Subject: Chief Warrant Officer Hunter Cross

Mission: Keep Margaret Barlow distracted…using any means necessary!

Ranger Hunter Cross is the army poster child—excitement, danger and no strings in sight. And he’s been in town exactly three hours before a curvy blonde named Maggie flashes him a look that says “You belong in my bed.” It’s a night of wicked satisfaction. And it’s a night they can never repeat….

All Professor Maggie Barlow wanted was orgasm—or three—from the dead-sexy Ranger. Having him as her official army liaison while she works on her new book? That wasn’t in the plan. Especially when she learns that Hunter has orders to “control” her. Little does the army know that when it comes to their deliciously naughty nighttime activities, Hunter is at Maggie’s complete command….

Uniformly Hot!

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.

Twelve military heroes. Twelve indomitable heroines. One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

Mills & Boon® Blaze®’s bestselling miniseries continues with another year of irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

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MISSION: SEDUCTION

by Candace Havens

COMMAND PERFORMANCE

by Sara Jane Stone

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by Isabel Sharpe

A SOLDIER’S CHRISTMAS

by Leslie Kelly, Joanne Rock and Karen Foley

UNIFORMLY HOT!

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to be able to share my debut Mills & Boon Blaze novel with you! I’ve been a fan of Blaze’s supertalented authors for years and am honored to join their ranks with Command Performance.

Have you ever wanted to set aside all the things you should do and just do something for yourself? Meet Maggie, a woman whose life is defined by responsibility. But for one night she wants to set everything else aside and go after what she wants—a man who can make her fantasies come true. But what happens when Maggie discovers her one-night stand holds the key to her professional success?

U.S. Army Ranger Hunter Cross loves his job. And he’s the perfect man for Maggie’s one night of wild sex. He possesses a drool-worthy body and he excels at taking charge, especially in the bedroom. And as their relationship grows, Hunter becomes the one person in Maggie’s life who takes care of her for a change.

I loved writing about a woman discovering herself and her needs, some emotional and some sexual. I hope you enjoy Maggie’s journey, too.

And I would love to hear from you! Please visit my website, www.sarajanestone.com, where I will be sharing my journey down the road to publication, behind-the-scenes details on the inspiration behind my U.S. Army Rangers and much more. Or find me on Facebook at Sara Jane Stone.

Happy reading!

Sara Jane Stone

Command

Performance

Sara Jane Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After several years on the other side of the publishing industry, SARA JANE STONE bid goodbye to her sales career to pursue her dream—writing romance novels. Armed with a firm belief that dreams do come true, she sat down at her keyboard to write fun, sexy stories like the ones she loved to read. Sara Jane currently resides in Brooklyn, New York, with her very supportive real-life hero, two lively young children and a lazy burmese cat. Visit her online at www.sarajanestone.com, or become a fan of Sara Jane Stone on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter, @sarajanestone.

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To Jill and Brenda,

for making this story shine and for helping me

get it into readers’ hands.

To my parents,

who always believed I should be a writer.

To my children,

thank you for napping, and for being

the top two reasons I love having a job

that allows me to stay at home.

To my husband,

for supporting and believing in me.

You’re my hero forever and always.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Excerpt

Prologue

“WHERE IS THE CHOCOLATE?” Maggie Barlow stood on her front porch, the door to the three-story mansion that had been in her family for generations open behind her, allowing the cooled air to escape into the hot July night. She watched her best friend since the second grade march up the steps with a pair of four-inch stilettos in her hand. Not a bakery box in sight.

“You need these more.” Olivia thrust the shoes at her.

Maggie looked down at the shiny white stilts she held and frowned. Twenty-four hours earlier, she’d caught her supposedly stable and reliable fiancé with his pants down—literally—and his nineteen-year-old research assistant bent over his desk wearing nothing but a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs. She needed double-fudge brownies, not shoes.

In a lime-green sundress and pink platform sandals, Olivia looked as if she’d wandered away from a tropical vacation, not the upscale art gallery she managed. She marched into the foyer. “Come with me. I need to look in your closet.”

“I ended things with Derrick,” Maggie said, following Olivia to the second story. “You thought I was crazy to marry a man because we had similar careers and interests. You said I was making the safe choice and turning my back on love because it was too messy. You hated him. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“Oh, we will, but not here. I have a plan.” Olivia led the way to Maggie’s bedroom and pointed to the neatly made bed. “Sit while I find something for you to wear.”

