10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

by P. L. Parker, Beth Trissel, L. L. Muir, Skhye Moncrief, Sky Purington, Nancy Lee Badger, Caroline Clemmons, Bess McBride, Donna Michaels

  He sank into the soft cushions of the couch, chest tightening with crushing force. Had the enemy been lying in wait when his squadron had returned?

  “No. No. It’s not like that. I didn’t do anything to them,” she insisted, ponytail shaking with conviction.

  God, how he wanted to believe her.

  “You’re the only one I needed, Mitchell.”

  He blinked. Her words completely pulled him from the moment. His name on her lips was so sweet and—familiar. But how?

  Face pinched with pain, she struggled against her restraints. “Why don’t you cut me loose so we can talk normal?”

  And now he was back in the moment. Back to reality. Trouble was, he didn’t know what to make of the moment he was in.

  He vaulted to his feet. “You’re the enemy. There’s nothing normal about this, lady. The restraints stay.”

  “Dammit, Captain. I’m not the enemy.”

  He scratched his temple and surveyed her attire. Strange. “Do all German women wear men’s clothing?”

  Damn shame to cover such long legs. Although, the denim didn’t exactly hide her curves. Heat warmed his spine as his gaze traveled to her boots. In fact, the material clung in all the right places and emphasized her curvy backside. His groin hardened at the memory of how her soft, rounded ass had felt wriggling and thrusting underneath him when he’d dropped on top of her a few minutes ago.

  “German? For God’s sakes, Captain, I’m not German.”

  Her adamant claim reminded him he had a prisoner to interrogate. Libido ordered at-ease, he refolded his arms and regarded her closely.

  Chin defiantly tipped.

  Back ram-rod straight.

  Generous breasts far from concealed under her not-so-bulky sweater.

  His mouth watered. “Damn, you’re good.”

  “Good at what?” Her brow wrinkled while her head reeled back. “What are you talking about?”

  “As if you don’t know, lady.”

  “I don’t, Captain. So please enlighten me. All I did was come here to make sure you were okay and—”

  “Okay?” He cut her off again and stomped closer. “Do I seem like I’m okay? Well, I’m not. I don’t belong here. Wherever the hell here is.”

  “Colorado.”

  Colorado?

  No fucking way. His arms dropped to his sides. Not a chance.

  “A-and I’m sorry, Captain. I really am.” She glanced at the floor, but not before he spotted guilt flooding her expression.

  Why would a spy feel guilt?

  “Look at me.” His harsh tone bounced off the log walls and assaulted his ears. He didn’t care. He wanted answers.

  A steady green gaze lifted and locked with his, all traces of guilt gone.

  “From now on I want nothing but the truth.” He leaned over her. “You got that?”

  Her head tipped back further. “Yes.”

  Brown flecks rimmed the outside of her green eyes. Beautiful. Amazing. He could get lost in their mesmerizing depts. At one time he had…

  His stomach clenched with disgust at his lack of control. Snap the hell out of it! Mitch bent down and brought his face to within an inch of hers. She didn’t flinch; didn’t blink. What was with her? Most women he knew would’ve blubbered and wailed by now. Then again, most women he knew weren’t enemy spies.

  “Stick with the truth, lady,” he repeated. “Because if not, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  Vanilla. She smelled of vanilla and some unknown spice. The fragrance suited her. Strong. Beautiful. Dangerous. Damn. Now, he’d never get that scent out of his head.

  “Understood.” She continued to hold his gaze.

  “Good,” he replied, cursing the unwanted desire heating his body. He straightened and walked around her chair. “Now, let’s try this again. Where are we?”

  “Colorado.”

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  White hot anger stiffened his joints and refueled his need to hit something. His hands shot out and gripped the chair. She was a spy. He was going to get nothing but double-talk from her.

  Jaw cracking from the pressure of his clenched teeth, he dragged her chair to the couch and tipped the back onto the cushion, forcing her to stare up at him. “No more games, lady.” He unsnapped his belted sheath, whipped out his Marine issued knife and held the blade under her strong, yet delicate chin. “I want to know who you work for, and I want to know now.”

