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At Your Command
Julie Miller
Sassy heroines and irresistible heroes embark on sizzling sexual adventures as they play the game of modern love and lust. Expect fast paced reads with plenty of steamy encounters.An Officer…and a Gentleman? US Marine Zach Clark spent his last leave between the sheets with feisty lawyer Becky Owens – a steamy week he never wanted to end. So he proposed. They secretly said their “I do’s”, then Zach shipped out on an eighteen-month tour.Returning home a war hero, Zach begins a tough new mission: getting to know his bride. Zach is now determined to lay claim to his wife’s heart – as well as her body – and the bedroom seems the perfect place to start…
“Captain Zachariah Clark atyour service, ma’am.”
Becky licked her luscious lips with that sinful tongue in an assessing, appreciative look that made his entire body lurch.
“I’ve never seen you in uniform before,” she said. “You wear it well.” She scanned him from shoulder to shoulder, from head to toe. “Take it off, Captain.”
In a single beat of time, the atmosphere in the room thickened.
“The hotel cleaners just sent it up, starched and pressed,” he tried to argue.
“So we’ll make it a point not to wrinkle it,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Come on, soldier. Take it off and come over here.” Becky reached for the knot of terry cloth between her breasts and dropped her towel.
She was naked.
Damn. Zachariah’s penis throbbed to shameless attention as he stood, transfixed, by all her abundant glory. His body knew he was fighting a losing battle. He might as well go with it.
“At your command…”
JULIE MILLER
is an award-winning author – with a National Readers Choice Award, a Daphne du Maurier Award and a PRISM Award, among other prizes. She’s been a finalist in several other venues, including the Golden Heart contest. She has been a multiple nominee for Romantic Times BOOKreviews awards, including Best Blaze
, Best Contemporary Paranormal and RomanticTimesBOOKreviews’ Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Suspense. Some of her thirty-plus books have appeared on the USATODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Born in Missouri and now living in Nebraska, julie gets support from her small but mighty writing group, the Prairieland Romance Writers, as well as her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Find out more about the author at www. juliemiller. org. You can e-mail her through her website or write to her at PO Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162, USA.
Dear Reader,
It’s hard to believe that At Your Command is my thirtieth book! Many of my stories are still so fresh in my mind that it feels as though I could find a town on a map, walk up to a door, knock – and one of my characters would answer.
At Your Command features one such character, a man who jumped off the pages. Captain Zachariah Clark was Travis’s e-mail buddy in my Mills & Boon
Blaze
novel, Basic Training. By the time we met him in person in that story, Clarksie had created a rather large presence for himself. Now this big, sexy marine has come home after serving in a war zone. But his reunion with a wife he barely knows may not go as smoothly as he hopes. Being apart for eighteen months is hard. But sometimes, coming home can be even harder.
Do you have a favourite fictional character you’d like to meet in person? I’ve always thought hanging out with Miss Marple or Atticus Finch would be cool. You can visit me online at www.juliemiller.org and share your thoughts.
Enjoy,
Julie Miller
AT YOUR
COMMAND
BY
JULIE MILLER
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my Mizzou buddy, jas.
I remember brainstorming behind the dorm (while we sunned ourselves without a thought about skin cancer and wrinkles…er, pardon me, laugh lines!) to create wonderful stories that I wrote in all my notebooks. Eventually I took bits and pieces of those ideas and put them into my computer years later when I decided to seriously pursue this writing thing. You didn’t think I was crazy for having such an imagination – instead, you joined in the adventure with me. You even gave me a “writing kit,” full of paper and folders, properly marked with all my working titles. I still have it.
What support. What encouragement.
What a friend.
1
Eighteen months ago
MARINE CORPS CAPTAIN Zachariah Clark was so tuckered out he could barely put on his uniform, much less speed up the process.
But, oh, man, what a way to go.
He had only five hours until he had to report for duty at the training base in Quantico, Virginia—forty miles away. Against city traffic. Through the mushy dregs of the snowstorm that had blanketed Washington, D.C. He should be kickin’ his ass into gear and bookin’ it out of this hotel.
But as he tied off his boots, all he could think about was the naked woman in the shower, singing a bluesy rendition of “Too Darn Hot” that danced against his eardrums like a seductive whisper and heated his groin like the touch of a slow, firm hand.
