Jake Read Free

awareness of him—his shape, his strength, the chiseled features—and her swift reaction to his everything male.
                  She never responded this way—so quickly and completely—especially to a stranger.
    She thought: Wow. And it kept repeating, like ticker tape running through her head.
                  She stood and said, “It’s about time.” Thinking about all the scenarios in which she’d found herself over the years—wishing someone would send in the Marines—but with no one but herself to rely on, and not at all about the timing of his arrival. But her words irritated him. She could tell by the way his face tightened, his eyes became hooded.
                  He lifted his hands—strong, long, tapered fingers—and placed them on his hips. Narrow hips in snug denim. The move caused his biceps to bunch, the corded muscles in his forearms to ripple. And she noticed three things at once—a hot spear of need shot through her body; she was badly in need of some male attention; and them were fighting words.
                  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he returned, sarcasm slicing and dicing his words.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
                  Jake thought about not stopping. He had orders. R and R. Vegas. Now. And they had come from the top. General Fielding had looked Jake in the eye and asked him,
                  “When was your last vacation, Lieutenant?”
                  Jake had to think about it. “December 2010. A week with my sister and her kids in Kalispell.”
                  The General had nodded. “You need sun. You need hot.” He thought for a moment. “Vegas. Go home and pack a bag. Do not stop for provisions. I don’t even want you helping the little old lady across the street. I want you in Sin City by sundown. We’ll see you in four days.”
                  “Yes, Sir,” Jake had replied, because he’d had no alternative. But he had no idea what he would do in Vegas. He wasn’t a gambling, strip-show-watching, buffet kind of guy. Three hours later he wished he’d thought to counter the General. To suggest that he hike Yosemite or fly down to Cabo San Lucas for a little scuba diving. Anything other than sitting in a hotel room for four days, watching HBO and ordering room service.
                  “And Lieutenant,” the General had called after him, “I’ll be checking in with you. I want to hear slot machines and highball glasses in the background.”
                  “Yes, Sir. Vegas.”
                  And then he had come upon a disabled vehicle and a stranded woman changing clothes on the side of the highway. His foot was on the brake even as the General’s orders were swirling around in his head.
                  She was young, tall, graceful.
                  She had hair the color of whiskey.
                  A body that was fine-tuned and would play some sweet melodies.
                  All good reasons to get back in his truck and floor it. As First Lieutenant, Jake commanded a group of thirteen elite men into combat, and he did so well—even now, after suffering their first loss—but for the life of him he could not get it right with romance. He figured it was the way his brain was reduced to mush when his blood filled with need . And was disgusted with himself that at the age of thirty he hadn’t outgrown the sophomoric problem.
                  And this woman did that to him. Faster than any other woman he’d encountered. She had him before a word was spoken. She had him at fifty paces. He’d drawn closer and she’d noticed him—too late. He was already well into her personal space and that startled her. Good. A woman, alone and in the middle of nowhere, should have better radar.