A Military Affair

by Merline Lovelace

  She tipped her head back, laughter in her eyes. “You sure you didn’t pull a hitch in the military yourself, Quinn? You certainly spring to attention fast enough every time I touch you.”

  “I’ve never been frisked by anyone like you, Hamilton. You’re— Ah!—” his breath hissed in as she slid her hand down his satiny length “—good at it,” he finished through gritted teeth. “Very good.”

  “I get better with practice,” she murmured, her own breath coming fast as he swelled in her hand.

  She drew his head down again, locking her mouth on his while she tormented him—and herself—with slow, gliding strokes. A sweet, seductive feeling of power swept over her, fanning the heat already crawling through her veins. She reveled in the heady sensation…until Quinn abruptly reversed their roles.

  “My turn.”

  Naked and proud as an ancient warrior claiming his prize, he swept her into his arms. She formed a fleeting impression of a sitting room decorated in rattan. Of cushions covered in red hibiscus jungle print. Of a bedroom dominated by a king-size bed on a raised platform.

  Somewhere en route to the bed Tess lost one of her shoes. It took Quinn only a few seconds to deposit her on the mattress and dispose of the other, along with the knot tying the straps of her halter. He peeled her dress down to her waist, skimming the tips of her breasts as he did. Her nipples tingled at the touch, and hardened to tight little buds when he teased them with his teeth and tongue.

  Tess arched under him, gasping as streaks of pure sensation shot from her breasts to her belly. Her womb clenched tight, so tight she raised up eagerly to let him work the hot-pink dress over her hips.

  “Oh, baby…”

  His awed reverence had Tess fighting a grin. “What is this thing you have about lace panties, Quinn?”

  “It’s called appreciation.”

  His hot gaze swept from the flat plane of her stomach to the hair tumbling down around her shoulders.

  “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

  Now that, she decided, was exactly what every girl needed to hear after spending thirty-six-plus hours in heavy boots and a hot, sweaty flight suit. Smiling, she traced a fingertip along his jaw.

  “You’re not so bad yourself without all those bristles.”

  Not bad at all.

  His hand made a slow trip from her breasts to her belly. She thought he’d hook a finger in her panties and pull them down over her hips. Instead, he slid his hand under the elastic waistband and found the damp folds between her legs.

  Within moments, she was wet and gushing. Moments more, and she was ready, so ready.

  “Quinn!” she gasped. “Any time now…”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His grin was wicked as he withdrew his hand and stretched out beside her. “We’re here to serve. Just let me get some protection for you.”

  Tess decided not to tell him she’d brought her own. She always carried a condom in her purse, just in case. It had probably dried out and cracked months ago. Work had been seriously impinging on her love life.

  But things were looking up considerably, she decided when he’d sheathed himself and kneed apart her legs. His whiskey-colored eyes smiled down at her as he positioned himself at her hot, wet center.

  “Who woulda thunk it, Hamilton? You. Me. About to fire another missile.”

  “You’re not supposed to make me laugh when I’m in this position! You’re supposed to… Oh!”

  A single thrust of his hips brought him inside her. Tess hooked her calves around his and took him eagerly, greedily. Hips lifting, muscles clenching, she strained against him.

  His hard, sure strokes brought her swirling close to the edge. Pleasure spread through her in waves, surging, receding, pounding in again. Muscles clenching, she clamped her legs around him.

  Burying his hands in her hair, he covered her mouth with his and quickened the rhythm. He drove into her now, one stroke after another, until Tess couldn’t hold the crashing waves back any longer. Arching her back, she let the pleasure slam through her.

  Quinn held himself rigid while she climaxed. Only after she’d drifted down from her high and lay limp in his arms did he pick up the rhythm once again. Slowly at first, then faster, until the friction and the incredible, glorious woman under him pulled a groan from the back of his throat and every ounce of strength from his body.

  Since Quinn hadn’t eaten and Tess had consumed only a couple of slices of cold pizza, he insisted on ordering from room service. While they waited for the broiled mahi-mahi, pineapple rice and white wine to be delivered, they got hot and sweaty again.

