Basic Training

by Julie Miller

  “Call what?” Travis wondered how fiery Tess’s skin was beneath the polo shirt. Wondered if she felt anywhere near as feverish as he did.

  “The name of his boat.”

  Hell. Travis jerked his chin to the side, glancing at Millie from the corner of his eye. She hovered in the archway, seemingly unaware of how playing with Tess was playing with his control. Easing his grip on Tess, Travis dug deep to give Millie a coherent answer. “The Helena Two. After Mom.”

  “That’s right. The first Helena was smaller. I remember it from last summer.” Millie hesitated, as though she might suspect that all was not as innocent as it should be in the kitchen. “Do you mind bringing the drinks to us down at the dock?”

  “We’ll deliver.” Travis slid his hand to the flat of Tess’s stomach.

  “Are you sure?” Millie’s voice drew closer. “I don’t mind helping.”

  Tess leaned forward and shut off the water. “We’ve got it.” She cleared her throat to mask the husky timbre of her voice, “We’ll be right there.”

  “It’s relaxing to not have to play hostess myself for a change. Thanks.”

  The instant Millie left, Tess snatched at Travis’s hand. The moment the voices in the living room drifted outside and the back door slid shut behind them, she shoved Travis back and shot across to the other side of the room. “You’re naughty. We can’t do anything here. And we can’t do it now.” Travis followed her at a leisurely pace, stalking his quarry. He changed course when she darted toward a row of cabinets. She pulled out a plastic tray and set it on the counter, rambling on while she busied her hands with realigning the cups there. “I really do have to set up the concession stand for the festival this evening. But maybe we could schedule a time when you could give me some pointers.”

  “I’d love to give you a pointer.”

  He was right behind her when she turned. “Travis!” She swatted at his shoulder and ducked beneath his arm to head for the fridge. “What if Mrs. Craddock says something to your dad?”

  Travis grinned at the blush on her cheeks, wondering how much of it was from embarrassment at nearly getting caught, and how much was due to the flirting and touching itself. “First of all, Millie’s cool. Second, she didn’t see anything she shouldn’t. And third, if Dad did find out I could get it on with a woman in the kitchen, then he’d be a lot less worried about the state of my physical health.”

  When she closed the refrigerator door and turned, Travis trapped her there, backing her against the cold metal with a hand braced at either side of her waist. When he bent his head for the next kissing lesson, she shoved the pitcher of water against his chest, wedging a few inches between them. “Can you cool it for a second? I want to lay it on the line here. I know you have a lot more experience with sex and knowing what’s sexy than I do. I want you to teach me a few techniques that will blow my tomboy-next-door image out of the water and transform me into that irresistible woman you talked about. I want this summer to be unforgettable.”

  If he wasn’t a tough Marine, the icy condensation that soaked through his shirt and chilled his skin might have deterred him from making another pass at those rose-tinted lips. “Whatever you’re doing right now works for me.”

  “Travis—”

  “That’s it,” he whispered, nibbling at the swell of her lush bottom lip. “Keep saying my name. Over and over like you can’t get enough of me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” He pried the pitcher from her grip, and his temperature started to rise again when she warmed the damp knit against his chest with her hands. Though sensing she was making no real effort to escape, he pressed his hips into hers, anchoring her to the spot while he set the water on the counter beside the fridge. “If we let this thing follow its natural course, you’ll be moaning my name in that sexy voice you get when you’re turned on. And just so we’re clear—I fully intend to turn you on.”

  “Travis. Stop.” Her voice quivered, falling far short of being stern with him.

  “Yeah. Like that.” He tunneled his fingers into her hair and freed the silky waves from its ponytail. “Like saying my name is a secret code for ‘I want you’.”

  “Travis!”

  “Oh, yeah, she wants me bad.” He dipped his mouth and settled his lips squarely over hers.

