Twelve military heroes.

Twelve indomitable heroines.

One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

Don’t miss a story in Harlequin Blaze’s

12-book continuity series, featuring irresistible

soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

Now serving—

those reckless and wild flyboys in the U.S. Air Force…

TAILSPIN

by Cara Summers

July 2011

HOT SHOT

by Jo Leigh

August 2011

NIGHT MANEUVERS

by Jillian Burns

September 2011

Uniformly Hot!—

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell!

Dear Reader,

One of the last movies River Phoenix ever made was called Dogfight. It was about a young marine about to ship off to Vietnam in 1963. He and his buddies throw a party the night before called a Dogfight. The guy who brings the ugliest girl wins. So River finds a plain girl and asks her to the party. At the last minute, he tries to back out, but it’s too late. Of course, she finds out what the party is really about, and he spends the rest of the night trying to make it up to her and ultimately falling for her.

River’s character is a deeply flawed young man, hardened by a brutal childhood, yet eventually redeemed by love. Ahh, my favorite kind of hero. My hero Mitch McCabe is a flawed, bitter guy, too. And I knew I’d need just the right heroine to make him believe in love. When Alex appeared in Let It Ride, I knew she was the right one for Mitch. Who better for him to trust implicitly than his best buddy?

Enjoy,

Jillian Burns

Night Maneuvers
Jillian Burns

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jillian Burns has always read romance, and spent her teens immersed in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennett. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty years and their three active kids. Jillian likes to think her emotional nature—sometimes referred to as moodiness—has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.

To Tommy

for putting up with my deadline crunch times.

To Pam and Linda—

as always, couldn’t do it without you.

And to Elizabeth,

for breaking the tie.

To Jennifer for great insights,

and to Barb for encouragement and support.

It really does take a village to raise a book.

And, as always, to my amazing editor Kathryn

for trusting that this story could be something,

despite everything, and making it so.

This book is dedicated to

all the children of alcoholics.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

1

IF SHE EVER got married in a place like this, her mother would weep and wail for a month of Sundays.

Captain Alexandria Hughes, unlikely bridesmaid, looked around the small Las Vegas chapel, taking in the garish pink and purple drapery swags and the fake marble pedestals holding bouquets of fake white roses. The dozens of white candles weren’t too bad, but…the Elvis impersonator in the cheap gold jacket would have to go.

Or maybe not. Maybe her mother would be so grateful if Alex ever married at all that Mom would even agree to let Elvis officiate.

The lone daughter in a family of three sons, Alex had been her mother’s only hope for all things girly. Unfortunately, Alex had always preferred roping calves to baking pies. But that had never stopped Mom from trying. Even after twelve years, she still hoped Alex’s Air Force career was merely a rebellious phase that would end when she met Mr. Right.

The wedding march suddenly blared from speakers. She let all thoughts of Mom slip to the back of her mind and turned with the dozen or so guests to watch the bride walk down the aisle.

God, Jordan looked beautiful in that strapless white dress. The material shimmered and the full skirt flowed down to the pink shag carpet and swished when she walked.

Alex flattened her palm and pushed at an ache in her stomach. Must be nerves for her friend. She could never rock a wedding dress like that. For one thing, she had nothing in front to hold it up. For another, she’d have tripped over all that material puddling around her feet.

Luckily, she’d obtained permission to wear her dress uniform even though the wedding wasn’t being held on base. She preferred her uniform to one of those froufrou dresses. Her uniform was familiar, comfortable. The only primping she’d done was shining her dress shoes and polishing her saber. The amount of fuss most women put into their looks had always seemed so ridiculous.

Until recently.

Major Cole Jackson, er…former Major Jackson of the U.S. Air Force—now Officer Jackson of the Las Vegas Police Department—beamed at his bride as she advanced down the aisle. Pure love for Jordan shone in his eyes and Alex felt a stab of…was that envy? Nah. Jackson was a good buddy. After what he’d been through in Iraq, he deserved happiness. She’d about busted a gut cheering for them when he and Jordan had announced their engagement.

It was just the look that came over Jackson whenever he gazed at his fiancée. Like she was the missing part of his soul. Even the toughest airman might get a little knot in his throat watching that. Even McCabe.

Alex glanced over at Captain Mitchell McCabe, aka the best man. Okay, so maybe not McCabe. He was too busy winking at the redheaded maid of honor standing in front of Alex.

She clenched her teeth. What a player. But she cleared her expression and smiled as Jordan stepped up and took her groom’s hand.

The vows were short and sweet, even with Elvis curling his lip and swinging his hips to punctuate each statement. Pastor Elvis pronounced Jackson and Jordan husband and wife and then Alex and five of her fellow uniformed officers pivoted to face each other, drew their sabers, and formed the arch.

