Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus

by Rhonda Russell

  Instantly alert, he switched off the flashlight, doubled back and covertly made his way back into her old room. Adrenaline kicked his heart rate into overdrive as he heard the noise again--coming from the window, he was sure--and made the skin on the back of his neck prickle for action. He crept closer, then peeked around the edge of the window and waited, certain he’d caught a glimpse of something, too. A break in the clouds allowed a bit of moonlight and that’s when he saw her.

  Or her hair rather.

  Chuckling softly, Mick shined his flashlight through the glass, illuminating Sarah Jane’s irritated face. Firm chin, narrowed eyes. Totally mutinous. Only he would find that intensely sexy. She clung to a tree branch a few feet from the window and glared poison tipped daggers at him.

  Mick opened the window and leaned nonchalantly against the sill, as though he had all the time in the world and seeing her in a tree was an everyday occurrence. “Fancy seeing you here,” he whispered.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sarah Jane shot back, her voice low. Dressed in black from the neck down, she wiggled further out on the limb, causing the branch to make a threatening crack. Ah, so that accounted for the noise.

  Mick frowned. “You’d better move back. That limb’s not going to hold.”

  “Yes it will,” she snapped. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve climbed this tree dozens of times.” Predictably ignoring his advice, she carefully inched closer and the branch gave another groan in protest.

  “As an adult?” Mick asked her, growing more concerned by the second. “Seriously, Sarah Jane. Climb down and I’ll let you in the back door.”

  A bark of ironic laughter broke from her throat. “So that you can take a picture of me in the house and hand it over to Chastity? I don’t think so.”

  Mick exhaled an impatient sigh and helpfully pointed out the flaw in her logic. “If I was going to take a picture of you, I could have already done it. I don’t even have my camera.” He glared at her. “Now get the hell out of that tree before you fall and crack your beautiful skull and I’ll let you in the back door.” The last bit came out as more of a growl than actual words.

  Sarah Jane paused, seemingly unaccustomed to being told what to do, and Mick belated realized that tact was tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull. She simultaneously lifted her chin and a single haughty eyebrow and said, “I’m coming through the window.”

  It had been so long since someone had no obeyed his direct order, Mick was momentarily stunned.

  She heaved an exasperated breath. “If you’re not going to help me, then at least get the hell out of the way,” she snapped, taking hold of the screen to pull it loose.

  Blinking into action, Mick swore and popped the screen from the inside, where Sarah Jane caught it and helped him angle it through the window. He propped it against the wall and when he looked back, she was already halfway through the opening.

  Determined to help her--because it seemed vitally important at the moment--he grabbed hold her of beneath her arms and tugged, sending both of the tumbling onto the floor where they landed with a grunt. Her knee came perilously close to Dick and the Twins, but it was the feel of her lush body, those delectable breasts pressing against his chest that made him unable to breathe.

  Soft womanly body, apple-scented hair against his cheek, his hellcat, his she-devil...

  He bit back a blistering curse as his body instantly reacted. His dick sprang to attention and nudged, recognizing that the proper anatomy was in line, even if it was still fully clothed.

  Sarah Jane angled up, bracing her hands on either side of his head, and her startled eyes tangled with his. Her breathing was quick and shallow, as though she too was aware of every part of her body currently pressed against his. Her gaze dropped to his lips, then bounced back up to his. She blinked then and inhaled sharply. Her eyes snapped with sudden insight and anger. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you? Guarding the house to catch me?” With a disgusted breath and several garbled epithets, she rolled off of him and scrambled to her feet. “You low-down--“

  “Squatting Snake in the Grass,” he finished for her, standing as well. “I believe we’ve covered that.” His voice hardened. “Particularly the squatting part, thanks to you.” And someone--either dear old Byron or Tina, he couldn’t be sure--had snuck into his room and removed all the toilet paper. He’d had to bellow from his bathroom like a toddler and ask for a replacement roll. Thankfully, Clara had discreetly taken care of it for him.

  “I was going to say bastard,” she said. “But you’re right. Yours works better.”

  “Sarah Jane, I told you I didn’t have my camera and I wasn’t here waiting on you or guarding the damned house.” He drew in a deep breath, hoping to inhale a little patience as well. “If you could stop leaping to conclusions for just a minute, I’d like to explain.”

  She paused and he watched her cock her head in the darkness. “Oh, you mean you can explain working for Chastity? You can explain lining your pockets with my stolen money to trap me so that the bitch ends up with everything that’s supposed to belong to me? You can? Really?” she asked sarcastically. “Well, by all means then do. I won’t stop you. I’d really like to hear how you can explain that.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d intended to explain. Come to think of it, explain probably wasn’t the right word. Defend his position would probably work better. Mick felt his expression blacken. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a smart ass, Sarah Jane?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, they have--“

  He grunted, unsurprised.

  “--but you’ve got the jack-ass title locked down tight, so no worries on that score.” She flipped on her own flashlight, momentarily blinding him. “If you’re not here to trap me, then what are you doing here?”

