kept her eye on the target as she rammed the big, silver attachment into the remnants of the structure.

  Bang!

  The woman knocked it right off its foundation, a grin of triumph kicking up one side of her lips. On the patio behind her, a caged blue jay squawked noisily while a chipmunk behind another set of bars squeaked anxiously. Her idea of pets? Clearly, she was an unusual sort of woman.

  Endlessly long legs showcased by denim cut-offs made him linger over the view for a moment more. He’d never seen a plain white tank top worn so well. A sheen of sweat trickled a path between her breasts, disappearing under the shirt. Olive skin hinted at Mediterranean or Hispanic ethnicity that didn’t quite follow through in her moss green eyes. A bright turquoise bracelet on her wrist and yellow flip flops on her feet suggested she didn’t operate heavy equipment often, although that observation was also supported by the fact that she was using a farm plow as a wrecking ball.

  And—by the way she seemed to be picking up the dented building—a forklift, as well.

  He sauntered closer, determined to find out who she was and if a call to the cops was in order. But then, as she loaded the mangled shed into the plow bucket wher
e it rattled precariously, he thought the better of it. After only a brief battle with the stick shift, she got the tractor into Reverse and stepped on the gas, narrowly missing a grass-munching rabbit. She squealed and braked hard, almost losing her cargo to avoid the furry beast who dove into the cover of trees. Clearly distressed, the woman took a minute to catch her breath before she let off on the brake and sped across the lawn toward an industrial-size Dumpster. She overshot the mark, flying past it with a muttered curse before inching backward, then depositing the twisted gray metal into the bin.

  “Take that!” the woman shouted as the shriek of scraping metal echoed on the warm morning breeze. Wiping her hands together with a flourish, she jammed one foot on the clutch and the other on the brake before shutting off the ignition.

  And turned surprised green eyes his way.

  Her cheeks were flushed from her battle with the shed, but he could have sworn they gained a little more color as she spotted him.

  “Can I help you?” Her chin lifted while the caged bird and chipmunk continued to chirp.

  Interesting. She headed toward him with a hip-rolling, easy stride that kept his attention a bit longer than was polite.

  It had been quite a while since he’d noticed a woman to this degree. Did that mean his enforced downtime was working since he could apparently think about something besides an IED-defusion gone wrong?

  “Lieutenant Riddock,” his shrink had told him, “you need to relinquish the obsession with one moment in time you can’t ever change…”

  Or did this sudden interest in a stranger’s walk mean he’d really fallen off the deep end since the female to capture his attention took an odd sort of glee in destroying things?

  He cleared his throat as he yanked his gaze up from her thighs.