Soldier In Charge: Ripped!

SERGEANT SANCHEZ SHOT TO HIS feet. “Can I help you, sir?”

Dugan waved him back down. “As you were, Sergeant. I’m here to pick up Ms. Walters.” Mitch continued to maintain eye contact with the soldier behind the desk but every other part of him was fully tuned into the woman in the room. He heard her sharp intake of breath at his announcement.

His body tightened in a totally involuntary response to her scent, the memory of that quick, but oh-so-sensual, slide of her curves against him, the taste of her kiss. “I’m Ms. Walters’s escort for this project.”

He glanced at her, judging her reaction. Her amazing midnight-blue eyes widened with surprise and a flicker of something indefinable. There was something in the way she’d looked at him when she lay sprawled at his feet, a slight recognition, a touch of familiarity. Mitch, however, was sure he’d never met her before. Given the way he responded to her, he’d have definitely remembered. She wasn’t a woman a man easily forgot.

“You’re Captain Gibbens replacement?” Sanchez said.

The disbelief in the sergeant’s voice didn’t surprise Mitch. This certainly wasn’t Mitch’s typical assignment but then again, Hardwick was making an example of Mitch and having a little sadistic fun at Mitch’s expense. Hardwick was that kind of fun-loving guy.

Mitch offered a short laugh, mocking himself. “Do you think I can’t handle the assignment, Sergeant?”

For a split second Sanchez looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh along with him or not. Sanchez opted for the not. “No, sir,” he said. “I’m one-hundred percent sure you can handle any assignment, sir.”

Sitting in the chair to Dugan’s left, Eden Walters made a choking sound.

Mitch turned to her and felt a tightening inside him. “Are you okay, Ms. Walters?”

She had a way of smiling with her eyes. It was like the sun coming out. He’d noticed it this morning in the hallway. “I’m fine.” She brushed her fingers against her throat and he found himself fascinated by the pale column of flesh. Would it taste the same as her mouth? Would her pulse throb against his tongue if he licked just the right spot? “Just something stuck for a moment.”

Right. Like maybe a laugh.

“Okay. Paperwork completed,” Sanchez said. “You’ve got a guide. You’re on your way.” Sanchez rounded the desk and nodded.

Eden rose to her feet and Mitch automatically glanced down at her red heels and the shapely curve of her calf. Those shoes were going to have to go before they went out to Sicily, today’s jump site. They were sexy as hell, but totally impractical. And every guy there would be thinking about stripping her down to nothing but those heels…well, and maybe a pair of panties. That’s sure as hell what he was thinking about right now and he was damn certain every other man at Sicily would be doing the same. The heels had to go.

“Thank you…for everything,” she said, giving Sanchez a quick hug and a smile. “You’ve got my number. Call me when you want to get together. I’m serious.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Good. I’m really looking forward to it.”

She was friendly, Mitch would give her that. She’d kissed him a couple of hours ago and now Sanchez was her new best friend.

Mitch held the office door for her. Fixing her oversize purse more firmly on her shoulder, she brushed past him into the hallway. Her perfume teased his nostrils with its light, flirty aroma. The image of her in those heels, her arms twined around him, that scent surrounding him suddenly flashed through his mind.

He determinedly dragged his thoughts elsewhere. What was it about this particular woman that slid in beneath his radar? It didn’t matter, he just better get the hell over it—walking down the hall with a hard-on struck him as a piss-poor idea.

Was she setting up a “get together” with Sanchez now, even though the guy was married? It was absolutely, totally none of his business…except for the fact that she was his mission for the next few days.

“Sanchez has a wife,” he said, as they walked down the hall.

For a stretch of thirty seconds or so, the only sound between them was the tap-tap-tap of those ridiculously high heels of hers against the tile floor. And then she laughed—a rich, full vibration of genuine mirth. “You thought…I know he’s married. We discussed his wife and daughter. He was so nice and helpful I offered to shoot his family when they get back in town. Shoot as in photograph.”