  Mick squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed the end of her light and angled it out of his eyes. “I came here to look for the freakin’ will. I’m trying to help you, dammit.” He hadn’t planned to tell her that, but she had a way of surprising things out of him, of making him do things he wouldn’t ordinarily do.

  Sarah Jane aimed her light to the right of his face, once again illuminating his expression. “You want to help me?”

  Skepticism dripped from every word, showcasing just how hard he was going to have to work to convince her. He’d ventured behind enemy lines, survived countless high risk missions and had managed covert operations he imagined were less difficult than winning over her trust.

  But for whatever reason--insanity, he decided, smothering the pressing urge to howl--he felt like he had more riding on this assignment than any other in past or future experience.

  Clearly he’d lost his mind...and quite possibly a little piece of a vital organ further south and to the right.

  Nothing else sure as hell explained his behavior.

  * * *

  Sarah Jane watched Mick’s expression, looking for any sign, any hint of deceit. His unfairly handsome face, the one she’d committed to memory over the past few days, remained open and sincere and without the slightest evidence of dishonesty. Gut instinct told her he was earnest, but she didn’t know how much was truly gut instinct and how much was wishful thinking brought about by intense sexual attraction and something else. Something less definable, but frightening all the same, that thing that had inspired that wishful thinking and those if-only’s.

  If only you wouldn’t be bored out of your skull here...

  If only you’d like to work with me...

  If only you wouldn’t leave and we could explore this thing that was happening between us...

  If only you weren’t damaged...

  If only I could trust you not to break my heart...

  That shadow of loneliness, of untold sorrow she’d periodically glimpsed in those unusual blue eyes surfaced again, fraying her heartstrings and instilling the annoying but persistent urge to help him.

  Her enemy...who claimed he wanted to help her.

  Ta
lk about a quagmire.

  Sarah Jane expelled a small, tired sigh. “Who are you, really? No bullshit, no lies. Barebones facts, please.”

  He considered her for a moment before answering. “I’m Mick Chivers. I’m former military, now working for Ranger Security based out of Atlanta, though after this assignment--my first, by the way,” he added, chuckling darkly “--I’m resigning from their employ. I’m twenty-nine, originally from Kentucky, practice amateur photography, but don’t work for Designing Weekly, although they will do the spread on you as planned and have agreed to use my photos, which is why I will have to continue to take pictures while you finish the salvage project at the Milton Plantation. I’m allergic to shellfish, much to my regret, enjoy action adventure movies, southern rock and reading true crime novels. I’m a registered Independent, non-smoker, occasional drinker...and I like you, Sarah Jane.” He paused just long enough for her to remember their kiss, making her intensely aware of the fact he was less than a foot away, shrouded in darkness. “Does that answer all of your questions?”

  Not by a long shot, she thought, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips. “It’s a start. So...this Ranger Security? Is this the first job you’ve had since you left the military? What branch were you in?”

  “It is.” There was a guarded tone in his voice, barely detectable, but there all the same. “I was in the Army, a Ranger, specifically.” She heard him swallow. “I served ten years.”

  Ten years and he walked away? she thought, struck by the admission. From being a Ranger? Didn’t it take years of special training to become one of the Army’s elite? Weren’t those usually for-life’ers? Why would he do that? Sarah Jane wondered, intrigued. What would make him want to leave after all those years, all that training? She longed to ask, but instinctively knew better. Nevertheless intuition told her that his recent misery had something to do with leaving the military. Therein lied the connection. She knew it. Could feel it. “Why are you leaving Ranger Security?”

  That chuckle again, the one that slipped into her blood and inevitably made her smile. “Because I’m obviously not cut out for it. Just look at how I’ve botched this job. You were officially my target, Sarah Jane, and so far I’ve managed to abandon my mission in favor of taking up your cause--with Ranger Security’s authority of course--and become intimately involved with you. I’d say I’ve broken a couple cardinal rules, wouldn’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t c-call it i-intimate,” she said, feeling herself blush at his terminology. She inwardly squirmed. “It was just a kiss.”

  As though drawn by an invisible cord, he sidled forward, lessening the distance between them. “Just a kiss?” he said, his low voice rife with fake surprise and an undercurrent of...desperation? “I, uh... I think you need a little remedial instruction on what defines a kiss, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, the gentle action making her lids flutter shut. “That’s a kiss. Sweet, simple, a mere brush of my lips against yours.” Every word made her melt and soften and sway toward him. She was putty in his hands, utterly pathetic. She swallowed a whimper, wished she could resist him. Wished she had that power, and for the first time in her life she realized what it was like to be Tina, to be a hopeless slave to her body, to her heart.

  Mick framed her face with his warm palms, drawing her close. “This... This is a bit more intimate.” He lingered over the word, then fastened his lips over hers as though he’d been dying to taste her, that every breath away from her mouth was one wasted. He kiss was hungry, almost punishing, as though all of this--this attraction, these circumstances--were somehow her fault.

  Oh, hell no, Sarah Jane thought, answering his unspoken challenge as her control literally snapped.

