Male Call
Hot Zone #1
Denise A. Agnew
Denise A. Agnew
Contents
Author’s Note
Once he brings his big guns to bear, there’s no retreat from the heat…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Denise A. Agnew
Cover art copyright 2016 by EmCat Designs
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
To my husband Terry, who I married during Desert Storm, January 19, 1991. I’ve never regretted a single moment of being your “war bride.” You’re the best husband a woman could ever have.
Author’s Note
When I wrote this story a few years ago, I decided I wanted the hero and heroine to correspond by regular mail rather than email. Because that seems even less likely these days with email and social media almost totally pushing out snail mail, I only tweaked this story a little when I updated it. Enjoy this touch of “old-fashioned” in their love story.
Once he brings his big guns to bear, there’s no retreat from the heat…
Hot Zone, Book 1
Eve Carmichael has been consumed with worry over her military pen pal, Army Reserve soldier Sean O’Callahan. So worried, she can barely bring herself to make reservations to celebrate her upcoming birthday at Male Call, a male review club. Maybe it’s time to cuts her losses before her worst fears for him come true. Maybe it’s time to get a life. Especially a sex life. The one his increasingly hot letters—and even hotter photos—make her wish she had.
Eve’s letters have been Sean’s only lifeline amid the dangers of Iraq. And his minor wounds are a wake-up call that he wants her in his life, not just in his mailbox. He can’t wait to get home to replace her scorching letters with the feel of her hot, curvy body in his hands. And show her in real time just what kind of pure firepower he’s capable of…
Chapter 1
Present Day
Clarksville, Wyoming
* * *
Eve Carmichael’s fingers hovered over the telephone keys, ready to punch in the numbers and take the plunge. She sank onto the edge of her bed.
Yep, time to make a serious decision.
No time like the present.
She stared at the phone. So why did she hesitate?
Maybe because she’d never been to a male review show before and somewhere in her Midwestern upbringing she’d gotten the idea that female sexuality equated to sin? Well, that’s what her English friend Claudia thought. “Repressed American female sexual appetite,” Claudia would say.
Ugh.
She didn’t feel repressed.
Not really.
Besides, how painful could it be to watch a bunch of half naked men parade around on stage? A bolt of lightning wouldn’t strike her down, for God’s sake.
Male Call was an exclusive club downtown that catered to women who wanted to watch men strip ala Chippendales or Thunder Down Under. Eve’s friend Chesney insisted she needed one trip on her birthday Friday night to blow off steam. Or blow off the accumulated sexual frustration eating away at her. Anyone about to hit thirty in less than a day—Valentine’s Day to be exact, should have a wild, extravagant party to celebrate.
The big three-oh. Thirty years and what she had to show for it amounted to a large bank account, a comfortable house, a used Porsche that ran like a top, and—no. She wouldn’t think about the promise Sean O’Callahan had made in his letters for the last six months. Letters. Not emails. Because Sean O’Callahan had a romantic bone in his body and had said when he left for the Middle East he wanted to write letters like his grandparents had when his grandfather had gone to war. When he’d said that it had melted something gooey and girly inside her Eve hadn’t expected.
Stop thinking about how freaking sexy that he wanted letters, okay?
She had to stop obsessing over him right now.
She glared at the phone as if it might have answers. Didn’t matter that she’d always thought of her buddy Sean as trustworthy. Didn’t matter that his letters stopped coming three weeks ago, and she couldn’t reach him by email or phone. He hadn’t written anything on social media, but then he wasn’t much for that in the first place.
Her heartbeat accelerated the minute she heard the mail truck pull away from the curb. Damn. She wanted to pretend that receiving mail from Sean almost weekly hadn’t become a turn-on for her. Long, expressive, incredible letters she could hardly believe came from the same man she’d known for the last year. As she raced out to the mailbox, she remembered his first letter to her six months ago. Sean, who’d left for the Middle East a serious, almost too tense man.
His penmanship held that blocky, rigid style she associated with uptight scientists or inhibited geeks. But now that she’d received dozens of his letters, she knew she’d been wrong about him.
Oh, so terribly wrong.
She’d always considered the computer software engineer subtly attractive in a strange way that hovered somewhere between staggering handsomeness and utter cruelty. But he never came up on her radar as a possible date.
Stupidity was her nickname. Now that she understood him so well, felt him down in the core of her being, she realized what her life would feel like without him. Her soul twisted in pain inside her.
She snatched open the mailbox and retrieved the usual assortment of junk mail and a bill. No letter from Sean. Misery meandered through her. God, she had to stop doing this. Torturing herself. Time to get a grip. She went back inside her house, closed the door, then wandered into the bedroom. Okay, she could employ the one technique she’d learned from her single psychology class back in college. Designate thirty minutes to worry like hell. Worry and worry for that entire half hour and then stop. That’s all the time she could take. She lay face down on her bed, but after five minutes passed, she sat up.