“Right. Just making sure.” Dammit, for the second time in less than six hours she had thrown him for a loop, and he didn’t do loops. He moved on to the day’s events. “You’re scheduled to observe a training jump at 1500 hours today.” Fantasies would be flying and especially after the conversation between McElhaney and Carter. The thought of watching her choose other men didn’t sit well with Mitch. “You need to change your shoes.”

She arched an amused brow in his direction. He was glad she found him entertaining. “I have shoes.”

“I’m aware of that, but they’re not practical.”

Her nose tilted up slightly at the end with the faintest sprinkling of freckles across the bridge. “Lieutenant Colonel, I have a pair of flats in my car, along with a pair of slacks. I know I can’t go to a jump dressed like this. Despite the impression I might’ve given you earlier, I’m not a total idiot.”

Regardless of the fact that they were in the Public Affairs building, and that a small knot of soldiers stood at one end of the hall chatting, that kiss loomed suddenly between them, binding them as firmly as the silk cords on a parachute. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she moistened her plump lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Heat charged through him and for a second his only thought was to pull her to him and thoroughly explore her mouth. And then sanity returned, yanking him back on-task. He was never off-task. “Idiot wasn’t exactly the term that came to mind, Ms. Walters.”

He held the door and she preceded him out into the parking lot and the warm, October sun. “If you say so.” She nodded her thanks as he held the door for her, then shot him an infectious smile he found himself wanting to return. “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll be ready. I’m quick.”

Once again, same as this morning, he watched her walk, the sway of her hips capturing his attention. Deliberately he looked away. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be caught ogling Brigadier General Max Walters’s daughter’s ass in the parking lot—even though it was ogle-worthy.

He checked out the horizon. Clear skies, moderate wind in from the northeast. It’d be a nice day for the training jump.

Only someone who’d ever jumped understood the rush of adrenaline, that roar of the wind as your body hurtled toward the ground and then the yank and glide as your parachute unfurled and you rode the air currents once more back to terra firma. Unfortunately, his ass was grounded this time around by a woman with an infectious smile, midnight-blue eyes and a helluva kiss.

EDEN SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT of Lieutenant Colonel Dugan’s immaculately restored red-and-white Ford Bronco.

“What year is this?” she asked, rubbing her hand over the seat.

“Sixty-nine,” he said.

She swallowed hard and redirected her mind from the very sexual place it had just jumped to and back to his truck. “Very nice.”

“Thanks. It was a two-year project. Just a hobby of mine.”

She suspected nothing was “just” with him. He struck her as very focused, very intense. “When you’re not deployed?”

“Right.”

Eden knew better than to ask where he’d been, what he’d done. She’d been nine years old when her father had been in the First Gulf War. When he’d come home, it had never been talked about. What happened on a deployment wasn’t up for conversation in the Walters household. Training, however, frequently popped up.

“So, how hard will it be to show up and not jump today?”

After an initial moment of surprise, he laughed. “It’s pretty dam—I mean darn hard.”

His changing the damn to darn struck her as sweet. And she’d bet Lieutenant Colonel Special Ops Hard-ass would just love to be thought of as sweet. She smiled at the thought.

“It’s okay. I’ve heard curse words before.”

“I guess I better work on my poker face,” he said, with an unexpected self-deprecating sense of humor.

“Not necessarily.” She shrugged. It wasn’t his expression. It was more as if she were picking up vibes from him, which would just sound beyond strange if she shared that. Instead, she reasoned, “Most jumpers love to jump.”

“Have you ever done it?”

She absolutely couldn’t stop thinking about sex around him. She knew good and well he was asking if she’d ever parachuted, but all she could think about when he said done it was, well, doing it. She’d been in some jacked up hormonal state ever since she’d found herself at his feet this morning.

The close confines of his truck didn’t help, either. She was achingly aware of everything about him. He smelled good—a mixture of faint aftershave, uniform starch and yummy man. She’d grown up around men in uniform and they’d never done a thing for her. But Mitch Dugan was smokin’ hot in his…and she’d bet he was even hotter out of it.

“How can you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” The timbre of his voice rippled over her.