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Terms of Surrender
Leslie Kelly
Subject: Danny Wilkes, navy pilot.Current status: On shore rotation. Very intrigued by a sassy visiting lecturer…Mission: Enter the astronaut training program.Obstacle: Marissa Marshall, Ph.D. She's keeping Danny preoccupied with earthly delights…Danny Wilkes might have outgrown his risk-taking flyboy days, but he still loves a thrill now and then. And nobody's thrilled him lately like fiery Mari Marshall. Sex with her is a bigger turn-on than any of the air maneuvers Danny's ever pulled. He falls head over heels…hard.But Mari has bitter memories of being a military brat. She'll never enter that life again–not even for the best sex she's ever had.It's a hell of a choice. Does Danny give up his skyrocketing career? Or let go of the only woman who revs his engine into the stratosphere?
Twelve military heroes.
Twelve indomitable heroines.
One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.
Don’t miss a story in Harlequin Blaze’s
12-book continuity series featuring irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.
Now serving—
those ready and able heroes in the U.S. Navy…
HIGHLY CHARGED!
by Joanne Rock
April 2011
HIGH STAKES SEDUCTION
by Lori Wilde
May 2011
TERMS OF SURRENDER
by Leslie Kelly
June 2011
Uniformly Hot!—
The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell!
Dear Reader,
Don’t you just love a man in uniform?
There’s something so sexy about a strong, powerful guy whose clothes proclaim him to be a hero. Especially if his words and actions back it up.
I live in Maryland, not far from Annapolis, and there have been many spring days when I’ve seen that town filled to the brim with handsome young students from the Naval Academy, clad in their dress whites. Believe me, these “Middies” are a featured attraction.
I hope you enjoy Danny and Marissa’s story. Danny is my kind of hero—smart, sexy, charming, loyal. In this story, it was the heroine who had to prove to me that she was worthy of the hero, and I think she did.
While you’re reading, please be on the lookout for one of my favorite characters: Brionne, the heroine’s adorable cat. Brionne is actually based on a real-life furry friend who’s looking for a forever home (she really does play fetch!). If you’re an animal lover—like so many of the Blaze authors are—please check out blazeauthors.com to find out about our new Pet Project!
Best wishes and happy reading!
Leslie Kelly
Terms of Surrender
Leslie Kelly
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leslie Kelly has written dozens of books and novellas for Harlequin Blaze, Temptation and HQN. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award, the RT Book Reviews Award, and three nominations for the highest award in romance, the RWA RITA®. Leslie resides in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.
To Brenda.
I can’t say it enough but I’ll just keep trying.
Thank you.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Prologue
Friday 5/6/11, 07:00 a.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/06/friday-contest
Happy Friday!
Those of you who are regulars here at Mad-Mari.com know I belong to the I-love-Fridays cult. Not just because it’s the end of the work week (except for me, the unemployed, but more on that later) but because it’s my favorite day here on the blog. Every Friday, I invite you to share tales of your bad dates from last weekend, and we all get to spend the day thinking how great it is that ours aren’t the only love lives that suck. Wahoo!
You know the drill, just leave a comment, describing how bad things were on your last date. Most entertaining story—decided solely by me, ’cause, I am master of this here e-universe—gets an autographed copy of my new book.
Now, a bit of good news for me, which might be bad news for you, depending on how much you like to hang out here on my blog. Tomorrow, I actually have a job interview. For a real job. In the real world. AK!
Okay, it’s not permanent—just a summer gig. But I can’t tell you how much I need it. To answer the question before you ask—no, my two books have not made me rich. Some men just don’t seem to get my humor, plus I have a lot of student loans to pay off. (And no, for the last time, I’m not telling you where I went to school, or what I studied. Trust me. It’s boring.)
I plan to spend the day getting prepped—touching up the résumé, brushing up on interview etiquette, plucking my eyebrows. (Ow!) So you all feel free to talk about those bad dates and I’ll check in later tonight, okay?
P.S. Thought for the day: Is it better to be unemployed and happy, or have a good-paying job you hate? Discuss!
Friday 5/6/11, 11:15 p.m.
www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/06/friday-contest
Comment #114
Promised I’d check in! I’m about to hit the hay but wanted to choose a winner from today’s sucky-date contest.
Rachel from Boston wins an autographed copy of one of my books. Sorry to everyone else who entered, but I can’t even imagine what it was like to go on a date with a crazy dude whose opening line was, “I like to sneak into my mother’s room, steal her panties and dance around in them, like I’m Britney Spears.”
Uhh…eww.
Rachel, honey? Please tell me you didn’t let this guy know where you live. If you did, I hope you have a fresh supply of mace. And antibacterial soap. And a lock on your underwear drawer.
Hmm. What’s more disturbing about this story? A grown man’s mother having Britney Spears-ish panties, or her son wearing them?
Okay, gotta run. Please wish me luck on the job interview tomorrow. Can’t tell you more about it—as you know, I like to keep my Mad-Mari stuff on the down low, separate from my real world junk.