  Chapter 5

  Delectable, full lips thinned while her emerald gaze hardened to narrowed slits. “Unless you want to walk with a limp for the rest of your life, Marine, the knife better be to cut me loose.”

  Wrong answer.

  Mitch pressed the blade to her neck. He was done playing games. “Quit the tough talk, lady. Who do you work for? The Germans?”

  She remained silent, staring at him with an unnerving, unblinking gaze. Christ. What the fuck is she made of…steel?

  “Don’t pretend you can’t comprehend English. It’s too damn late.” He increased the knife’s pressure. “Do you work for the Germans?”

  “I’d be more than happy to answer your questions, Captain,” she replied in a firm, quiet tone. “I came with answers, but I won’t share them until you put the weapon away.”

  Who the hell is she?

  He glanced down the length of her restrained body then back up. “You’re in no position to make demands, lady.”

  With weakness and fear nowhere in sight, her steady gaze and straight posture exuded defiant confidence. Damn. The woman possessed a strong will. Begrudging admiration stilled his blade.

  “I’ve got to give credit to the German’s. They sure trained you well.”

  An inaudible expletive left her mouth. “You stupid, pigheaded, stubborn jarhead,” she snapped. “I was well-trained. Right here in the U.S. of A! I’m a United States Marine. Just like you.”

  A Marine?

  He removed the knife from her throat, stepped back and snickered. Talk about grasping at straws. “Now I know you’re full of shit, lady. The only women in the U.S. military are WASP’s and WAC’s, and, honey, the way you walk, talk, and dress, you ain’t one of them.”

  “You’re right. I’m not.” She leaned forward until all four legs of her chair hit the floor. “I told you, I’m a Marine, asshole.”

  The absurdity of her claim struck him hard. Laughter bubbled up Mitch’s throat, forced his head back and exploded into the quiet cabin. Unable to stop, he doubled over. Pain from the exertion rippled through his clenched stomach.

  How stupid does this broad think I am? He sheathed his knife, stumbled backward until he smacked the other couch and sank onto the soft cushions, tears streaming down his face.

  Was this a new tactic? The Germans could storm in and take him out without a fight. He was too exhausted from laughing.

  Cripes, she’s good.

  He swiped his wet face with the back of his hand and glanced at his prisoner. A small smile played about her lips, softening her gaze under a lifted brow. The woman’s flawless, pure beauty sobered him faster than a swift kick in the ass.

  Warmth seeped inside, eradicating the cold from his bones. How long had they stared at each other? He had no idea. The dangers of allowing the enemy to have this effect on him were numerous. Enemy? Her expression bore no hate, aggression, or fear; just honesty.

  Mitch stood and strode across the floor. Playtime was over.

  He grabbed the cushion of her chair and twisted until she faced the couch. Determined to get his answers, he sat down and in front of the spy. Heat from her outer thighs burned into the sides of his thumbs. He released the chair, careful to leave space between their knees.

  “Okay, Sam of the United States Marines. I’m listening.”

  “Thank you.” She sat up straighter.

  Sweet mercy. He tried to ignore how the motion thrust her breasts out but his groin tightened in a natural response.

  Unnatural—she’s the enemy.

  “I’
m sorry, Captain.”

  He stiffened and glanced out the window, alarm racing through him. “Why?” Were the German’s about to storm in?

  “Because.”

  Her wobbling voice regained his attention. She swallowed, and for the first time her gaze welled up. Christ. He clenched his teeth. Whatever she had to say, he was not going to like.

  “I know you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you. You’ll either think I’m lying, crazy or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Yes. You’ll think you’re crazy.”

  Shit. His heart dropped to his ribs. “Go on.”

  She drew in a breath and stared him straight in the eyes. “At O ten hundred on Monday, October 1st 2012, Lt. Maria Garcia and I were testing an experimental military aircraft when, for some unknown reason, we ended up in the skies over the South Pacific on December 28th 1943.”

  “I see.” He lied. That was the biggest piece of bullshit he’d ever heard.