Maggie set the heels on the floor. They were beautiful shoes, but not for her. As a rule, she opted for sensible flats. She looked up as clothing flew out of her walk-in closet. Gray and black suits—boring, take-me-seriously work clothes perfect for a political science professor with a specialty in military studies—landed in a pile on the floor as Olivia searched for something she deemed appropriate for her “plan.”

“You’re lucky there’s a car show at the Hudson Valley fairgrounds this weekend.” Olivia emerged from the closet holding the skinny jeans Maggie didn’t intend to wear outside the house until she gave up linguine Alfredo. Her friend tossed them on the bed and turned back to the closet. “Put these on while I find you a shirt.”

Maggie went over to the growing pile of business suits. Piece by piece, she picked them up and carefully placed each one over the back of her armchair. “Why would we go to a car show?”

Olivia reappeared with a backless green shirt. “The guys there will love your grandfather’s vintage Mercedes.”

“The Mercedes is in the shop. I’m renting a Toyota for the weekend.” Her late grandfather’s car spent about as much time in the shop as it did out of it.

“You could afford a new one,” Olivia pointed out.

“But I love that car. It reminds me of happier times.” Before she’d lost her mother, before her grandfather passed away from a heart attack and before her father returned from war broken, unable to handle the fact that two bullets in the thigh had ended his career with the U.S. Army Rangers. “And why should anyone at a car show care what I’m driving?”

Olivia picked up the clothes she’d selected and held them out to Maggie. “Because we’re going to find you a man. I did a Google search for the top ten places to meet men, and ‘car show’ was in the top five. It outranked baseball games. Now get dressed.”

Maggie froze, the clothes in her arms. “I just ended my engagement. I don’t need to meet another man. I need to focus on work. I have to face a room full of generals at West Point on Monday morning. They’re in town for the president’s speech later this week, and the army’s demanding I speak with them before they’ll grant me access to the team of Rangers I need to interview for my book. This six-man team rode horses belonging to an Afghan warlord to rescue three female aid workers. They’re heroes. Modern-day cowboys. If I can secure these interviews, I’ll be able to share their accomplishments with the world.”

Olivia put her hands on her hips. “You can prepare for your big meeting tomorrow. Tonight we’re going out.”

Maggie shook her head and set the clothes back on the bed. “Liv, I can’t. I have four months to finish this book. My publisher wanted it yesterday. The war is essentially over and my editor is afraid the readers who bought the recent bestseller about the SEALs mission won’t care about what happened during the war once all the soldiers are home. If I don’t research and write it fast, they’ll find another author. They only picked me because I told them I could get access.”

“You have a savings account and a home you own free and clear—you don’t need to work.”

“Thanks to my grandfather,” Maggie interrupted. Her grandfather had been her rock, raising her after her mother passed away while her father was deployed overseas. Her grandfather had been born to wealth and had chosen to serve his country when he could have lived off his savings. In her mind, he’d always been a hero, even though he’d never been recognized for his accomplishments on the battlefield. Unlike her father, who’d received medals and accolades for a military career that had destroyed him.

“But his fortune will run out eventually,” Maggie continued. “And it doesn’t provide the same stability as a career of my own. This could be my breakout book. Aside from my students and colleagues, no one bought my first one.”

“I did,” Olivia said. “But you wrote about a bunch of marines sitting around and waiting. It was boring.”

“It was an important reconnaissance mission,” Maggie said defensively. “That mission, well, never mind about that. If I hit the bestseller lists with my sophomore publication, I’ll be a shoo-in for tenure at the college. Tenure is about as close as you can get to a lifetime of job security.”

Even her best friend, who’d stood by her through the loss of her grandfather and her father’s drinking, couldn’t understand. Maggie needed to succeed. If she let her control slip, let one responsibility fall by the wayside, her life would collapse like a series of dominos. She’d watched her father’s world crumble when he’d started drinking after his injury, taking hers with it until she’d learned to keep food in the house and the bills paid. But now that her dad had passed away, and she was on her own, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep her own world from falling apart again.

“One night, Maggie. You need to do something for yourself. Something wild. You’ve been taking care of others for too long. You need to let go. Let someone take care of you and your needs for once. You need a sexual adventure.”

Maggie felt her eyes widen. “A sexual adventure? You’re suggesting I pick up a man? At a car show?” Common sense told her it was a ridiculous plan, but parts of her body that had no business making decisions tingled and begged her to say yes.

