Major Attraction

by Julie Miller

  “I’ll try,” J.C. answered without any real hope of success. She thanked the general and excused herself before he could do any more following up on her personal life. She picked up her water glass and concentrated on polishing off the last of the cool drink, sending off don’t talk to me signals to any would-be dance partners and buying herself some time to regroup.

  Like a slap of reality, the mere mention of her father had banished any Cinderella fantasies and brought back the reason she was here in the first place. To prove a point to Lee Whiteley and her readers. These men might provide stimulating conversation and charming dance partners—they might even get her hormones buzzing—but they weren’t marriage material.

  Even General Craddock, whom she had to admit had been winning her over to the red, white and blue side, headed straight for a group of officers sitting nearby. He slapped two on the back and said something funny, judging by the laughter that erupted from their table. Then he sat down and joined them in animated conversation, without a touch or word or look to his wife.

  Of course, Millie Craddock wasn’t exactly alone. Ethan’s aide, Captain Black, sat beside her. Angled toward the older woman, his black hair nearly touched her silver-blond curls as they carried on a hushed discussion involving touchy-feely hand gestures and secretive smiles. Like mother and son or sister and brother—they seemed to be curiously close friends despite the gap in their ages.

  J.C. frowned at all the camaraderie surrounding her. Maybe she was the was the only one who felt alone. Abandoned. She set down her glass and searched the crowded room until her gaze collided with Ethan’s.

  Maybe not so alone as she thought.

  Above the heads of several official-looking men and women, Ethan’s dark gray eyes stared intently into hers, suffusing her with warmth and awareness. How long had he been watching her? Had he sensed her loneliness? Had he felt her longing looks and lustful thoughts from the dance floor? His gaze touched her like a physical caress, lingering on her lips until they pouted, studying her breasts until they thrust against their constrictive binding of shimmering silk. Her arms beaded with goose bumps. Her breath stuttered and caught in her chest.

  What that man could do with a look.

  Caught in that gray-eyed assault on her senses, J.C. wiggled her toes inside her strappy sandals. She felt flushed and female, and antsy to do something about the simmering heat that threatened to steam through every pore. She wanted to touch him. To talk to him. To feel the weight of him inside her. She wanted him to act on what those eyes were telling her and quit driving her mad with this long-distance, I-want-to-be-a-gentleman-but-I’m-dying-to-do-you torture.

  J.C. was moving toward him, drawn like a compass point to its magnetic pole, determined to take this crazy desire into her own hands, when Ethan blinked, breaking the spell. His gaze darted to the left, giving her a split-second warning before a firm grip latched onto her wrist.

  “C’mon. Dance with me.” If Kyle Black had opened the bedroom door and caught her buck naked in Ethan’s arms, she couldn’t have felt more interrupted or exposed.

  J.C. jerked self-consciously at the touch, flashing back to her encounter with Juan Guerro. But these were handsome blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, not bleary brown ones filled with menace and fatigue. Ethan’s aide. A friend, not a threat. J.C. pressed her free hand over her thumping heart and mustered up a friendly smile. “Captain. You startled me.”

  “Sorry about that. But I thought I’d seize the moment. And didn’t I tell you to call me Kyle?” He was already pulling her toward the dance floor without giving her a chance to accept or refuse his invitation. “My job is to assist the major in whatever way I can. And if that means dancing with a pretty woman when he’s too busy to, I’m the man to do it.”

  A quick glance behind them revealed Ethan watching them serpentine their way through the crowd. His frown might be one of concern or curiosity. But the interpretation made no difference. Without so much as a nod, he dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. Hmm. J.C. bristled at the easy dismissal. Even if he did think she was in good hands, she needed to have a chat with him about asserting his territorial rights. Passing her off to his second in command didn’t make for a very convincing engagement.

