Terms of Surrender

by Leslie Kelly

  Pulling the door close to her legs, she wriggled the hose off, contorting herself into a ladle shape to tug them out from under the long, slim skirt.

  She took the panties, too.

  Commando might be more of a Mad-Mari thing, but panty lines would be even more obnoxious without the hose to smooth things out. The skirt was long; she didn’t worry about flashing anyone.

  She wadded up the ball of satin and nylon, stuffed it into the glove box, and stepped back out onto the blacktop seconds later. Runless. Wedgieless. Not to mention pantyless.

  “That’s probably not a good idea.”

  She yelped. Shocked by the intrusion of a deep voice, Marissa swung around, her heart thudding in her chest and her face going up in flames.

  Outside the nearest building—a huge one with roll-up doors—stood a man. He watched her, a slight smile on his face. He hadn’t been there a few minutes ago when she’d pulled up, and she had to wonder when he’d appeared, and how much he’d seen.

  You were hidden by the door, dummy. No way could he see you, especially below the waist.

  Except, of course, her feet had been sticking out. And they’d been encircled by nylon and black satin for a couple of seconds. Oh, and there was the fact that she’d been fiddling with her underwear before clambering back into the car.

  He knew. He had to know. She’d been busted like a kindergartener raiding the candy jar. Worse—picking her…seat.

  Brazen it out.

  Her chin went up and she pretended not to hear him. When she took a step away from the vehicle, he called out, “Uh, miss, seriously, you might want to rethink that.”

  Grr. She’d already rethought it, especially with the hint of coolness in the spring air creeping up her thighs. And higher.

  “That could get you into some trouble,” the man added.

  Gritting her teeth, she said, “Oh, were you talking to me?”

  The man, who wore faded mechanic’s coveralls, approached her, wiping his greasy hands on a towel. His expression was impassive, a friendly smile not indicating what he was thinking.

  That was okay, Mari had enough thoughts for both of them.

  She gawked, making a mental note with every step he took.

  Step: Tall.

  Step: Strong, with broad shoulders and thick arms straining against the faded fabric of his clothes.

  Step: Lean-hipped and slim-waisted.

  Step: Long, powerful legs that ate up the pavement.

  Step: Great smile, broadening as he drew closer…and oh, a dimple in one cheek!

  Step, step, step: Sexy, confident, gorgeous.

  How incredibly embarrassing that he could be coming over to tell her he’d seen London and France when she’d done her front-seat striptease. Though, not as bad as it would be if he told her he’d seen the Netherlands.

  She told herself to cool it. Maybe he just wanted to say hi. Or he could be coming over to tell her he’d heard the roughness of her car’s engine. Given the way he was dressed, and that he’d come out of a building that was obviously some kind of repair shop, she’d pegged him for a mechanic.

  Maybe he needed to know the time. Or to tell her the whole place had been evacuated for a fire drill.

  Say anything except I know you’re not wearing any panties.

  Not only because it would be embarrassing if he confirmed he’d seen her, but because it was such a sleazy, slimy come-on. And she didn’t want to think this stranger—this very sexy man—had a sleazy bone in his body. That would probably break her long-single, brittle heart completely. Guys this handsome simply shouldn’t be allowed to be scumbags.

  Reaching her, the man studied her from behind his sunglasses, which were necessitated by the bright sunshine that painted the tips of his light brown hair gold. She couldn’t help wondering what color his eyes were. Warm chocolate? Jade green? Something dazzling, she imagined. Because only a perfect set of eyes belonged in that face, with its high cheekbones, strong jutting jaw and broad, sensual mouth.

  Masculine. That was the only word to describe him.

  “Afternoon,” he said pleasantly, as if they’d just been introduced at a social event, as if he wasn’t standing there, thinking about her being pantyless.

  Maybe he’s not.

  Yeah. Right.

  “Hello,” she mumbled.