“Keep dressin’, Clarksie,” he chided himself as he carefully buttoned the fly of his camouflage pants.
After nearly a week in this room with Becky Owens, he thought he would have gotten the woman out of his system. He’d already had her six ways to Sunday, and she’d had him back.
Enough, man! Duty calls.
But she was in there.
Naked.
Absolutely his favorite version of the Beckster. He’d seen her in every role from buttoned-up exec in a chaste gray suit to adorable sex kitten in her funky flannel pajamas. He’d had fun with them all. But naked? He swallowed hard, doing his damnedest to blank out the image of soft, decadent curves, flexing and bouncing with each precise movement she made. The pale, perfect skin, the result of her Scandinavian heritage, would be steaming beneath the spray of the water.
Naked.
Zachariah reached for the khaki T-shirt he’d pulled from his duffel bag. Maybe if he kept puttin’ his clothes on, he’d quit obsessing about takin’ hers off.
Of course, he wouldn’t have to take off anything because she was already…
Naked.
Shit. His dick stirred in response.
“Helluva pep talk, Clarksie.”
He pulled the T-shirt over his head, stretching the cotton over his chest and arms until the Corps tattoo of eagle, globe and anchor peeked out beneath the sleeve on his left bicep. Yeah. Focus on that. Think Semper Fi. Think duty. Honor. His responsibility to his men and country. Neutralizing threats around the world. An eleven-year career.
Naked.
“Geez.”
Zachariah’s pants tightened.
He resolutely tucked in his T and pulled his camo overshirt off its hanger as Becky’s husky serenade ended. The pulse of beating water dwindled to a few noisy drips and then silence. Lordy. If she walked out here naked…
Zachariah inhaled a deep, steadying breath and buttoned his shirt. He was a Marine, damn it, not some lovesick puppy. Though, with his mug, he hadn’t had the same success as some of his poster-boy comrades; this wasn’t the first time he’d come home on leave, picked up a woman at a bar and spent the night with her. It was the first time he’d spent six nights with the same woman. The first time he’d ever had any trouble kissing her goodbye, thanking her and walking away.
Hell. He was beginning to feel like he was never going to get enough of her. The cool, conservative attorney with the secretly sinful alter ego wasn’t intimidated by his crew cut or brawn or bad-ass bravado. If anything, the challenge of going head-to-head with him seemed to excite her. It excited him. From the moment she’d walked into Groucho’s Pub in the heart of D.C. nearly a week ago, and refused to let him buy her a drink, the game between them had been on.
How could he leave before the game was finished?
The bathroom door creaked open.
Despite his best, self-preserving intentions, Zachariah’s gaze searched the mirror over the hotel room desk where he was dressing. He zeroed in on the cloud of steam filtering into the archway behind him, a tempting prelude to the Venus who’d follow.
The steam carried the exotic scent that was uniquely Becky’s—a heady fragrance that reminded him of long nights in the tropics. Everything in him tensed with anticipation. If she was naked…
“Whew! Now I’m awake.” The steam cleared and Becky appeared in the doorway.
Thank God. He’d be able to walk away.
Maybe.
She wore a white, fluffy towel, tucked around her breasts sarong-style, covering her from her armpits to her thighs. It was a demure enough look if he didn’t already know what was hidden underneath. The skin he could see was pink from the shower’s heat, and try as he might, he couldn’t look away from the tempting sight. She dried her hair with a second towel, then tossed it onto the marble vanity beside the bathroom sink.
Zachariah dropped his gaze to the glimpse of rounded butt cheek that appeared beneath the edge of the terry cloth as she leaned in closer to the mirror running the length of the vanity. He glanced back up as she finger-combed her hair. Damp from her shower, the white-gold waves had darkened to the color of wheat. One tendril stuck to her cheek, and before Zachariah could even identify the urge to do the job for her, she pulled it free and tucked it behind her ear. Only then did her deep cobalt eyes look up to meet his reflection in the mirror. “Good morning, big guy.”
I have to go, he meant to say.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said instead. That’s tellin’her,Clarksie. Way to be large and in charge. How the hell was he supposed to begin this farewell conversation? Where was that hoo-yah drive to get the job done?
