by Karen Anders
“Rock climbing? I think I’d like to try that.” She sounded wistful.
“Maybe you’ll get a chance. Be a shame to come here and not give it a try.”
“You know a lot about this range.”
“It’s imperative that I do. These boys are in my hands, and I take that seriously.”
“Lance Corporal Connelly is a personal loss to you.”
His gloved hands gripped the wheel. “He was a fine kid and he didn’t deserve to die that way.”
He’d sidestepped the question with a noncommittal answer. Amber was sure it had affected him.
He pulled up in front of a small house with a garage that was connected to a row of houses. The walk had been recently shoveled and she had a relatively clear path to the door.
“Here we are.”
“As long as this place has some heat, I’ll be happy.”
“Yes, ma’am. We have heat here,” he said with a mock smile, getting out of the jeep. “Do you need some help?”
“Could you grab the MCX bags? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Morgan will dig your car out and get it to you.”
She nodded and got out. She pulled up the handle of her suitcase and headed up the still-slick walk.
He fit the key into the lock and turned it, just as she hit a patch of ice. His reflexes were lightning quick as he grabbed her around the waist and held her suspended against him. He was warm, and their breaths mingled as she tried to get her footing under her.
His eyes were so blue as they stared down at her and, for a moment, she lost focus. Then he swore softly under his breath and set her back on her feet. With another curse, he grabbed her case and carried it into the house, all the while holding on to her arm.
He set the case down and closed the door with the heel of his boot.
“Upstairs to the left is your room.” He gestured to a set of stairs straight ahead. The aroma of a just-cooked meal wafted to her and her stomach grumbled.
She huffed and took the MCX bags out of his hand and dragged her suitcase up and into the room he’d indicated. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. Dropping the bags on the bed, she hefted the suitcase up. It was obvious that he wasn’t too keen about her at all. But he was quite stuck with her until this case was over and solved.
She changed into a pair of warm gray sweatpants, socks and slippers, along with a thermal shirt and sweatshirt. She was feeling marginally better and beginning to warm up. Going back out into the short hall and down the stairs, she headed toward the living room. The delicious scent of food lingered in the air as she stopped near the table. He was working on a laptop as he ate.
“There’s grub on the stove. Plate in the cupboard to the right. Coffee brewed.”
He was a man of few words. But when he talked, the way he moved his mouth mesmerized her. His upper lip was as full as the bottom, and it looked yummy and oh-so-kissable.
But she wasn’t falling into the military-man trap again. Competing with the Marine Corps or, as in Pete’s case, the Navy wasn’t going to work for her. Her relationship with Pete might have been fine if they had been in the same place, but the distance had caused indifference between them. At least, that was what it felt like to her. She better get her mind off the delectable quality of the master sergeant’s mouth.
She went into the kitchen and found a pan of meat loaf, green beans and buttermilk biscuits. She helped herself and poured a cup of steaming coffee, sighing at the first sip. Walking back to the table, she set her plate down and dug in.
“Thank you for the food,” she said.
He nodded without looking at her.
She sighed. Thank God she was going to be here for only a few days.
Chapter 3
Great. Just great, Tristan fumed, totally annoyed to have a woman like Amber in his space. Well, this was a kick in the balls. He wasn’t too happy about having tempting Agent Dalton in his quarters, but he couldn’t very likely throw her out into the snow. The fact she was an NCIS agent only made matters worse. He was well aware he had to work with her, but he didn’t want anything to do with a damn civilian cop. He wasn’t too enamored with the agency when they investigated the incident at the consulate in Banyan. Those navy cops had treated him like crap.
When he was exonerated, they didn’t even so much as apologize. He was sure she was cut from the same cloth. Damn cops were all alike in his book. Even stunning ones. What he didn’t want to admit was that Amber was not only a distraction, but her presence reminded him of James’s recent death. Doubts assailed him on whether he could have somehow prevented the tragedy, and he resented her for that.
Something caused you to break protocol and go off the grid.
I fulfilled the mission. It’s a win.
That may be, but that mission was aborted. You’re in bad shape, dehydrated, malnourished and strung out. You didn’t check in. The corps doesn’t want to lose even one man.
Price of battle.
Is it because Corporal Levis was killed? Is that bringing back any memories?
No.
I think it is. I see that you often take the solitary, dangerous missions. You were a scout sniper before you went into Force Recon.
So.
Another solitary duty. You not a team player?
It reinforced to Tristan exactly what a shrink knew. Dr. David Cross, lieutenant, army. Dweeb. Tristan called him Doc Cross. He’d lost it then and he was escorted back to the ward, made to relax. It was exactly how he found himself here at MWTC and had been for eighteen months. Forced duty-change to recover from battle fatigue. Tristan found it ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with him. He was a marine and he was born combat-ready. All this bullcrap about needing rest wasn’t necessary. Why that conversation came back to him puzzled him. Banyan didn’t have anything to do with why he’d chosen solitary assignments. Nothing at all.