  He pushed the sunglasses up onto the top of his head with the tip of his finger. Oh, my. Not brown, not gold…something in-between. Like fine, clear amber. Absolutely beautiful.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  He heard. Because now those eyes were twinkling. Definitely twinkling. She’d heard the expression, but always figured it for an exaggeration. It wasn’t. This guy had you-can-trust-me-I’m-adorable written on his very eyeballs.

  “You look a little lost,” he said, that deep voice friendly, matching the twinkle and his small smile.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe I can help. I know my way around.”

  A quick glance at the stitching on his chest revealed the name of a popular auto-repair chain: Midas. They must make a lot of house calls to the academy if he was so familiar with it.

  Funny that he worked for a company with a name that suited him so well, given those gold highlights in his hair. She only wondered if his big, powerful hands had the golden touch. And what lucky woman was on the receiving end of it.

  One thing was sure, he was nothing like the men she usually associated with. There wasn’t a professor-ish feature on him. Probably in his early-to-mid-thirties, he was all man, not boyish, despite the twinkle and the dimples. He was rugged, not a smoothly put-together package like a slick high-rise, but a naturally spectacular formation like…the Grand Canyon.

  Okay, that was a little overdone, but still, the guy was robbing her of coherent thought. She could only look at him for another long moment, pretending to consider his offer.

  His cheeks were slightly stubbled, a faint smear of grease visible beside his strong nose. His skin was bronzed, his hands calloused, his muscles, she would bet, coming from hard work, not from a fitness club. And the mouth. Oh, did the man have a mouth—all soft, sensuous, smiling lips.

  A shiver moved throughout her entire body, so delicate she almost didn’t notice. It took her a second to realize that shiver had been a pure, feminine response to him: attraction. Major attraction. She was no longer calculating how good-looking he was, her gears had shifted smoothly from assess to covet.

  Stop it. It had been far too long since she’d been in a relationship if a guy who’d peeping-Tom’d her when she’d pulled off her underwear was giving her the shivers.

  He didn’t peeping-Tom you…you Sharon Stone’d him!

  She tried to pull her thoughts together, determined not to give him an opening to make a sleazy remark. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “Well, you might not need any help, but I gotta say, you’re really tempting fate.”

  Curious about why, but afraid of how he’d answer, she instead replied, “Thanks for your concern, but I’m not worried.”

  “Rule-breaker, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Just like to live dangerously?”

  Oh, hell. That cemented it, reminding her of why he’d come over here. He’d definitely seen her strip. “Not in the least.”

  “Well, I’ll admit you don’t look the type.”

  Her spine stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Gesturing toward her hair, then her clothes, he said, “I mean, you look more like a schoolteacher than a rebel.”

  That was a good thing. “That’s the plan,” she mumbled.

  “You’re not really a teacher, are you?” he asked.

  “Not yet.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, damn it.”

  “You’re late.”

  “How did you ever guess?” she asked, her tone dry.

  There went the twinkle. And the dimple. And a broad, white grin. “’Cause you sped in here like demons were
on your tail.”

  At least he hadn’t said, Demons were on your naked tail.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I have an interview. It’s fifty minutes from now and they said to check in an hour early.”

  He waved a hand, unconcerned. “They tell everyone that. But the place is nearly deserted. It won’t take you ten minutes to get the visitor’s pass, I promise. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Still, I don’t want to risk it, so if you’ll excuse me…”

  “So you’re worried about making a bad impression?”

  Blowing out an impatient breath as he stopped her from turning away with just that amused tone in his voice, she admitted, “Yes, okay? Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not doing very well so far.” He pointed to a nearby building. “Personnel offices have a bird’s-eye view of this parking lot.”

  Oh, great. Was he saying that he wasn’t the only one who had seen her doing her impromptu striptease? Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked up at the windows, then down at her car, trying to judge the angle. Geometry wasn’t her strongest suit, but it didn’t seem utterly impossible that somebody looking down might have seen as much as this guy had. Plus, she had a sunroof.

