Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus

by Rhonda Russell

  Quite frankly, he was pure eye candy and she was a self-professed sugar-holic, lamentably with a size fourteen ass to prove it. Unaccountably nervous, she reached for her hand sanitizer again.

  “Major Finn this is Sapphira Stravos,” McCann said. “Ms. Stravos, Finn has been briefed, is fully up to speed and ready to assume control here. He will be with you until the threat is neutralized, or hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”

  Sapphira smiled at him. “I didn’t realize we were paying you for sarcasm, Guy,” she said, purposely using his first name because she knew it annoyed him. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated.” She felt the cool soothing action of the sanitizer dry on her hands and set the bottle aside.

  He snorted. “You’ll be receiving an additional bill for Tricky as well.”

  “It’s Trixie,” Sapphira said tightly. “As you well know.”

  Ignoring her, McCann heaved a sigh and slapped her new bodyguard on the back. “I’ll owe you a keg at the end of this. Good luck. Trust me, you’re going to need it,” he added darkly. And with that, he jauntily took his leave.

  Rather than respond, Major Finn just smiled, then turned the full force of his attention on her. It took everything she had not to melt beneath the narrow scrutiny of that intense mesmerizing gaze. She’d never seen eyes that particular shade before. Not precisely blue, not precisely gray, but a subtle mixture in between that put her in mind of a liquid mirror or water over iridescent glass.

  In a nutshell, captivating.

  “My name is Lucas Finn, but for obvious reasons most people just call me Huck. You’re welcome to call me whatever you want, so long as it isn’t Bastard, Sonofabitch or Asshole.”

  Startled, Sapphira felt her eyes widen and she strangled on a laugh. “You get called those often, do you?”

  A hint of smile tugged the corner of his mouth, sending a little cascade of heat tumbling through her sex. “Often enough to issue the warning.”

  She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Sapphira. Most people call me Sapphira.”

  His gaze zeroed in on hers with hawk-like accuracy, making the air in her lungs thin to nonexistent. He took her proffered hand and a little earthquake shook her to the soles of her feet. “I’d expected you to have blue eyes.”

  Used to hearing that, she heaved a little sigh. “Most people do,” she said drolly. “But they’re green. Occasionally I’ll wear the contacts just to meet people’s expectations, but frankly, it gets a little old.”

  “Wearing the contacts or meeting people’s expectations?”

  Oh, he was too shrewd by half, she thought, reluctantly impressed. “Both.”

  “You could always give up any pretense and just be yourself,” he suggested, once again hitting entirely too close to the mark for comfort. Did they suspect she was hiding something? Sapphira wondered. Had her be-the-biggest-pain-in-the-ass-prima-donna plan backfired? Were they on to her? Maybe, she decided, studying Huck in return. But having suspicions and knowing were two completely different things.

  “And you could always stop being a bastard, sonofabitch and asshole and no one would find fault with you, either,” she suggested sweetly.

  He smiled again, making her pulse trip in her veins. “I could,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. Humor danced in that mirrored gaze. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Gorgeous and wicked. Sweet God, she was doomed.

  Please have a girlfriend, Sapphira thought again. Hell, at this point, even a boyfriend--as criminally unfair as it might be--would be better than this hot hunk-o-male being a free agent. Unbidden, a vision of his big body hovering over hers, swooping in to kiss her, materialized in her mind’s eye. Oh, good grief, Sapphira thought, suppressing a little wail. He was here to protect her, not service her. The fact that she even had to remind herself of that little nugget of insight gave her pause.

  Though she’d had lovers over the years, they’d been relatively few and far between. After the miscarriage, she’d been a lot more careful and selective when it came to picking a partner. Frankly, at the time, she’d been more emotionally needy than physically ready for sex. With time and maturity she’d determined that she liked sex and orgasms as much as the next woman, but she’d never been able to give herself to someone she wasn’t emotionally invested in or who wasn’t at least similarly invested in her. Did she have to be in love? Not precisely. But she had to care about her partner and he had to care for her as well. Call her old-fashioned, but she simply wasn’t enough of a progressive thinker to separate the two. Her gaze slid to Huck once more.

  Or it hadn’t been...until right now.

  Clearly the right motivation had never come along.

  Clearly she’d never been tested.

  Clearly she was in over her head.

  Why else would she be staring at this man as if he were the last loaf of bread on the eve of a winter storm? Why else would her body be simmering and trembling and every nerve-ending in her being singing as though it had been struck with an electric jolt? Why was she consumed with the insane urge to lick a path up the side of his neck and wrap her arms around his lean waist? Why was she wondering if he tasted like his aftershave--warm and woodsy and thrillingly dark?

  Why, why, why?

  Evidently she’d lost her mind.

  In the space of a few minutes she’d gone from reasonable woman with a purpose to miserable girl with a sudden wretched bone-melting crush.

  It was as galling as it was troubling.

  “So I’ve been briefed about the letters and what the agency has recovered about them so far, but I haven’t talked to you directly.” That disturbingly keen gaze found hers once more, inadvertently sucking the breath out of her lungs. “What are your thoughts? Can you think of any reason anyone would want to hurt you? Are you afraid, or simply irritated that this has disrupted your life?”