Jackson—looking fit and strong in a simple black tuxedo—extended his elbow to his bride. They passed beneath the arch and kissed. After Lieutenant Colonel Grady issued the command to return sabers to belts, everyone headed into the next room for cake and champagne.

Whew. It was over. Maybe now Alex could get something to drink and go prop up a wall somewhere. She removed her white gloves and spent the next twenty minutes nursing her beer and glaring at McCabe’s seduction routine as he hit on the redhead.

Never mind his practiced words. All Mitch had to do was stand there and women flocked to him. Even with the short military cut, his blond hair begged for a woman’s fingers to run through it. His mischievous light blue eyes and tall, muscular build were simply icing on the cake. And when he smiled? Forget it, women were down for the count. Those twin dimples were the strongest weapon in his arsenal, and even his slightly crooked teeth only added charm to his deadly grin.

Fury ramped up as Alex watched him. When she’d returned to Nellis Air Force base after a two-year stint at Langley, she’d hoped to find he’d gotten past his I’ve-been-screwed-by-my-ex-wife-and-now-I’m-just-here-for-the-party phase. But it’d been seven years since his divorce, and, if anything, McCabe was worse now. She’d thought losing that bet with Jackson, forcing him to be celibate, might be the beginning of change for Mitch. But he’d seemed to make it through the ordeal unscathed.

“Alex, come get in the picture.” Jordan took her elbow and led her to stand in front of the table where the cake and punch had been served.

The photographer fiddled with the tripod.

McCabe lined up next to Alex as Jordan gathered more people into the picture. “Aren’t you going to find someone to go home with, Hughes?” McCabe murmured into her ear. After a dozen years of friendship, it irritated her how his Southern drawl still flowed through her core like premium oil through an engine. “It’s practically required at weddings, isn’t it?” He winked at the redhead.

“I think you’ve made the quota for both of us.” She swiped her hat out from beneath her arm and clasped it behind her back.

“Aw, Hughes.” McCabe grimaced. “What happened to you at Langley? Two years away from Nellis and you’re no fun anymore.” He scooted closer and placed his arm around her shoulder as Jackson and Grady took their places on either side of them. “I remember a time when we used to race to see which one of us could close the deal first.”

“Once. We did that once. Almost a decade ago.” When she’d have rather died than let her fellow cadets know she was a virgin. Her mission that night had been to find some guy she’d never see again, get laid and get it over with. Geez, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Has it been that long?” He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously and his teeth gleaming white.

She scowled. “Not long enough, I guess.” Not if Mitch was still strutting around like a stag during mating season. He hadn’t gotten any better since she’d transferred out of here for Langley.

Following the photographer’s instructions, she scrunched in and placed a hand on McCabe’s back. As she smelled his expensive sandalwood cologne her stomach dipped like she’d just rolled her F-16. Damn it. She refused to let him get to her anymore. He was the reason she’d asked to transfer out of Nellis. She’d moved hundreds of miles away trying to extinguish whatever she might have imagined she felt for him.

It had hurt to see him drinking and sleeping around after the divorce. She’d understood it. Up to a point. But she’d finally had to put some distance between herself and her buddy. Watching him become more and more callous had broken her heart.

Now she was just annoyed. Ever since she’d been stationed back in Vegas, resentment burned in her gut watching him continue to behave like a shallow serial dater. She’d hoped in time his flame of hatred for his ex would burn itself out. But she could see now that Mitch McCabe was determined to be nothing more than a walking booty call.

As the camera flashed, she forced a smile, and then stalked off toward the restrooms.

MITCH WATCHED HUGHES storm away. Something nagged at him. He was glad she was done with her internship at Langley, but his buddy had changed since she’d transferred back to Nellis last year. What was eating her?

While the bride and groom posed for more pictures with family, Mitch checked his Tag Heuer. Ten o’clock already. And a Friday night. How much longer was this shindig going to last? The only single woman in the room was that saucy redheaded friend of Jordan’s. She’d flirted for a while before telling him she already had a boyfriend. Mitch’s most important rule where women were concerned: no poaching. He sure as hell wouldn’t do to some other poor schmuck what had been done to him.

Finally it looked as if the newlyweds were taking their leave. Jackson was acting like a lovesick fool, hanging all over his bride as if he had emphysema and she was oxygen. Even their buddy Grady—Mr. Control Freak—in an embarrassing public display of affection, had his wife, Lily, wrapped in his arms as he kissed her neck. Lily had wasted no time reeling the poor sucker in last year. And now that he’d returned from his tour of duty in Iraq Grady couldn’t go two sentences at work without mentioning his wife.

