by Karen Foley
Laura rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. And the Beatles were just a band. Now, go!” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
Inside, Jenna’s heart was beating fast. She was going to ask him for a dance, and whatever happened after that would be up to him. If they only ended up dancing, it would be no big deal. As she approached the group of men, he straightened and leaned against his cue to watch her, masculine appreciation in his expression. By the time she reached him, the other men had stopped to watch, too.
Jenna halted mere inches from the man, deliberately invading his personal space in what she liked to think of as her first test of compatibility. At five feet, eleven inches tall, she was nearly eye-level with him. She’d learned from experience that some guys found her height a little unsettling, but he seemed unfazed. The warm gleam in his eyes and the hint of a dimple in one cheek made her feel as if her approaching him had been a foregone conclusion, but instead of annoyance, the thought drew a reluctant smile from her.
“Hey,” she said in greeting, letting her gaze slide over him.
Up close, the guy was absolutely mouthwatering, from his translucent green eyes, alight with interest, to his square jaw and sensuous smiling mouth. His brown hair was cropped close to his head, but Jenna could see bronze-and-gold glints in the short strands, and guessed he spent a lot of time in the sun, which made sense considering his line of work. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Jenna found herself transfixed by the way the material of his shirt strained over his thick biceps. She swallowed hard and silently acknowledged that she’d be more than a little disappointed if all she got from him was a dance. It seemed every cell in her body suddenly stood at attention, eagerly waiting to obey whatever command he might want to give.
“Hey.” He grinned, revealing dimples deep enough to drive a truck into.
Jenna pretended to lean negligently against the pool table, needing something solid to support her as her knees weakened beneath his smile. What had Laura said his first name was? Jenna couldn’t think clearly, and hoped her sudden confusion didn’t show on her face.
“So, Rawlins,” she said, deliberately using just his surname, “You wanna dance?” Her voice sounded both seductive and challenging.
“You bet.”
Without taking his eyes from her, he thrust his cue toward the nearest man and caught her hand firmly in his own as he pulled her toward the dance floor. He swung her into his arms, and finally Jenna knew firsthand what it was like to have all that strength and grace surround her. For as long as she could remember, she had struggled to come to terms with her height. Next to other women, she usually felt like a galumphing elephant, but she’d learned a long time ago not to let anyone see her insecurities. Right now, though, despite the fact he was only several inches taller than her, she felt fragile in his arms.
He splayed one hand at the small of her back, while his other held hers captive. There was nothing tentative or polite about the action; it was uncompromisingly confident, bordering on possessive. He maintained just enough space between the framework of their bodies so that they weren’t actually touching, but Jenna could feel the heat he generated.
“I haven’t seen you in here before.” His voice was warm and rich, with a distinctly Texan drawl.
Jenna suppressed a smile, enjoying the easy way he maneuvered her body to match his movements. “That’s because I’ve never been in here before.”
He drew back slightly and his eyes narrowed as they traveled leisurely over her features. “Have we met?”
Her breath caught as he suddenly spun her into a neat turn beneath his hand, before bringing her back into his arms. “Oh, wow.” She laughed. “Wasn’t expecting that.” She regained her focus, feeling a little off-balance, steadied only by the warm hand at her back. “Um, no. We haven’t actually met, unless you count the time I nearly ran you over in the grocery store last week.”
“Ah…” he said meaningfully, as if something had finally clicked. “I knew I’d seen you before.” He increased the pressure of his fingers, urging her closer. His warm breath fanned her ear. “So how do you know my name?”
Jenna leaned back enough to stare boldly into his eyes. “I asked.”
Their gazes held for a long moment, before his lips curved in a slow smile. He gave a soft laugh of either amusement or admiration and then he eased her body closer, sliding his palm up to rest between her shoulder blades, while he curled his other hand around her fingers and pressed them to his chest. The movement brought her up against his hard contours, and beneath the fingers of her free hand, his shoulder muscles bunched and relaxed.
Jenna’s heart beat faster than necessary; too fast for such a slow dance. She was acutely conscious of how well their bodies fit together, their hips perfectly aligned. If she turned her face even fractionally, her lips would brush against the smooth, tanned skin of his neck. She breathed deeply, inhaling a scent that was intensely clean and yet unmistakably masculine. His soap, or a subtle cologne, maybe. Or some crazy, secret pheromone designed purely to arouse the opposite sex. She wanted to rub herself all over him.
“So, do I get to ask your name?” His voice rumbled softly against her ear.
“Hmm.” She dragged her mind away from the indecent thoughts swirling through her head to concentrate on his words. “Jenna Larson.”
“Are you from around here?”
“No,” she replied, thinking of her home on Cape Cod, in Massachusetts. “Just passing through. And you?”
“Originally from Texas, currently assigned to Fort Bragg. But I guess you know that, too, huh?”
Jenna glanced at his face, but his expression gave nothing away. His good looks aside, she liked his easy smile and the warmth that lingered in his eyes when he studied her. “Actually, I didn’t know you were from Texas. But it wasn’t difficult to guess you’re in the military,” she admitted. “Just about every guy in here tonight is. All you have to do is look at the haircuts.”