  Playing the blasé, clueless unconcerned socialite with no more weighty problems than picking out what shoes to wear to the country club might have been easy with the first three men at Ranger Security, but donning the role for this guy was incredibly harder. She wanted to tell him that yes, she was slightly alarmed, but was not afraid. That she didn’t have any idea why anyone would want to hurt her, that she doubted the credibility of the letters, and that she thought they were more odd than threatening.

  She wanted to say all this and more, then ask him if he had a girlfriend.

  In the end, though, after weighing the outcome for all of the people dependent on her income, she dragged on a false smile and gave an airy, unconcerned wave of her hand.

  “It’s your job to think, Huck,” she said with a vacant smile, as though none of it mattered in the slightest. She breezed past him and whistled for Trixie. “Right now I have an appointment.”

  CHAPTER 3

  He’d been wrong, Huck thought darkly, two hours later.

  They weren’t paying him enough.

  Sapphira wagged the little dogs paw’s in his direction as they pulled away from the Pampered Pet Day Spa. “Now don’t those look lovely? I think the hot pink shade looks absolutely divine with her shiny white coat.”

  Huck snorted, unable to think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t be inappropriate considering that, technically, this beautiful but sadly demented woman was his boss. I mean, really, what did one say about a dog getting a manicure? Better still, what nice thing could one say about the dog getting a manicure?

  Honestly, when she’d blown off his question regarding the letters with the announcement about her appointment, he’d assumed she’d needed to go to the doctor, or at the very least something equally important. It never occurred to him--though given the cryptic comments McCann had made about Trixie, in retrospect, it should have--that the appointment was for a spa treatment.

  For her dog.

  Having grown up on the fringes of the idle rich, Huck knew they could waste an inordinate amount of money on things that were self-indulgent, wasteful and stupid to the point of i
diocy, but this--he cast a glance at Sapphira who was currently snuggling her little newly coiffed animal--this took the cake.

  And to make matters worse, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was jealous of the damned dog.

  Odd, too, when he’d been certain that he’d caught a glimpse of...something...behind those surprising pretty green eyes. Though he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly, he’d seen it all the same. Longing? Regret? Reticence? A combination of all three, maybe? He couldn’t be sure. But something about this was off, Huck decided, every sense he had going on heightened alert, and ultimately, though he could see where it was going to be difficult to keep the goal in focus, his job was to discover precisely what that was.

  Furthermore, considering this was his first assignment for Ranger Security, failure simply was not an option. Frankly, he had to live up to their expectations and allowing Sapphira--he cast a dark look at Trixie--or, more disturbingly, her dog to make a fool of him would not happen. He slid them another look and felt his grim mood plummet even further.

  Hell would flood, freeze, and thaw first.

  Of course, in a perfect world she’d be fat, ugly, stupid and unpleasant--she would not have an ass as lush and ripe as a Georgia peach, intelligent eyes the shade of a new leaf on an old vine and a body that put him in mind of hot sex on a hotter night. She would not make his skin burn and his lips twitch and she wouldn’t make his dick stir in his jeans. He chalked that disturbing phenomenon up to his recent stint of abstinence--he’d been too busy trying to heal to make sex a priority.

  Clearly he’d left it too long, otherwise he was certain he wouldn’t possibly be attracted to this woman.

  In fact, were there a picture of “Wrong For Me” in his mental dictionary, then he was fairly certain Sapphira Stravos’s image would be right next to it. Was she pretty? Sexy? Intriguing, even?

  Yes to all of the above.

  But when the time came for Huck to start thinking about settling down--over even a quick lay--it sure as hell wouldn’t be with a woman who thought the best way to spend her money was on a pedicure for her dog. Though admittedly he hadn’t given much thought to the future Mrs. Finn--he’d been too busy building a career and frankly, having fun, to consider a permanent relationship--he still knew a wealthy, entitled socialite--the very kind his mother had cleaned up after for years, he thought bitterly--certainly wouldn’t fit the bill.

  On any level.

  No matter how friggin’ sexy, he thought as another bolt of heat seared his groin.

  Furthermore, he’d yet to meet a woman he’d want to spend more than a couple of nights with, much less the rest of his life, and at thirty, he certainly wasn’t in a hurry. Right now mending the train-wreck of his life--putting this new career on track--had to be his top priority. And as far as he could see, the only thing standing in his way of that was this little pampered Greek hottie and her equally pampered dog.

  Sapphira’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Let me guess. You don’t approve.”

  Huck negotiated a turn, which wasn’t easy in her tiny little car, the one she’d insisted that he drive, citing Trixie’s familiarity with the vehicle and her penchant for relieving herself in new places. His leg throbbed like a sonofabitch, but he’d eat glass before he’d admit it. Just another example of her thoughtlessness, Huck decided. Her kind were generally only concerned with their own comfort and to hell with everyone else. A patently unfair deduction considering she didn’t actually know that his leg ached, but it was easier to dislike her if he took that approach.

  And self-preservation, along with the hard-on currently crowding his jeans, told him he needed to dislike her.