  Only this time Tess was on top and Quinn was at the mercy of her busy hands and hot, clever mouth. The result was so spectacular and her ultimate climax so shattering that Tess abandoned her superior position to flop down at his side.

  “I don’t think I can ever move again. I know I can’t get off this mattress.”

  “You don’t have to,” Quinn promised, dropping a kiss on her shoulder as he rolled out of bed to answer the knock on the outer door. “We’ll have dinner here.”

  While he padded across the room to retrieve his towel, Tess cradled her head on her bent arm. The man had one tight set of buns, she decided. Tight and neat and intriguingly pale where his tan lines ended.

  He also had one helluva technique. She was trying to remember exactly how she’d ended up naked and in his bed when all she’d been intending to do was get his chop on the report and…

  Oh, Lord! The report. She’d forgotten all about the damned thing.

  “Quinn,” she called when the front door closed behind the room-service attendant. “Bring my purse in here with you, would you?”

  He rolled it in on the cart loaded with covered dishes.

  “Here.”

  Tossing her the straw clutch, he lifted the stainless-steel domes and sniffed appreciatively. “I’ve probably eaten every fish known to man in every hotel in the Pacific Rim, but no one—no one—does mahi-mahi better than the chef at the Outrigger.”

  As if to echo his sentiment, Tess’s stomach gave a long, loud rumble. They’d eat first, she decided, then go over the details of the report. Setting the clutch aside, she curled her legs crosswise under her.

  “Roll that cart over here where I can reach it.”

  Quinn obliged. Positioning the cart within easy reach of the bed, he dragged over a chair for himself and set to work on the cork in the wine. Tess found herself watching the towel wrapped low around his hips, wondering if the knot would come loose, hoping it would.

  “So how did you get into the cop business?”

  She dragged her gaze from his lap. “It was either law enforcement or aircraft maintenance when I joined up. Since I don’t know one end of a wrench from another, I opted for a badge.”

  “No prior experience?”

  “Nope.”

  The cork gave with a pop. Quinn filled two glasses and passed one to her.

  “What do your folks think about your chosen profession?”

  “My folks died in a plane crash when I was two. My grandfather raised me.”

  The pain she hadn’t quite grown used to clutched at her heart. She missed Big Mike so much. His big, booming laughter. His sense of adventure. His endless store of war stories.

  “I think my grandfather was prouder than I was the day I graduated from basic,” she murmured. “He served, too.”

  “In the air force?”

  “The Marine Corps. He was an aviator.”

  She took a sip of her wine, letting the fruity white glide down her throat while memories of her grandfather filled her thoughts. When she looked up, Quinn was watching her with a small, satisfied smile, as if he’d just solved a riddle.

  “Your grandfather flew Corsairs, didn’t he? In the South Pacific.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Just a guess.”

  “Based on what?”

  “A gut feel. I knew there was some reason you took this mission
to recover the pilot’s remains so personally.”

  His insight unnerved her. She didn’t think she’d laid herself so open. Setting aside her wine, she picked up her fork and played with the mahi-mahi. Soft and succulent, the fish flaked under the tines.

  “Well?” he asked. “Was I right?”

  She lifted her gaze and locked on his. “Yes, my grandfather flew Corsairs during the war in the South Pacific. And yes, I took this recovery mission personally. That could have been his wingman up there on that mountain, Quinn. His squadron mate. So you understand why I don’t particularly like the idea of you cashing in on his story.”

  “Back to that, are we?”

  He, too, set aside his wine. His face was serious when he leaned across the table.

  “I’m a journalist, Tess. That’s my job. Like you, I get paid for what I do. In my case, I get paid well.”

  “So you’re going to sensationalize this story and splash it across the front pages?”

  “Give me some credit! I was there. I heard the band strike up the Marine Corps Hymn. I saw the flags flying. Do you think I wasn’t as choked up as the rest of you when those marines carried that casket off the plane?”