When Hughes reappeared, Mitch sauntered over. He shook his head and rocked back on his heels. “Pathetic,” he said under his breath. “First Grady falls on his sword, and now Jackson, slipping the matrimonial noose around his neck.”

“Jordan and Lily aren’t like Luanne, Mitch,” Hughes said.

Pain stabbed his chest at the mention of her name. He couldn’t believe Hughes had brought up his ex. Hughes knew, more than anyone else, how Luanne had destroyed him. “All women are the same, Hughes.”

She glared at him, her hands curled into fists. “Are you saying I’m like Luanne?”

He blinked down at her. “No, but you’re not really like…a woman.”

Hughes’s eyes narrowed to slits, and splotches of red appeared on her cheeks. “Not like a woman?” She ground the words between her teeth.

“Of course not.” How could that piss her off?

“McCabe, you may be the most clueless male on the planet. If I didn’t think it would upset Jordan, I’d take you outside right now and rip you a new one.”

Mitch smiled. This was the Hughes he knew how to deal with. “You and what squadron?”

The bride and groom approached and Hughes gave McCabe a menacing glare before turning to accept Jordan’s hug.

Jackson slapped him on the back and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “McCabe, you dog. Your thirty days start today, buddy,” Jackson announced.

Mitch stiffened. “What?”

“Remember last year you lost the bet and had to play monk for a month? You couldn’t believe I was thinking of settling down with Jordan. And you once said if I ever got married you’d do without for another month.” Jackson lifted one brow.

“Now, wait a minute.” Mitch shook his head. Dread hit him low in the gut. “That wasn’t technically a bet.”

Jackson’s mouth crept up in a slow grin. “So, you don’t stand by your word.”

“Of course I do!” Mitch’s insides chilled as the legitimacy of Jackson’s challenge settled over him like a bad case of the flu. He’d forgotten he made that promise to his buddy. Celibate for another thirty days? Last time he’d been somewhat prepared. Not because he was sure Jordan would give in and sleep with Jackson, but mostly because Mitch hadn’t minded going without if that meant his buddy had a good time with the beautiful blonde. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel, scowling at the ground. One glance at Hughes showed her smirking. The angry, hell-bent glint in her eye gave him the willies.

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder, bringing Mitch’s attention back to the departing couple just as Jackson turned to his smiling bride and gave her a deep, promising kiss. The jerk did it just to rub in what Mitch would be missing.

Then, with one last wave, the newlyweds headed outside to their waiting limo. At the door, Jordan glanced over her shoulder and tossed her bouquet.

Mitch felt a small measure of satisfaction when the cluster of flowers slapped Hughes in the face and landed in her hands before she could duck for cover. “Damn it,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Jordan should have been a bombardier with that kind of aim.”

Hughes turned on him, her eyes blazing like laser-guided missiles. “You better get a wrist brace, McCabe.” She gave him a surprisingly wicked smile. “’Cause for the next thirty days, your right hand’s gonna be your best buddy.” She marched out the door.

Geez, what had he ever done to her?

2

NOT LIKE A woman? Alex fumed. That was the third time McCabe had accused her of not being a woman. They were fighting words Alex could ignore no longer.

Of course, she’d strived her entire career to be treated equally. To not be thought of as a weak female. But still, it wasn’t as if she was some genderless life-form. She was a woman.

And now that McCabe had gotten himself celibate again, this was the perfect time to show him just how true that was.

Within seven days, she’d formulated a plan and put it into action. Once Jordan returned from her Bahamas honeymoon, Alex had called to beg her help with a makeover. And Jordan hadn’t hesitated when Alex explained her mission. In fact, she’d heard Jordan squeal before she shouted a resounding yes!

But now, after spending almost four hours being peeled, plucked and processed at a salon, and another three shopping at Jordan’s favorite department store, Alex was rethinking her need to teach McCabe a lesson. “How do women do this all the time?” she whined as she tried to balance in the four-inch stilettos. “I’d rather shovel manure from my parents’ stables.”

“Hey, do you want to make Casanova McCabe pay, or don’t you?”

“You’re right.” Alex squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “Suck it up, Hughes,” she mumbled to herself.

All she had to do was picture the look of complete dismissal on Mitch’s face when he’d said she wasn’t like a real woman. If she had to break both her ankles trying to walk in these torture devices, she was going to make Captain Mitchell McCabe fully aware that she was a woman. A real, live, desirable female. And then she’d make him sorry he’d been born.

Jordan smiled and waved a hand. “I’m having fun. And you gotta admit the results are worth it.” She turned Alex toward the full-length mirror in the shoe section of the department store. “Just look how the high heels and pointed toes elongate your legs.”

