The End
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HARD LANDING
The Echo Platoon Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
Hard Landing
The Echo Platoon Series
Book Two
by
Marliss Melton
Bestselling, Award-winning Author
Brantley Adams stepped out of his 1996 Ford Bronco, clutching his contribution to the party—a twelve pack of his favorite beer. Checking that he'd cracked the windows of his old truck to counteract the sweltering Virginia Beach heat, he locked it up and plodded toward the sprawling white brick ranch-style house where his commander lived.
Commander MacDougal—Mad Max, as all the Team-guys called him behind his back—headed up Brant's task unit. He didn't command all of SEAL Team 12, just Brant's unit, but he carried a great deal of influence and enjoyed throwing his weight around. Hosting parties on every national holiday was just one of the ways he did that. Brant grumbled under his breath. Here he was, forced to make an appearance at another of the CO's parties when he was supposed to be enjoying his day off.
Approaching the man's whitewashed house, Brant had to admit Mad Max owned a lovely piece of property, about an acre in size and situated on Rudee Lake, surrounded by other million dollar homes. He had a custom pool shaped like a seashell in his back yard, his own fishing pier, and a three-car garage that housed his Tahoe and his kit car. Mad Max loved his toys. He also laid claim to the prettiest, most pleasant wife on planet Earth, who happened to be Brant's good friend. Unfortunately, the way he saw it, the CO treated his wife as just another of his possessions.
Brant had considered playing hooky today. These social functions weren't mandatory, just suggested. But if you wanted to stay on Mad Max's good side, you showed your face—and no one wanted to get on the CO's bad side. Not that it really mattered in Brant's case. He'd achieved the status of chief petty officer in the eight years that he'd been a SEAL. He didn't particularly care whether he made senior chief one day, or not. But he did want to see Rebecca, Max's wife.
As usual, he would have to be careful not to spend too much time alone with her. Max watched her like a hawk—not that he needed to. She seemed as true blue as apple pie, and Brant had no intention of making any moves on his commander's wife. Who would be that stupid? He just wanted to hang out with her—period, the end. Was that asking too much?
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he coursed the paving stones that bisected the lush front lawn and brought him to the wide stoop. Framed in pretty flower beds, the entire front area showed evidence of Rebacca's caring touch.
He didn't bother knocking. The inner door had been left ajar, and through the storm door, he could see straight through the great room and out the wall of windows to the throng gathered around the pool out back. The interior of the house looked deserted, with the exception of the one dark haired woman he was hoping to see, standing behind a counter in the kitchen—Rebecca. His spirits abruptly lifted.
He slipped into the air-conditioned foyer and cut through the formal dining room to keep himself out of sight for the time being. Pausing at the back of the kitchen, he leaned against the door frame to watch her slicing celery for the veggie plate.
What was it about Rebecca MacDougal that made him smile inside? He wasn't attracted to her sexually—not much anyway. She wasn't his type, which tended toward blondes with big knockers. Rebecca projected femininity, but she didn't ooze sexuality. She represented everything that was honest and considerate and well-thought-out. He liked the way her glossy brown hair, caught up in a ponytail, brushed her shoulders when she moved. The angle of her jaw and the slight scoop of her nose made her profile so interesting to look at.
"Hey," he said unwilling to waste another minute just staring at her.
To his astonishment, she jumped like a startled cat. The knife in her right hand came close to slicing her cheek open as she whirled to face him, lifting up her hands simultaneously as if to ward him off. Whoa, sister.
"Brant," she breathed, visibly relaxing. "God, you scared me."
"Sorry." He stepped closer taking in her strained smile and the way she broke eye contact almost right away. She looked stressed, he decided. Hosting these enormous parties couldn't be easy. The skin of her face, usually soft and incandescent, looked like it was pulled taut over her forehead and especially around her mouth. "How are you?" he asked.
"Good." She glanced at him again, her dimples flashing, but they promptly disappeared as she looked down at the box of beer hanging from his left hand. "The cooler's out back, if you just want to stick those in there." She turned her back to him them and started slicing another stalk of celery.