“Exactly. Your greatest excitement shouldn’t be a calorie splurge at the bakery.” Olivia picked up the clothes and held them out. “Now get dressed. You can’t find a one-night stand wearing yoga pants. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Maggie sank onto the bed, her hands clutching the ridiculous shoes. She’d never be able to walk in them, but it was tempting, oh, so tempting to kiss her carefully planned life goodbye for a few hours.

But a one-night stand? When was the last time she’d done that? College. She was twenty-eight years old and the best sex she’d ever had was in college. But even then it hadn’t been adventurous or wild.

She closed her eyes. Until yesterday, she’d never have guessed her ex-fiancé would be into on-the-desk sex. And she’d never asked, never said, “that’s what I want.” But no girl who’d spent her high school and college years caring for an alcoholic dad instead of dating would be comfortable saying “this is what I need in bed,” would she?

Maggie opened her eyes and reached for the skinny jeans, her hands trembling even as determination welled inside her. Olivia was right. She needed to do something for herself. She was tired of being that girl who was too afraid to ask for what she wanted from a man. Tired of being the caretaker, the writer, the teacher and, worst of all, the dutiful fiancée who got screwed over by her ex. Tonight she was going after what she wanted—one night with a man who could make her sexual fantasies come true.

1

“GOODBYE, CONTROL,” MAGGIE muttered, her hands trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Hello, fantasy.”

She stepped into the car show refreshment tent and paused, her fingers playing with the clasp on her purse. Fans blasted, but she still feared she might break into a sweat. And wouldn’t that be attractive?

She forced her fingers to still. Sexy women, the ones who left men desperate to touch, possessed confidence, not anxiety. If she kept playing with that clasp, her bag might fall open and expose the box of ribbed-for-her-pleasure protection Olivia had given her in the car. Turning red with embarrassment wouldn’t help her confidence.

Why shouldn’t she feel confident? She was a career-oriented author and professor. And she knew she looked good tonight. She had big breasts and a trim waist—both of which were on display thanks to the backless green shirt Olivia had chosen. Wearing it meant Maggie had been forced to leave her bra at home.

She glanced down at the full D-cups pressing at the front of her shirt as if screaming to the room look at me! Had anyone noticed? Had one of these men caught sight of her and said, “Wow! I bet she would look great topless and bent over the hood of my car”? She scanned the tent and spotted a couple of men staring at her, their eyes never drifting above her chest.

“The shirt. It’s working,” Maggie murmured to her best friend.

Olivia stood half a step behind her, blocking the exit as if she feared Maggie might bolt at any moment. “Of course it is. Now all you have to do is walk to the bar and order a drink.”

Maggie nodded, squared her shoulders and wobbled to the bar, silently cursing Olivia for insisting she wear the four-inch heels. Her feet ached for her sensible, everyday flats. But she needed the height advantage. Without the stilettos, all five foot three inches of her would be lost in the sea of towering males.

And there were definitely Men here. Capital M. At the tables, on the folding chairs, leaning against the makeshift bar—muscular, don’t-mess-with-me Men. The type of guys she’d always admired from a distance, as if they were part of a display with a little sign that read Look, But Don’t Touch.

Tonight she wanted to touch.

Some wore uniforms, but most were dressed in civilian clothes. Still, their military-issue haircuts gave them away. They might be wearing jeans and T-shirts, but they were soldiers. Not that this was surprising. It made sense that a car show near a military academy would be overrun with soldiers and cadets. Most men liked cars. The guys in this tent probably spent 50 percent of their free time rebuilding their engines.

Not Maggie. She’d never even changed a flat tire. Not once.

Her nerves kicked into gear again. Her fingers drummed against her thighs as she picked her way through the crowd. She fought to quiet them and focus. She was on a mission. And it had nothing to do with car parts and everything to do with hard-bodied males.

When they reached the temporary wooden counter, Maggie signaled the bartender. “Vodka tonic, please.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything before adding a glass of white wine to the order.

Their drinks arrived and Maggie took a long sip from hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ordered hard liquor. She rarely drank the stuff, always afraid she might have inherited her father’s love of booze, and when she did have a drink, she generally preferred a glass or two of wine, or a beer on a hot summer afternoon. One sip of vodka and she was feeling warm and a little tipsy, which was surprisingly pleasant. It even dulled her desire to drive back down to Manhattan and hurl something at her ex. A few more of these and she might have the guts to follow through with Olivia’s crazy plan.

“Liv, you do realize most of these guys are soldiers. Probably half either teach at or attend West Point.” Maggie noticed she’d downed half her drink. “What if I end up having to deal with one of them while researching my book?”

“Relax, you won’t.” Olivia shook her head. “Anyway, I thought the men you were interviewing were based in Tennessee.”