  “This is bad,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay, you can handle it. If anybody says anything, just tell them you were worried about making it on time.”

  Gawking, she snapped, “Most people would be too polite to say anything.”

  “What does politeness have to do with it?”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t put me on the spot about this.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean I wasn’t being a gentleman? My mom’ll be crushed.”

  If there had been any snarkiness in his voice, she might have been annoyed, but something about his charm was getting around her defenses. So far, he had been gentlemanly in trying to let her know he’d seen her stripping off her underclothes in broad daylight in a public parking lot.

  “Look, I had a run,” she explained, her tone grudging.

  He glanced down. “In those heels?”

  “Down one whole leg.”

  “I thought both legs were usually required for running.”

  She managed not to groan, realizing he thought she’d gone for a run. “I had a run in my pantyhose, okay?”

  His gaze remained downward, and his voice was the tiniest bit husky when he said, “No big loss. You definitely don’t need ’em. You have great legs.”

  Her cheeks warmed. The way he said that indicated he was a leg man. That in itself was refreshing, as most men she knew professionally were interested only in her academic credentials. And the few she met when at a bar or a party were all focused on the two appendages sticking out the front of her body, not the two at the bottom. Hmm. Are breasts appendages?

  “Thanks. But the point is, I’m late, I want to make a good impression and I didn’t have time to stop and buy hose.”

  He finally got it. “Ahh. That’s why you did it?”

  Wondering how pink her cheeks were, she mumbled, “Yes.”

  Smiling, he replied, “Well, luckily, I was here to see.”

  She gasped. Had he really just said that? Seriously, had he just admitted he’d been lucky enough to catch a crotch-shot from a complete stranger?

  “Because, like I said, you really don’t have to sweat the time. So you can go ahead and take care of this.”

  “Take care of it?” she asked. What? Did he think she was going to run back and magically produce new pantyhose from her purse, like a rabbit out of a hat, and put them on?

  “Sure. Just get back in your car. I’ll help you out.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “Uh…”

  “I mean, if you need some directions, I can hop in the passenger seat and show you.”

  Directions? She’d bet he knew a lot about women’s underwear and could give directions on how to get in—or out—of them.

  The very thought of that reminded her again that she wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt; that cool spring breeze flitting up her legs now felt a bit warmer.

  The man did put off some serious heat.

  She suddenly acknowledged the second big danger of going commando—aside from possibly getting caught. Getting aroused.

  No, not aroused. But aware. Very, very aware.

  He gestured down at his clothes. “That is, if you don’t mind getting in close quarters with somebody so dirty.”

  She gulped, more confused than ever. Was this guy intentionally playing word games? Was he propositioning her…or teasing her? Being flirtatious, or serious? Was she just being dirty-minded when thinking about how he’d said the word dirty?

  “I’m not following,” she said.

  Appearing sympathetic, he explained, “You look stressed and nervous. Let’s just get in the car and eliminate some of that tension before you go inside.”

  Relieve her stress. Her tension.

  There was one surefire way to do that. Hmm. Maybe that explained why she’d been stressed for thirteen months, two weeks and four days. Oh, and seven hours. But who was counting how long it had been since she’d been laid? Though, she supposed writing a dissertation had been pretty stressful, too. At least, that’s what the last guy she’d been involved with had thought. He’d stopped calling around the time she hit page one-twenty and officially lost her mind. Well, unofficially lost it—diagnosing yourself was a no-no in her line of work.

  “Come on, let’s just do it. You’re running out of time, and you know you’ll feel better afterward.”

  There. He’d stopped beating around the bush and suggested they do it. It, it. There had been no suggestive wag of the eyebrows, but what else could he mean? They’d moved beyond flirting and pantyhose. This complete stranger was proposing he help her relieve her tension by having sex in her car.