  Refrigerator magnets became casualties of the next few minutes of nipping and licking and kissing and fondling and driving himself mad with the craving to possess this woman right here, right now. He hooked his hand behind her knee and pulled her thigh up against his hip. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his tongue taught hers amazing, wicked things that she quickly learned and gave back in ways that made him question whether he had anything to teach her about sex and seduction.

  And then, as cruelly and abruptly as dumping that pitcher of ice water over him, Tess tore her mouth from his. She pulled her arms from around his neck and hugged them across her stomach and chest. “I can’t…we…here…” At least she had the balls to look him in the eye when she retreated. “I can’t do this in your father’s kitchen.”

  “Do not tell me this is weird, T-bone,” he whispered raggedly, resting his forehead against hers as he heaved to take in a calming breath of air. He let her foot slide to the floor and backed his swollen dick away from the tempting heat between her legs. “This is right. This is magic.”

  Her kiss-stained lips tried to smile around a stuttering sigh. But the clear articulation of her words told him the moment had passed. “This is crazy. You’re a man of duty. You should understand. We have responsibilities. We can’t just drop our pants and do it right now.”

  “Why not?”

  Her breathy laugh was more of a sigh as she patted his chest. “Lemonade? Guests? Waiting for us?”

  “Son of a bitch.” He spread his hands wide and stepped back, breaking any last contact between them. This time, he left nothing to his imagination. He took the pitcher to the sink, poured the cold, clear liquid into his hands and doused his face. He washed the taste of her from his mouth and smoothed another chilly palmful over the back of his neck before he could face her again. “You know, it’s not fair for you to be right and hot at the same time.”

  He’d gotten carried away. Pushed the moment too far too fast. He’d forgotten his whole purpose for inviting Tess over in the first place. Ensure the job. Placate Dad.

  A year without sex had left him with some serious timing issues when it came to getting laid.

  This would-be affair demanded patience. Planning. As she pulled her hair back into the confines of a practical ponytail, he remembered that Tess had a few doubts about her sexual image. Ones he couldn’t fathom, but then, he couldn’t get inside her head. Her erotic instincts were good, her desire for him obvious. But he needed to wait for her brain to get to the same place that her body was.

  He could wait.

  But there was nothing that said he couldn’t speed up the process.

  “Let’s make a pact,” he suggested, propping his hands at his hips and waiting for her to come to him. “The way we did when we were kids. You help me, I help you. You’ve got natural talent in the sex appeal department, T-bone. I’ll help you showcase those talents in whatever way I can. I think your offer has to be the best damn way to spend a summer vacation that I’ve ever signed on for.”

  She tried to be businesslike, but failed adorably by clearing her throat—twice—before sticking out her hand to shake on the deal. “So we’re agreed. In exchange for smoothing away your dad’s worries and impressing General Craddock, you’ll put me through some basic training.”

  He eyed the outstretched hand for a moment before taking it lightly in his grip. His gentle hold was more caress than handshake, but she didn’t pull away. “Deal. As long as you understand where this is going, that we’ll have two weeks to explore whatever it is you think you don’t know, and that we won’t have any regrets when we’re done.”

  “We’ll go back to being friend
s?”

  “That’s the deal. Say my name and tell me you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  “Say my name.”

  “I understand…Travis.” Her throaty voice heated his blood all the way down to his toes.

  He grinned. Kissed her hand. Promised her everything her eyes were asking of him. Promised himself. “I want you, too.”

  7

  KYLE BLACK LURKED in the shadows across the street, munching his popcorn one precise kernel at a time and spying on the Chamber of Commerce concession booth. Or, more accurately, he studied the activity in and around the corrugated steel trailer.

  The side door had been propped open and the front awning partially raised to encourage a breeze without giving the appearance of being open for business just yet. The lights inside spilled illumination onto the surrounding sidewalk and street, and gave him a clear view through the screened windows of the two women working inside. A man, whose buzz cut of hair pegged him as military, limped onto the curb, hauling soda canisters from the back of a pickup truck into the stand.

  “How the mighty have fallen,” Kyle whispered with a smile, slowly chewing a salty morsel. Captain Hotshot had been reduced to manual labor. His action days were over.

