by Cathie Linz
Kate propped her chin in her hand, the same chin that Striker had caressed, and watched Veronica move like a shark after fresh meat through the crowd until she reached Striker’s side.
“Hey, there, Bubba, aren’t you going to introduce me to our guest of honor?”
Striker turned to find a woman by his side. A second later she had her hands wrapped around his arm and was leaning against him. From his vantage point he had an unrestricted view of an impressive pair of breasts. Not real, of course. And not as sexy as Kate’s.
There was a time when a woman like this would have gotten his engine going. But not now. Now a barely there halter top showing off her considerable assets didn’t have a millionth of the effect of that fluttering petticoat hem of Kate’s showing a glimpse of her ankles and calves.
Oh, yeah, this was proof that he had it bad. Whatever it was. Sexual attraction. Yeah, he was comfortable with that. He was sexually attracted to Kate. That’s why this woman left him cold.
Figuring it out should have made him feel better. But it didn’t. Because sexual attraction had never felt this way before.
But he’d go with that diagnosis…for now.
Bubba obligingly made the introductions. “Striker, meet Veronica Sands. Her husband, Jimmie Bob, is one of our charter members.”
Veronica flashed Striker a smile brighter than the boulder of a diamond on her left hand. “If you need anyone to show you the ropes, Striker, feel free to call on me. Here, let me write down my private cell phone number for you.” She pulled out a card and a solid-gold pen. She then propped the card on Striker’s back and took her time writing the number.
Striker guessed from the reaction of their host that this was typical behavior for Veronica. When she finally finished writing, she handed the card to Striker, making sure to let her fingers linger on his. “You be sure and give me a call, you hear? Now, Bubba, when is this dancin’ you been promisin’ us gonna start?”
Her hungry look in Striker’s direction let him know that she was looking to start something more than just dancing.
“Excuse me, but I’ve got to get back to Kate,” he said.
Veronica frowned, or at least gave her version of a frown. He suspected she’d had a few of those injections to ward off wrinkles because her face had a tight look to it. “What’s your hurry, big boy? She told me that you two are just business associates. In case you haven’t heard, she’s not exactly got a reputation for having fun.”
Striker’s expression hardened as he removed Veronica’s possessive hand from his arm and gave her a look that made those under his command wilt. Startled, Veronica took a step back. Without saying a word, Striker walked away.
Kate watched him come back to the table. Was he returning to tell her that he was going to go off with Veronica?
Where did that wild idea come from? she demanded of the inner demon sitting on her proverbial shoulder. Why do you always assume the worst?
Because if you prepare for the worst, then you won’t be disappointed if things don’t work out. Sure, she ran through worst-case scenarios in the cases she worked on, but she wasn’t aware that that philosophy had crept into her personal life.
Not that she had much of a personal life lately. Most of her time was devoted to her work.
By the time Striker joined her, the band had started playing. “Why did you sic that barracuda on me?” he demanded as he sat down across from her.
Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that.
“Are you referring to Veronica?” Kate said.
He nodded. “She’s not my type.”
“No?”
“No.” He leaned forward and brushed his fingertips over the back of her hand. “I seem to have developed a fondness for fancy lady lawyers wearing petticoats. Come on.” He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her to her feet. “Let’s dance.”
He led her to join the others in a Texas two-step, his arm around her waist as they moved with the couples. The feel of his muscular body pressed so close to hers made dancing difficult. It made breathing difficult, too!
“You’re thinking too much,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Just relax and feel. Feel the music…”
The beat was coming faster now, as they swirled around. There was no time for thinking, only for laughing and trying to keep up.
Striker realized that this was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh so much. He also realized that the sound of it made him want her even more. Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her eyes bluer than he could find words to describe.
The next thing he knew, he’d stumbled over his own two feet. Pulling her closer, he avoided bumping into the couple near them. Now she was facing him, rather than tucked beside him. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. The thin material of her top and his shirt did little to disguise the fact that her nipples were standing at attention, their tips temptingly erect. She was breathing fast. He could barely breathe at all.
He swung her off the dance floor and toward the protection of a huge plant, taller and wider than he was. Her face was tilted up to his. She nervously licked her lips and he groaned, knowing he was a goner. Like a homing device guiding an aircraft in, his mouth homed in on hers.
But before his lips landed on hers, they were interrupted by the rowdy voices of a group of men who’d clearly enjoyed a few too many alcoholic beverages.
Striker tugged Kate out of their way as the group almost knocked over the planter with their pushing and shoving.
“Watch it, boys,” he growled.
“Who are you callin’ a boy?” one of them growled right back.
“You better speak slowly,” another mocked. “He’s got the look of an Aggie.”
Kate hastily intervened in case Striker wasn’t familiar with the term to describe someone who attended Texas AŠM University.
“He’s a Marine,” Kate said. “Not an Aggie.”
“Aggies are the enemy,” the first one growled.