“They are, but the generals are in town.”

Olivia reached over and patted her hand. “I promise I’ll make sure he’s not a general.”

“But I could never date a soldier.”

“It’s only for one night,” Olivia reminded her. “Why should you care what he does for a living if you’re not planning on seeing him beyond tonight? Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a mechanic. This is a car show.”

Maggie drained the rest of her drink. “What if I pick a guy and he turns me down?” Her nerves—and the vodka—sent her stomach into somersaults. “What if I make a complete fool of myself? It’s not like I have a lot of experience with men.”

“Look at me.” Olivia leaned closer. “You can do this. Now. Tonight. If you don’t, then duty, responsibility, your need to be the best at your job—it will smother you.”

Maggie held on to the bar with one hand as Olivia’s words sank in. Her sense of duty had started smothering her years ago when her father began drinking. This was her chance to escape. If she didn’t act now, she might lose the part of herself that craved orgasms. The part of herself that wished she’d told her fiancé she wanted wild sex on his desk and so much more.

“You’re right,” Maggie said softly.

Olivia smiled and signaled the bartender for a second round. “Now, look around. See anything you like?”

Feeling the vodka pulsing through her, Maggie boldly scanned the refreshment tent. What was she looking for? Muscles. The kind that came from the hard work required to transform a man into a soldier or from lifting engine parts. But four out of five guys in here looked like they could bench-press her one-handed. And thanks to her breasts, she wasn’t one of those hundred-pounds-soaking-wet women.

She took a second look and mentally eliminated about half of them. Too young. She wanted a man who knew things about sex. She wanted an orgasm that left her breathless, boneless and begging for more.

Her gaze landed on a green polo, tight but not too tight. And those biceps? They shouted touch me. Her eyes drifted over his shoulders to his face, framed by straight brown hair. She’d always liked brown hair. Staring at his profile—he was deep in conversation with an equally handsome but not quite as sexy man across the table—she could see his mouth curving upward in a half smile. Those lips. He had the type of mouth that begged a woman to say kiss me lower down, please.

Maggie clutched her drink and drew her gaze away from his face. Twelve months of unfulfilling sex had driven her mad if she was thinking about his lips kissing her there before she’d even said a word to the guy. She blinked and took in the rest of him. She could see the endless length of his legs stretched out beneath the table.

Her body tingled as she drank in the sight of him. With a long, sculpted body like that he must know how to do things, deliciously sinful, wild things that previously only existed in her fantasies. He turned and looked right at her, and then smiled. She tightened her grip on her nearly empty drink. Those eyes. That mouth. She’d bet her inheritance that man knew ten ways to give a woman the best orgasm of her life. If he looked at her like that much longer, she might come right here. Her thighs tightened at the thought. This man would say yes. He wouldn’t turn her down. Not after that look.

Maggie blinked and turned to the bartender. “Cancel the vodka tonic. Just water, please.”

The liquor had made her bold, maybe even a little reckless, but if she wished to remember every detail about tonight, she needed water. “Do you remember George Clooney when he was young? When he was on ER?”

“Oh, yeah.” Olivia took her wine from the bartender. “He was on the show when we first started watching it in high school.”

“Green polo, blue jeans at eight o’clock.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “He’s not your usual type.”

“He has George Clooney’s eyes. Bedroom eyes.” Maggie reached for her water and drained half the glass. “Tonight, he’s my type.”

2

CHIEF WARRANT OFFICER Hunter Cross knew a come-on look when he saw one. A look that said, I want you naked in my bed. Tonight.

He leaned back on his rickety wooden folding chair and let a slow smile spread across his face, a move he’d perfected at sixteen to get the captain of the debate team into the backseat of his mother’s car. He’d always had a thing for supersmart girls. Of course, he’d moved beyond sex in the backseat since high school, but not much. Commitment was a dirty word in his mind, and long-term made him shudder. Not even the woman at the bar with her soft shoulder-length curls or touch-me breasts would tempt him to change his mind.

Across the room, the blonde pursed her lips, unsure if she should proceed with their unspoken dance. That expression. It was a mix of bold and innocent, an intoxicating combination that went right to his crotch. He let his eyelids lower slightly.

“I know that look isn’t for me,” Riley, his friend and former team leader, said from across the table.

“The blonde at the bar. She just gave me a green light.”

Riley chuckled. “You’ve been in town for less than three hours and you’ve already found a woman.”