The scent of Amber’s perfume brought him back to the present. He resented the fact that she was so goddamned gorgeous. Pure California-girl looks: sun-streaked hair that fell to the middle of her back, the front cut in layers, and almond-shaped mossy-green eyes. It was obvious that she’d got caught unaware in the snowstorm. All she had been wearing was a flimsy coat. He’d noticed her legs in those formfitting slacks, the tight curve of her hip and backside. She wasn’t delicate-looking, but more sturdy, as if she could actually climb a mountain. Her refined nose and her cheekbones went way beyond classic to exotic. She stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time. And it had been a very long time that he had put the corps first, vowing not to get distracted or sidetracked. Getting involved was for when he got out of the military. It was no life for a family.
Her delicate brows bunched into a frown. “I got a feeling you’re not thrilled about me being here and it doesn’t really have to do with the death of your student.”
He wasn’t intimidated. “I’m not a big fan of navy cops.” Amber gave off all the signs of being a smart, competent woman—well, unless it came to snowstorms. There was something different about her...something he didn’t want to examine too closely. She piqued his interest immediately and set to blipping on his radar. Attraction. It was just there, heating his body and making his heart pound.
She moved to butter her biscuit, and the scent of her... Jeez! Lovely and warm, female. It filled him up and arrowed right down to his groin. He didn’t want to have any interest in her. It would be less complicated that way.
He had plenty of options. Even though his reenlistment was coming up to coincide with the end of his forced rest, he was going back to Force Recon and back into combat. With that decision firmly entrenched, it was stupid to get involved with a woman who had happily-ever-after written all over her. At this point he could retire from the Marines if he wanted to, but it was all he’d known for most o
f his life. He didn’t like that he was second-guessing his loyalty to the corps.
All during the Banyan incident, the corps had had his back.
“Why is that? Do you have something to hide?” she said in a matter-of-fact voice that was most likely generated from his unfriendly attitude.
Anger came from a well of unresolved torment. That was exactly what the agent had asked him after the Banyan consulate massacre. He’d had to make sure to keep the consulate secure so that all the sensitive documents could be shredded and destroyed. It was what he’d done. The moment he was free from that, he’d gone to help protect personnel. He’d been wounded, gutted by the deaths, including the ambassador’s. All of them had perished while he was focused on documents. His mission had been accomplished, but the cost was high.
He shut his laptop and picked up his plate, pushing away from the table. After walking into the kitchen, he deposited his plate and silverware into the sink with a noisy clatter. Tucking the laptop under his arm, he strode across the room and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door.
He set his laptop onto the bed and stripped off his camo shirt, ripping off his T-shirt, pacing with the pent-up memories and the regret that he hadn’t tried harder. He should have tried harder. Of course, she would say that. Cops were a suspicious bunch by nature and, in his experience, had a tendency to jump to conclusions.
There was a banging on his door, and when he opened it, Amber said, “Listen, I’m sorry. This must have been a terrible day for you and now I’m invading your space. But the job has to be done and they’ve sent me to do it. I’ve been traveling all day and was totally blindsided by this storm. I’ve had my car run off the road by Bullwinkle, walked all the way to the middle of nowhere in freezing temperatures, and I’m still chilled to the bone and totally exhausted. I’m supposed to be on vacation! Hot beaches, cool drinks, relaxation. I wish it were different. I really do.”
“I wish you weren’t here and James was alive,” he said, his voice subdued.
She nodded. “I really am sorry.”
She turned and headed to her room. He had a clear view of her fine, tight ass, her thick, gorgeous blond hair flying around her shoulders and upper back. She paused for a moment, giving him a sympathetic look, and his chest tightened up. He didn’t want to be moved by this woman. He scowled at her and closed the door, not wanting to give an inch. It was a good thing that beautiful, distracting Amber was going to be here for only a short time. And he got the feeling she wasn’t going to take any of his crap.
He went to unsnap his jeans, but swore and rubbed his hand over his face. He had been rude, but he hadn’t wanted those reminders of his failures. Feeling he’d let James down somehow made all that consulate stuff and other failures from his past surface. What had James been doing up on that ridge? Had he lost his way? That seemed so completely unlike him. The sniper was very competent and had already been to that part of the mountain. He wouldn’t have forgotten or got lost.
His thoughts went back to Amber. He had to give her points for standing up to him.
With a curse he walked to his door and opened it. He knocked on hers, and it was a moment before she pulled it open, and every delectable inch of her was on guard. He met her green eyes and his chest expanded, and for a moment he was caught up in just looking at her. He certainly didn’t miss the way her eyes traveled over his bare chest.
“Still not keen on NCIS, but thank you for caring about James on more than just a case level,” he said, then spun on his heel and went back into his bedroom.
Morning came all too swiftly, regardless of whether he’d slept or not. He’d got some sleep, but his thoughts about James’s death had raced and tormented him, and when he wasn’t feeling god-awful guilty about that, he was thinking about Amber and all her smooth skin, soft silky hair and firm, tight ass. How it would be so nice to sink into oblivion with her, into the comfort of a woman’s arms.