Twin dots of rosy color dotted her creamy cheeks—the ones up top. But she neither thanked him for the compliment nor made any effort to put him out of his ineloquent misery. Instead, Becky pulled a bottle from her toiletry bag and dabbed lotion onto her face. She worked and conversed as if this was any other morning. As if they had a thousand more mornings together instead of just hours.
“You wore me out last night. Again.” Her low, husky laugh danced across his skin. His dick stirred in a helpless response to the sound, as if she had caressed him there. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much exercise on a vacation before.”
Setting aside his goodbye mission for a moment, Zachariah played the double-entendre game, too. “I’ve always enjoyed a good workout myself.”
“So…” She eyed his duffel bag on the bed. “Where will you be?”
The bantering mood broken, he returned his attention to adjusting his collar. “We talked about this last night.”
“I know you have to return to base to report for duty by noon—1200 hours, you said. I meant, where will you be stationed after that?”
She wasn’t game-playing. But he couldn’t give her the straight answer she wanted. “That information’s classified.”
Pulling out a comb, she made a job out of smoothing her hair into a sleek style before it dried into the loose tumble of waves he preferred. “Do we try to keep in touch? Write letters? Will you have access to a phone or e-mail?”
“Possibly. But I’d have to contact you first to let you know the when, where and how. Until then, you won’t be able to reach me.”
She nodded. “Will your mission be dangerous?”
Special Ops assignments always were. He wasn’t an idiot about his safety or the safety of his men, but the risk inherent in his work couldn’t be denied. “Yes.”
“Are you headed to the Middle East?”
“Can’t say.”
“Africa?”
“Classified, darlin’.”
“Are you staying stateside? Fighting the war on drugs?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Becky huffed what sounded like a curse, tossed the comb into the sink and spun around. “What can you tell me?”
Was it the lawyer in her, asking all these questions? Was she picking a fight to make sure there weren’t any lingering emotions or foolish expectations once he walked out the door? Or was this how she masked her concern? Sometimes, his parents got funny, too, over how secretive his work could be.
“I’m waiting.” She gripped the vanity on either side of her, thrusting her tits forward in a defiant posture that strained the confines of the towel.
Zachariah carefully considered her request. Even the Corps couldn’t control the way a man felt—but regulations were regulations. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I can say that you may well have the most perfect set of breasts on the planet. Big enough that they can fill these hands without feelin’ like I’m gonna break something, yet soft and sassy enough that I know I’m dealin’ with the real thing.”
After a long pause, the stern lines around her mouth eased and she laughed. “You like these, hmm?”
“Oh, yeah.” Zachariah’s own mouth shifted into a cautious smile. “Are we okay?”
She nodded. “It’s been fun, hasn’t it? Certainly not how I was expecting to spend these last few days before starting my new job with the State.”
“Not what I had planned for my leave, either. But yeah, it was—” though the word felt inadequate, Zachariah felt stymied to come up with something better “—fun.”
“And you’re leaving in five hours?”
He’d better leave now. Or he’d have a unit of MPs on his tail to haul him back to base. Despite the desire drumming through his body, and the longing and guilt twisting him up deeper inside, Zachariah gathered his keys and billfold and stuffed them into his pockets. “I have to be at Quantico in five hours. I’m leaving sooner than that.” He picked up his duffel, but paused when he noted how her face had gone pale. This was what military life was like. She had to understand that. “I told you when this started it was gonna be short and sweet between us.”
“And I agreed to that. I have a new job to focus on. I’m fixing up my own place. I’m not looking to invest in a long-term relationship.” She pulled her lush bottom lip between her teeth as she slipped into deep thought. Zachariah fought to get past the need to taste that sweet lip himself, and listened to what she had to say. “Saying goodbye is tougher than I expected.”
“Yeah.” Wow. That was profound, buddy. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the door. “I need to go.”
Becky released her lip and straightened. She’d checked whatever emotion she’d been feeling, and now he could see the wheels churning behind those deep blue eyes. Zachariah braced himself to deal with whatever she was thinking up. “How long does it actually take you to get to the base from here?”
“About an hour. Unless I hit some freaky midmorning traffic out of D.C.”
Her lips curved into a serene smile. “I just realized—I’ve never seen you in uniform before.”
Pulling his shoulders back, Zachariah proudly gave her a good look at what 280 pounds of big, bad Marine looked like. “Captain Zachariah Clark at your service, ma’am.”