Alex frowned at her poor feet jammed into the sheer red chiffon. She hadn’t realized this famous shoe designer was a disciple of the Marquis de Sade. “Yeah, my legs will look real long sticking up in the air after I fall flat on my ass trying to walk in these things.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, girl.” Jordan nudged her shoulder. “You just need practice. One foot in front of the other, heel to toe…”

Grumbling under her breath, Alex wobbled away, the muscles in her ankles screaming for mercy.

“Sway your hips just a little—no, not that much.”

Alex adjusted her sway. This was ridiculous. She felt like a moron.

“Head up, don’t watch your feet.”

What? How could she make sure she didn’t trip if she couldn’t watch her feet?

“Good, now turn—slowly. Put one hand on your hip.”

She was kidding, right? Did women really go through all this just to attract a man? She stuck a fist on her hip.

“Now come back toward me and watch yourself in the mirror. See how the new, subtle highlights in your hair soften your complexion and the new cut accentuates your cheekbones?”

Whatever. If Jordan said so. Alex smiled and nodded when Jordan asked her to try the walk again. And again. If she could survive The Spa Dragon, she could live through anything. Even—God help her—shopping. The facial had been kind of nice until the Dragon had told Alex her skin was “appallingly dry” and asked about her skin care regime.

Regime? Um…soap. Water.

The Dragon had looked as if she wanted to call security and have Alex thrown out until she’d agreed to buy the entire package of cleansers, exfoliators and moisturizers.

The pedicure and manicure had felt wonderful, but regulations forbade the bloodred nail polish that Jordan wanted her to get. The color would so clash with her combat boots and camo. She chuckled at the thought, lost her balance and teetered over, grabbing a stack of shoeboxes on her way down. An entire row of boxes and shoes came crashing on top of her as she landed hard on her butt.

Jordan rushed over. “Oh, my gosh, are you okay?”

“Nothing bruised but my pride.” She tried to get her feet under her to stand.

“No, no, Alex! Not like that. Knees together.”

“What? How the—” She clamped her mouth shut at Jordan’s raised brow. “Okay, okay.” Alex somehow managed to stand with her knees together and smoothed down the little black dress Jordan said was an essential piece in every woman’s wardrobe. Of course, she’d said that about every item in the five shopping bags full of new clothes.

“Um…Alex?”

“Yeah?” She hobbled over to a bench and lifted a throbbing ankle onto her knee.

“We’ve got one more stop to make. Something I didn’t think of until you—well, until a moment ago.”

“Does it involve shopping? Do we have to?”

“Do you want to make him crazy, or don’t you?”

Reserves of strength straightened her spine. “I want that womanizing jerk brought to his knees.” She rubbed the ball of her poor, tormented foot.

“Then follow me, Captain Hughes.”

After paying for the shoes plus two other pairs of heels, Alex followed Jordan across the department store to the section devoted to undergarments. Good grief. The fancy pieces of nothing came in every style, size and color imaginable. Alex usually bought her plain white undies by the six-pack at the commissary. She’d never seen the point in spending good money on something no one would see anyway. But now…

She wandered around feeling completely overwhelmed until she spotted a violet-red thong and bra set made entirely from scraps of flimsy lace. Bet it would itch like crazy. But it seemed like just the sort of thing to drive a guy like Mitch absolutely wild. Not that she ever planned on him seeing it, but it would certainly help her feel sexy.

With a wicked grin, she found her bra size and took it to the dressing room.

3

SITUATION REPORT—DAY EIGHT: tolerable.

If Mitch had known when he’d patted the sleeping brunette’s butt and slid out of her bed two weeks ago that she’d be the last woman he’d have sex with for an entire month, he might have stayed the night for once.

Nah.

In his apartment off-base in Vegas, Mitch stood at the open refrigerator door staring at his options for dinner. He could handle doing without for thirty days. Last time hadn’t been that bad even when he’d been on leave and partying every night on the Las Vegas Strip. All he had to do this time was avoid temptation.

Should be easy enough to do if he only went from work to home and back. He had plenty to keep his mind occupied. Air combat training. Classroom instruction. Changing the oil in his Jeep. Organizing his CD collection in alphabetical order.

And then there was always television…

He pulled his frozen dinner from the microwave, plunked it down on the coffee table, and sat back on his leather sofa. Peeling the plastic back, he poked around at what was supposed to be Salisbury steak while grabbing the remote. Let’s see. Sunday night. He scrolled up the schedule of channels. Infomercial for the Girls Gone Wild DVD? No. Reruns of Babewatch—no! He punched the remote again. Desperate Housewives…

Screw this! A cold beer and a good game of eight ball was what he needed. Too bad Lily had Grady on such a short leash nowadays. But Hughes was usually up for a game. Even a bad-tempered Hughes was better than no Hughes at all.