His letters. She’d read them once more, and they would take her mind off the danger Sean might have encountered…or something worse. She went to her dresser and snatched up a beautiful, dark cherry wood box that sat next to her jewelry case. She sat on the bed and opened the box. Retrieving the thick packet of letters, she lay back on her blue denim comforter and unfolded the first letter she’d received from him. Written on plain, college-ruled notepaper, it reminded her that she needed more of the paper she’d used to form his letters.
* * *
Hey Eve,
Damn, I already miss little bum fuck Clarksville. Can you believe it? I couldn’t wait to leave and now I can’t wait to get the hell back. Sure, I liked my job, but it was good for me to do something different. I was feeling restless there and wanting new vistas. I have challenges now. Big ones. Being a computer geek in the intelligence field isn’t as dangerous as some jobs, but when you are sent on a convoy…well, you know how that goes. There is no safe place in this desert. Anyone and everyone can be caught sitting with their thumb up their ass at the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t spend much time looking over my shoulder. Much.
The desert is hot and hot and more hot. Fuckin’ hot. As if you didn’t already know that, too. Here’s to snowy Clarksville, Wyoming.
Other than being broiling in the day and damned freezing at night, it’s paradise here. There’s plenty of
hard work and yet plenty of sitting around. Which when you think of it, sounds like what you and I do at our regular jobs.
I’m just now getting some decent sleep and to take a break for this letter I promised. I can’t believe you talked me into letter writing. You know I hate to write letters. I suck at it, but I know you’d kill me if I didn’t write. This letter’s short, Eve. Write me soon.
Sean
* * *
She’d written him, so excited to tell him what she thought of his letter. She closed her eyes and imagined her letter in her mind’s eye, remembering a good dose of what she’d said.
* * *
Sean,
You haven’t missed too much. Nothing much changes quickly in this town, as you know. Life has been hell. A good hell of work and more work, overtime and more overtime. The money is good, but I think I need to come to Iraq for excitement.
Just kidding.
Sorry. Really bad joke.
The second level of hell, of course, is reserved for dealing with creepy Kowalski. Maybe I’ll start calling him that in my mind. Creepy Kowalski with a capital CK. Or maybe I’ll call him CK, and he won’t have a clue why I’m naming him that. No, you know me better. I would never taunt the man, as tempting as it is. No matter what his foibles, treating him with respect has always been my goal. Want to know what he’s doing now? He was caught walking into the ladies bathroom yesterday. He claimed he just wasn’t paying attention. Well, I can believe that. I almost did that once when I was talking to you in the hallway one day. Remember? Almost followed you right inside. I about died of embarrassment. I wasn’t around to see Kowalski’s faux pas, but I “hear tell” as Becky Strommel would say, that Kowalski didn’t even look fazed when Perry Granery caught him trotting in there. Things that make you go…hmmmm.
Then, just Monday, he brushed up against me in the crowded cafeteria and had this perfectly evil shit-eating grin on his face. I tell you it gave me the total spine-tingling, slasher flick creep-out.
Any ideas on how to banish his bad ju-ju?
On a different subject, Janet Cribbins has loaded twice as much work on me since you left. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not like you could do anything about it. Software engineering misses you big time.
Stay safe and hugs,
Eve
* * *
She eagerly grabbed his next letter.
* * *
Dear Eve,
You know what? I can’t believe I’m writing a letter the same day I received one from you. What if I wanted to tell you something that I didn’t want anyone else to know?
* * *
Eve’s stomach did a wild dip, just as it had the first time she’d read it.
* * *
Sounds like software engineering is the same shit. But I have six months to think about how calm and normal being there with you at work would be. What you said about Kowalski bugs me. I always knew he had B.O. and wore goofy ties, but I figured he was nothing more than fashion-challenged (hell, so am I) and needed a woman to color coordinate his socks and tell him to take a shower.
Watch out for him for him, okay? I suppose he could have accidentally walked into the bathroom, but I don’t know. Sounds suspicious. If he comes on to you, tell him I’m your boyfriend and when I get back from the desert I’m going to cut off his dick and feed it to him. Okay, even if you don’t tell him that, consider notifying Human Resources. If you don’t want to date him, it’s sexual harassment. Let me know how it goes, okay?
Today we moved a few miles down the road. Can’t tell you how excited that makes me. Yeah. Right. The troops are restless, as the cliché goes. Many want to see more action. Can you believe that shit?
Keep me updated on the mundane stuff that happens at work, will ya? I think it might just keep me sane.
