Uneasy, Angus nevertheless stood his ground. He wasn't leaving his friend to fend for himself and be torn apart by “the ice queen.” He'd heard way too many stories about her.
“Alone?” Caleb asked, managing to make the single worded question highly suggestive even before he turned his head and winked at Angus. “Sure thing,” he added, signaling Angus with a jerk of his thumb to leave them. Angus paused a moment, as if questioning the wisdom of Caleb's decision, but finally ambled off in search of his other friends, looking somewhat like a disappointed puppy.
Sylvaine's blatant insolence produced a fracture in Breanna's icy facade. The fact that Angus had looked to Sylvaine for dismissal before leaving, as if she wasn't in charge but rather that Sylvaine was, brought forth a heated eruption she had some difficulty controlling. She would deal with Angus next, she decided. First things first.
“Lance Corporal Sylvaine, you will address me with proper military respect and refrain from making such comments when I address you in the future. Are you clear on that, soldier?"
It took some effort to control her dismay, as well. She realized she hadn't fully appreciated the problem she was going to encounter pulling these men even into a semblance of a working militia. This crew was going to need some serious discipline, starting with Caleb Sylvaine. Benson had been too lax with them. It was time for a wake-up call and they were about to get one.
He straightened and saluted. “Yes, ma'am."
He was testing her—just as any other soldier did when coming under her command. She'd had men thrown in the brig for less than what he'd done. Even in this day and age, men were hard pressed to accept orders from women of rank. Better to be a ruthless hard ass than a paper tiger.
“I've seen from your file that you have quite a history,” she said curtly, fixing him with an icy stare, fighting the flitting nervousness caused by his own unflinching gaze. She was slightly mollified by the fact that he'd responded to the command in her voice, but only slightly. Most men would have looked away a long time ago, let alone met her stare and held it.
He shifted his gaze from her own, focusing straight ahead when she didn't back down. His lean jaw clenched at her accusation, enhancing the firm line between corded neck and hard jaw. A muscle ticked in his cheek, attractive in some strange way. Annoyed with herself for even noticing, she firmly tamped the errant thought, realizing with a spurt of surprise that it had, if only momentarily, distracted her from her goal. Distraction was something she couldn't afford, certainly not now if she was to instill even a modicum of respect in these men.
Caleb tensed at her accusation, though he wasn't completely surprised that the ice queen was confronting him with his past. He had been surprised, however, at being allowed to go on this mission in the first place and had to wonder at her motives for permitting him to come.
With effort, Caleb assumed a surprised, innocent expression, “I do?"
“Captain,” Breanna said tightly.
Something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps a touch of respect? “I do, Captain?"
“You do. And I want to make it perfectly clear that I won't be taking any of your crap on this mission, Sylvaine, so don't be batting your baby blues at me, soldier. Your jokes could jeopardize the others and I can't and won't abide that. Are we clear on this, soldier?"
A faint flush darkened the skin on his cheekbones, but whether of embarrassment or anger, Breanna wasn't certain. He didn't leave her long in doubt.
“Who's to say once we get out in space, I can't do just as I damn well please? I'm not in your man's Marines, Captain Delaney,” he reminded her insolently. “I take my orders from President Benson."
He'd heard a long time ago that no one could crack the calm facade the “ice queen” kept her emotions under. It would be a real pleasure to be the first to do so. He'd always liked a challenge. He curbed the urge to inform her that his damn eyes weren't blue. They were hazel if she cared to notice!
Her eyes narrowed at that comment. “Hereafter your orders come directly from me, soldier. I don't have time to baby you. If you screw up—"
“What? What'll you do to me?” he interrupted her. “Make me serve more brig time? Or how ‘bout a day of calisthenics? What could you do to me that everyone else hasn't already done?” he asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
Her lips tightened. “Shoot you.” She didn't wait for his response. She didn't want to hear it. Spinning on her heel, she left just as she'd come, not altogether pleased with the results of her confrontation.