Through the open French doors, Kate caught a glimpse of the sixty-inch flat screen TV displaying a college football game. She wondered if the Aggies were playing the University of Texas. Those games were big deals in this part of the country. Any college football game was—high school, too, for that matter.
Football had never really appealed to her. Her father was a huge University of Texas fan, however, which was probably the so-called prior engagement he had that prevented him from coming to the barbecue today. She should have figured that out. Her dad had one entire room devoted to team memorabilia. It was near the garage area, away from the main part of the house at her mother’s insistence. Elizabeth didn’t want any of that tacky stuff clashing with her expensive decorating.
“A Marine?” the biggest of the group of rowdies slurred. He looked wide enough to be a defensive lineman on any football team. “Who do they play for?”
“The United States of America,” Striker replied, clearly getting impatient with these bunch of yahoos.
Kate placed a soothing hand on his arm. All she needed was a fist fight here. “There was a football game. Texans tend to take their football pretty seriously. Plus there’s a long rivalry between Aggies and the University of Texas.”
Striker could understand rivalries. The army/navy football games had a long history as well. Marines played on the navy team.
The drunken group started singing some kind of college fight song. It was soon countered by a new group rapidly closing in, singing another song, presumably the University of Texas song.
Striker had been involved in enough fights to recognize the signs. Fists were going to start swinging any second. Not his problem. Getting Kate out of the way was his priority.
Keeping his arm around her, he efficiently whisked her away from the confrontation.
“Remember when you said nothing could go wrong and I told you not to say that?” Striker said once they reached the opposite side of the huge patio. “That it was an invita
tion for disaster?”
“This isn’t a disaster. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
No sooner had Kate said those words than the hefty guy knocked over the huge potted plant, its long branches landing in the middle of the barbecue sauce, splattering it all over, before landing on the edge of the huge platter of ribs. Seconds later ribs rained down from skies darkening with storm clouds.
“Now it’s a disaster,” Kate decided.
“I’ll say one thing,” Striker drawled. “You Texans sure know how to throw a party.”
Flashes of lightning accompanied them all the way home. Instead of the storm breaking, it just seemed to keep building along the western horizon. By the time they reached Westwind, Kate recognized the dangerous blue-black color of the sky. This was no mere storm. This was tornado weather.
Tony greeted them as they got out of the truck. “Twister’s coming! Head for the storm cellar. I’m goin’ to join the men.” He pointed to the guys opening the cellar door in the ground near the barn.
There wasn’t time for Striker to go with him. The light became eerie, pale around the edges but midnight dark at the core. The rolling mass was closing in fast from the southwest. No skinny twister here.
And now the wind, strong enough to bend the trees and break off branches. Much worse was to come.
Striker grabbed Kate’s hand and ran to the cellar along the far side of the ranch house. Fighting the wind, he yanked the doors up and hurried her inside. She didn’t seem eager to go.
The doors fell shut with a thump as he hurried down the cement steps. The area was dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted. He could see Kate’s pale face.
“It’ll be okay.” He’d been in the cellar before, when he’d spent the summer there. Sure enough, the flashlight was still stored in the same place. He grabbed it and switched it on.
“Come here.” He moved her away from the entrance and farther into the protection of the corner. The cellar was not huge. You weren’t meant to stay in here for long. Just long enough to get out of the path of a twister or grab some of the supplies stored there.
The air was cool and a bit stale from being closed up. They were beneath ground level. The walls were lined with shelves. It looked like a number of them held Con-suela’s canned tomatoes. A simple pine bench rested against the back wall.
Sitting down, he gently pulled Kate onto his lap. “Are you afraid of tornadoes?”
“Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of them. They’re powerful enough to take a building and move it right off its foundations. I heard about a case where it took a flag from a golf course and carried it forty-three miles away.” Talking about statistics usually made her feel more in command. Not this time.
“We’re safe here. No tornado is going to carry you anywhere.”
“I don’t like enclosed spaces.” Her voice was unsteady, as were her fingers when they clenched his shoulders.
And then there came the sound. Like a bunch of freight trains. The sound of the twister approaching made conversation impossible. So Striker comforted her without words, with his touch.
Kate meant to bury her face in his shoulder but somehow she ended up brushing her lips against his cheek. Mother Nature roared her displeasure even as the blood rushed through Kate’s body. Then his mouth covered hers, softly at first, testing her reaction.
The crash of something hitting the cellar door had Striker automatically putting himself between her and danger. The kiss was over and several seconds of mayhem followed, the roar of the storm, the pounding of hail, more crashes. Striker held her in his protective embrace, his strength a tangible thing.
Then there was silence followed by rain.
Kate removed her face from his shoulder. “Do you think the worst is over?”
He nodded. “Sounds that way.”
“I need to get out.” She couldn’t breathe and it wasn’t because of Striker’s sex appeal. It was because of her claustrophobia.
“Okay. Take it easy. You’ll be out in a minute.”
But the door wouldn’t open. Something had landed on top of it.
“Are we trapped?” Her voice was frantic.