The music came to an end, and Jenna reluctantly allowed Chase to lead her from the dance floor. His gaze flicked to his buddies, still congregated around the pool tables, but he didn’t make an immediate move to separate from Jenna.
“Well, thanks for the dance,” she said brightly. But when she would have stepped away, he caught her wrist. She turned back, expectant.
“Do you wanna get out of here? Find someplace a little less crowded?” His voice was low…compelling. His eyes searched hers, and Jenna felt her insides churn with anticipation.
“Maybe. What do you have in mind?”
He shrugged and his thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist. “A bottle of wine, an old army blanket and an outstanding view of the jets taking off and landing at Pope Field.” His mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “I happen to know they’re doing night maneuvers, and I promise you, it really is spectacular to watch. We don’t even need to go on base. There’s a field beyond the perimeter that provides a great view.”
Jenna considered him closely. Was it possible he didn’t realize she was also in the military? Of course, there was no reason why he would; she looked completely ordinary in her jeans and button-down sleeveless top, with her hair loose around her shoulders, and it wasn’t as if he could see the dog tags nestled between her breasts. She couldn’t blame him for mistaking her for a civilian.
Despite the fact she’d already decided he was fair game, her instincts screamed at her to refuse his offer. He was too tempting, too confident of his own attraction. She should run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But the expression in his eyes, combined with the seductive stroke of his finger against her skin, was doing strange things to her common sense. She could no longer remember why she should avoid getting involved with military guys, especially when this one was so damned gorgeous. Not that one night could possibly count as getting involved. After all, she’d be gone in three days. She’d never see him again. She glanced toward the bar, where Laura gave her a thumbs-up.
Chase arched an eye
brow, waiting for her response.
“Well, I do like pinot noir.”
2
WITH HER HAND TUCKED firmly into his, Chance Rawlins steered his spoils through the crowded nightclub, intent on getting her outside before she changed her mind. He recalled the incident in the supermarket, when their carts had collided. Normally, he’d have seized the opportunity to chat her up, maybe get a phone number, but she’d turned her cart away so fast he’d wondered if he’d left his fly unzipped.
The last place he’d expected to run into her again was Shooters nightclub, a place normally reserved for junior officers and local gals looking to get some action. Jenna Larson hadn’t struck him as falling into the latter category, but he’d been wrong.
Lucky for him.
The only reason he’d been at the club tonight was to give his brother, Chase, a decent send-off. He and his unit of elite special ops commandos were scheduled to deploy to Afghanistan in just two days. Despite the fact that most of his brother’s unit had been at the club, ready to raise a beer, Chase hadn’t shown up. Probably doing last-minute paperwork, Chance thought. As identical twins, they took their military duties seriously, but that’s where any similarity ended. Chase was all business, all the time, whereas Chance had no problem setting his work aside to have a little fun.
He glanced at the woman by his side.
Absolutely no problem whatsoever.
He didn’t make a habit of picking women up at clubs, but there was something about this particular woman that made him unable to release her after their dance. She’d aroused an awareness in him, a rush of hot excitement similar to what he felt just before he went out on a dangerous mission. He wasn’t about to ignore it.
He held the door open for Jenna, watching as she preceded him down the walkway to the parking lot. The night was warm and clear, with a soft breeze and the sound of night bugs in the surrounding trees. Jenna paused on the pavement, looking around.
“So which car is yours? Wait—don’t tell me.” She held up a hand to forestall him. “Let me guess.”
Chance came to a stop beside her. “You actually think you can guess which car is mine?”
“Sure.” She took a step back and pretended to size him up. “If I know your type, it’s probably understated and practical, but would need to have a great performance record. Which means it’s an expensive model.” She searched the lot. “I’m guessing an SUV, maybe a Land Rover or an older Land Cruiser.”
Chance gave a soft laugh. She’d just described his brother’s vehicle to a T. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but you don’t know my type at all.”
She tossed him a determined look. “Just give me a sec, okay?”
Chance spread his arms wide and grinned. “Take as long as you need, darlin’.”
He watched as she crossed to the first row of cars and paused to survey them. While her back was turned, he strolled to where the motorcycles were parked and threw a leg over the leather seat of a low-slung, black Harley. He turned the key, taking a perverse satisfaction in the way she visibly started at the rumble of the deep, throaty engine. Twisting sideways, he withdrew a half helmet from a saddlebag and dangled it on the end of one finger.
“This is yours?” she asked, disbelief written across her face as she walked toward him.
“You still think you know my type?”
To his relief, she merely gave him a tolerant look and accepted the proffered head gear. Chance secured his own helmet, before glancing at Jenna, who stood watching him.
“Climb on,” he invited, and rose to a standing position to give her more room. When she’d settled herself behind him, he sat down, acutely aware of her long legs bracketing his hips. “Are you warm enough?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “I have a jacket in the saddlebag. You’re welcome to use it.”
In answer, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his torso. His stomach muscles involuntarily contracted as she splayed her hands over his abdomen, and he could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against his back. Her chin rested on his shoulder as she spoke directly into his ear, her warm breath fanning his cheek.