Even though they’d texted and emailed, he’d missed her while she’d been stationed at Langley. With Jackson fighting in the sandbox back then, and Grady…well, even before he married Lily, Grady had never been much for having a good time.

He pulled out his cell and punched Hughes’s number. After a couple of rings it went to voice mail so he left a message telling her to meet him at the officers’ club for a game of pool. Then he shoved off his sofa, grabbed his keys and hopped in his Jeep.

As Mitch pulled up to the officers’ club, he scanned the parking lot, but Hughes’s Mustang wasn’t there. Damn. Where was Hughes tonight? He pushed through the door and headed for the bar, ordering an appetizer and a draft of beer on tap. After finishing two beers and most of a plate of wings, he realized he’d been checking his watch for forty-five minutes. So, fine. She wasn’t coming.

Reaching for his wallet, he paid his bill and strolled toward the pool tables at the back of the room. Empty. Didn’t anyone else get out on a Sunday night? He chalked a cue stick, racked up the balls and had just lined up the first shot when he caught sight of a slinky red dress clinging to a cute little figure sauntering toward him. Her layered golden-brown hair blew around her heart-shaped face.

As his gaze traveled down her slim legs, his mouth went dry. He was a sucker for do-me stilettos like the ones she was gliding in.

He turned his back, hoping that ignoring the lady would get the message across, but he felt her come up behind him. He inhaled and some exotic perfume teased his senses and shifted his pulse into high gear. Damn it, where was his wingman when he needed her?

“You called my cell?”

Mitch spun so fast his cue stick hit the edge of the table, bounced up and almost whacked him in the face. “What the—” He looked the woman up and down, from her round pert breasts to her shapely legs, and back up to her face. “Hughes?” He choked on the word.

He squinted into her amber eyes. He’d never realized her eyes were more golden than brown. Or that she had such long lashes. Or that her lips were so…kissable.

He jerked away, bumping into the pool table. This was Hughes. His best bud. The grease monkey he called when his Jeep needed a new carburetor. Not some hot babe a guy thought about nailing. “Good God, Hughes, are you wearing makeup?”

Her lips tightened, and then she smiled and raised a feminine brow. “Alexandria.”

“What?” Was that his voice sounding all hoarse?

“My name is Alexandria.” She leaned closer, moistening her lips with a pink tongue.

“Alex—” he cleared his throat “—andria?” Was the AC broken? The room felt hotter than a Memphis summer. He tugged on his T-shirt. This just wasn’t right.

Her brows drew together and she lifted a dainty hand with soft pink nails to cup his cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

He flinched as if he’d been burned and scooted sideways, away from her scent and touch. But distance only gave him a better view of her incredible figure.

Mitch had seen her in a tank and shorts plenty of times, sweaty from a hard game of B-ball or a day in the Nevada heat under the hood of her Mustang. Now his imagination mutinied and envisioned her sweaty tank clinging to curves he’d never thought of her having before.

Damn, this wasn’t helping his problem. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other.

She glanced around and sauntered over to the rack of cue sticks.

The way she walked, so…soft and sexy. God, had Hughes always had such a luscious ass? It looked just the right size to cup in his hands.

Snap out of it, McCabe. She was up to her old tricks. He’d punked her but good a few months ago and now she was just trying to get him back. They’d been pulling pranks on each other since their academy days. It would serve Hughes right if Mitch took her home, stripped off that dress and found out what those ripe tits felt like in his palms. But he wasn’t about to break his word to Jackson. He still had twenty-two days of celibacy left. Maybe after that he could—

What was he thinking? He couldn’t sleep with his best bud. That would just be too weird.

“So, you want to play or what?”

Play? A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple.

She gestured toward the pool table.

Oh, pool. Right. She wanted to play pool. “Uh, sure.”

She turned and moved down the row of racks, inspecting the different sticks along the wall.

“You did this to yourself just for a practical joke?” he blurted out.

Her step faltered and she fell sideways into the cue sticks, sending them tumbling down.

Before he realized he’d moved, he caught her in his arms. She grabbed his shirt for balance as her ankles righted themselves. A horrified expression flickered over her face, and then was gone. He could feel her heat. Lust crawled over him. Intense. Unwanted.

She struggled out of his hold and stood on her own, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Her fingers slid over her flat stomach and down into the indentation between her pelvic bones, as if she was going to touch herself there.

He tried to swallow, but a hard lump blocked his throat.

A lieutenant appeared from behind Mitch and began picking up cue sticks and replacing them in their slots. “Is the lady with you, Captain?”