  For one catty moment, she considered blowing their cover. If Ethan wasn’t going to do anything more than introduce her as his fiancée and sit next to her at dinner, then why should she bust her buns to act like a couple? Fortunately her practical streak asserted itself before she shot off her mouth. This was all fodder for her articles. If she abandoned Ethan now, she might as well abandon her bet, too.

  Along with two weeks of potential bliss.

  When her shoes hit the smooth dance floor, J.C. dug in her heels and tugged Kyle to a halt. “This is above and beyond the call of duty, Kyle. I’ll be sure to tell Ethan to write up a commendation for you.” She squinched her face up into an apology as she pulled away. “But my feet are screaming at me in these high heels. I really just want to sit out a couple of numbers and spend some time with my sweetie.”

  Kyle looked beyond her shoulder at Ethan and shrugged. “He’s in the middle of a big confab with Colonel Reese and the other candidates. If you want a break, let me buy you a drink, instead.” He hooked his arm through hers and steered her toward the refreshment table at the far end of the room. “C’mon, J.C. It’ll be bad for troop morale if you say no.”

  Now that was a lame line she would have to print. It was a little too practiced to be original or sincere. But since Ethan showed no interest in rescuing her, she might as well make practical use of her time and see what other flirtatious nuggets she could glean from Kyle.

  “Well, if it’s for the troops, I suppose I could handle another glass of wine.”

  They traded the perfunctories about hometowns and tastes in music while they waited in line to be served. “So. It must have been a whirlwind kind of thing between you and the major,” Kyle observed.

  “I suppose.”

  Had his fingers brushed against her left hand on purpose?

  Kyle’s query sounded casual enough, but there was something she didn’t quite trust in the sudden change of topic. “Mrs. Craddock wondered why you weren’t wearing an engagement ring.”

  A ring? Duh. Make-believe 101. At least dress the part.

  J.C. curled her bare fingers into a fist and said the first plausible thing that popped into her head. “It’s in the shop being sized.” She expanded with the story she and Ethan had rehearsed. “Everything happened so fast. It was love at first sight, I think. Lust, at least. It didn’t take long to figure out the reason we clicked so well so quickly was that we belonged together.”

  “That would explain why he never mentioned you before today.” Kyle had been talking with Millie Craddock. Was it her curiosity or his that had him probing for answers?

  She remembered General Craddock’s observation and came up with a logical response. “Ethan doesn’t talk much about work with me, so I imagine he doesn’t talk about me at work, either.”

  “True. But to be honest, I didn’t think the major was even seeing anyone. He works a lot of late nights. Off the clock.” Kyle’s hand settled at the small of her back to shift her forward in the line. “Where did you say you two met?”

  “I didn’t.” J.C. turned to face him, breaking contact. Somehow, a bar parking lot didn’t seem like the most auspicious place for a man of Ethan’s reputation to find a wife. Should she make up a story or pretend she hadn’t heard the question?

  “Look, I work a couple of jobs myself and keep odd hours, so Ethan and I catch time together whenever we can.” It wasn’t exactly a lie—they’d met in the wee hours of the morning at her car, and before lunch at a clothing boutique. Okay, so maybe those were the only times they’d met before tonight. But Kyle Black didn’t need to know that. J.C. arched her brow and looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t suppose he reports many details to you because he’s your commanding officer. Not the
other way around. I’d think you’d be doing everything you could to support him and respect his privacy instead of ferreting out information for the gossip mill.”

  Despite the subtle accusation coloring her tone, Kyle didn’t miss a beat. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am supporting him. If he gets this job, I could move up, too. Believe me, I’m just asking the questions that Craddock and the others are asking.” He cupped her shoulder in his white-gloved hand and brushed his lips against her ear. “If you’re helping a friend get a promotion, I’m good with that. I’ll do whatever I can to help the act be a little more convincing.”

