by Rachel Grant
Not that it mattered, because she wasn’t here to drink. No, she was here to find someone to take her off the base. She needed to check on Linus and find her crew leader, Ibrahim. She needed to make sure he and the rest of her crew were okay.
Captain O’Leary had made her all but a prisoner here, but she wasn’t the type of person to make an important decision uninformed. She needed to know if any of her crew had been harmed and to make sure they received care if they had. She had to know what happened to them before she could decide whether or not to stay in Djibouti.
She tugged at the tight Camp Citron T-shirt she’d found on the cot inside her CLU. The T-shirt had been accompanied by lightweight pants, bra, and underwear, and assorted toiletries. The bra was at least one D too small and the T-shirt rode up thanks to her oversized bust. All items sported tags from the base store, and she wondered if they’d been out of her size or if the person who’d acquired the items had simply made a mistake. Regardless, she was thankful she didn’t have to wear her sweaty, bloodstained clothing and had crammed herself into the bra without complaint.
The fact that the bra and T-shirt were tight could work in her favor. She hadn’t put the twins on display since she quit waiting tables at Double D, but tonight she needed to talk to sailors and marines to find a ride off base, and the girls would come in handy.
At least her years as a server had made her comfortable with the reaction her curves triggered. She knew how to ignore the creepy leers and enjoyed the generic appreciation—after all, it would be hypocritical of her to use her physical assets for bigger tips if men and women enjoying the view bothered her. But the disgusting tongue wagging? That she could do without.
She made her way toward the bar, grabbing an empty stool near the end. She ordered a tonic with lime. A drink would knock her on her ass, especially given the painkiller the doctor had prescribed, but she could at least look like she was drinking—and therefore approachable.
She scanned the club. Who could she convince to help her?
She needed a sailor who could check out a vehicle from the motor pool, which might not be possible with heightened security after today. She really didn’t know this base’s procedures.
She took a sip of her tonic as she watched a group of sailors playing pool. Far too young. She couldn’t flirt to start a conversation with a boy in his late teens or early twenties. She was thirty-one, and the thought of flirting with a boy who couldn’t drink legally gave her the heebie-jeebies. Like she was the creepy old guy doing the tongue wagging. No, thank you.
Anyone over twenty-one was fair game. At least then she wouldn’t feel like a pervy professor.
A soldier like Pax would be perfect. He was old enough—she guessed he was in his early thirties—and she wouldn’t even have to fake interest. Except he’d sided with the general, which put him on her blacklist for all eternity. The look Pax had given her in the captain’s office had been her father’s final humiliation.
She tightened her jaw when the object of her thoughts stepped into the crowded room. Her gaze met his, and she cast him a glare before turning back to the bar. Shit. She should have started a conversation with a sailor to either side of her. The one to the right stared unabashedly at her chest. His gaze was of the trying-to-decide-if-the-twins-are-real variety.
She could feel Pax approaching and didn’t like the tingle of anticipation that started at the base of her skull. She did not want to be attracted to the man.
“Morgan,” he said, slipping into the narrow space at her side.
She met Pax’s gaze straight on. “Dr. Adler,” she corrected. Damn, he looked good in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and slacks. He loomed just as large without the pack, combat gear, and helmet.
He raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure you invited me to use your given name earlier.”
“I changed my mind.”
Those thick brows lowered. “Care to share why?”
She leaned back to get a better look at him. He stood so close, filling the scant space next to her barstool, she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, putting her in a weak position she didn’t care for. “Not really,” she said as she slid off her stool. She’d head over to the pool tables and start a conversation with the guy leaning against the wall who had a bored expression on his face.
Pax caught her arm. “What the fuck, Morgan?”
She shook off his hand. “I don’t need your judgment, Pax. I grew up with that bullshit, and I’m done.”
His head cocked. “This is about your dickhead father?”
“Of course it’s about my—” She stopped short, realizing what he’d said. “What? Dickhead?” She frowned. “But you agreed with him. You think I’m a coward.”
“Why the fuck would I agree with that asshole? And what gave you the idea I think you’re a coward? Jesus. You tried to run back to a car with a bomb in the undercarriage.” His brows came together. “I’d never call you a coward.”
“But I don’t want to stay in Djibouti. I want to go home.”
“That doesn’t make you a coward. That makes you smart. Now, assuming I’m a judgmental prick…I’m not sure I can let that one pass.”
“I saw the way you looked at me. In Captain O’Leary’s office.”
“Sweetheart, what you saw was outrage—directed at your old man. He sounds like a piece of work.” He nudged her back onto the barstool. “Why don’t you buy me a drink to apologize for insulting me, and we’ll talk?”
She’d been so rude to him, a drink would never cover it. “I’m sorry,” she said as she waved the bartender over.
Pax’s drink was served in a flash, and he chuckled. “I’ve never been served here that quickly.” His gaze flicked over her chest.
She gave a sheepish smile. “Putting the girls on display does have advantages. But, in my defense, this was the only clean shirt in my CLU, and I didn’t pick the size.”