Mitch turned to the wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant. The guy was practically drooling, undressing Hughes with hungry eyes. Had Mitch flown through a wormhole in his Falcon this afternoon and landed in an alternate universe? He looked back at Hughes. “Uh…no.”

The lieutenant grinned and edged close to Hughes. “Well, pretty lady, can I buy you a drink?”

Hughes scowled at him. “No.”

“Aw, come on. Are you sure?” He put his arm around her waist and tugged her close against him.

The Hughes Mitch knew would’ve maneuvered out of the lieutenant’s hold, grabbed his thumb and bent it back to the point of breaking for calling her “pretty lady.” But this new Hughes grabbed the guy’s shoulders with wide-eyed surprise.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” The kid crooned as his hand slid down Hughes’ spine to the top of her butt. “I’m Drew.”

Mitch’s stomach cramped. He had a primal urge to crack the jackass’s jaw. Hughes wouldn’t actually go home with this kid. There were rules against fraternizing and he was pretty sure this guy was one of her students.

Hell, even if she was looking for some action, she could do better than smooth-talking Drew. But suddenly, that’s all he could picture, Hughes in bed with Drew, his hands all over her.

Mitch stepped between them and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s Captain Hughes to you, Drew. And if she needs a drink, I’ll take care of it. Now get the hell out of here.”

The lieutenant dropped Hughes like she was a live grenade. “Captain Hughes?” He stood at attention and saluted her. “Beg your pardon, ma’am.” He spun on his heel and marched off.

Hughes turned to Mitch and arched a beautifully shaped brow. An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Feeling possessive, McCabe?”

Her expression knocked the breath from Mitch’s lungs. He’d never seen Hughes look at him like that. He grimaced. “Hey, I was just watching out for your career. Taking that lieutenant home would shred it.”

Her smile dropped and she gave him a furious glare. “I told you when I met you, Lancelot, I don’t need you or anybody else to look out for me.”

“Apparently, you do,” he snarled back.

She reached behind her for a cue stick and brandished it like a sword. “You’re the one who’s going to need protection by the time I’m through with you. Rack ’em, McCabe.”

Mitch blinked. This was the old Hughes. “You’re on.”

She chalked her cue stick. “I’ll even let you break.”

“Let me?” With shaky hands and his pulse pounding in his temple as if he’d just climbed out of his cockpit, Mitch broke and called solids, but missed the first shot. Damn it.

She messed with his mind dressing up like this. He needed to get his mojo back, pronto, or she’d end up beating him.

Hughes was all business as she approached the table. She took her time examining possible shots from every angle, leaning over the edge until her heels lifted off the floor.

God, those heels. His gaze traveled from them to her delicate ankles and up her beautiful, smooth legs until they ended at the hem of her skirt. His imagination filled in where sight left off. He pictured his hands caressing their way up her thighs beneath the dress. What kind of panties would she wear? Would they be—

Holy crap, was he actually wondering about Hughes’s underwear? What was the matter with him? He’d seen plenty of ladies in short red dresses. He’d taken dozens to his bed in all kinds and colors of under things.

But this was Hughes. In the twelve years he’d known her, he’d never seen her like this. He needed another beer. Hell, he needed ten beers.

Finally, she took her shot and sunk the ball. She moved around to the other side of the table and bent over to line up her stick for the next shot.

Mitch swallowed. He could glimpse the rounded swell of her breasts. His palms were sweating and, against his will, his body tightened. He’d never noticed how sexy her small breasts were. In fact, he hadn’t thought about her actually having breasts since they’d first met. And worse, he could see the lacy edge of a red bra clinging to the soft flesh. She probably wore matching panties….

No matter how many quantum physics equations he went over in his head, he couldn’t get ol’ Mac to make a tactical retreat. At another time, with any other woman, he would have already suggested they go back to her place. But this was obviously what Hughes had planned. To torment him. What had ever made him suggest that idiotic bet to Jackson?

No, he should leave now and take care of his problem the only way left to him. And wouldn’t Hughes just love it if she knew. After that smart-ass remark at the wedding…

Mitch swiped the back of his hand over his upper lip as he watched Hughes move around the table, bending over, the dress tightening around her cute backside. And she sank damn near every stripe. She finally missed the ten and Mitch got his chance to redeem himself. As she walked past him, she shrugged. “Let’s see what you can do with your balls, McCabe.”

Normally, Mitch would’ve laughed and maybe shoved her shoulder. The line was pure Hughes. But the woman who said it…wasn’t. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. He ran a hand through his hair and rechalked his cue stick. He took another deep breath while he studied the table. Then bent over and lined up his stick. He could do this.