  Huffing out an affronted sigh, J.C. pulled away. “This is no act. Ethan asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

  Kyle put up his hands in surrender. “If that’s the case, then put me to work making wedding arrangements. Let me clear the major’s calendar, reserve a hall or church, line up the chaplain.” His blue eyes darkened with a self-importance that seemed unsettlingly familiar—and as unwelcome as a stern word from her father. “The major counts on me to get the job done. You should, too. I have connections you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kyle Black’s offer sounded friendly enough, but J.C.’s stomach tensed as if he’d just issued a threat. Maybe it was after midnight and the Cinderella factor that made the ball enjoyable had finally worn off. Or maybe she was right to worry about Kyle’s interest in her engagement. Maybe Ethan should worry, too. “You know, on second thought, I think I’ll pass on the wine. The orchestra leader just announced the last set and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “So you do want to dance?”

  J.C. shook off Kyle’s hand and backed away. “Nothing personal, Captain. But there’s someone else I’d rather spend the last few minutes of the evening with. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Even from the rear, Ethan cut an impressive figure. Though the members of the group had changed from before, he was still holding court, his head bowed to listen to whatever the woman in the long-skirted uniform beside him was saying. He nodded his head sagely and straightened, then turned his attention to a man who wore a turban and spoke with a melodious accent.

  For a man who was loathe to talk, Ethan had spent his entire evening in one conversation or another. Either he had a split personality or he was avoiding something. If he was avoiding her, that was about to change.

  Fixing a confident smile on her mouth, J.C. linked her arm through Ethan’s and pulled herself into the circle. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I steal this guy for a little while?”

  She didn’t wait to respond to the supportive, go-for-it answers. Beneath her fingers, J.C. felt resistance in every corded muscle along Ethan’s forearm and biceps. But he let her turn him around and lead him away from the group. “You’ve done your duty long enough, Major. It’s time to dance with me.”

  Like an anchor digging into the ocean floor, Ethan halted. “I’d rather not.”

  The sudden loss of momentum spun her around to face him. J.C. reached up to cup the smooth firmness of his cheek and angle his ear close enough to whisper. “You need to dance with me.” He frowned in question. Her explanation was brief. “Captain Black is asking a lot of questions.”

  Keeping his face close, he lifted his gaze over the top of her head. She imagined he was glaring straight at Kyle. “Like what?”

  “Like where’s my engagement ring? And why hasn’t he heard of me before today?”

  “It’s none of his damn business. Black will do what I tell him.”

  Feeling more than thinking, she stroked her fingers across the tense muscles that clenched his jaw tight, betraying some of her own alarm as she tried to soothe his. “I don’t think he’s the only one who needs convincing. Ethan, if we don’t make this look good right now, I think the charade will be over.”

  8

  DAMN THE TORPEDOES.

  Ethan held tight to J.C.’s fingers and scanned the swirling sea of dancers as she led him to the center of the dance floor. It felt like invading enemy territory. He stood tall and stiff as she curled her hand over his shoulder and twisted her hips to the beat of the music. The poof and swing of her long skirt hid her feet from view, but he gamely tried to match every other step or so.

  He’d rather face that bay full of mines with Admiral Farragut than venture onto a dance floor and relive that humiliating night when Ambassador Mead had tapped on Ethan’s shoulder and said he was cutting in to dance with his wife. His wife!

  Surprise!

  Did J.C. or anyone else in this crowd know what kind of battle he was facing? But it was too late to back out now. J.C. was right about being the object of unwanted scrutiny. The Craddocks gave him a thumbs-up as they twirled by, and Captain Black toasted him with a drink and watched from the sidelines. Ethan took a steadying breath and shifted from one foot to the next.

  Full speed ahead.

  Whether he liked it or not.

  The music from that night in Cairo beat a loud rhythm inside his head, drowning out the orchestra. It was bad enough that he’d paid twenty American dollars to learn a couple of dance steps from one of the locals. Worse that he’d traded two weeks of the graveyard shift for the night off to attend the cultural festival with Bethany before the ambassador’s arrival. But the real kicker had been when she’d giggled as if the joke was on him. “Sorry, McCormick,” she’d whispered. “I guess we’re done.” Bethany turned into the arms of a man he would have pegged as her father, planted a not-so-daughterly kiss on him, and left Ethan standing alone in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

  He was done, all right.