  “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove,” Huck told her in a voice that didn’t encourage conversation. “I’m here to provide protection and expose the source of your threat. That’s it. Where to next?” No doubt Trixie was having her teeth bleached or some other such nonsense, Huck thought uncharitably, repressing a grim smile.

  Furthermore, though he was sure that it drove her bat-shit crazy, until the issue of her safety was resolved, the most secure place she could possibly be was inside her tidy little cottage on her father’s mammoth estate. Mathias Stravos had a top-rate security system. Huck had been given a tour of the grounds as well as apprised of all security systems and protocols onsite before ever being taken directly to his target.

  Curiously, while Mr. Stravos was concerned enough to hire additional security for his daughter, he hadn’t been concerned enough to speak to her new detail personally. For whatever reason, it struck Huck as very odd. Ranger Security might be the best in the business, but if had been his daughter who was in trouble, he’d want to assess the help personally.

  But talk about a surprise, Huck thought, remembering her little house. He was familiar enough with the layout of an estate to know that Sapphira’s residence had more than likely been an upper servant’s quarters at some point. A nanny perhaps? Odd that she wouldn’t live in the mansion with the rest of her family. Come to think of it, though, there wasn’t a “rest of the family.”

  According to the file, her parents were divorced and her only sibling, a brother, had committed suicide four years ago. Was that why she’d moved out of the house? Huck wondered. Had being there alone with her father, who by all accounts was a real hard ass, been too much for her? Though he’d only seen a small portion of the mansion he had to admit, size notwithstanding, there was a marked difference between the main house and Sapphira’s little place.

  While certainly furnished with things that were well beyond his price range, the cottage had a warm and cozy feel to it. Almost grandmotherly, for lack of a better description, with large amounts of floral fabric and poofy, overstuffed chairs. Lots of original artwork decorated the walls--hers? he’d wondered at the time--and a collection of antique hatpins lined her mantle, all of them in curious little vases which looked a bit like ceramic toothbrush holders. Out of all the things she could collect with a literal fortune at her disposal, it seemed an odd choice.

  Sapphira inputted the next address into her navigation system. “Regardless of why you’re here, you still have an opinion. You think it’s silly.” She lifted her pert nose into the air, causing the mocha-colored curls around her face to bounce. “I can tell.”

  Huck got the distinct impression that she was trying to goad him into an argument. He knew she couldn’t possibly care what he thought one way or the other about the dog’s beauty regimen. Rather than respond, he merely ignored her and headed toward their next so-called appointment.

  She heaved a loud sigh. “My, my, aren’t you the conversationalist.”

  “I am when there’s something interesting to talk about,” Huck told her.

  “You don’t find Trixie interesting?”

  He shot a look at the little dog and barely suppressed a snort of derision. “Not particularly.”

  “So you don’t like animals?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Actually, he’d had a dog--a Black Lab named Blackie (because it was so original)--when he’d been a boy. Unfortunately, the single military life wasn’t conducive to having a pet and he wasn’t altogether certain the life of a security specialist would be either. If he could find a good sitter, perhaps it would be an option. He was suddenly struck with the need to have a dog, a companion, for his new place. Something that he’d chosen, that would be exclusively his. Another warm body in the apartment, one that would be happy to see him when he came home. As soon as he was finished with Sapphira’s case he’d get one, Huck decided, curiously buoyed by the decision.

  “So your dislike is limited to my animal, then?” she asked, irritation tightening her voice.

  That settled it, Huck thought. She was definitely trying to pick a fight with him. The important and all too illusive question, of course, was...why? Was she inherently annoying and belligerent or was she merely putting on a special show just for him?

  “I haven’t spent enough t
ime with Trixie to form an opinion.” He slid the dog another glance. “But her taste in nail polish is terrible.”

  Sapphira’s eyes widened and he could have sworn that she almost chuckled. “Terrible?”

  Huck shrugged. “Ghastly.”

  She stared at him. “Ghastly?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Why is it ghastly?”

  He shot her a wicked smile and said the one thing guaranteed to set her perfectly aligned teeth on edge. “It makes her look cheap.”

  Rather than breathe fire as he’d expected a startled chuckle broke up in her throat. The sound vibrated through him, strummed the back of his spine and pushed a reluctant smile over his lips.

  Damn.

  “Look here,” she said. “You can call my dog lots of things--as a matter of fact, your partner McCann frequently referred to her as the ‘Spoiled Little Bitch’--she’s delicate, moody, intermittently housetrained, terrified of the vacuum cleaner and will only eat cat food.” She paused and pinned him with an imperious glare. “But she is not cheap.”

  Huck felt his lips tremble. “She’ll o-only eat c-cat food?”

  “That’s right.” She stroked the little dog’s head with reverent protectiveness.

  He negotiated a turn and found a parking space at another damned spa, though thankfully this one was intended for humans. “Well, in that case you shouldn’t mind what I’ve nicknamed her.”

  Sapphira paused and her comically suspicious gaze found his. “What have you nicknamed her?”

  Another wicked smile curled his lips. “Pussy.”