  “It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”

  If he did mean it it, she couldn’t help wondering why he’d brag about it being over so fast. But she didn’t wonder long; mainly she just felt disappointed. Yeah, she’d been distracted by his sexy wickedness for a moment or two. But now she could only feel punched in the gut by disappointment. He hadn’t gone for the cheap line right away, but he’d still managed to come up with a sleazy suggestion eventually.

  He might look like a blue-collar Prince Charming, but he was just another guy playing a game of follow-the-leader with his own dick.

  “I don’t think so. Heaven forbid it take longer than you think,” she said, keeping her chin up and her eyes narrowed.

  Marissa turned to walk away, already wondering how long she’d be thinking about those twinkling amber eyes and that incredibly sexy smile. Would she stop wondering what it might be like to kiss those perfect lips with the words that had emerged from them ringing in her ear?

  “Okay, it’s your wallet.”

  She paused midstep, glancing back at him. “My wallet?”

  “Sure. The towing charge is $250.00.”

  Utterly confused, she turned around completely. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  He pointed to a nearby sign. The one that said, “Employee Parking Only.” In the small print beneath were a few more words: “Violaters Will Be Towed At Owner’s Expense.”

  “They’re real Nazis about it, even when the lot’s practically empty.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Like I said, getting your car towed out of here during your interview wouldn’t make the best first impression. And I promise, you do have time to move it. This place is pretty dead. I really don’t mind escorting you to the closest public lot.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered. “You were talking about my car? About where I was parked?”

  “Of course.” Then, suddenly realizing the same thing she had—that they’d been having two different conversations—the sexy guy quirked a brow and tilted his head.

  “What, exactly, were you talking about?
”

  THE BLONDE WITH THE scraped-back hair, the uplifted chin and the irritated expression was looking at him like he’d sprouted a set of wings out of his back. And while Lieutenant Commander Danny Wilkes did love to fly, he really couldn’t manage it without the aid of an F/A-18 Hornet. Even the most experienced Naval Aviators couldn’t, as far as he knew.

  She didn’t answer, merely staring at him with those huge blue eyes, framed with the thickest lashes he’d ever seen. They fluttered as she blinked rapidly, like she was confused, trying to think of what to say. Considering he suspected the two of them had been engaging in totally different conversations, he figured he’d give her a little time to get herself together.

  Not physically, of course. Oh, she was already together in that regard.

  Funny, ever since he’d caught sight of her a few minutes ago, he’d had the refrain from Van Halen’s Hot For Teacher going through his head. Even before she’d confirmed she was here to interview for a teaching position, she’d just come across as that cross of übersmart and supersexy. Like the fantasy ninth grade science teacher he’d never had.

  He didn’t know about the übersmart yet—so far their brief interaction had been a little odd, and she hadn’t been at her conversational best.

  But supersexy? Hell, yeah.

  Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine what the thick, ash-blond strands would look like falling in a curtain over her shoulders. He’d already noticed the deep blue eyes, but had put away any blue-eyed-blonde-bimbo associations the minute she’d lifted her chin and frowned at him.

  There was something sharp about her—a little edgy. He hadn’t seen a single pouty look on her pretty face, nor one heavy-lidded, come-hither stare. And she hadn’t walked or stood in a way that emphasized her curves, sending silent signals every guy learned to recognize by the age of fourteen.

  Those curves. Oh, he’d definitely noticed those. He couldn’t help but notice. He’d been openly admiring her slim calves while wondering about the long length of thigh he couldn’t see beneath her skirt.

  The clothes might be perfectly respectable—demure, in fact, at least if you looked up the definition of skirt and blouse in the dictionary. But not the way she wore them. The way the skirt hugged every inch of curvy hip and perfect backside, and the afternoon breeze molded her silky blouse against her slim shoulders and full, pert-tipped breasts, made her outfit rank right up there with anything out of Frederick’s of Hollywood.