  He’d been screwing a married woman. The young trophy wife of the man he was there to protect.

  And her husband, his commanding officer, and most of his unit were there to see his stunning stupidity firsthand. Ethan McCormick—all around tough guy, leader of men—had been duped by a devious woman.

  It was enough to turn any man off public dancing and thinking with his pants.

  But J.C. thought the solution to proving their engagement was the real deal to a few doubters was to stand out in the middle of this crowd and act as if there was no place else he would rather be. She spun out of his grasp, expecting him to know the steps. She bumped into his chest when he went to retrieve her.

  “Oops,” she laughed, excusing his incompetence.

  “My fault.” He reached for her hand again.

  Man, it was getting hot in here. Ethan fingered the stiff band of his collar and wished there was some other way to prove his value to the Corps.

  J.C. dodged to the side as another couple glided past them, then curled herself around his arm and held on to stay out of the path of the next couple. “Please tell me you know how to dance.”

  Ethan knew enough to put his hand at the nip of her waist and pull her out of the current of dancers to a relatively empty spot in front of the orchestra podium. “I’m usually asked to guard the door, not take center stage.”

  Her stricken look of apology was almost worse than a laugh. “That’s why you never asked me.” Pity quickly gave way to a gleam of determination in her upturned face. “It’s not hard. Why didn’t you ask me to teach you some basic steps?”

  “And when did we have time to do that?”

  “How about right now?” She grabbed both his hands and pulled him toward her.

  “J.C.—” He crunched her foot beneath his and recoiled, throwing up his hands between them, afraid to touch her. His war with the dance floor continued. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not going to start that apology thing all over again, are you? I was okay when you kissed me last night. I’m okay with this.” She kept moving closer. He kept looking for a reason to back away. “Don’t you want to hold me in your arms?”

  Her blue eyes blazed with a challenge he found far more seductive than any of Bethany’s come-hither looks had been. Ethan planted his feet and let the other dancers brush past him. He could do this. For J.C. For the promotion
. For the Corps.

  Hell. He’d been dying for an excuse to take J.C. into his arms and explore those opportunities she’d mentioned back at her apartment. He’d counted seven other men who’d put their hands on her on the dance floor. Seven other men who’d gotten to touch her and hold her and maybe even flirt with her while he tried to distract himself by working the room.

  It was his turn. He was going to step up to the challenge and do this for himself.

  Still, she should know there might be casualties.

  Ethan reached for J.C. His stiff arms held her beyond harm’s reach. He raised his voice to be heard over an ominously timed drumroll. “You asked for it. Just remember that you insisted that we dance when your feet are black and blue in the morning.”

  Her triumphant smile drew his attention to the creamy, coppery curve of her mouth, reminding him there were other things he wanted to do for himself. “I’ll take my chances. Now hold me like you mean it.” She moved half a step closer, forcing him to bend his elbows and slide his palm behind her back. Her warmth radiated through the silk and stays of her dress, and her hips swayed, lithe and limber beneath his hand. “Just follow my lead.”

  The fates took pity on his lack of skill and the orchestra eased into a slow tune. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “One-two-three, one-two-three…” Ethan craned his neck to see down to the floor between them, trying to catch a glimpse of her feet. Okay, so maybe his gaze kept straying to the gentle swells of her breasts rocking like the generous ebb and flow of the tide against the straight neckline of her dress. Man, he’d like to kiss those, too. “One-two-three…”

  The swells were gathering, rising above the edge—

  “Ow.”

  “Hell.”

  He’d stepped on her foot again. Eyes back to the floor.

  He turned his brain back on and counted the numbers out loud with her. “One-two-three.”