It had been way too long since he’d been laid. That was all. He was lonely and horny. The trick was remaining professionally detached around her. He could do that. He wasn’t the most diplomatic guy, but he could be adept at being courteous if he put his mind to it. He got up and went out into the living room and stopped dead. He had to take several breaths.
Courteous and professional went out the window. Trouble. God, he was in trouble here.
Tristan had an unobstructed view of Amber’s firm, shapely ass as she stretched out on a mat in front of the couch and the picture window. Her ass was currently in the air in some yoga pose. She was wearing a pair of very tight black shorts and a sports bra, leaving her creamy shoulders and midriff bare. Everything male in him responded to her, immediately. It was good that he was wearing a T-shirt over his groin, where his dick was loose in his pajama pants. Make that was loose. Now he was just painfully erect.
Which was so damned professional.
She looked at him through her legs as she did some other kind of pretzel move that was limber and mesmerizing. “Good morning.”
He grunted and headed across the living area to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He needed the pick-me-up after the night he’d had.
“Someone isn’t a morning person,” she said with a chuckle as she continued to torment him with more impossibly pliant moves.
Fifteen minutes later, he poured himself strong black coffee in a mug that had a bulldog on it and USMC in red beneath it.
He turned and she was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, stretching and thankfully looking as if she was almost finished.
She groaned softly as she folded down over her knees, and he gritted his teeth against the sensuous sound. He’d never bunked with a gorgeous woman before, had never cohabitated. He went into the Marines at eighteen and had spent most of his years with a bunch of sweaty guys. The woman who had promised to wait for him didn’t last long, and he’d avoided any type of long-term commitment. So this was a revelation to him. He’d had no idea how...stimulating it could be to watch a woman work out.
He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes against the sight of her. The coffee was hot, damn hot, and so was she. She stretched out full-length on the floor and he looked down the length of her body. A damp sheen of sweat covered her skin, especially right in her mouthwatering cleavage.
Beat sweaty guys every time.
His breath caught when she went over her knees again and he noticed ink just beneath the waistband of the sinful shorts. They should be called “come get me shorts” instead of “workout shorts.”
She rose, stretched one last time, walked toward the kitchen and unabashedly started going through his cabinets. When she found what she was looking for, she pulled it out and set it on the counter.
“You want some pancakes?” she said. She stood close to him and her scent wasn’t at all as though she’d been exercising. It was just warm, delicious woman.
He took another sip of his coffee and grunted again. Brushing past her, he reached down and snagged his skillet, handing it to her. “Knock yourself out.”
“Bowl?”
He walked over to a cupboard and grabbed a mixing bowl, then handed it to her.
“You’re pretty well stocked for a bachelor.”
He shrugged. “My mom wanted to make sure I had the essentials. I cook sometimes. When the mood strikes me.”
“You make that meat loaf yesterday?”
“Yeah, it’s my mom’s recipe.”
“Not bad, marine.” He tried not to be pleased at the compliment. He certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge it.
He leaned back against the counter, realizing that he should get on with his morning routine, but his routine was now tied with this woman. They were going to be working together for at least the day. The colonel had canceled class for today to give his students time to deal with their loss and grief. There were onl
y two classes left and he wasn’t scheduled to teach again for two weeks. One more six-week stint and he would be back to Force Recon.
Tristan’s cell phone rang and he picked it up off the counter.
“Hey, jarhead! What’s shaking?”
“Rock. How the hell are you?” Tristan stepped away from Amber and went to the wide picture window.
“Full of piss and vinegar, as usual. I heard through the grapevine that you’ve had a bad spot out there. You doing okay, buddy?”
Russell “Rock” Kaczewski had been his longest-running scout partner. Tristan’s partners turned over frequently because he was a control freak and most guys didn’t want to work with him. But Rock put up with all his crap and was an exemplary marine on top of it. Rock had retired from the corps five years ago when Tristan went into Force Recon. They had kept in touch that whole time—well, mostly Rock had.
He now owned a chain of sporting-goods stores in the San Diego area.
“I lost a man, Rock.”
“Damn tough. Any confirmation that it’s friendly fire?”
“Not yet.”
Rock’s gruff voice was full of sympathy. “Well, hang in there.”
“I will.”
“I called for another reason. I know your tour’s up, and with the early retirement and bonus they’re offering right now, I wanted to make you an offer.”
“Offer?”
“Yeah, get out. Come work with me. You’ve done your time.”
“Get out? I don’t know, Rock. I’d have to think about it.”
“Sure, sure. I know you’re gung ho. My business is growing and you’d be a great asset. You buy in, own half. Partners again.”
“Thanks for the offer. I will consider it,” Tristan said, flattered that Rock would offer him part of something he’d worked so hard to make a success.
Rock’s voice dropped an octave. “Really think about it, buddy.”