“I’m sure I’ll be warm enough.”
Chance nearly groaned, his body registering the heat of her palms and the pressure of her thighs, aware of every breath she drew. He eased the bike backward out of the parking spot and then accelerated toward the open road, gratified when she clutched at him and hung on even tighter. From the moment he’d spotted her sitting at the bar, she’d intrigued him. She stood out from the other women in the club, and not just because of her height.
He liked her long, slim body and the way she seemed completely comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t slouch or try to disguise the fact that she stood a head taller than most other women. She walked with the loose-limbed gait of an athlete, but Chance could easily envision her wearing an elegant evening gown…or better yet, some sexy number involving a thong and thigh-high, sheer stockings that emphasized the length of her legs. She wore a minimal amount of makeup, and her hair hung in sleek waves around her face, the lights of the club picking out the red highlights in the thick, brown tresses. She looked reserved and unapproachable, almost haughty.
Until she looked at him.
Then her expression turned hungry. Like she knew what she wanted and to hell with anyone who stood in her way.
Good thing she was just passing through. Her eyes, cool and carnal, made him want to do decadent things with her. He itched to bury his hands in her hair and muss the sleek waves. He wanted to wipe the sheen of gloss from her lips with his mouth. He wanted those mile-long legs wrapped around his waist.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a visceral response to a woman. He couldn’t even blame it on alcohol, since he’d had only one beer. But he’d seen the way the other guys eyeballed her, and he’d been gripped with an overwhelming need to keep her to himself, away from the loud music and artificial atmosphere of the club. He didn’t need to get any crazy ideas about seeing her again after tonight, which should have made him feel relieved. But the thought of not seeing her again roused an uncomfortable, unfamiliar emotion that felt suspiciously like regret. And that alone was enough to convince him that he shouldn’t see her again.
They roared along the familiar streets with her hugging his back until they came to a convenience store. Pulling the Harley up to the curb, he turned off the engine and removed his helmet.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, easing himself from the bike. Without her warmth surrounding him, he felt chilled.
Inside the shop, he selected a bottle of wine from the cooler and helped himself to a couple of paper cups from the coffee bar. When he came back out, Jenna had scooted forward on the seat and had her hands firmly on the handle-grips. Her long legs easily reached the ground and she looked as if she belonged there. His rampant imagination conjured up images of her lounging back on the Harley wearing nothing but a smile and a pair of four-inch stilettos.
“Mind if I drive?” she asked, a challenging glint in her eyes.
Chance stopped in his tracks. “Do you know how?”
She shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
He laughed as he came forward and stashed the bottle and cups inside one of the saddlebags. “Maybe another time.”
“What? Do you have a problem riding behind a woman?” she asked. Her tone was light, but Chance paused, sensing something more in her words.
He straightened and gave her a slow grin. “Actually, no, I don’t. In fact, it’s one of my favorite positions.”
Even in the darkness, Chance didn’t miss how her eyes assessed him. After a moment, she slid back, relinquishing the driver’s position. Leaning forward, he braced one hand on the seat by her hip and the other on the handlebar. “Listen, if you had a motorcycle endorsement on your license, and if I knew for a fact you were completely sober and if I thought you could actually handle the weight of the bike and a passenger, I’d ha
ve no problem letting you drive, okay?”
Her fingers paused on the fastening of her helmet and her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Really?”
“Really. But for now, let me take care of it.” He traced a thumb along the soft curve of her jaw. “Besides, you feel good behind me.”
Without waiting for a response, he eased himself onto the bike, smiling as her arms came back around him. Within minutes, they reached a narrow road that meandered through the dark trees and finally emerged into a wide field. Directly in front of them lay the lights of Pope airfield, so close that Chance could see the shadowy figures of the controllers in the tower.
He drew the bike to a stop in the tall grass and waited for Jenna to dismount. Fireflies flickered in the darkness, and the sound of crickets filled the air.
“Wow,” she said, pulling her helmet off and staring at the airstrip. “This is amazing. We’re like fifty feet from the end of the runway.”
They were actually more than five hundred feet from the runway, but Chance didn’t disagree with her. Once the planes started to come in, the distance wouldn’t matter. Hanging their helmets from the handlebars, he dug through the saddlebags and withdrew a wool army blanket and the bottle of wine.
“C’mon, I’ll spread the blanket over here,” he said, tromping on the tall grass to flatten it. He opened the blanket and flapped it onto the ground, before sitting down. Jenna stood near the motorcycle, watching him. He patted the blanket invitingly. “C’mon. I promise not to bite.”
“Does anyone ever come out here?”
He shrugged. “Not that I know of. At least, I’ve never seen anyone else out here.” He indicated the woods behind them. “The road dead ends at an electrical service station about a quarter mile that way, so there’s no reason for anyone to come out here.” He smiled at her through the darkness. “But if there was, you’re safe with me.”
As she crossed to where he sat, Chance opened the wine and poured some into the paper cups, handing one to her as she lowered herself on the blanket beside him. Sitting cross-legged, she stared up at the sky. A brilliant light hung suspended in the distance, like an overly bright star signaling an incoming aircraft.
