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Pain stabbed his chest at the mention of her name. He couldn’t believe Hughes had brought up his ex. Hughes knew, more than anyone else, how Luanne had destroyed him. “All women are the same, Hughes.”
She glared at him, her hands curled into fists. “Are you saying I’m like Luanne?”
He blinked down at her. “No, but you’re not really like…a woman.”
Hughes’s eyes narrowed to slits, and splotches of red appeared on her cheeks. “Not like a woman?” She ground the words between her teeth.
“Of course not.” How could that piss her off?
“McCabe, you may be the most clueless male on the planet. If I didn’t think it would upset Jordan, I’d take you outside right now and rip you a new one.”
Mitch smiled. This was the Hughes he knew how to deal with. “You and what squadron?”
The bride and groom approached and Hughes gave McCabe a menacing glare before turning to accept Jordan’s hug.
Jackson slapped him on the back and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “McCabe, you dog. Your thirty days start today, buddy,” Jackson announced.
Mitch stiffened. “What?”
“Remember last year you lost the bet and had to play monk for a month? You couldn’t believe I was thinking of settling down with Jordan. And you once said if I ever got married you’d do without for another month.” Jackson lifted one brow.
“Now, wait a minute.” Mitch shook his head. Dread hit him low in the gut. “That wasn’t technically a bet.”
Jackson’s mouth crept up in a slow grin. “So, you don’t stand by your word.”
“Of course I do!” Mitch’s insides chilled as the legitimacy of Jackson’s challenge settled over him like a bad case of the flu. He’d forgotten he made that promise to his buddy. Celibate for another thirty days? Last time he’d been somewhat prepared. Not because he was sure Jordan would give in and sleep with Jackson, but mostly because Mitch hadn’t minded going without if that meant his buddy had a good time with the beautiful blonde. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel, scowling at the ground. One glance at Hughes showed her smirking. The angry, hell-bent glint in her eye gave him the willies.
Jackson clapped him on the shoulder, bringing Mitch’s attention back to the departing couple just as Jackson turned to his smiling bride and gave her a deep, promising kiss. The jerk did it just to rub in what Mitch would be missing.
Then, with one last wave, the newlyweds headed outside to their waiting limo. At the door, Jordan glanced over her shoulder and tossed her bouquet.
Mitch felt a small measure of satisfaction when the cluster of flowers slapped Hughes in the face and landed in her hands before she could duck for cover. “Damn it,” she mumbled.
He chuckled. “Jordan should have been a bombardier with that kind of aim.”
Hughes turned on him, her eyes blazing like laser-guided missiles. “You better get a wrist brace, McCabe.” She gave him a surprisingly wicked smile. “’Cause for the next thirty days, your right hand’s gonna be your best buddy.” She marched out the door.
Geez, what had he ever done to her?
2
NOT LIKE A woman? Alex fumed. That was the third time McCabe had accused her of not being a woman. They were fighting words Alex could ignore no longer.
Of course, she’d strived her entire career to be treated equally. To not be thought of as a weak female. But still, it wasn’t as if she was some genderless life-form. She was a woman.
And now that McCabe had gotten himself celibate again, this was the perfect time to show him just how true that was.
Within seven days, she’d formulated a plan and put it into action. Once Jordan returned from her Bahamas honeymoon, Alex had called to beg her help with a makeover. And Jordan hadn’t hesitated when Alex explained her mission. In fact, she’d heard Jordan squeal before she shouted a resounding yes!
But now, after spending almost four hours being peeled, plucked and processed at a salon, and another three shopping at Jordan’s favorite department store, Alex was rethinking her need to teach McCabe a lesson. “How do women do this all the time?” she whined as she tried to balance in the four-inch stilettos. “I’d rather shovel manure from my parents’ stables.”
“Hey, do you want to make Casanova McCabe pay, or don’t you?”
“You’re right.” Alex squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “Suck it up, Hughes,” she mumbled to herself.
All she had to do was picture the look of complete dismissal on Mitch’s face when he’d said she wasn’t like a real woman. If she had to break both her ankles trying to walk in these torture devices, she was going to make Captain Mitchell McCabe fully aware that she was a woman. A real, live, desirable female. And then she’d make him sorry he’d been born.
Jordan smiled and waved a hand. “I’m having fun. And you gotta admit the results are worth it.” She turned Alex toward the full-length mirror in the shoe section of the department store. “Just look how the high heels and pointed toes elongate your legs.”
Alex frowned at her poor feet jammed into the sheer red chiffon. She hadn’t realized this famous shoe designer was a disciple of the Marquis de Sade. “Yeah, my legs will look real long sticking up in the air after I fall flat on my ass trying to walk in these things.”