  “We showed up in the middle of a dogfight and our craft sustained damage from a hail of bullets meant for your Corsair.”

  His blood turned cold. How the hell did she know about his hit?

  He cleared his throat. “So you’re saying you blocked the bullets from my plane?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I suppose no one witnessed this because…you were invisible?”

  “Yes. Exactly.” She smiled at him.

  The woman’s a freakin’ fruitcake.

  “We followed you to Vella Lavella, gave you a sedative and brought you back with us.”

  His heart sank faster than his posture. “Back where? To the future?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, holding his gaze. “It was either that, or kill you.”

  Kill m—

  Mitch rose to his feet, body humming with pent-up energy. “I suppose I should thank you.” At the moment, dire fate held infinite appeal.

  The urge to grasp her shoulders and shake some sense into her pretty head loomed irresistible. He needed distance. Twenty-two hastened steps carried him to the large picture window.

  Now what? Anger swirled in his veins and fogged his brain, much like his breath on the glass. She was less dangerous when he thought her a German spy. How do you fight crazy?

  Gaze glued to the lake and foliage outside, he chanced speaking to his delusional prisoner. “Where are we, Sam?”

  “I already told you. We’re at my grandfather’s Colorado cabin.”

  Again with the Colorado bullshit.

  He eyed the innumerable trees, noting pine, spruce, oak and several others tightly packed and thriving, all in shades of fall…some already bare. He scratched his chin. Whoever she was, she’d done her homework. This place could certainly be mistaken for Colorado in October.

  “I can tell you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you. But the sad truth is…that what I just told you, is the God’s honest truth.”

  Rage—swift and white hot—quaked down his limbs, jerking him away from the window.

  With a curse on his lips, he pivoted on his heel and stomped across the room. “Truth?” He sunk his fingers into her shoulders and twisted her around, barely refraining from delivering the prized shaking. “Lady, you wouldn’t know the truth if it bit that firm ass of yours!”

  The severity of her gaze darkened her eyes to moss. “My name is Captain. Samantha. Sheppard.” She paused after each word. “And I’m not lying.”

  “Captain? Like hell.”

  Mitch clamped his jaw and swallowed. Wait a minute. Sheppard? He narrowed his eyes. What kind of game was she trying to pull? Photos—doctored photos—in various stages of life of his squadron buddy Eddy ‘Shep’ Sheppard filled the cabin. Mitch had explored every inch of his prison and discovered several pictures of his friend many years beyond the war. A German trick. Must be. The photos weren’t real.

  Were they?

  “Yes. I’m a Marine Corps pilot like my father and grandfather before me.” Her chin jutted out. “And you can kindly take your hands off me, Captain.”

  Delivered with emphasis, the last part almost sounded like a commanding officer.

  His brows rose and hands fell. “Now I know you’re lying. You can’t be any more than, what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  He folded his arms across his thundering chest. Three years his junior. “How in the world do you explain your high rank at such a young age?”

  “Because I’m good,” she said simply, her full lips forming an unexpected smirk.

  A vision…a memory...shot through his head of those lips kissing a path down his chest and abs, teasing, and tormenting with a familiar talent.

  Groin instantly hard, he blinked down at the woman. Was she some kind of hoo-doo priestess capable of projecting images into his mind? Was this a new German weapon? Were they testing it out on him?

  “I—I suggest you stop looking at me like that, Captain.”

  “Oh you do, do ya?” He leaned closer, sick to death of her orders and the way she messed with his head.

  This time, she drew back as far as the chair would allow, and dropped an uncertain gaze to his lips. “Don’t you dare.”

  As his pants tightened painfully over his arousal, he dared. “Or what, Ms. German Spy?”

  Unable to resist, he reached out and brushed her face with the back of his knuckle. Silky. Smooth. Was the rest of her hard exterior just as soft?

  Sam jerked away, but not before trembling under his touch. Revulsion? Or something much more dangerous?

  Heaven help him, he wanted to find out. With his body heating fast, he reached for her again, and promptly let out a howl. Pain, sharp and swift, wracked his shin, radiating out and up his leg, increasing with each kick she landed.

