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“I had no idea my father was planning something like this,” his mom said. “How do you feel about it all, Striker?”
“I’m ready to obey my orders.”
“Of course you are. But that wasn’t what I asked.”
Striker tossed in his shaving kit before closing his seabag. His mom wasn’t just tough yet caring, she was also incredibly astute. She could probably sense that he was upset about this turn of events, despite his best efforts to hide that from her.
He loved his mom, but there was no way he was talking about his emotions with her. He hadn’t done that since he was ten and he sure wasn’t about to start now. “Listen, I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m sorry to be giving you such bad news about your father.”
“What about the funeral? When will it be?”
“Funeral?” Striker repeated, not even having thought of that.
“He didn’t want the fuss of a funeral,” Kate said from behind him, startling him. “He had a private burial earlier this week.”
Striker couldn’t believe Kate had slipped past his customary awareness of his surroundings. As a Force Recon Marine, his very survival depended on him being able to keep his head at all times, in all circumstances.
He’d dealt with combat situations. He’d completed surgical strikes in the dead of night. He’d successfully executed search-and-destroy operations. So why was one rich blonde throwing him?
“Let me get back to you on that, Mom. We’ll talk again soon.” Jabbing the end call button, he tossed his phone aside to glare at Kate. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was wondering how much longer you’d be? Our flight leaves in two hours, we really should be at the airport right now.”
“You’ve never heard of knocking before you enter a place?”
“I did knock, you didn’t answer. The door was ajar, so I came in.”
Leaving doors open? Striker never did that. Another sign that he didn’t have his head screwed on straight at the moment.
He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out exactly what it was about her that was getting to him. She was pretty, but he’d dealt with pretty women before. Quite successfully.
She was classy and wealthy.
Okay, those were things he tended to avoid in his women.
Not that he went for trashy girls. But the ones born with a silver spoon in their mouths tended to hit him the wrong way. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out why.
He’d turned nineteen during that summer he’d spent with his grandfather in Texas. His grandfather had thrown a big party, big in the way only Texans know how to accomplish. Wanting to show off, his grandfather had chosen a superexclusive country club as the location.
The entire thing had been a disaster as far as Striker was concerned. Not at first. At first, he’d been flattered by the attention of all the girls. What hormone-driven male of that age wouldn’t have been?
He’d been pursuing one girl in particular, Carolyn Sinclair, for weeks. Like Kate, she’d been a sexy blonde with long legs and a lot of class. He’d been dancing with her, real close, when his grandfather had stopped the music to make the announcement that Striker would be joining him at King Oil.
Striker had been stunned. He’d been upfront with his grandfather from the get-go. Striker was following in his father’s proud footsteps and becoming a Marine. No way was he becoming an oilman.
To this day, Striker could still vividly remember the horrified look on everyone’s face when he’d joined Hank at the podium only to contradict his grandfather’s words. Striker had agreed to spend the summer to please his mother, he’d told the crowd, but his plans remained unchanged. Striker was joining the U.S. Marines.
The attitude of the crowd changed faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind.
The girls, with their big hair and even bigger bank accounts, had turned their backs on him. As for sweet Carolyn…well, she’d told him what a loser he was in no uncertain terms, throwing a hissy fit in front of everyone, shouting that the only reason she’d bothered to spend any time at all on a redneck like him was because of his grandfather’s money. So much for her “classy” ways.
Yeah, it was safe to say that the entire thing had left a very bad taste in his mouth and the desire to distance himself entirely from rich chicks born with silver spoons in their mouths.
His gaze settled on Kate. Unfortunately there was no distancing himself from this rich chick. He was stuck with her.
Kate wondered what she’d done to aggravate Striker this time. He was staring at her with those intense green eyes of his. There was no reading this guy’s thoughts. He was a pro at disguising them. But the aggravation, that came through loud and clear.
She shifted her attention away from the brooding Marine and instead glanced around the studio apartment.