Talk to you soon,
Sean
* * *
She smiled. She’d taken his advice and kept a close watch on Kowalksi. When he did ask her out three times in one week, she pulled the “Sean is my big bad boyfriend” routine. Just saying the words, “Sean is my boyfriend and he told me to tell you to keep your hands off me or he’d cut your dick off and feed it to you…” well, it was over the top, but it had worked.
She moved onto the next letter he’d sent.
* * *
Eve,
Are you trying to drive me nuts? I told you to write me about mundane life. Describing what you wore to the Christmas party almost killed me. A black low cut, short skirt with a slit up the thigh? Shit, I can see it.
* * *
She blushed reading the letter, amazed she’d had the nerve to describe the dress, surprised that she’d worn the thing in the first place. She continued reading.
* * *
You never wear clothes like that at work—of course you don’t. It wouldn’t be professional. But God, I’ll bet you look fantastic in it. Wear it for me when I return, okay? The thought of you in that dress, with your hair down and—ah hell—I’d better not go there.
On to safer topics. The desert is an oven right now. Except for at night. Yeah, that’s a bitch, too. Sand gets into everything—and I mean absolutely every fuckin’ crack and crevice in machinery there is.
Look, I’m sorry if I’m spending too much time bitching about the weather, but what else can I bitch about?
* * *
She paused. Oh, yes. He could bitch about things related to danger, and it would worry her like hell. She knew that he understood that and tried to spare her the concern. Didn’t do much good. She realized exactly how dangerous it was.
* * *
I gotta go. The sergeant needs to see me, and he’s a pretty tough bastard all the way around. I may outrank him, but he makes a person pay one way or the other. Write again soon. Can you believe there are guys here, and women, too, who don’t get a damned bit of mail or email? I’m a lucky bastard. With Mom and Dad’s letters and yours, I’m doing well. Talk to you soon.
Sean
* * *
She remembered the letter she’d written immediately after.
* * *
Dear Sean,
I don’t know what possessed me to tell you about my dress, any more than I know why I wore the dress. No. No, that isn’t exactly true. I realized a while back that I soon turn thirty, and I might as well be a nun. I’ve spent way too much time working and not enough time playing. So from now on I plan to live a little, and the black dress is a part of that fantasy. Several men watched me closely that night, so I guess they found the dress pretty. Not one approached me to dance. I could have talked to them but something held me back. God, I’m pathetic.
Work is a little nutty. Kowalski has been acting strange again. I’m uncomfortable around him, but I don’t know why. It’s not as if he’s bothering me anymore. You’ll be happy to know your idea worked—he left me alone when I told him his dick was in danger of execution. Sorry to hear about the sand—I mean the sand invading everything. Stay safe, okay? Write soon.
Hugs,
Eve
* * *
She pulled out his next letter, and as she read the first few lines, her heart sped up and a new flush filled her face.
* * *
Eve,
A nun. Are you loco, darlin’? Don’t even consider entering a nunnery. You’re a beautiful woman with a ton to offer a deserving man. Don’t settle, Eve. Do I think you should party and have a good time? Of course. But don’t settle for anybody. Hell, what am I saying? Of course you wouldn’t—you’ve got taste. As for the men staring at you during the party, they’re men. We’re supposed to notice beautiful women. It’s in our genes. I think it had less to do with the dress and more with the body in it. You are gorgeous, and don’t forget it. I keep imagining your body in that dress…ah, shit…I can spell it out for you if you like.
Now tell me more about this black dress. Damn it, Eve, you’re making me fantasize. And if you don’t quit it, I’ll have to share those fantasies with you in every detail.
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Sean
* * *
A hot spiral of desire coiled in her stomach. She fingered the cheap notepaper he wrote on. She didn’t care. His words meant so much more than she expected. He wormed his way into her psyche with his subtle meanings and the phrases he used to describe his life in the war. She recalled her return letter.
* * *
Sean,
Me? Make you fantasize. Huh! Well, thank you for doing fabulous things for my ego. Please spell it out for me in black and white, or maybe in color. If you’re very nice to me, I’ll wear the dress for you when you return.
Life here is stable for the moment. No more weird remarks from Kowalski. In fact, he’s quiet lately, which is a bit odd for him. Guess I can’t have it both ways. I just hate the way he looks at me. The way he looks at everyone.
As for the rest of work, Janie asks about you every day now. At first she didn’t say a thing, but now she’s drooling to know how you’re doing. You remember Janie, right? Ultra inhibited, super conservative Janie? If I didn’t know better, from her florid descriptions of your assets…well, I’d swear she’s either in love with you or has a warrior fantasy going on. She asked me for your address to send a care package, but I hedged and said I didn’t have it with me. Then I remembered that you aren’t allowed care packages directly. So I’ll tell her that. She’ll be mega disappointed.
Male Call Page 1