  “How could anyone tell what you were feeling? You had your camera to your face the whole time.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you wait until you read the article in tomorrow’s papers before you pass judgment?”

  “Tomorrow’s papers?” Her fork clattered down beside her plate. “You mean you’ve already filed your story?”

  “What did you think I’d do? Sit on it until it’s old news?”

  “I thought you’d at least have the decency to wait until Dr. Courtland and her team identified the remains and notified any surviving next of kin!”

  “Gimme a break, Hamilton. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do.”

  Shoving the cart to one side, Tess yanked the sheet free of the mattress, wrapped the wrinkled cotton tight under her arms, and stood up.

  “My boss sent me here tonight to make sure your report of the events on Namuoto didn’t contain any glaring inconsistencies or differ substantially from ours. Since you’ve already filed your story, I guess it’s a moot point. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  She intended to sweep past him, grab her clothes, and march into the bathroom. He blocked her with a single sidestep.

  “You want to run that by me one more time?”

  “Which part needs repeating?”

  “The part about your boss sending you here.”

  Her chin came up. She couldn’t believe she’d tumbled into bed with an insensitive, opportunistic voyeur who filtered everything through a camera lens.

  “What?” she jeered. “Did you think I came up here just to sample your admittedly spectacular bedroom technique? You’re good, Quinn. Damned good. But not good enough.”

  His jaw locked. Hooking a finger in the sheet, he jerked her toward him. “I didn’t hear any complaints a few minutes ago.”

  “Let me rephrase that. You’re good in bed. And a sonuvabitch out of it.”

  Yanking the sheet free of his hold, she stalked past him. She was in and out of the bathroom in five minutes. Quinn still stood beside the cart, looking every bit as angry as Tess felt. She scooped her straw clutch bag off the bed and flipped it open. Her mouth set, she held out a sheaf of papers.

  “Here’s a copy of our initial report. It went over the wires a few hours ago. Let’s hope it agrees with your story.”

  “Hold on a minute. I want to be sure I have this right. The air force has already sent in its version of what happened, yet you’re pissed at me because I filed my story?”

  “We’re required by regulation to do an initial report of any international incident within twenty-four hours.”

  “Yeah, well, my deadlines are just as tight.”

  “Ask me what I think of you and your deadlines, Quinn.”

  “I don’t have to. You’ve made your opinion abundantly clear.”

  Since he didn’t seem inclined to take the report, she tossed it on the bed.

  “Don’t call me,” she said by way of good-bye, “and I won’t call you.”

  Quinn watched her leave, his jaw so tight he thought it would crack. He’d never met a woman who could rile him and rouse him at the same time.

  She’d just about wrung him inside out with her busy hands and mouth. Then, when he was still feeling the aftershocks, she hit him again with that slam about his professional ethics.

  Well, Ms. High-and-Mighty Sergeant Teresa Hamilton had one thing right. He damned well wouldn’t call her. But that didn’t mean she’d heard the last from him.

  Stalking to the bedside phone, Quinn punched the number for the front desk. The sweet young thing who’d gone out of her way to make him feel welcome during his weeks at the Outrigger answered.

  “Hi, Petey. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a wake-up call for 5:00 a.m., sweetheart.”

  “You got it.”

  “And two copies of the L.A. Times delivered to my room by five-thirty.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “The Pacific edition hits the newsstands around four. You should have the hotel copies soon after that.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good girl.”

  Rolling the table to his chair, Quinn polished off both helpings of mahi-mahi. The wine he left in the bottle. He wanted a clear head for what he had to do in the morning.

  His stomach full, he dragged off the towel wrapped around his hips and dropped into bed. The sheets still held Tess’s scent and the faint, sweet spoor of their lovemaking. Quinn fell into sleep with his face buried in the pillow and Tess Hamilton in his thoughts.

  Chapter 7

  Both roommates were home when Tess arrived back at their shared condo. Lani gave her a hug and a warm, welcoming smile. Joanna interrupted her scan of the contents of the refrigerator to hook an arm over the door and survey her roommate from head to toe.

