Command Performance

by Sara Jane Stone

  “I know your time is valuable and you are anxious to return to your duties.” Maggie made a point to look at each man sitting at the table except Hunter. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I’m sure Chief Cross will keep you updated on my progress. Have a good day, gentlemen.”

  She smiled as they stood and filed toward the door. The pointy-nosed general muttered a word of thanks for her “insightful” presentation. Another said he looked forward to hearing more from her after she’d completed her interviews. Judging from his tone, he’d rather have a root canal.

  Hunter’s handler—his commanding officer—beamed at her. “Great job, great job.” Yeah, right.

  “Winning the generals’ approval is no small task,” the colonel continued.

  Maggie frowned. They had capitulated fairly quickly. Was she missing something? She pushed that thought away, focusing on the colonel and her liaison.

  “Chief Cross is at your disposal. He will meet you by the front gate once you’ve gathered your things here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Maggie managed to reply. “A pleasure meeting you.”

  “Likewise.” He smirked, letting the trailer door slam behind him.

  She waited for Hunter to follow. It was just the two of them in the trailer now. Unless he wanted to discuss Saturday night, which Maggie wasn’t ready for, not yet, her freshly issued liaison should be following his superiors out the door.

  Instead, Hunter took a step forward and leaned in, his mouth moving toward the side of her head. For a split second, she thought he would kiss her neck and she froze.

  He couldn’t possibly want her. Not dressed like this. But that hot place deep inside didn’t care about her clothes. Kiss me, her body demanded.

  “I’ll bring your shoes,” he whispered, his breath tickling the precise spot on her neck that drove her crazy. Touch-me-now sensations rippled from her neck down to her breasts before settling between her legs.

  Maggie closed her eyes and prayed he would leave. Part of her wanted to follow those sensations to their natural end, but the part of her that had kept her life moving forward when her father fell apart knew she couldn’t. She could not sleep with him and at the same time interview him for her book. It would undermine her credibility. And if the tenure committee found out? She’d be out of a job. She refused to fail. Determination welled deep inside her and Maggie clung to it. No orgasms. Not from Chief Hunter Cross. Not while they were working together.

  The door creaked. Footsteps followed, and then, thank heavens, the door closed.

  Maggie opened her eyes. She was alone. Finally. She marched over to the podium to pack her laptop and notes. She’d survived the meeting. The generals didn’t believe her book would be worth reading—judging from his comments, General Patterson wouldn’t use it as a doorstop—but she’d made it to the end without running from the room. And more important, she’d secured their support. Mostly. The one man whose cooperation she truly needed had just offered a seductive look paired with a sigh-worthy promise.

  Maggie closed the laptop with more force than necessary, but she couldn’t help it. Her Nervous Nellie hands were tense with irritation. Was this a joke to him, his assignment as her liaison? Or did he seriously plan to use his position and proximity to get her into bed?

  She needed his help. It wasn’t as if she could demand another liaison. What would she say? Sorry, fellas, I already slept with this one and then I left him before the sun came up. Without a note.

  Her arm froze midair and her index cards fluttered to the ground. Oh, God. What if he was pissed off about her walking away without a goodbye? What if he was trying to retaliate?

  Maggie reached forward and held on to the podium, her mind racing. If she was right, this wasn’t about desire. A man like Hunter did not go for women in baggy suits. But if she’d bruised his ego, she’d bet her career he would try to even the score. He wasn’t stupid. He’d picked up on the generals’ distaste for her work and probably thought why not kill two birds with one stone? Win the top brass’s approval and take out the woman who’d walked out on him while he’d slept.

  For all she knew, he might be giving his CO the play-by-play of Saturday night right now. Maggie felt her cheeks flush. She could wear the ugliest gray suit in her closet and these men would never take her seriously again, not if they knew she’d asked a virtual stranger at a car show for wild, passionate sex. Nope, she would never get another liaison. And her book? If she couldn’t do the research, there wouldn’t be a book.

  She had to work with Hunter. She would find a way to manage him.

  * * *

  AT PRECISELY 1100 HOURS, Hunter approached the gate with a white plastic bag labeled Marriott in one hand and his duffel bag over his shoulder. Now that he was sticking around for a while, his lodging had been downgraded to a motel near Maggie Barlow’s home, which wasn’t a problem. He’d stayed in far worse places than a run-down motel in backwoods New York. If he could sleep in the Afghan hills with only his borrowed horse for company, then he’d survive without room service. Except he had no intention of staying at the motel.

  Keeping tabs on Little Miss Maggie’s book required access. The closer the better. He’d sleep on the floor if he had to, but one way or the other he planned on talking his way into her home.

  But not her bed. Manipulating their mutual attraction to distract her when the questions hit too close to the “no-fly” territory was one thing. But he’d never used sex as a weapon against a woman and he didn’t plan to start now. If he went to bed with her again, it would be because they both wanted it.

  “Chief Cross.”

  Hunter turned and saw Maggie waving to him from the driver’s seat of a vintage black Mercedes convertible. His jaw tightened and the irritation he’d felt during her presentation this morning boiled to the surface.