Brant didn't move. Everything about her greeting struck him as off. She hadn't asked him how he was doing, for one thing. She'd never once not shown an interest in what was going on in his life. But then she asked a question.
"Where's your date?"
"Couldn't find one," he replied, lying through his teeth. Truth was, he was dating two women at once, both of them SEAL groupies, and the probability that one would find out about the other if he brought either to the party wasn't worth the inevitable drama. Besides, he'd come here to see Rebecca, which neither of his playmates would understand.
"Oh, please," she scoffed. The blade of her knife struck the cutting board at regular intervals. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
"No, I'm serious." He hoisted the box onto the countertop so he could lean a hip against it and watch her work. "I'm going through a dry spell right now. In fact, I'm going to try celibacy for a while."
She slanted him wry look and snorted at the gross fabrication. "Sure you are."
"You don't believe me?" Her lack of faith wounded him. "You think I can't handle celibacy?"
"Maybe for a day," she said, "but I bet you couldn't last a week."
Hard Landing
by
Marliss Melton
~
To purchase
Hard Landing
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Marliss Melton's eBook Discovery Author Page
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~
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Have you discovered Marliss Melton's highly-acclaimed
Taskforce Series?
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THE PROTECTOR
The Taskforce Series
Book One
Excerpt from
The Protector
The Taskforce Series
Book One
by
Marliss Melton
Bestselling, Award-winning Author
THE PROTECTOR
Reviews & Accolades
"...the kind of intrigue I enjoy, much like Tom Clancy, Vince Flynn, David Baldacci, and Steig Larsen. In my opinion they have nothing on her."
~Lt. Col. John Lund, U.S. Air Force, ret.
Her peachy scent ambushed him halfway up the steps, undermining his noble intentions. Over the groaning of the risers, he heard the sound of a page being turned. She was reading, he realized, peeking through the half-open doorway.
He drew back with a start. Eryn lay on her stomach across the bed, wearing nothing but that strappy top she'd worn the other night and white lace panties. Oh, shit.
At his quick retreat, the floorboards squeaked, and she shrieked, fumbling to cover herself. He hovered on the landing, torn between the common-sense urge to run like hell and his determination to set the record straight, once and for all.
"Okay, I'm decent," she called, her voice wobbling.
He peered around the door frame, staying right where he was. She had wrapped the sheet around her like a toga, but the tops of her shoulders and most of her legs were still bare.
"It gets hot up here," she said with a p
roud lift to her chin.
No kidding. "You could open the window," he suggested.
"I've tried. It's stuck."
Her answer left him no choice but to wade into the room to un-stick the window. Chill, moist air wafted in as he jimmied it open, cooling his scalding mental image of Eryn laying across her bed practically naked.
By the time he turned around, she had pulled the sheet over her shoulders. Smart girl. "I came to apologize," he said, edging toward the exit.
"For what?"
Why did women do this? "I was out of line today," he added. Obviously.
"Which part?"
Damn it. "Eryn, you're not..." He cut himself off, afraid that he would either offend her somehow or make himself sound depraved.
For a change, she kept absolutely mute as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. "Look, I'm not going to betray your father's trust," he finally ground out, deciding that was the safest excuse handy. "He trusts me to watch over you, not—" fuck your brains out.
"Take advantage of me?" she delicately supplied.
"Exactly." He jammed his fingers into his pockets to disguise his erection.
A crooked little smile seized her lips, making his pulse quicken. "I get it," she told him, blushing prettily. "You don't have to beat yourself up, Ike. If it's any consolation, I'm not opposed to being...taken advantage of." Her voice trailed to a husky whisper as her lashes swept downward concealing her gaze.
Not helping.
Swear to God, all she had to do right now was to drop the sheet, and he'd be across the room burying his face between her thighs.
Calling on his last ounce of restraint, Ike turned briskly toward the stairs. "Shut the window if it rains again," he called, fleeing from the temptation she embodied.
