Ripped! Page 3

  “No shit. You’re running your mouth about Brigadier General Max Walters’s daughter.”

  McElhaney’s grin was unrepentant and slightly unpleasant. “All I can tell you, buddy—” McElhaney definitely wasn’t his buddy “—is he isn’t here and she is. I bet I can get her to kiss me even without putting her on the floor.”

  Ortiz, married with two kids and a third on the way, shook his head.

  Carter smirked. “Not if she sees me first, dickweed.”

  Mitch shook his head. What had she been thinking? She knew better. She’d grown up on military bases—she had to know better. Why not just wave a red flag in a field of bulls? The woman had to be crazy as hell.

  And he should give a damn, why? Because he couldn’t seem to move past her kiss. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed and been kissed any number of times. But there’d been something about her kiss that seemed to linger against his mouth long after she was gone.

  And quite frankly the idea of Carter or McElhaney or any of the other innumerable soldiers lining up for one of her kisses had him wanting to bang some heads.

  “So, what’s she doing here?” Ortiz asked. He was definitely the sharpest of the group, but Mitch had known that long before this discussion.

  It had been easy intel to pick up. “She’s a big-name photographer. She’s putting together a calendar for a fundraiser.”

  “A calendar of what?” Carter said. “Like paratrooper of the month or something like that?”

  “Something like that. The specific terms used were hardbody and hot.”

  “Guess that lets you off the hook, Dugan, since they’re not looking for a hard-ass.” McElhaney’s smile held barely disguised dislike. “But she definitely needs to get a good look at me.”

  “Forget it,” Carter jumped into the fray. “They’d need to put more than the back of your head on there and that’s the only part of you that qualifies.”

  McElhaney’s response was cut short when Company Commander Colonel Gus Hardwick—commonly known among the troops as Harddick—entered the room, strode to the table and chair in the front and started without preamble. Harddick wasn’t one to squander words or time.

  For over an hour they discussed maneuvers, upcoming missions, squad performance, individuals that needed help, testing for the week and general status updates.

  Mitch could tell Hardwick was winding down by the inflection in his voice and all the material they’d already covered. That suited Mitch just fine. He had a boatload of pain-in-his-ass paperwork to review—that was the part of his job he loathed—before an afternoon training jump.

  “We’ve got one more thing to cover. As you know by now, we have a visitor here in Alpha company.” Harddick looked straight at him. “I’m sure we’re all in agreement that any additional money going to supplement survivor benefits is a good thing.” Hardwick paused. There wasn’t a man in the room who wasn’t remembering buddies lost in the line of duty and the families they’d left behind. And damn straight their widows and kids could use the extra dough. Just because there was a crazy, sexy woman in charge of the project didn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile.

  Hardwick continued, “The photographer wants to pick her own subjects rather than choose from a pool of volunteers. In fact, she’ll be observing the training jump at Sicily this afternoon.” McElhaney’s platoon was scheduled for a HALO training jump in the Sicily Drop Zone at 1500 hours. Dugan, who’d be jumping with them, didn’t miss McElhaney’s smirk. The guy really was an asshole.

  “If you or one of your men is approached, participation is strictly voluntary. However, remember it’s in support of fallen comrades.”

  Mitch had a mental snapshot of Eden out at the barren Drop Zone in those ridiculous, impractical heels and tight skirt. For one crazy second he imagined the rush of the jump followed by the feel of her against him. That was it, that was what he hadn’t been able to nail all morning. That instant, crazy rush when he was free-falling and then ripped the cord to open his chute—that was the same damn way he’d felt this morning when she’d kissed him in the hall. One single kiss from her and he’d had that ripped sensation. It was really kind of crazy. Mitch shifted in his seat. He didn’t need to remember that kiss, the feel of her body against his, especially not now in the middle of a damn meeting.

  “Keeping that in mind,” Hardwick stared a hole into Dugan, “I need a volunteer to oversee the logistics of the project, to escort Ms. Walters around the base and coordinate the schedules between training and the photo shoots.”

  Great. Mitch shook his head slightly.

  “Ah, Dugan. I knew I could count on you.”

  Damn.

  At the same time, McElhaney raised his hand. “I can handle that assignment, sir.”

  “Thanks, McElhaney, but Dugan beat you to it and you’ve got some training issues you need to address.” Hardwick looked back to Mitch. “You seem to have a rapport with our visitor so I’m sure you’ll handle this with your usual efficiency.”

  Volunteer his ass. This was obviously a we-expect-more-from-you-than-base-gossip reprimand. It sure as hell wasn’t anything he would’ve truly volunteered for but it was obvious the woman needed a keeper. That much had been apparent when she’d kissed him in the hall. He was going to take a boatload of shit for this, but it was also sweet to knock McElhaney out of what he’d wanted. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll report immediately to Public Affairs following this briefing. Consider yourself on-task.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He’d had some ball-busting, gut-clenching assignments since he’d been in the Army and certainly since he’d earned his green beret. This, however, had all the makings of a clusterfuck.

  3

  EDEN SAT IN AN OFFICE SIMILAR to other military offices around the globe—she should know, she’d been in enough of them. Her nose twitched in recognition. There was a smell particular to a U.S. military installation, whether it was Hawaii or Germany or North Carolina.

  “So, you want to locate the candidates yourself?” Sergeant Sanchez said, after glancing down at a file.