  Where was her Toyota? If he hadn’t witnessed her shock firsthand when he’d entered the trailer-turned-conference-room, he might have wondered if she’d sought him out Saturday night. But no, she hadn’t driven a Toyota just to catch one of her “cowboys” and lure him into bed. The Toyota must be the car she used to pick up her Saturday night flings. His fist tightened around the Marriott bag. Hell, she’d probably built a complete persona for her carefully planned orgasm quests. He’d bet she’d never set foot in an Olive Garden. A woman who drove a car like that could afford high-end cuisine.

  He turned his irritation down to a simmer. Give him one week and he’d show her. She’d messed with the wrong Ranger.

  Hunter nodded hello. “Ms. Barlow.”

  She gave him a smile, but it didn’t touch her eyes, not like it had in his hotel room.

  “Get in.” Maggie leaned across the console of her supersleek car and opened the passenger-side door. “Please. I’d like to take you for a cup of coffee if you have some time. Clear the air before we get down to business.”

  The woman was nothing if not direct. Years of flings had primed him to expect a woman to brush the uncomfortable under the rug, not come clean and say, Hey, remember how I asked you for amazing sex Saturday? Well let’s talk about that so we can both focus on my book.

  Hunter opened the rear passenger-side door and tossed his duffel in the backseat. He held up the Marriott bag. “Your shoes.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slid into her car, which cost more than his annual salary and then some. “So, coffee?”

  “There’s a place in town.” Maggie put the car in gear, her eyes on the road. “They have great cinnamon buns.”

  Hunter shook his head. “I can’t talk openly about our missions in a public setting. We’re better off at your place.”

  “My home?” He could hear the surprise in her voice.

  “Unless you want to meet in my motel room.”

  She sighed with what he guessed was frustration as she pulled out of West Point and turned onto the main road. “My place it is. For today. I’ll find somewhere private, but more professional for us to meet tomorrow. Before we
debate locations, we should discuss Saturday.”

  Hunter turned to study Maggie as she kept her gaze focused on the road. He glanced down at her hands, positioned at ten and two on the steering wheel. Her right pinky finger tapped the wheel. He found her anxiety oddly reassuring. He might not know everything about the wealthy writer in the ugly suit, but he could still read her nerves.

  “I had a great time,” he said.

  “I did, too.”

  Hunter studied the side of her face. One blond curl had escaped her severe hairdo and he wanted to reach out and give it a tug, but he stopped himself. He didn’t like her. He shouldn’t want to touch her.

  “But I meant it when I said it was a onetime thing,” she continued. “I just got out of a relationship. And on Saturday, well, let’s just say I needed to find a part of myself. Does that make sense?”

  “A serious relationship?” He narrowed his eyes, his gaze still fixed on the errant curl. What had this guy done to her that sent her hunting for orgasms?

  Maggie flexed her hands around the steering wheel. “We were engaged.”

  Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. A broken engagement, a one-night stand—it sounded as if Miss Maggie had more issues with commitment than he did. At least he hadn’t been just another Saturday night. Her innocence hadn’t been an act. She’d never gone searching for sex in a Toyota before her trip to the car show. He found that thought reassuring.

  Not that it was any of his business, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What happened with your ex?”

  She hesitated. “Irreconcilable differences.”

  Hunter looked out at the road as Maggie took a sharp turn without slowing down. He’d bet his next paycheck there was more to her breakup. “So you decided to ask the first stranger you met for an orgasm?”

  “It wasn’t my idea. But I admit, I think it makes sense to keep my personal and work life separate.” She turned down a pine tree–lined drive and sped through an opening between two stone pillars, one marked with a private sign.

  “Not working so well for you?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Relax, Maggie. You don’t have to worry that I’m here for a repeat of Saturday night.” Not that he’d object if she offered. Every time he looked at her he remembered the way her skin tasted against his lips, how her body felt pressed up against him.

  Hunter stared past the trees into the open fields, trying to push the erotic images out of his mind. “I take my work seriously,” he added.

  The car slowed to a stop in front of a three-story white house with green shutters. A white wraparound porch circled the first level with a set of gray stairs leading up to the double door. Hunter didn’t know the first thing about architecture, but if he had to guess, he’d say the place had to be two hundred years old. Ancient, but perfectly maintained.

  First the car, now the house—Hunter had a feeling this mission wouldn’t be as easy as he’d anticipated. Everything about her suggested this was a woman accustomed to being in command. Her need to cede control Saturday night had been an aberration, not the norm for her, which left him with an uphill battle when it came to her book.

  But that wasn’t what left his lower body aching. Even if her book hadn’t come between them, they never would have gotten beyond the sex-in-the-hotel-room stage. Not when Little Miss Maggie parked her hundred-thousand-dollar car in front of a two-hundred-year-old mansion and he couldn’t even afford an apartment with street parking for his fifteen-year-old truck.

  A one-night stand was one thing, but ask for a repeat performance and a woman like her would expect things he couldn’t provide. In his book, money and commitment went hand in hand. And right now, he couldn’t afford either.