She suspected it was a furnished rental. Aside from a glimpse of a few brightly colored Hawaiian shirts hanging in the almost-empty closet, there was nothing much to give her any additional insight into Striker’s character. The only personal items were two framed photos on the dresser. One looked to be of his family—his parents and brothers—and the other appeared to be a beach house of some kind.
The room was all done in monochromatic beiges, except for the bold Native American colors of the comforter on the neatly made bed. Her eyes remained on the bed while her mind wandered into forbidden territory.
Did Striker sleep on his back or on his side? Did he sleep in the nude? She imagined the sheet falling around his waist…
She reined in her wayward thoughts. Oh, no, she wasn’t starting this again. Having fantasies about Striker. Absolutely not. This was where she’d gotten into trouble in the first place.
Closing her eyes, the memories came fast and hard. After mooning about Striker for most of the summer, four months later, on her eighteenth birthday in late December she’d delighted her parents by saying yes to golden-boy Ted Wentworth’s marriage proposal. She and Ted had practically grown up together. Their parents were best friends and had made no secret of their desire for their only children to join together in holy matrimony.
The only son of one of Texas’s wealthiest families, Ted was two years older than Kate and an inveterate risk taker, participating in extreme sports like heli-snowboarding in the winter and race-car driving in the summer. But despite the fact that Ted was an adrenaline junkie, being with him had never made her heart beat wildly the way watching Striker had.
During her six-month engagement to Ted, Kate had tried to forget about Striker, who’d left Texas to join the Marines. But the fantasies she’d had that steamy summer had stubbornly remained fixed in her mind throughout the ensuing months, coming out at night to possess her dreams.
One recurring theme had her leaving Ted at the altar and running off with the sexy, rebellious Striker. Striker, who’d followed his dream of joining the Marines. Striker, who’d pleased himself instead of others.
Logically she’d told herself that Striker merely represented freedom.
Freedom was something she couldn’t afford right now. Because whenever she tried to follow her dreams, disaster struck. People died.
So Kate had wrapped up all her dreams and put them away, focusing instead on stability. That was the thing she valued most these days.
She couldn’t allow being with Striker to distract her from that fact.
“We’d better get going,” she said with chilly briskness, falling back into her Ice Queen persona. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”
Striker had flown to war-torn countries faster than his trip to San Antonio. Everything that could have gone wrong did. Their flight was delayed umpteen times before being cancelled altogether. Bad weather was snarling up the entire system.
They were finally put on another flight and the plane actually left the gate, only to sit for another ninety minutes on the runway. By the time they’d arrived in San Antonio it was almost midnight. Luckily their luggage hadn’t gotten messed up, but then he only had his carry-on seabag and Kate only had her briefcase and purse.
A company car was waiting for them. After scrunching his six-two body into a cramped airplane seat, Striker was infinitely glad for the limo with ample room.
He glanced over to where Kate had fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. She’d taken some kind of travel sickness pills that had completely zonked her out. He’d barely gotten her into the limo before she was out again.
In fact, he’d been so concerned with keeping Kate upright and not sliding into a boneless heap on the sidewalk at the terminal, that he wasn’t even sure where they were headed now.
But when the limo eventually turned off the main road onto a long one-lane drive, Striker knew. They were heading for Westwind, his grandfather’s ranch.
Not his first choice, but at this point he was too tired to care. Besides, he had a bigger problem at the moment. Kate.
“How many of those pills did you take?” Striker muttered as Kate slid half-across his lap. His hand landed on her nylon-clad thigh.
His body reacted accordingly to the feel of a sexy woman strewn across it. He was still wearing his uniform, but that didn’t stop his arousal from hardening beneath the placket of his khaki pants.
As the car rolled to a smooth stop, Striker had a decision to make. Leave an out-of-it Kate in the limo with directions for the driver to take her home—not that he knew where that was—or take her inside with him.
He carried her inside.
The white pillars standing guard on either side of the door made the place look more like the White House than a Western ranch. But then his grandfather always had been into power and the White House image evoked a lot of power.