  While McCormick’s fall from the spotlight amused him, it wasn’t enough to even the score.

  The key to revenge lay in taking away what a man wanted most. And though he’d been diligently working in Washington, D.C., at the time of Travis McCormick’s accident, he took a perverse personal pleasure in seeing that limp. Captain McCormick’s personnel file had listed him in hospital for six months and on injured leave for three months after that. Then he’d been returned to light duty, stateside, pushing papers.

  It was a fate worse than death for a hoo-yah hero like Travis McCormick.

  Kyle had tracked down McCormick’s request to be reinstated to Special Ops. He knew that some percentage of General Craddock’s reason for visiting his old Marine Corps buddy this particular week was to see firsthand whether or not Travis could handle the physical demands and mental stress of Special Ops.

  McCormick caught his foot on the curb, stumbled a step and swore. The heavy canisters smacked onto the concrete. For a moment, Travis leaned heavily on one, then plopped his butt down on top of it and massaged his leg around the elastic brace on his left knee while letting some colorful curses fly.

  Laughter rumbled low in Kyle’s throat.

  Any sound he made was masked by the noises from downtown Ashton—a handful of cars passing by before Main Street would be blocked off at 5:00 a.m. for the festival, the twangy whines and soulful vocals of a country band doing a sound check at the courthouse stage, the drone of tourists and locals walking the historic district and hanging out at bars. The stealth was intentional. Kyle wasn’t ready to be discovered. Not until he’d done a thorough recon of the situation and decided on the best course of action.

  He popped another kernel into his mouth and processed what he’d learned thus far.

  Travis McCormick’s influential father, the man who’d demolished red tape to get his wounded son the best medical care on the continent, had set sail with General Craddock and company at precisely sixteen hundred hours that afternoon. Kyle’s former boss, Ethan McCormick, had departed with his wife at 1630. Travis had lingered at the house another hour and a half before climbing into his father’s truck and driving into town. After circling the main drag, he’d parked beside the concession stand, where a silver-haired lady had accepted a kiss on the cheek and then put him to work. That gray-hair was long gone, but—

  “Crap.” Kyle spat out the popcorn. Amy was there.

  Her rejection burned as fresh as it had a decade ago.

  And now she was fawning over McCormick.

  Responding to his whining, Amy—a honey-gold blonde with stilts for legs and a body that should have belonged to him—ran out of the concession stand. Kyle’s heart pounded in his breast. Nerves tingled and blood surged with remembered desire.

  Amy’s sister was there, too. Tess—a shorter, duller copy of her sister. She knelt in front of Travis, inspecting the knee while Amy hugged her arms around his shoulders. Both were concerned, supportive. Falling over themselves to offer aid and comfort to his enemy.

  A lot of years had passed since he’d last visited Ashton, but not a lot had changed. She hadn’t changed.

  Kyle drifted forward half a step, remembering only at the last moment to pull back into the shadows between the two brick buildings.

  For a few moments he was a younger man, fresh out of basic, out on the town with his buddies who’d survived OTS, flirting with the local girls, having fun. He’d climbed the ferris wheel on a dare, then met a beautiful girl on the carousel and spent a long evening indulging in caramel apples, popcorn and kisses. He’d come back the second night, ditched his friends and found her again. Then the week was over and he shipped out with his unit.

  Kyle wrote the girl, loved the girl, lost the girl.

  And now the girl was tucked under Travis McCormick’s right arm, with her sister tucked under his left. She smiled and laughed, allowing McCormick to kiss her temple.

  Not again.

  The desire in Kyle’s veins boiled into something ugly. He wadded up what was left of the popcorn and tossed it behind him into the alley. Leaving his hiding place, he marched toward the street to tell McCormick to get his damn hands off Kyle’s woman.

  But a car pulled up to the curb, right in front of Kyle, forcing him back a step. The car was a boxy hybrid thing that screamed nerdy practicality. The four-eyed freak behind the wheel had nearly clipped him, and instead of apologizing, he rolled down the passenger-side window and called to the trio across the street.