“Ain’t gonna happen, girl.” Jordan nudged her shoulder. “You just need practice. One foot in front of the other, heel to toe…”
Grumbling under her breath, Alex wobbled away, the muscles in her ankles screaming for mercy.
“Sway your hips just a little—no, not that much.”
Alex adjusted her sway. This was ridiculous. She felt like a moron.
“Head up, don’t watch your feet.”
What? How could she make sure she didn’t trip if she couldn’t watch her feet?
“Good, now turn—slowly. Put one hand on your hip.”
She was kidding, right? Did women really go through all this just to attract a man? She stuck a fist on her hip.
“Now come back toward me and watch yourself in the mirror. See how the new, subtle highlights in your hair soften your complexion and the new cut accentuates your cheekbones?”
Whatever. If Jordan said so. Alex smiled and nodded when Jordan asked her to try the walk again. And again. If she could survive The Spa Dragon, she could live through anything. Even—God help her—shopping. The facial had been kind of nice until the Dragon had told Alex her skin was “appallingly dry” and asked about her skin care regime.
Regime? Um…soap. Water.
The Dragon had looked as if she wanted to call security and have Alex thrown out until she’d agreed to buy the entire package of cleansers, exfoliators and moisturizers.
The pedicure and manicure had felt wonderful, but regulations forbade the bloodred nail polish that Jordan wanted her to get. The color would so clash with her combat boots and camo. She chuckled at the thought, lost her balance and teetered over, grabbing a stack of shoeboxes on her way down. An entire row of boxes and shoes came crashing on top of her as she landed hard on her butt.
Jordan rushed over. “Oh, my gosh, are you okay?”
“Nothing bruised but my pride.” She tried to get her feet under her to stand.
“No, no, Alex! Not like that. Knees together.”
“What? How the—” She clamped her mouth shut at Jordan’s raised brow. “Okay, okay.” Alex somehow managed to stand with her knees together and smoothed down the little black dress Jordan said was an essential piece in every woman’s wardrobe. Of course, she’d said that about every item in the five shopping bags full of new clothes.
“Um…Alex?”
“Yeah?” She hobbled over to a bench and lifted a throbbing ankle onto her knee.
“We’ve got one more stop to make. Something I didn’t think of until you—well, until a moment ago.”
“Does it involve shopping? Do we have to?”
“Do you want to make him crazy, or don’t you?”
Reserves of strength straightened her spine. “I want that womanizing jerk brought to his knees.” She rubbed the ball of her poor, tormented foot.
“Then follow me, Captain Hughes.”
After paying for the shoes plus two other pairs of heels, Alex followed Jordan across the department store to the section devoted to undergarments. Good grief. The fancy pieces of nothing came in every style, size and color imaginable. Alex usually bought her plain white undies by the six-pack at the commissary. She’d never seen the point in spending good money on something no one would see anyway. But now…
She wandered around feeling completely overwhelmed until she spotted a violet-red thong and bra set made entirely from scraps of flimsy lace. Bet it would itch like crazy. But it seemed like just the sort of thing to drive a guy like Mitch absolutely wild. Not that she ever planned on him seeing it, but it would certainly help her feel sexy.
With a wicked grin, she found her bra size and took it to the dressing room.
3
SITUATION REPORT—DAY EIGHT: tolerable.
If Mitch had known when he’d patted the sleeping brunette’s butt and slid out of her bed two weeks ago that she’d be the last woman he’d have sex with for an entire month, he might have stayed the night for once.
Nah.
In his apartment off-base in Vegas, Mitch stood at the open refrigerator door staring at his options for dinner. He could handle doing without for thirty days. Last time hadn’t been that bad even when he’d been on leave and partying every night on the Las Vegas Strip. All he had to do this time was avoid temptation.
Should be easy enough to do if he only went from work to home and back. He had plenty to keep his mind occupied. Air combat training. Classroom instruction. Changing the oil in his Jeep. Organizing his CD collection in alphabetical order.
And then there was always television…
He pulled his frozen dinner from the microwave, plunked it down on the coffee table, and sat back on his leather sofa. Peeling the plastic back, he poked around at what was supposed to be Salisbury steak while grabbing the remote. Let’s see. Sunday night. He scrolled up the schedule of channels. Infomercial for the Girls Gone Wild DVD? No. Reruns of Babewatch—no! He punched the remote again. Desperate Housewives…
Screw this! A cold beer and a good game of eight ball was what he needed. Too bad Lily had Grady on such a short leash nowadays. But Hughes was usually up for a game. Even a bad-tempered Hughes was better than no Hughes at all.