  “Son-of-a…” He hobbled out of her reach to rub his throbbing leg.

  She stilled and regarded him wearily. “I hope that knocked some sense into you, Captain.”

  Sense? Oh yeah, her actions opened his eyes, all right. “Yes, it did, Sam. Thank you.” Adapt and conquer. He stepped to her left, grabbed her knee, and pressed down to prevent her leg from slipping to the side. “You can’t reach me here.”

  Rewarded with a murderous look, he smiled. ‘Bout damn time. Soft flesh met his fingers as he curled his other hand around her chin. Nice. Storm warnings darkened her lethal gaze.

  He was never good with warnings.

  Bending, he brought his mouth to within an inch of hers and drew in her delicious, vanilla-spiced scent. “Now, where were we?”

  Sam’s rising chest kept time with the pulse pounding in his ear. The erotic rhythm fueled his fire and canceled the caution from his brain. Damn, she was mouth-watering.

  “Captain, so help me, if you even think about…” her voice trailed off, leaving him hungry for more than just her words.

  “What?” he asked, unable to stop his mouth from brushing her soft cheek.

  Heat charged down his spine in an assault of pure pleasure. She tried to yank free again, but this time he held fast and chuckled.

  “No. No. No, Samantha,” he deliberately rolled her full name off his tongue in an embellished whisper.

  She sucked in a breath, cooling the air between them. Empowered, Mitch smiled. Finally, he was on the receiving end of control. “You’re not being very cooperative for a spy.”

  Her jaw clenched under his lips’ light exploration.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “But you are a spy,” he said into her delectable skin.

  “No, I’m not a—and I wasn’t talking about that.” She jerked from his grasp and averted her face.

  He chuckled again. She sure had gumshun. “What am I not supposed to call you?”

  “Samantha.”

  His brows shot up. “Interesting. You not only dress like a man, you prefer the name of a man over such a beautiful one.” Not him. No, not at all. Samantha was beautiful and so was her name. “Tell you what…Samantha,” he said, lowering his tone
.

  Her head snapped in his direction, gaze blazing green fire. He would’ve chuckled again if he hadn’t been so damn turned on. Breath swirled and clogged his dry throat, while his gut clenched as if sucker punched.

  “I-I said d-don’t call me Samantha.”

  Another first? Mitch scratched his chin and observed her closely. Face flushed, pupils enlarged, chest rising rapidly…

  Hot damn. The woman was ruffled.

  Triumph stretched and took flight. Well, what do you know? She wasn’t too tough to crack. He cocked his head and savored the fierce boldness flooding his body.

  “I won’t call you Samantha if you tell me what I’m not supposed to think about.”

  Her pink tongue darted across her lips leaving them wet and enticing. Sweet mercy. His erection thickened with a bought of unwanted throbbing.

  “What do you mean?” She blinked innocently at him.

  His groin tightened further.

  She was fire—hot, wicked and deadly. The kind he shouldn’t play with, but her earlier actions proved this was the only way to get under her skin. He tried knocking her to the floor and tying her up. Hell. She hadn’t even batted an eyelash. But now? Now, her body trembled under his hands and her eyes rounded with apprehension.

  Guilt clawed at his gut. He hated to have to stoop to bullying a restrained woman—but this was war, and he needed answers.

  “I mean, Samantha, what did you dare me not to do?”

  She shook her head and said nothing.

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t be like that.” His finger sought and found the softness of her jaw before skimming her bottom lip.

  Blood rushed through his ears. How would that supple mouth feel on his skin? Arousal heated his spine and freed a deep-rooted hunger. The earlier image of her kissing his torso replayed through his mind. His dick throbbed.

  Damn her mind tricks!

  “Come on, Samantha. What did you dare me not to do? I need to know. What did you dare me not to do?”

  “Kiss me.” Her breathless voice hung in the air like a harried invitation.

  Satisfaction warmed his already heated veins. He drew back so she could see his smile. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “No! You bastard.” His captive thrashed back and forth.