The front door opened, and there stood ranch foreman Tony Martinez, his now-white, thick hair standing on end instead of smoothly slicked back as it had been the last time he’d seen him twelve years ago. His face reflected the outdoor life he led.
“Did we wake you, Tony? The fuzzy bunny slippers are a nice touch,” Striker added, looking down.
Tony grinned sheepishly. “I forgot I was wearing them. It is good to see you again.” Then he noticed the woman in Striker’s arms and his expression became concerned. “What happened?”
“Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure,” Striker replied, moving past Tony to head for the grand staircase. “Kate took one of those motion sickness pills and it’s zonked her. Are the bedrooms still upstairs?”
Tony nodded and led the way. The expensive Oriental carpet runners softened the sound of Striker’s footsteps as he mounted the steps and efficiently made his way to the closest guest bedroom. There were five in the house.
After placing Kate on the bed, still without a word from her other than a ladylike sigh, Striker turned to Tony. “Is Maria still the housekeeper here?”
“No, her daughter Consuela is housekeeper now. But she’s not here today. She had to visit her mother in the hospital in Corpus Christi. That’s why I’m here in the house instead of over at the foreman’s place.”
“Are you the only one here?”
Tony nodded.
“We have to get her ready for bed,” Striker said with a nod down at Kate.
“Ready for bed? No, this is not something I do.” Tony hurriedly backed out of the room. “I will see you downstairs.” He paused on the threshold before turning back to narrow his dark eyes at Striker. “I can trust you to behave as a gentleman, si? Not to take advantage of Se?orita Kate?”
“You can trust me, Tony.”
The foreman nodded briskly. “Bueno.”
A second later, Striker was alone in the softly lit bedroom with Kate.
Plan, prepare, execute. These were the steps a Marine took to accomplish his mission.
Tonight Striker’s mission was to prepare Kate for bed. Which meant removing her shoes.
Check.
What about nylons?
He needed more information. If they were pantyhose…
They weren’t.
Okay, then. Speedy decision making was one of the signs of a good Marine, and Striker was a very good Marine.
Removing nylons.
Check.
It was getting hotter than a tropical jungle in here. That’s why his fingers trembled slightly after he peeled the sheer nylons off her long legs.
Kate mumbled and nearly poked his eye out with her knee as she rolled onto her side.
Now the curve of her hip drew his attention. So did her bare thighs, exposed by the hiked-up hem of her skirt. He knew firsthand how incredibly soft her skin was.
He shifted his attention to a less provocative area.
He probably should remove her suit jacket. Striker undid the first two buttons, not knowing what he’d find beneath. What he found was a lacy black bra that made his heart stop.
The temperature in the room rose another twenty degrees. The last button on the jacket was proving to be especially stubborn. The backs of his fingers brushed against her breast as he struggled—struggled to breathe.
She cuddled closer.
His breathing stopped. His body throbbed.
He got the last button undone and temporarily retreated.
Okay, he had to be fast about this, because drawing things out was only prolonging the sexual torture.
Jacket and then skirt removed efficiently.
Check.
She was wearing a slip. Black like her bra.
Fine, she could keep wearing it.
Because he’d had enough for one evening.
Striker grabbed a comforter from the chest at the foot of the bed and covered her with it, from chin to toe. Then he hightailed it out of the room.
He was greeted by Tony at the foot of the stairs.
“Se?orita Kate is okay?”
Striker nodded. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. She took some new kind of travel sickness pill that knocked her out. She’ll be fine,” he repeated. Striker wasn’t so sure about himself, however. His body still ached. What kind of pervert was he to get so aroused over an unconscious woman’s half-naked body?
Yeah, well, Striker had never claimed to be a saint.
He deliberately focused his attention on the ranch foreman. “Like I said before, Tony, those are mighty nice slippers.”
“They are a gift from my granddaughter. They keep my poor feet warm.”