Even though they’d texted and emailed, he’d missed her while she’d been stationed at Langley. With Jackson fighting in the sandbox back then, and Grady…well, even before he married Lily, Grady had never been much for having a good time.
He pulled out his cell and punched Hughes’s number. After a couple of rings it went to voice mail so he left a message telling her to meet him at the officers’ club for a game of pool. Then he shoved off his sofa, grabbed his keys and hopped in his Jeep.
As Mitch pulled up to the officers’ club, he scanned the parking lot, but Hughes’s Mustang wasn’t there. Damn. Where was Hughes tonight? He pushed through the door and headed for the bar, ordering an appetizer and a draft of beer on tap. After finishing two beers and most of a plate of wings, he realized he’d been checking his watch for forty-five minutes. So, fine. She wasn’t coming.
Reaching for his wallet, he paid his bill and strolled toward the pool tables at the back of the room. Empty. Didn’t anyone else get out on a Sunday night? He chalked a cue stick, racked up the balls and had just lined up the first shot when he caught sight of a slinky red dress clinging to a cute little figure sauntering toward him. Her layered golden-brown hair blew around her heart-shaped face.
As his gaze traveled down her slim legs, his mouth went dry. He was a sucker for do-me stilettos like the ones she was gliding in.
He turned his back, hoping that ignoring the lady would get the message across, but he felt her come up behind him. He inhaled and some exotic perfume teased his senses and shifted his pulse into high gear. Damn it, where was his wingman when he needed her?
“You called my cell?”
Mitch spun so fast his cue stick hit the edge of the table, bounced up and almost whacked him in the face. “What the—” He looked the woman up and down, from her round pert breasts to her shapely legs, and back up to her face. “Hughes?” He choked on the word.
He squinted into her amber eyes. He’d never realized her eyes were more golden than brown. Or that she had such long lashes. Or that her lips were so…kissable.
He jerked away, bumping into the pool table. This was Hughes. His best bud. The grease monkey he called when his Jeep needed a new carburetor. Not some hot babe a guy thought about nailing. “Good God, Hughes, are you wearing makeup?”
Her lips tightened, and then she smiled and raised a feminine brow. “Alexandria.”
“What?” Was that his voice sounding all hoarse?
“My name is Alexandria.” She leaned closer, moistening her lips with a pink tongue.
“Alex—” he cleared his throat “—andria?” Was the AC broken? The room felt hotter than a Memphis summer. He tugged on his T-shirt. This just wasn’t right.
Her brows drew together and she lifted a dainty hand with soft pink nails to cup his cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”
He flinched as if he’d been burned and scooted sideways, away from her scent and touch. But distance only gave him a better view of her incredible figure.
Mitch had seen her in a tank and shorts plenty of times, sweaty from a hard game of B-ball or a day in the Nevada heat under the hood of her Mustang. Now his imagination mutinied and envisioned her sweaty tank clinging to curves he’d never thought of her having before.
Damn, this wasn’t helping his problem. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other.
She glanced around and sauntered over to the rack of cue sticks.
The way she walked, so…soft and sexy. God, had Hughes always had such a luscious ass? It looked just the right size to cup in his hands.
Snap out of it, McCabe. She was up to her old tricks. He’d punked her but good a few months ago and now she was just trying to get him back. They’d been pulling pranks on each other since their academy days. It would serve Hughes right if Mitch took her home, stripped off that dress and found out what those ripe tits felt like in his palms. But he wasn’t about to break his word to Jackson. He still had twenty-two days of celibacy left. Maybe after that he could—
What was he thinking? He couldn’t sleep with his best bud. That would just be too weird.
“So, you want to play or what?”
Play? A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple.
She gestured toward the pool table.
Oh, pool. Right. She wanted to play pool. “Uh, sure.”
She turned and moved down the row of racks, inspecting the different sticks along the wall.
“You did this to yourself just for a practical joke?” he blurted out.
Her step faltered and she fell sideways into the cue sticks, sending them tumbling down.
Before he realized he’d moved, he caught her in his arms. She grabbed his shirt for balance as her ankles righted themselves. A horrified expression flickered over her face, and then was gone. He could feel her heat. Lust crawled over him. Intense. Unwanted.
She struggled out of his hold and stood on her own, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Her fingers slid over her flat stomach and down into the indentation between her pelvic bones, as if she was going to touch herself there.
He tried to swallow, but a hard lump blocked his throat.
A lieutenant appeared from behind Mitch and began picking up cue sticks and replacing them in their slots. “Is the lady with you, Captain?”