Pax snorted. “If you were my sister, I’d be glued to your side with my weapon handy.”
“And if I weren’t your sister?”
He took a sip of his drink and gave her the exact right kind of appreciative look. Nothing creepy, just a sweep of his eyes that said he liked what he saw. “Same position, different weapon.”
Morgan laughed as heat pooled in her belly. Maybe Pax would help her after all. She leaned into him, inhaling deeply and enjoying the musky scent that her brain registered as pure testosterone. “Pax, will you come back to my CLU with me?”
He grinned. “You don’t waste time, do you, Dr. Adler?”
“Morgan,” she corrected, again feeling chagrined. “And I didn’t mean that in the way it sounded.”
His voice dipped to a sexy rumble. “That’s…disappointing.”
The heat in her belly radiated outward. “Then maybe you can convince me otherwise.”
It was ridiculously difficult to keep his eyes on her face. He was a grown man and had been intimately familiar with his fair share of breasts over the years, but Morgan Adler’s centerfold figure had caught him off guard. He’d known she had curves, but nothing like this.
Earlier, she’d downplayed her figure with her baggy top, and odds were she’d been wearing a sports bra then, whereas this one fit her like a push-up—for a woman who clearly didn’t need the boost.
He wondered if the skipper’s aide had picked up a small shirt for her on purpose, to prevent her from leaving her CLU. Morgan’s dad was career military. She’d likely grown up on bases and knew what deployed soldiers were like.
He was outraged at the sexist manipulation and battling his own lust. The guy to her right had his gaze locked on her breasts, and a possessive side of Pax wanted to stake a claim on this view for himself, which was straight-up wacked. He barely knew her.
But that didn’t stop him from planting his hand at the small of her back. The tight shirt rode up just enough that his palm straddled both shirt and bare skin, and the contact was electric. He leaned into her and said, “I don’t care why y
ou invited me to your CLU; we’re going. I don’t like the way every guy in this room is looking at you.”
She cocked her head and a faint smile played around her full lips. She leaned slightly forward, causing his hand to slip closer to her ass. Their lips were only inches apart. “I can take care of myself. Besides, you’re looking at me the same way,” she whispered.
The adrenaline that had hounded him hadn’t been dispelled by the hour he spent in the gym. If anything, pounding on the bag had only ratcheted up his aggression.
He wanted to fuck, and Morgan Adler was just about the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. That might be the adrenaline thinking, but he doubted it.
The funny thing was, she looked nothing like his type. With her long blonde hair, blue eyes, spectacular breasts, and nearly cropped top, she looked like a waitress from one of those restaurants that served beer and chicken wings to guys watching football. He’d always felt sorry for the waitresses. Treated like brainless sex objects, they had to put up with groping, drunken customers while sporting falsely cheerful smiles in response to asinine jokes.
His type was the shy, bookish nerds, which was exactly what he’d been until he joined the Army. He’d been a late bloomer, hitting a second growth spurt after nineteen, when he’d shot up six inches in two years and packed on the muscle that made it possible for him to do his job. But the external changes hadn’t changed who he was inside, and he was still the sci-fi- and fantasy-loving guy who read scientific journals for fun.
But then, Dr. Morgan Adler might not look like his type, but with a PhD in archaeology, she was most definitely a geek girl in a cheerleader package.
“Does it bother you? The way I look at you?” he asked.
She licked her lips. Her voice came out husky, as if he’d made her throat dry. “No. From you, I like it. I just wish I didn’t.”
He picked up his gin and tonic and knocked it back, then set the glass on the bar. “Let’s go.” He guided her across the room with his hand at the small of her back. His free hand curled into a fist as every sailor they passed between the bar and the door leered at Morgan.
He slid his hand along her bare skin, cradling her hip to pull her snug against his side, making it clear she was taken. They were in a room full of alpha sailors, soldiers, and marines, but Pax’s height and build put him bigger than ninety percent of the men in the room. Eyes shifted from Morgan’s body to Pax’s possessive hold, to finally meet his glare. A few, the men he knew, tipped their heads in acknowledgment as they passed.
Outside, it was a quick walk from the club to CLUville. Her unit was at the far end. Hers was deluxe—a wet CLU—meaning she had her own sink inside her private unit and shared a toilet and shower with the adjacent CLU. Because Pax’s mind was bent on getting her naked, that private shower immediately brought to mind ways they could conserve the most precious resource in this water-starved nation.
He shut the door and leaned back against it, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, reminding himself she hadn’t invited him here for a screw.
But still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a taste. He caught her wrist and pulled her against him, slid his hand down her back until he cupped her butt.
Her body molded to his. He clenched his jaw against the lust that ripped through him.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He had no idea how much she’d had to drink before he got to the bar. She seemed fine, but what if she held her booze really well? There were rules against that sort of thing. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Nothing. Just tonic.”
Relief rippled through him. “Okay, then. Tell me right now if this is what you want.”