Just as he drew back his stick and hit the cue ball, she came into his line of sight, bending over from the waist to fiddle with her shoe, and he scratched. Not just the shot, but the damn cue ball. Goddammit! Hughes had beaten him at eight ball before. But never because he’d been distracted by her.

In a temper, he rounded the table, closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. “All right, Hughes! You’ve had your fun.” He gestured at her dress. “But this isn’t you.”

She jerked out of his grasp, braced her hands on the edge of the pool table behind her and hoisted herself up to sit on it. She overshot the table and her dress hiked up, but he wasn’t about to help her. He wasn’t going near her.

With a toss of her head she crossed her shapely legs and the hem of her dress rose halfway up her thighs. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Her brows drew together and she bit her bottom lip.

Aw, man. Mitch had seen her do that a million times, but tonight it looked so damn sexy. Made him want to take her bottom lip between his teeth.

Her stubborn chin lifted and she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I have a tattoo.”

A tattoo? That was no surprise. Most guys in the military had something on their arm or—

“Down where no man has ever seen it.”

He swallowed, pImages** flashing through his mind. Would it be on her ass? Or maybe in the front, down low inside her little red panties…

“And I love to slip into a hot bubble bath at night.”

Bubble bath? Hughes? Now he was picturing her wet, glistening skin, rising from a steaming tub. He blinked the image away. That was just what she wanted him to picture. “Next you’ll be telling me you read romance novels and drink White Zin while you’re in there.”

“And what if I do?”

“Aw, come on, Hughes. Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“McCabe, you dog.” Major Sanders, a desk jockey in Civil Air Patrol, came up to them. “What do you think you’re really going to do with this gorgeous woman, huh?”

Flanked by his two buddies, Sanders slowly moved over to Hughes, took her hand and bent to kiss the back of it. “Enchanté, madame,” he drawled. “What brings you to our humble officers’ club?”

“Oh.” She graced Sanders with a sultry smile. “I’m interested in having some fun.”

“Is that so?” Sanders glanced back at McCabe with a triumphant smirk. “You realize McCabe here has taken a vow of chastity?” He smiled into her eyes and his buddies laughed. “He can’t do anything tonight but beat you at pool, darling.”

Hughes’s gaze darted to Mitch, uncertainty crossing her features. “He’s not even doing that.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow at her. Sanders wasn’t a bad guy. A bit competitive, but mostly harmless.

Her expression hardened, and she turned back to Sanders, who still held her hand. “Buy me a drink, Major?” She jumped off the table and sidled up next to him.

Sanders grinned. “Sure thing, uh…you’re going to think this is a line, but you look familiar. What’s your name, darling?”

Mitch smirked. Sanders didn’t recognize her.

“Alexandria.” Mitch winced as Hughes tried fluttering her eyelashes. It appeared as if she had something painful in her eyes.

“What’re you drinking, Alexandria?” one of Sanders’s buddies asked.

“I’ll take a JD, clean. And make it a double.”

Sanders’s buddy took off to get her drink.

“That’s a hard drink for such a soft woman, Alexandria.” Sanders’s overt flirting knew no shame as his hands came to rest on her waist.

Mitch curled his fists to keep from interfering. What was it to Mitch if she slept with the guy? Or all three of them, for that matter. Besides, he knew good and well she could throw a mean punch. He’d seen her defend herself in worse situations. Like that night in Guam when he’d gotten revenge for the practical joke she’d played on him…

But she’d been in her camos then, and her steel-toed combat boots. He shook his head. Not his problem. Those heels of hers were lethal enough.

Mitch cleared his throat and tapped Sanders on the shoulder. “Uh, if you could move your little party somewhere else, I’d like to finish my game.” He gestured to the shot he’d missed on the pool table.

“Sure thing, Monk-man.” Sanders gave him a malevolent grin before backing away, with Hughes still in his arms.

Mitch clenched his teeth, but smiled back at Sanders. Let the guy gloat. He wasn’t worth a formal reprimand, even if Mitch did long to kick his lily-white butt.

“EXCUSE ME, YOU MISSED THE SHOT, it’s my turn.” Alex couldn’t tolerate Sanders’s hands on her another second. She twisted out of his hold, stumbled in the heels again, and maneuvered herself across the table from Mitch. She tried to strike a sexy pose like Jordan had taught her. Shoulders back, chest out, one hand on her hip…

“You got back problems, Alexandria?” Mitch glanced up from retrieving his cue stick.

She opened her mouth to give a biting reply, but Sanders’s buddy returned with her drink. “Thanks.” She snatched it from his hand and downed the double shot in one swallow.

The guys had followed her around, and Sanders stepped close and put his hand just below the small of her back where her thong strap was. She jerked and barely refrained from grabbing his thumb and twisting it from its socket. She wanted to make Mitch jealous, but if Sanders didn’t keep his hands to himself, she was going to elbow him in the gut.