  “Okay, kiddo. Report. When did you get back from Namuoto and why are you looking like you just ran over the neighbor’s pet schnauzer?”

  “I got back this morning and it’s not a schnauzer I wish I’d run over.”

  “Oh-oh. I smell man trouble.”

  Joanna popped the refrigerator door shut. The tall, sun-streaked blonde moved with the grace of a natural athlete. More than once, Tess and Lani had considered taking the scissors to her Spandex running shorts and sports bras. No woman should be allowed to look as good as this one did after a ten-mile run.

  The fact that Joanna also had a love life that made her rooomates feel as though they’d just finished a long stretch on the dark side of the moon didn’t help matters, either. Joanna went through more men than a virus.

  Dropping into a chair, she draped her long, tanned legs over the arm. “All right, girl. Tell Auntie Jo. Who put that scowl on your face and why?”

  Tess sank onto the couch with a sigh, kicked off her sandals, and propped her bare feet on the coffee table. “His name’s Quinn. Pete Quinn.”

  Lani’s dark eyes rounded. “The photojournalist?”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen his work.”

  Since the petite brunette was a military photographer, Tess supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.

  “He’s good,” Lani said in a tone that bordered on reverence. “Really good. The story he sent back from Al Sharif last year won all kinds of awards.”

  “He’s also a self-serving, opportunistic jerk.”

  “Aw, cm’on,” Joanna put in with a grin. “Don’t hold back. Tell us what you really think about the guy.”

  “What I really think would take all night.”

  “All right. Give us the condensed version. Tell us how he got you into bed.”

  Tess’s feet hit the floor with a plop. “What makes you think he did?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It mig
ht be that thoroughly kissed look you’re wearing. Or the fact that you’ve got your dress on inside out.”

  “What?”

  She looked down at the wild pink print. It looked right-side out to her. Flipping up the hem, she examined the other side. Sure enough, the print was darker on the inside, but she was damned if she could see how Joanna had noticed the difference.

  “You’re wearing the tag on the outside of your strap,” her roommate pointed out sweetly. “Not a big deal, you understand. I’ve come home with a few tags showing myself. But it does make one wonder…”

  “Okay, okay. I had sex with the guy. That’s all it was. Hot, meaningless sex.”

  The other two women exchanged glances, which told Tess she’d made her point a tad too vehemently. Deliberately, she tempered both her tone and her expression. She wasn’t ready to admit those mind-blowing hours she’d spent in Pete Quinn’s arms had constituted more than just sex. That he’d made her laugh at his silly jokes and almost weep with pleasure.

  “I met him on Namuoto,” she told the other two, knowing they’d never let her hit the sack until they’d wormed every detail out of her. “He was there researching a story and we sort of blew up a mountain.”

  Retelling the tale for the third or fourth time that day drained the last of Tess’s reserves.

  “I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “I would be, too,” Joanna purred. “Sounds like this dude you picked up on Namuoto is hot stuff.”

  “He certainly thinks so.”

  With that tart observation, Tess dragged herself off the couch and headed for her room. A quick shower washed away the residue of several hours of lovemaking. A thorough workout with her toothbrush almost—almost!—removed the taste of white wine and Quinn.

  Pulling on a sleeveless, well-washed Phoenix Raven T-shirt cut off just below her breasts, she cracked the lanai door open to let in the breeze and dropped into bed. She expected sleep to come crashing down the moment she closed her eyes. Instead, the image of Quinn’s clean-shaven face imprinted itself on her eyelids.

  Damn the man, anyway. Why couldn’t he possess even a few scruples? Tess knew the story about the recovered remains was a tear-jerker, sure to appeal to his readers. Still, after spending so many hours with the recovery team, Quinn should have gained a real appreciation for the sanctity of their mission. The bits of bone they’d brought home weren’t just a story. They were all that remained of a living, breathing man, a marine who’d served his country and died in a fiery crash.