Caleb watched Breanna leave, admiring her buttocks but mentally kicking himself for letting her get the upper hand. How had that happened? He'd never had any problems before. The only rise he'd gotten out of her was a slight narrowing of those wondrous eyes of hers and a slightly more forcible command.
Her threat, he dismissed, not because he doubted for a moment that she would carry it out, but because, contrary to what she apparently thought, he was a soldier first and foremost, and he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't in the habit of horsing around when things got really serious. At any rate, he was more interested in her at the moment than his botched career.
Rumors abounded that no one could get to her. Supposedly she never smiled, was never surprised, and rarely showed anger—hence the name “ice queen."
There was something strange about that ... repressed. People acted like she didn't have feelings at all, never had them, never would. He wondered for a moment what it must feel like to be so isolated and insulated from any sort of real interaction with other people. What would it feel like to never be drawn into an actual conversation, never made welcome? There had been no good-byes to her from friends, and no greetings for that matter, save for one of respect for her station.
He shook the thoughts off, deciding he wouldn't let it bother him. Turning back to the box he had been sorting through before the confrontation, he discovered that his mind wasn't on the task anymore. It irked him that he couldn't dismiss her as easily as she'd dismissed him. He had more important things to be thinking of than one lone woman, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something worth discovering beneath that icy facade of hers. One thing was certain. He'd never been able to resist a challenge, particularly not when it concerned a woman.
* * * *
The door of the cantina burst open as Breanna reached it. A body came flying out, slamming against the opposite bulkhead. Stunned, Breanna's gaze automatically followed the flight of the body. When it came to a stop against the bulkhead, she saw that it was Caleb.
Shaking his head, he turned over and sat down with his back against the wall. Apparently, he wasn't too drunk—or too dazed—to notice that he wasn't alone. He looked up at her.
A crooked grin curled his lips. His hazel eyes gleamed with both mischief and something else that Breanna decided she didn't want to interpret as he scanned her length in a leisurely, appreciative fashion.
“Captain Delaney, come to rub elbows with the grunts?"
Breanna's eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk, soldier?"
His grin broadened if possible. “No, ma'am. I'm sober as a judge. Scout's honor."
“You're not a scout,” she said coldly. “You're a soldier."
“On leave,” he reminded her, crawling to his feet. “Excuse me, ma'am, I have some business to attend to. I'll be right back."
Steadying himself, he drew a bead on the door to the cantina, pushed himself away from the wall, and headed back in. He disappeared from view for about two minutes. Abruptly, the cantina door burst open again and a body flew through it, skidding across the corridor.
Breanna looked down at the man. This time, it was James Corbett.
“Corbett—” Before Breanna could get anymore than that out of her mouth, he scrambled to his feet and launched himself inside the cantina once more. Breanna glared at the swinging door. At this rate her whole damn crew was going to be in the brig by morning. They'd be tied up at dock for months or she'd be hunting another cr
ew.
Straightening, she turned resolutely toward the door of the cantina. She'd only made two steps in that direction, however, when the doors flew open for the third time. Caleb slammed into her like a cannonball.
She cushioned his blow that time, slamming into the bulkhead and then sliding down onto the floor with Caleb sprawled on top of her. Both of them were too stunned to move for several moments.
Finally, Caleb levered himself slightly away from her and looked down. A slow grin curled his lips. “We've got to stop meeting like this, Captain. The men are gonna talk."
“Get off of me,” Breanna said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, ma'am,” Caleb said, rolling off of her and climbing to his feet. He held out his hand to her. She slapped it away and got to her feet unassisted.
“What the hell is going on here, soldier?"
“Just a little dispute,” Caleb said. “I can handle it. Be back in a minute."
Breanna caught hold of his collar, popping three buttons off his shirt. He stopped, looked down at his bare chest, and sent her a wicked grin.
Breanna was still gaping at that bare expanse of chest, her mouth ajar.