"Sleep tight," she sang out.
He pushed into his room and firmly shut the door. Sleep tight? Right. She had to know she had him too worked up to sleep. Besides, he couldn't afford to sleep, not when he had some serious planning to do.
Turning his lock against the desire to return to her, he spread an oil-stained towel over his dresser top. He then set out the lubricant and cloth needed to clean his sniper rifle. For the next hour, he'd lose himself in mindless routine.
If the Feds made a move tonight, at least he wouldn't be caught with his pants down. Some comfort that was.
* * *
Eryn collapsed onto the mattress, half euphoric, half chagrined. What on earth had compelled her to say those words, I'm not opposed to being taken advantage of?
She covered her hot face with her hands. Had she known what she was saying? It wasn't like her to be so forward.
But how else was she going to get to know Ike when he refused to talk to her? Even before he'd kissed her, she was dying to get to know him better. But the kiss itself had given her insight.
The real Ike was lonely and despairing. He needed her.
Only, how could she comfort him when he refused to let her in? That line about not betraying her father's trust—hogwash. It was fear that held him back. She could see it so clearly now. He was afraid of her; afraid of intimacy, period.
That was why he lived in this crumbling cottage, in deep seclusion.
Poor man. A picture of what he used to look like flashed before her eyes. What had happened to the confident warrior her father had so loved?
It could only be due to the incident she couldn't remember, perhaps had never really been told. All she knew was that lives had been lost. Friends of Ike's, most likely. He blamed himself, obviously. He'd quit the military because he felt he'd let them down. For a man who took his duties extremely seriously, their deaths would have been a crushing blow.
That had to have been what happened. Instinctually, she felt that he'd be better off discussing the trauma, either with her or with someone else, maybe a trained professional. Otherwise, wouldn't the guilt fester in him, like a tumor?
Then again, who was she to force him to talk? And what made her think she could play counselor when she'd never experienced that depth of guilt and grief herself?
Bottom line was that she wasn't equipped to help him. Moreover, she and Ike were two very different people, their future paths unlikely ever to cross again. Having tried the impractical route back in college, she'd determined long ago not to waste her time on bachelors without promise. She was holding out for Mr. Right.
And Ike was so not that guy.
Seeing rain splatter the window sill, she rolled out of bed, dragging the sheet behind her to close the draft and shut off the light.
She sprawled back across the lumpy mattress in the dark, where the memory of Ike's hard body had her touching herself. Pleasure gripped her as she envisioned his rough hands on her breasts, relived the thrill of his tongue tangling with hers. Ike. She whispered his name, arching toward her fingers in an effort to appease the hunger deep within.
Her decision to leave Ike alone made her sudden climax a hollow and unfulfilling one.
She wanted more. She wanted all of him, every mysterious, tortured part of him. But that desire was impractical, if not impossible. The man would barely even talk to her, let alone share his life with her. Practicality won the day, and she fell asleep, unsatisfied.
The Protector
by
Marliss Melton
~
To purchase
The Protector
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Marliss Melton's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/MarlissMelton
~
Discover more with
eBookDiscovery.com
Marliss Melton is the author of ten gripping romantic suspense novels, including a seven-book Navy SEALs series and continuing with The Taskforce Series. She relies on her experience as a military spouse and on her many contacts in the Spec Ops and Intelligence communities to pen heartfelt stories about America's elite warriors and fearless agency heroes.
Daughter of a U.S. foreign officer, Melton grew up in various countries overseas. She has taught English, Spanish, ESL, and Linguistics at the College of William and Mary, her alma mater. She lives near Virginia Beach with her husband, tween daughter, and four young adult children.
You can find Marliss on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. Visit www.MarlissMelton.com for more information.
Table of Contents
Cover
Foreword
Acknowledgements
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Excerpt from HARD LANDING (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 2)
Excerpt from THE PROTECTOR (The Taskforce Series, Book 1)
Meet the Author
Danger Close Page 27