  7

  SHUFFLING THROUGH THE papers on her desk, Maggie replayed their conversation from the car over and over in her mind. Had he forgiven her for walking out on him? He hadn’t been overly friendly, but she got the sense he meant it when he said his job took priority. At least, she hoped he did.

  She unearthed her blue spiral notebook and scooped up her laptop, annoyed that he’d insisted on meeting in her home. She didn’t want him calling the shots. Saturday night she’d followed his orders, but when it came to her book, she was in charge.

  She walked back down the hall. Meeting here wasn’t only a bad idea because he’d suggested it. People, men in particular, took one look at her grandfather’s mansion and made assumptions about her. Some assumed her work was merely an amusing diversion, while others believed everything in her life came easy. No one guessed at the hard work it had taken to keep her family home and how the fear of failing, of losing the one stable place in her life, had left her determined to keep control. One wrong move would mean she’d failed her responsibilities.

  Maggie made her way to the screened porch, pausing with her hand on the doorknob when she spotted Hunter. She’d seen the man naked and still the sight of him lounging on her patio—his fingers laced behind his head, his biceps flexed and his worn black boots resting on her grandfather’s ottoman—sent a thrill to parts of her body best forgotten while she worked. His toned arms shouted touch me, squeeze me, caress me. Even in profile, his face hinted at pleasure—those lips that had licked and kissed her into paradise, those George Clooney eyes.

  But this wasn’t the relaxed pose of a man waiting for a woman. Hunter looked like a lion surrounded by wicker. Large. Imposing. Ready to spring up from his sprawled position and pounce on his prey—her.

  Maggie’s grip tightened on her laptop and notebook, but she didn’t look away. Hands down, the man was gorgeous. But if he thought he could run roughshod over her with his sex appeal, he was sorely mistaken. Now was not the time to let him call the shots.

  Maggie stepped onto the porch, her fingers drumming against her laptop. Hunter turned to her and she met his brown bedroom eyes. Maybe it was her imagination, but the look in there hinted at take-me-now need. His gaze seemed to say I know your fantasies, your secrets, your vulnerabilities.

  “Maggie?”

  The sound of his voice went right to her nipples, driving them into tight peaks. He might as well have reached across the room and touched her breasts. Either this man was trying to distract her with sex or the natural chemistry she’d felt Saturday night had pushed her right to the edge—or maybe it was a disastrous combination of the two.

  Hunter offered her another seductive smile and Maggie knew it was a trick. Maybe he’d forgiven her for walking out Saturday night, but Chief Hunter Cross still had something up his sleeve.

  She looked over his head to the open fields and counted to ten. This was her interview. She was in charge here. Then she turned her gaze back to him, careful not to look straight at him.

  “I have my notes, so if you’re ready, I’d like to start.” Thankfully, she sounded like a professional and not a turned-on mess. Still on edge, she sat on the chair across from his and set her laptop down on the table. “Can I offer you tea? Cookies? Coffee?”

  “Maybe later.” His sexy smile faded. “First, I need to set the record straight on one thing. I’m not a cowboy and neither are my teammates. I rode a horse because it was my job. While I was there, I didn’t discharge my weapon until we rode out to rescue those women. Not even to slaughter a goat for dinner when we ran out of MREs during our ride.” He paused. “Ready-made meals.”

  “I know what they are.” Maggie scribbled a note about the goat and looked up at him. This time, when she peered into his eyes, it wasn’t about sex. The thrill of her job—finding a story and putting it together, discovering new facts—pushed aside her desire. “You want me to change the title of my book.”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Because you don’t think of yourself as a cowboy,” she said.

  “It’s an insult to my team.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “If you start your interviews tossing out the word cowboy left and right like you did this morning, you’re not going to get much out of them.”

/>   “Point taken, and we’ll circle back to the title of my book. I’m more interested in when I can arrange to speak with your teammates. Would Thursday work? I can book flights today—”

  “Afraid not.” Hunter shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “You need to sit down with Connor, Jed and Mike. I took the liberty of checking their schedules and all of them are on a training mission until Friday. You’ll have to interview them this weekend. They ship out again on Monday.”

  “This weekend for Connor, Jed and Mike,” she said. “What about the others? I thought there were six of you.”

  “That’s right. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I thought we were going to chat about us first and save the interviews for later.”

  Maggie frowned. “I think we said everything that needed to be said in the car.”

  Hunter raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his head, flexing his biceps. “You really are an all work or all play kind of girl, aren’t you?”

  No, she wasn’t. That was part of the problem. Her mind might be turned to work mode, but right now, at this moment, her body was reacting to the sight of his powerful arms.

  “Back to the schedule,” she said, pretending to study her computer screen.

  “If you insist.” He dropped his arms down. “Riley, our former team leader, left the army after our last mission. He lives about forty-five minutes north of here.” Hunter smiled. “He was with me at the car show before you approached.”

  Thank God she’d waited until his friend left. Maggie did her best to appear unaffected by his reference to Saturday, while inside her stomach gave a little flip. “Great, when can I sit down with him?”

  “I’ll give him a call and let you know,” he said.

  “And the sixth member of your team?”

  Hunter hesitated for the first time since she’d sat down. “He’s taking some R & R. It might be a while before I can track him down.”