“Captain,” Caleb said. “If you're gonna put it like that ... your place or mine?” he asked huskily.
Breanna sent him a cold-eyed glare. “Watch your mouth, soldier. That's insubordination."
He moved toward her, stalking her. Surprised, Breanna backed up. He crowded close against her as she encountered the bulkhead.
“I'd much rather watch yours."
Breathless, and more than a little disoriented, Breanna stared up at him blankly. “My what?"
Grinning, Caleb lifted a finger and traced it down the middle of her chest. “Your everything, actually."
Swallowing with an effort, Breanna collected herself and slapped his hand away. “Is the whole damn crew in there getting roaring drunk?"
“Yes, ma'am. But I don't like crowds. I think me and you should go off by ourselves. It'll be a lot more cozy. And I get performance anxiety if there's too many people around."
She put her hands against his chest and gave him a shove. “What you need to do is go to your quarters and sober up, soldier."
He studied her for several moments then ruffled a hand through his hair. “Uh ... the thing is ... I'm not entirely sure where my quarters are."
She gave him a look. He widened his eyes innocently. “You're not that drunk."
“Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. The question is, do you really want to take a chance on me being caught by the MPs before I can find my way back to my quarters?” he said confidentially, leaning toward her and placing one hand over her breast.
Despite her irritation, that hand felt like fire on her breast. Breanna looked down slowly at it and then looked at him again. Although that look generally had the effect of making most men's knees turn to water, Caleb merely waggled his eyebrows at her.
He looked at his hand and pulled it away in a leisurely manner. “Sorry, sir—uh, ma'am. I think I'm getting too sober. I'm going to head back in for another drink."
Breanna grabbed his shirt again, dragging him to a halt and popping three more buttons off his shirt. It was open to his waist now. He looked down at his bare chest and belly and then looked up at her again.
Breanna let out an irritated sigh. “I'm going to walk you to your quarters, soldier, but that's only because I don't want to have to look for another Lance Corporal tomorrow before I leave. I expect you to behave yourself."
Smiling, he draped one arm across her shoulders. “Sure thing, Captain."
He staggered slightly as he took a step down the corridor, dragging Breanna with him. She reached instinctively to steady him, planting her palm in the middle of his bare chest. “This is the wrong way, soldier. It's the other way."
“Oh,” he said, turning so abruptly his feet tangled with hers and they stumbled back against the bulkhead again.
Somehow—she couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed it—but they were almost nose to nose. He stared at her for several moments. “What did you say your name was again, darling?” he murmured as he covered her mouth in a kiss.
He pressed her into the wall, his flat belly molding to the line of her body. He slanted his head, coaxing her with his lips, his tongue moving along the seam of her mouth, seeking entrance.
Heat unfurled in her belly with his soft entreaty, so unexpected given his condition, and she began to suspect he was not nearly so drunk as he'd made out. Deliberate as it was, she couldn't help but thrill to the hot movement of his lips.
She wanted to open her mouth, invite him inside, but that would be asking for too much trouble.
She needed to keep her head, keep her cool.
He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth. She drew in a sharp breath, pressing her palms against his chest, intent on pushing him away. He sucked her lip into his mouth, rubbing himself against her, urging her thighs apart until he was practically inside her.
The hard ridge of his cock dug into her belly as he forced his knee between her thighs and the hardened muscles rode up against her cleft. He ground it against her, a deliberately thorough motion that had her jerking in response.
Moisture instantly flooded her cunt, making it pulse with the rush of blood from her pounding heart.
She gasped and pushed him back. Off balance, he stumbled and slammed back against the opposite wall in the corridor.
He raked an insolent, bold stare down her body and up again. He touched his chin with a forefinger, rubbing his thumb over his lips as he gave her an appreciative look. “Sweet,” he said, as if savoring a treat. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were just enjoying yourself with a grunt, Captain."
Breanna breathed heavily, trying to control her rage—at herself and at him. “You have just earned the rest of the night in the brig, soldier."