  She wasn’t taking the wrap for this, wouldn’t own a single bit of the blame. She kissed him back, her tongue dueling his. She dropped her flashlight, abandoning any pretense of restraint and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Propelled by her unexpected assault, he stumbled back against her old bed, taking her slowly down with him. He fed at her mouth, his lips suckling her tongue, dragging her further and further down the slippery slope of desire.

  In a small dim corner of her mind, Sarah Jane suspected this was not the right path--sleeping with Mick was the height of idiocy. He was still possibly her enemy--though she sincerely doubted it--was temporary and more disturbingly, had the potential to break her heart.

  Was it in danger at the moment? Probably not.

  But a week from now when he was gone, when he left town never to return...who knew about then? Right now she skated the thin edge of being emotionally invested, but feared a single misstep or a single endearing crook of these devilishly talented lips could send her reeling right into misery.

  If she had a brain in her head, she’d quit this battle he’d started, she’d stop tugging the shirt from the waistband of his jeans--

  Hot bare skin, supple muscle...

  She groaned low in her throat, a purr of pleasure and her roaming hands feasted on his flesh.

  --and make him remove his wonderful hands from her ass, and she’d run as fast as she could back to her own house and permanently lock the door until he was gone.

  Unfortunately, her brain had ceded control to the fever in her blood, the fight being enacted through sexual warfare, an ultimate winner-take-all war for the upper hand, and she knew she had a better chance of damning the Mississippi with silly putty than resisting him now.

  Because she didn’t want to.

  She’d wanted Mick Chivers since the instant she’d seen him. Longed to feel him touching her this way, kissing her, heaven help her taking her the way he was right now. He was laying siege and, while she was putting up a valiant fight, she would gladly lose if it meant she’d get to come apart in his arms. In fact, she’d gladly let him conquer the hell out of her. What was that old saying? Never take a hill you weren’t willing to die on?

  That’s what this felt like. Laying it bare, giving it everything...lost and beyond caring. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop. She wanted him too desperately, temporary or not.

  He dragged her shirt up and over her head, tossed it aside, then quickly popped the front clasp of her bra. A second later, wonderfully sexy lips were on her pouting nipple, tugging it into the hot cavern of his mouth. Sarah Jane gasped, pleasure bolting through her, and set about removing his clothes as well. Every cell in her being screamed for instant release, desperate to put the hardest part of him into the softest part of her. She could feel her pulse beat a steady tattoo in the heart of her sex, her folds slickened and wept, readying for him.

  More importantly she could feel him beneath her, hot, hard and huge, nudging determinedly against her. She ripped the shirt from his body and flung it aside, then aligned herself more firmly against him, flexing her hips on the hard, jean-covered ridge of his arousal.

  She whimpered, quivered as sensation whipped through her. It wasn’t nearly enough. She needed to be closer.

  As though reading her mind, Mick slipped his hands beneath her black leggings and panties and, not even bothering to unbutton or unzip, slid them over her rump. She wriggled, once, twice, helping him along, then kicked them off her ankle and into the floor.

  She was naked. He wasn’t. But easily rectified, she thought, her hand going to the snap of his jeans. He drew in a startled breath, sucking his belly away from his waistband where the tip of his swollen penis sprang free. Her fingers brushed him as the zipper whined.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  She moved his boxers over his hips and out of the way, then took him in hand and worked the slippery skin against her palm, milking a single bead of hot moisture from the tip. Emboldened she swirled her finger over the top and heard him swear again, this time even more vehemently. Sarah Jane smiled. He’d wanted a war, hadn’t he?

  Before she’d even completed the thought, he had her on her back and was licking a determined path down her belly, his hands skimming over her sides,
as though memorizing every indentation, every inch of skin. He paused at her bellybutton, slipping his tongue inside even as his fingers brushed her soaked curls. It was as though his tongue had depressed a catch in her hips, making her legs fall open for him, baring herself to him.

  Mick dragged a finger through her folds, unerringly honing in on the sensitive nub nestled at the top of her sex. He pressed a finger deep inside, then hooked his thumb around and knuckled her until her back bowed off the bed.

  “Mick.”

  “Yes, Sarah Jane?” His voice was laden with male confidence and she imagined that sexy grin in the darkness.

  “That’s a n-neat trick. C-can you do it w-with something other than your f-finger?”

  A wicked chuckle eddied off her belly and a heartbeat later he was laving and suckling, determined licks of his tongue lapping at the heart of her.

  Sarah Jane felt her eyes widen, her belly quake and a startled part gasp, part laugh tear from her throat. That’s not what she’d meant, but sweet God, would it do. A shuddering breath leaked out of her lungs as the first flash of climax caught fire in her sex.

  Seemingly sensing that she was close, Mick drew back, hastily grabbed his jeans and withdrew a condom from his wallet. He tore into the packet with his teeth, fished the protection out and swiftly rolled it into place.

  “Sarah Jane?”

  Back to being chivalrous, was he? she thought, suppressing the wild urge to laugh. He’d just stripped her naked and tasted every intimate part of her. Did he have to ask?

  She angled her hips up, brushing him purposely against her. “Yes, Mick?”

  He bent forward and sipped at her nipples, abraded her skin with his five o’clock shadow. “Can I come into you?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse with need.