“No,” he reassured her. “Tony is out there. He’ll get a few of the hands to clear away whatever it is that’s blocking the door. No problem. It’ll just take them a minute or two.”
“What if they can’t get to us? What if the house fell on the cellar door and we’re under piles and piles of rubbish?”
“The house is too well built to fall down.”
“Not if a twister hit it.”
“You’re hyperventilating.” He rubbed a soothing hand on her back as he stood beside her. “Just calm down.”
“I told you… I don’t…like enclosed spaces.”
“Fear’s a funny thing.”
His comment irritated her. Here she was gasping for breath and he reacts this way? “I fail to see any humor in the situation.”
“I just meant that it’s a strange thing. I’ve often found that fear can lead you to what you fear most.”
“Meaning I was afraid of the storm, so it led me here, where I’m even more afraid? Not that fear is a concept you’d understand. Marines don’t feel fear right?”
“They’re stupid if they don’t. The thing is not to let fear rule you. You’ve probably heard that phrase about courage not being lack of fear but the ability to overcome it.” He smoothed a hand over her hair and cupped his palm over her soft cheek. “It’s okay to be afraid, providing you don’t let it immobilize you.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Sexy lady lawyers with eyes bluer than a Texas sky.”
“You’re sweet-talking me again.”
“No, ma’am,” he said solemnly. But in the limited light thrown out by the flashlight she could see a gleam of humor in his vivid green eyes. “I’d never do a thing like that.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid of lady lawyers?”
“Absolutely.” His voice was husky.
“What scares you about them?”
“This…” He lowered his head and kissed her again.
This time the storm didn’t interrupt them. Instead it energized them. As if the realization that they’d just cheated death made this moment all the more intense.
Their kiss was a heated exchange of sleek tongues and throaty murmurs as Striker explored every curve and corner of her mouth. Their embrace was a fiery seduction of caressing hands and appreciative touches as Striker explored every curve and corner of her body. He tugged her overshirt from the waistband of her skirt and slid it off her shoulders.
For a moment her arms were trapped. She had to remove her hold on his shirt in order to quickly slide her arms out. Now that she was free, she returned the favor, tugging on the pearlized snaps of his shirt. They flew open, allowing her to push the material off his shoulders.
The flashlight provided just enough light to prevent the darkness from closing in on her. And allowed her to see a hint of the muscled ridges of his bare chest. She brushed her fingers over the enticing warmth of his skin. His flesh quivered beneath her touch, making her feel incredibly powerful.
He felt so solid, so strong, yet he was reacting to her caresses as she was reacting to his. Without restraint.
His lean fingers slid beneath the hem of her sleeveless top, moving upward until he reached the clasp of her bra. Seconds later, she was freed of its silky confines. The roundness of her breasts filled his cupped palms. Her nipples tightened as he gently brushed his thumb over their tender peaks.
She murmured a protest when his lips left hers, but that was soon followed by a gasp of pleasure as seconds later those same lips hovered over her left breast. His warm breath bathed her skin, and left her waiting breathless for his next move. She didn’t have long to wait. He swirled the wet tip of his tongue around the rosy tip before his lips closed around her, tugging her softly and oh-so-sweetly into his mouth.
The flow of warmth pulsed deep within her. S
he was drowning in a sea of reckless passion as he handled her with the utmost care, seducing her with the erotic suction. She clenched her fingers on his shoulders as blissful sensations rocked her world.
When his lips returned to hers, her tongue boldly tangled with his.
Striker moved even closer, urging her lower body into the cradle of his hips.
His hungry mouth, his hard body, his exploring hands all conveyed the nearly intolerable level of a man’s desire.
Her parted lips, her throbbing body, her stroking fingers, all conveyed the rapidly escalating level of her own needs.
Seconds later, Striker was sitting on the pine bench again, with her on his lap. This time her legs were around his hips, her ruffled petticoat flowing over his hands as they gripped her upper thighs, the part of her that ached for him pressed against his throbbing arousal. He rocked her back and forward, creating an erotic friction against the taut placket of his jeans.
Kate distantly heard the sound of the cellar door opening, but it didn’t really register. Until she heard the sound of Tony’s voice.
“Are you two going to stay in that cellar all day?” Tony called out. “Come on up here. You’ve got company.”
“Striker, are you down there?” a woman’s voice asked. “It’s your mother. Surprise!”
Chapter Seven
Kate leapt off his lap as if ejected from the cockpit of an F-16 fighter jet.
She refastened her bra in record time, and yanked her top back into place. Then her fingers lowered to hastily retuck her top into the waistband of her skirt.
Striker only knew all this because while he was blocking Kate from view with his body, he’d also taken several glances over his shoulder to see how she was doing.
“Hey, Mom, you sure know how to make an entrance,” Striker called out, his voice rueful. “Give us a second here…” He reached out to help Kate tidy herself but she just batted his hands away and frantically pointed to his own undone shirt.
Thankfully Tony was distracting his parents with talk about damage done to the barn, and the horses all being unharmed. The rain that had poured down right after the twister had stopped.