* * *
Chapter Two
Discipline was something Breanna prided herself on. It had gotten her through some really rough spots in the past. It came to her aid again when Caleb Sylvaine was discharged from the brig into her hands.
He'd spent the night in the drunk tank. By rights, she should have found him repulsive. Instead, she discovered the ‘rough’ look was almost more devastating to her senses than his neater military appearance. His hair was in wild disarray and a light stubble of beard covered his cheeks and jaw. He gazed at her solemnly, without rancor, a light in his eyes that told her he had certainly not been so drunk that he didn't remember everything that had transpired between them in vivid detail.
He had the rumpled, satisfied look of someone who'd just gotten out of bed after a night of wild sex. The image was so powerful that, when combined with the memory of his kiss, Breanna felt heat travel through her, felt her nipples tighten and her cunt quake with hopeful anticipation.
It took an effort to maintain the outward appearance of supreme control she exerted over herself at all times, but her self-discipline paid off. She managed to maintain her cool, dispassionate gaze despite the heat in his.
It was almost a relief, however, when she had the excuse to turn away. “I'll expect you to be cleaned up and ready to report for duty within the hour, Lance Cpl. Sylvaine."
“Yes, ma'am."
She refrained from glancing at him. The tone of his voice was reasonably neutral, close enough she could at least pretend it had been.
He fell into step beside her as she left the release area of the brig. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but I'm a little hazy on what happened last night."
She didn't believe that for one moment. “I'm sure that must be a comfort to you if you make a habit out of accosting your superior officer the moment you get a little brew into you, Lance Cpl. Sylvaine."
He put an arm out, blocking the opening as they reached the porthole at the end of the corridor. Breanna gave him a freezing look of inquiry, arching one brow.
The faintly sheepish grin that tipped his mouth up at one corner, the
mixture of amusement and heat in his eyes, sent another uncomfortable shaft of heat arrowing through her. “Do you always make apologies this difficult, Breanna?"
“Captain Breanna ... uh ... Captain Delaney."
His grin widened, his gaze skating over her lips. Her mouth went dry. It took an effort to resist the instinct to moisten her lips with her tongue.
“The thing is, Bree, I have this hazy sort of memory of groping a beautiful woman last night, and I just wanted to let you know, if it was you—I'm better when I'm sober."
He caught her off guard. She felt her lips tremble on the verge of a smile. Thrusting his arm out of her way, she strode past him. “One hour, Sylvaine,” she called back to him.
* * * *
Caleb Sylvaine unclasped the straps of his seat from his shoulders as he felt the small ship, Io, settle into its preset course towards the recently resurfaced Mayflower and tapped his foot on the steel decking in boredom and impatience. He saw little likelihood of learning anything about the disaster at this late date and he figured their trip to inspect the ‘ghost’ ship a waste of time.
A lot of his irritation stemmed from the circumstances of their mission. He resented the hell out of being sent into the unknown with someone none of them knew well enough to trust their lives to, not that there seemed much chance of seeing any action on this particular mission. It irritated him, though that that pig of a man, Benson, had been very happy to send them on their way with the woman.
What pissed him off most, he thought, was that she thought he was reckless enough he would endanger his friends’ lives. Despite the resentment, and the nebulous feeling that she should have been able to sense he wasn't the type to let his men down when it came down to the line, he supposed she had reason enough for her suspicions. He had been a real screw up the last couple of years.
Thinking about that file she'd waved under his nose, Caleb lifted his hazel gaze and studied the lounging form of Captain Delaney. He had to admit it wouldn't be that unpleasant to be with her for awhile, though she seemed to be impervious to the laughter and camaraderie of the squad around her and he thought it unlikely she would unbend enough in the few weeks the mission was expected to take to give him the opportunity to pursue that little matter of unfinished business they'd started outside the cantina. Her short, black curls clung to a heart-shaped face as close to perfection as he'd ever seen.
Endless Night Page 2