  “Hey, Tess. Travis. Amy.”

  “Damn.” As McCormick and his harem turned, Kyle spun and fell into step behind a pair of sailors in town early for the festival. Observation and strategy were his strong suits. Any rash action now would only negate the plan forming in his head. At the first opportunity, he ducked into the shadows of a recessed store front and turned back to watch the nerd shake hands with Travis and Amy. He hugged Tess.

  What the hell? McCormick had a new little buddy? Judging by the blushes and laughter, there was some teasing going on. Maybe some outright flirting between the men and women. Was McCormick teaching that runt how to steal a woman? Maybe he should start with how to get one in the first place.

  Kyle could teach him a thing or two. He was everything a woman wanted: handsome, successful, a talented lover. Amy should have seen that. She never should have left him for McCormick that night. Should never have let McCormick turn her against him. Amy should have been his.

  Wo-ho. What was that? Amy and the nerd went into the booth together. McCormick stayed outside with his arm around the younger sister, Tess Bartlett. He bypassed her temple and kissed her on the lips. But she blushed and shied away with a remark that made him laugh. He followed her toward the stand like a puppy trailing after a bone.

  Travis McCormick was flirting with Tess, not Amy.

  Kyle grinned at the notion, and it was enough to break his foul mood and allow rational thinking to kick in. He’d seen enough and knew what he had to do. He’d relish this mission.

  After one last look, he cut through the next alleyway to the side street where he’d parked his Firebird. The details were falling into place. He knew just how to proceed. He owed the general a day at the DOD, but tomorrow night, he’d be back, and then he’d right a wrong that had haunted him for ten years.

  That assignment to Special Ops wasn’t the only thing he could take from Travis McCormick.

  “ARE YOU SURE you’re okay?” Tess asked, urging Travis toward the cooler holding open the concession stand door. But he refused to sit. He’d taken a dozen paces under his own steam, walking off the tingling effects of jarring his knee. She thought she’d sneak in some weight training by having him carry the heavy canisters. Her subtle form of physical therapy had
gone without a hitch until that misstep on the curb. She thought he’d recovered just fine, but something was wrong. “Travis?”

  Not a muscle yielded beneath her hands. He’d frozen, peering over her head into the darkness beyond the circle of streetlight where they stood outside the concession booth.

  “Stay here with Amy and Morty.”

  It wasn’t a request. He grasped her by the shoulders, shoved her inside the booth, then disappeared.

  Goose bumps popped up across her skin as concern for his knee chilled into wary suspicion. Why had Travis suddenly gone on alert?

  Tess glanced at her sister, holding a box of candy bars and patiently listening to Morty’s account of the meeting he’d just come from. Amy couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but she handed Morty a couple of candy bars and pointed. He got the hint to stack them on the display shelves behind the front counter, resuming his story while they worked. Deciding the two of them were safely occupied, Tess hurried after Travis.

  She jogged across the street. The man was in full-blown Marine mode now, moving stealthily through the shadows and avoiding the pockets of light from the black iron street lamps. Though he seemed surprisingly light on his feet, despite the knee brace and string of curses she’d heard minutes ago, Tess caught up with him about half a block away. He’d paused at the corner of the alleyway between a craft shop and a fudgery. She slowed to sneak up behind him as he scanned the hazy pit of the alleyway.

  “I thought I told you to stay put.” Apparently her sneaking abilities needed some work.

  At the warning rumble of his voice, she said, “I’m not one of your men. You can’t give me an order like that. It scares me when you do.”

  With a shake of his head he took her hand and pulled her to him, angling his shoulder between her and the darkness as he stepped into the alley. “You couldn’t take an order if you were a Marine. Has anyone ever used the term ‘pigheaded’ when describing you?”

  Despite the teasing, Travis bristled with tension. This harder, edgier side of his personality thrilled her with its intensity, while the uncharacteristic seriousness of it made her uneasy. “What’s wrong?”