  “That’s right.” It wasn’t as if this was new information. Eden had reviewed the process on the phone with the Public Affairs liaison and then again when she’d met with them after her late courtesy call to battalion headquarters. Despite that conversation, they’d insisted they’d present her with calendar candidates. She’d been equally adamant she’d select her own. Because her way wasn’t Army protocol, she’d been shifted to someone else. And then someone else again. Now, it was Sergeant Sanchez’s turn to deal with her. Surely the third time was a charm—and they were burning daylight.

  “Sergeant, I’m a professional photographer by trade. I specialize in people—in knowing who and when to take a photo. It’s what I’m trained to do.”

  Sanchez looked up from his paperwork, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, I don’t tell you how to take a picture, and you don’t tell me how to run my mission.”

  Yes! Finally, someone who understood something other than protocol. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “How about we coordinate a schedule?”

  It’d probably unnerve him if she broke into the Hallelujah chorus so she contented herself with saying, “You are a god among mere mortals.”

  On the other side of the green metal desk, Sanchez grinned. “I just need to fill out a couple of forms.” He checked his watch. “And we had an escort lined up for you, a Captain Gibbens. Unfortunately, she went into early labor last night. We’re waiting on her replacement.”

  Her hopes of getting this wrapped up in three days were becoming slimmer by the minute. She bit back a sigh and pasted on a smile.

  “Oh. I hope everything turns out well with the baby.” And with luck, they wouldn’t send her another nine-month pregnant escort. Eden’s neighbor had given birth last year and the woman hadn’t been exactly full of energy in her eighth and ninth month. Eden couldn’t imagine that Captain Gibbens had been looking fo
rward to hunting down subjects and then working through photo shoots. Eden supposed it was too much to ask that they simply turn her loose unattended on base.

  She noticed a framed snapshot of a dark-haired, dark-eyed toddler and a blond woman on Sergeant Sanchez’s desk. “Your family?”

  He nodded, practically beaming with pride. “My wife, Liz, and Cassie, my little monster. She just turned two.”

  “She looks just like you.” While Sanchez’s hair was close-cropped and the little girl boasted a head full of dark ringlets, her face was a mirror image of his.

  “I know. Poor kid. She was born while I was on my last tour in Iraq.”

  “I’m sure you couldn’t wait to get home to see her.”

  He grimaced. “I wanted to see her but I got sent home a little sooner than I expected.” He lifted his left arm and for the first time Eden noticed a prosthetic hand. “Compliments of an insurgent IED, uh, that’s improvised explosive device in civilian terms, also commonly known as a homemade bomb.”

  She knew exactly what an IED was and she hated it that he’d had firsthand experience with one. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, I’m lucky. At least I made it home and I get to see my kid every day. I think this calendar…well, some of the guys in our unit who didn’t make it home…they had kids, too.” His eyes were somber. “Thank you.”

  She liked his spirit. Even in the face of having lost a limb, he saw his cup as half full. She felt both humble and grateful in the face of his sacrifice on behalf of his country. She wanted to offer something in return, even though it didn’t begin to compare. “I’m going to be here for a few days. If you’d like, I could photograph your family.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “They’re in New Mexico now—Liz’s sister just had a baby—but they’ll be back in a couple of days. Liz would be thrilled. Thank you.”

  “We’ll do it maybe Thursday or Friday. I’ll be free in the evenings.”

  She felt like an utter heel that she’d ever been resistant to shooting the calendar in the first place. This guy had lost a hand in service to his country and she’d whined about having to be on a military base for a handful of days? And now he was thanking her. “And you’re very welcome.”

  The sergeant continued filling out one of the myriad forms but looked up with a grin, as if he was eager to move on to lighter conversation. “Spotted any calendar candidates yet?”

  “I haven’t really had a chance to scope things out. I’ve spent my entire morning being shuffled from one office to the next.”

  “That’s the military for you—hurry up and wait.”

  Sanchez was friendly and outgoing. Now seemed the perfect time to inquire about the man who’d knocked her off her feet earlier. “Do you know a Lieutenant Colonel Dugan?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A ready grin spread over his face. “I heard you met him earlier.”

  On base, gossip traveled faster than a speeding bullet. “We ran into one another.” She answered his grin with one of her own.

  “You’ve got guts. The Lieutenant Colonel can be sort of intimidating.”

  Dugan was hard, but not unkind. She’d seen enough of both kinds of people to recognize the difference.

  “Is he married?” She shifted back in her chair and brushed a speck off of her skirt, her heart thumping like mad in her chest. She hadn’t noticed a ring but lots of married guys didn’t wear them—especially guys who went through combat training where a ring could prove to be a hazard.

  Sanchez grinned. He so had her number. “Not married. I don’t know about a girlfriend though.”

  Relief rolled through her and she realized just how tense she’d been, waiting on his answer. “At least I won’t have an angry wife looking me up.”

  “That’s always a plus. My wife would go ballistic.” He shook his head as if it was a scary thought but the affection in his voice spoke volumes. “And I take it you’re not married?”

  “No. No husband at home.” Ha. She couldn’t even find a guy she wanted to date on a regular basis. Unlike a lot of the women she knew, she wasn’t husband hunting. She liked her house, her job and her own company. And most of all, she liked her independence.

  “There are lots of guys who’ll be glad to—”

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted Sanchez.

  In one of those real-life-was-stranger-than-fiction moments, Lieutenant Colonel Dugan himself entered the office.

  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.”