She gripped his shirt in her fists. “What I want and what’s going to happen are two different things. I want your cock”—she ground her hips into his erection and he gritted his teeth as fierce want made him even harder—“inside me. I want to lose myself, lose this insane, awful day in hard, wild animal fucking.”
Aww, shit. She’d just described his favorite way to end a crap day.
His grip on her butt tightened. “But that’s not what’s going to happen here.”
“No. Not after I tell you what I need.”
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to stay or go, but I can’t possibly make a decision like that without talking to my crew, without checking on Linus. I’m trapped here. I need a ride off base.”
Chapter Six
Pax’s grip on her ass loosened. She stepped back, missing his heat, hating herself for being honest. She could have screwed him first, then asked. But that wasn’t how she operated. Work first, then play.
No results, no cookie.
He pushed off the door and paced the tiny floor space between cot and locker. “It’s not that simple, Morgan.”
“Can you get a vehicle from the motor pool?”
He stopped and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Possibly, but I need—even you need—signed orders to exit the base.”
“Signed orders?”
“This isn’t like the bases you grew up on pre-9/11. We’re in a hostile environment. Outside that gate, people are trying to kill us.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m aware of that.”
“I’m not sure you are, if you think I can just whisk you off base. It doesn’t work that way. I’d need signed orders from my XO.”
“Would your XO need approval from O’Leary?”
“No. Different tenant command. My XO is with Special Operations—SOCOM.”
“Do you agree with O’Leary? That I should stay?”
“O’Leary is doing his job. His job is to command the base, and we need an airstrip. Desperately. Your project can make that happen.”
“So you think I should stay.”
“No. I was just saying O’Leary isn’t wrong in wanting you to stay. I want you on the next flight home. Djibouti is no place for a woman like you.”
She stepped back and crossed her arms. “A woman like me? What the hell does that mean?”
“A fool who thinks fossils are worth dying for.”
Cold shot to her core. “A fool. You think I’m a fool.”
“You sure as hell acted like one earlier.”
“No. I think I acted like one tonight.” Why did she think he’d be any different from her father? “Do you have any idea what those fossils could have meant? Tests could have been run—potassium-argon dating. Analysis of the fauna—I don’t even know what Linus was butchering the day he died. Combined with what we’ll learn from Linus’ cranium, we have a chance to understand the connection between australopithecines and the first homo genus in a way we never have before.
“So yeah, I was blinded for a moment at the idea that one of the greatest scientific finds of the new millennium was about to be lost, and I tried to save it. I’m sorry I endangered you because it was my risk to take and my risk alone, but if you’d let me grab it in that first moment, I could have saved it.”
“We didn’t know how much time we had.” He ground out the words through a tight jaw. He was angry. Well, that made two of them.
“I know that. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I risked your life. But I don’t regret the impulse I had to save a piece of prehuman prehistory nearly so much as I regret the loss of it.”
She pulled at the hem of the T-shirt, suddenly feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t wearing the skimpy shirt in the bar. She’d been used to men thinking she was an idiot when she waited tables in the tight tank tops and short shorts, but at least then she took solace in the knowledge that her IQ probably outdistanced the drunken frat boys by a mile. Their opinion didn’t matter because they didn’t know her.
Well, Pax Blanchard didn’t know her either. She stepped to the door and grabbed the handle.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Back to the club. If you won’t help me, I’m going to find someone who will. I need to know what happened to my crew today. For
all I know, Desta’s men went after them. They could be dead. I will not make a decision to stay or go without knowing what happened to my crew.”
“Why don’t you just call them?”
“Aside from the fact that my phone is broken, none of them have phones.”
Pax cursed. “You can’t go back to the club like that.”
“Like what? Pissed?”
“Dressed like that.”
She glared at him. “You’re right. The pants are too long. Do you have scissors on you?”
He whipped off his shirt, revealing a washboard stomach that ten minutes ago would have had her salivating. What a waste for a complete ass to have such a perfect body. “Put this on.”
She couldn’t help but smirk as she pulled off the tee, giving him a prime view of her overflowing bra, then slipped on his button-down shirt. But she didn’t bother with the buttons. She tied the tails together right below her breasts, making his shirt far more revealing than the ridiculously small T-shirt had been. “Is that better?”
She met his gaze and took satisfaction in the shocked look that transformed to pure testosterone-fueled lust. He advanced on her, backing her into the wall. “You’re not going to the club like that.”
“Why not?” she asked. She was dead serious about going back to the bar and using every asset she had to find someone to help her. She would find out what happened to her crew, and Sergeant Pax Blanchard would either help her or get out of her way.
“Because every man there will want to do this.” He thrust his fingers in her hair and pulled her face to his. His tongue invaded her mouth in the hottest, angriest kiss she’d ever received.
She made a soft noise at the back of her throat when he palmed her breast and slid his thumb over the nipple. She wanted his mouth there. Now. But she also wanted his mouth to remain right where it was, his tongue sliding against hers. Damn. He tasted like heat. Smelled like desire. Felt so right.