Mitch moved around the table, rubbing his bristled jaw. His facial hair was only slightly darker than the sun-bleached hair on his head. Just like the hair on his chest and arms, and…down there, too? “Excuse me, Alexandria.” He stood beside her, gesturing to the table. “Are you going to play or not?”

Appalled at her straying thoughts, she snatched up her cue stick, lined up her shot, and sunk the ball.

“Jeez, McCabe, you must have lost your balls in that bet to let a woman beat you,” Sanders taunted.

“As a matter of fact—” Mitch drawled.

“Why don’t you shut the hell up?” Alex straightened and spun to face Sanders.

Sanders barked out a laugh. Ignoring her, he still addressed Mitch. “You such a wuss you let a woman fight your battles now, too?”

Fury churning in her gut, she stomped her stiletto on Sanders’s instep.

He hollered like a kid and bent over to grab his foot. “What the f—”

“Maybe next time you’ll keep your wiseass comments and your hands to yourself.”

“Hughes!” Mitch grabbed her arms from behind and pulled her away. “Sorry, Sanders, you know what a temper Hughes has.” Alex could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hughes?” Sanders glared at her while he held his foot. “This woman is Captain Hughes? I thought Hughes was—”

“Thought I was what?” She tried to launch herself at him again, but Mitch wrapped his arms around her chest and squeezed her to him. “Let me go.” She struggled to be released.

“Calm down and I will,” he said between grunts as he dragged her out of the club into the hot, dry desert air. “He isn’t worth a demotion.”

“Let him report me!” She quit struggling once they made it to her Mustang, but Mitch still held her tight, his muscled arms like a band of titanium around her rib cage.

“Come on, Hughes. You think he’ll want to explain that injury to his C.O.?” Mitch’s Tennessee drawl sent an ache straight to her core. Her chest rose and fell in deep gulping breaths, adrenaline still rushing through her veins. She became aware of Mitch’s forearms just under her breasts, and she could feel his breath along her temple. Every inch of his hard body pressed against her back, enveloping her.

She looked down to study the masculine hands that had featured in more than one erotic dream these last dozen years. They were rough worker’s hands, with veins that stood out when he had them clenched, like now. Slowly, she ran one finger along a vein, then took his hand and moved it up to cup her breast.

A deep moan escaped him and he leaned his head against hers. “Hughes, why are you doin’ this?” There was an edge of desperation in his voice as his other hand moved to cup the other breast and he pushed his thick erection against her butt.

Desire and a deep sense of satisfaction spiraled through her. After tonight he’d never again think of her as just one of the guys. She closed her eyes and pressed back against him, covering his hands with hers. “You still think I’m not a real woman?”

“What?”

“At the wedding you said I wasn’t a real woman.”

“Aw, Hughes.” Breathing harshly, he kneaded her breast over her dress and rubbed his fingers over one tight nipple. “I meant that in a good way.” She harrumphed, but his warm lips traveled down from her temple to the side of her neck, placing succulent kisses along the way. All else was forgotten.

Alex tilted her head to give him access to that spot behind her ear. But why stop there? Why not do what she’d wanted to do for so long? She spun in his arms, fastened her hands behind his neck and covered his mouth with hers.

At first he didn’t respond, tried to pull away, but within a second or two he half growled, half groaned and took control of the kiss, sweeping his lips over hers, plunging his tongue in to lap inside.

At last. This was what she’d wanted for so long. His mouth moving over hers, his body pressed to hers. Her arms snaked around his shoulders, holding him like she’d never let him go. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t. And he felt it, too. Whatever this was between them was strong. She’d known it for a long time. Oh, Mitch. Yes.

He yanked away, breathing fast, and wiped his hand over his mouth.

She stared into his baby blues, so full of passion. Yes. That’s what she’d wanted. To make him notice her as a woman. To make him want her the way she—

“Hughes, I can’t. Not now.” He let out a long breath. “I gave my word. I still have three weeks.”

As if the spell had been broken, she blinked, dropped her arms from his shoulders, and stepped back. With a strange sense of detachment, she noticed his fancy watch glint in the moonlight. The haze of lust dissipated and a chill settled over her. What had she done? How could she have let herself go there? She’d almost believed he could have feelings for her.

Of course he wanted to do her now. That’d been her goal with this prank, hadn’t it? She shook her head, acknowledging in her heart what her mind had known all along. He was only interested because now he saw her as just another female to warm his bed.

She clenched her jaw and made herself snort. “I’m not going to sleep with you, McCabe.” She folded her arms. Twelve years of frustration welled up inside her. “Not now. Not in three weeks. Not ever.”

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