But trust me, this job? Well, let’s just say it involves me swimming in a huge sea of testosterone.
Here I go…diving in!
Mari
1
MARISSA MARSHALL LOVED clear, sunny spring days, and, so far, this early May one was reminding her why.
Having lived in Baltimore for five years, she was used to gray, smoggy skies during the cold, bleak winter, and hazy ones in the summer. Fall was nice, with changing leaves ranging from pale yellow to deep rust. But in spring, Maryland came alive.
There was so much color. Cherry blossoms and azaleas dotted the landscape with pink and red. Lush farmlands erupted in mixed tones of new, freshly turned earth. With the soft green waters of the Atlantic, and the warm yellow sun drenching the robin’s-egg-blue sky with life, the state was an artist’s palette.
Funny, though. Her favorite part of spring—the color she most enjoyed on a beautiful day like this—was no color at all.
It was white. Just white. A sea of it.
“Dazzling,” Marissa said. Though she’d been speaking to a woman behind the counter of the coffee shop where she’d stopped for a caffeine injection, she was looking out the window.
Students from the U.S. Naval Academy, wearing their immaculate uniforms, filled the streets of Annapolis. Though now coed, the USNA’s student body was primarily male. So on this lovely Saturday afternoon, the town appeared full to the brim of handsome young midshipmen—aka middies—in their dress whites, all celebrating making it through another tough year at the academy.
Women from all over the state flocked here on sunny spring days, just to have a good drool. Marissa among them.
“God, how can you survive this much hotness 24/7?”
The woman grunted. “They’re always broke. I don’t care how hot they are, I just wonder if they have cash in their pockets.”
Marissa would probably wonder less about the contents of their pockets and more about what was in the rest of their pants. Anyone who didn’t have something dangling in their own pants would. As would danglers with same-sex preferences.
The USNA might be renowned for its educational excellence, but a close second would have to be its military beefcake. Even Marissa, who had been single for so long she could call herself a sexual vegetarian, suddenly found herself craving a Manwich.
She knew better than to ever take a bite, though. Uniformed beefcake might taste good, but the thought of that uniform got stuck in her craw, choking her. She might like looking at them, but she had no use for military men. Not after having been sired by one. Her father was about as affectionate as a jellyfish.
Besides, lately, even men without uniforms had been few and far between. That, however, was her own fault. In her real life, she was an overeducated nerd who’d just completed a doctoral program from one of the most prestigious universities in the country—Johns Hopkins. So she intimidated most men.
In her secret life, she was persona non grata with the male half of civilization due to her snarky books: Why Do Men Suck? and Thanks, But I’ll Just Keep My Vibrator.
How strange that her blog, Mad-Mari.com, which she’d launched six years ago after a really bad date, had landed her here. What had started as an internet rant had grown into a website with tons of followers. Then came a book deal.
As Mad-Mari, she was sassy and irreverent while venting about the hell called dating and relationships. She’d railed against cheaters, chauvinists and misogynistic assholes. She’d met lots of those in academia, not to mention in the military world in which she’d been raised. Meanwhile, she’d also been writing her much more proper, respectable dissertation which touched on similar topics, just in a scholarly, scientific way.
In other words, no snark.
Thankfully, she’d published the books under a pseudonym. Very few people realized that the infamous man-bashing internet star, Mad-Mari, was really Marissa Marshall, PhD, whose dissertation had been excerpted in a highly respected psychology journal and in a military magazine. And she intended to keep it that way.
The barista set a cup on the counter. “Honestly, I’ve never been tempted to trade in my granny panties for something with cougar stripes—they’re practically babies.”
They might be babies next to the fiftyish server, but not to Marissa. The oldest cadets were twenty-three or so, not that far from her twenty-nine. But in terms of life experience, they were a different generation. From age fourteen, Marissa had been thrust into adulthood, nearly raising her own younger siblings.
There hadn’t been much choice after their mother left.
While studying to earn her doctorate in psychology, she’d spent a lot of time trying to understand that. If pressed, she’d probably have to admit that trying to understand what drove people like her parents to do the things they did was one reason she’d settled on psychology from the day she’d started college.
Oh, she got why the marriage had failed—her father was one of those chauvinistic misogynists she wrote about, cold and aloof. Not to mention a cheat, seeming to have a new affair on every base. But she couldn’t grasp how a mother could decide to pay him back by having an affair of her own, then leave her kids, keeping in touch only with an occasional call or card. Some things, she suspected, she would never understand, no matter how many degrees she earned or how many letters came after her name.
“You have a good day. Try not to trip and fall into a pile of hot boys now, ya hear?” said the woman behind the counter.
Not impossible, given her three-inch heels. “Thanks.”
Stepping outside, she instinctively closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She lived near the Inner Harbor, but the air didn’t smell nearly as potent. Downtown Baltimore lacked this fragrant mixture of saltwater, sweat and male.