“Hey, I’ve been laid up in a hospital for two months.” Before that, he’d been in Afghanistan. He would have left unscathed if his team hadn’t been ordered to rescue three female aid workers traveling to a remote clinic. And thanks to a teammate’s mistake, he’d taken a bullet in the process.

“How’s your arm?” Riley asked, his expression serious.

“Fine.” Hunter rolled his shoulder. It still ached. Nothing the blonde couldn’t fix.

“Logan feels awful about how it all went down.”

Hunter started to say it wasn’t Logan’s fault, but stopped. They both knew it was. His friend and teammate had been distracted after losing his young wife to cancer before they shipped out, and as a result he’d messed up—and Hunter had been shot.

“Any thoughts about getting out? Resigning your commission?” Riley asked.

“Hell, no.”

“I heard one of those private security companies offered you a job,” Riley said quietly.

“Yeah, but you know me. I live for being a Ranger. Hell, I’m hoping they’ll give me your old job.” With Riley bowing out as head of their team, Hunter was in line for the job he’d always dreamed of and a pay hike. A small one. “I could sure use the extra cash.”

“Trust me, the pay bump is so small you’ll barely notice. It’s nothing compared to what those private companies pay.” Riley pulled out his wallet. “But I can help you out tonight. The beers are on me. I need to be getting home.”

“Curfew?”

“I like to be in bed with my wife before she falls asleep,” Riley replied with a smile. “If you ever settle down, you’ll understand.”

“I think I’d take another bullet before relinquishing my freedom.”

“Someday you’re going to eat those words. When the right woman comes along, you’re going to fall so hard you’ll give up everything to be with her. Everything.”

“Did they brainwash you when you made those vows?” Hunter joked. Riley didn’t know he’d already sacrificed everything he had for his sister. He had nothing left to provide for a wife and family of his own.

Riley laughed.

“Listen, I think it’s great what you’ve got,” Hunter said. “But I’m committed to the army. I’m dying to get back to active duty. Married life? It’s not for me.”

“If you say so.” Riley set a twenty on the table and stood. “Think you can catch a cab back to the hotel if things don’t work out with your green-light girl?”

That’s no girl, Hunter thought. She has “woman with needs” written all over her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way to bed.”

Riley slipped his wallet into his back pocket. “If you end up sticking around the area for a while, give me a call and I’ll drive down for another drink.”

“Will do. But next time I pick the venue. Not that I didn’t enjoy picking out replacement parts for your wife’s truck.”

Riley patted him on the shoulder, his good one. “Deal.”

Hunter’s gaze shifted to the cash on the table as his friend headed toward the exit. In the past, he’d have insisted on paying for his own beer. But right now, his cash flow situation was pretty dismal. If he hadn’t been ordered to fly up here when he’d been released from the physical therapy center, he would be crashing on one of his teammates’ couches until they were deployed again. With his sister back in rehab and all the bills coming to him, he could barely afford the beer in his hand.

Hunter took a long sip. In his book, family came first. Always. His sister was the only family he had left. He refused to lose her to a meth overdose.

“Mind if I join you?”

The soft words yanked Hunter away from his thoughts. The woman from the bar stood with one hand on the chair next to his, her blue eyes wide and uncertain. Her other hand maintained a death grip on her glass. Nerves, he guessed. She might be playing the part of the brazen blonde tonight, but he’d bet his next paycheck that casting come-hither looks at strangers wasn’t a habit.

Hunter smiled and stood to pull a chair out for her. “Please.” He extended his hand. “Hunter Cross. And you are?”

“Maggie.” She shook his hand and then slipped into the chair. He’d noticed the smooth expanse of skin exposed by her backless shirt when she’d been at the bar, but seeing her up close made him want to touch, to run his hand over the place where her bra line should be, but wasn’t. He moved back to his chair to admire the view from the front. Little Miss Maggie’s taut nipples strained against the thin fabric.

God help him, he loved breasts. And full braless breasts? They drove him wild.

The woman who now stood beside him looked as if she’d gotten lost on her way home from a cruise ship. “Three questions and then I’ll leave you two alone.”

Little Miss Maggie’s friend had rushed over to “help.” Great. But he didn’t try to send her back to her ship. He merely nodded, prepared to face the interrogation. “Okay.”

“Are you married?” she demanded.

“Fair question.” He didn’t take his eyes off her face. He could understand a friend looking out for her own. “No, ma’am.”

“Are you a soldier?”

Hunter hesitated. He knew lots of women picked up soldiers. As a rule, he tried to steer clear of them. Women on the hunt for a hero wanted commitment no matter how much they pretended otherwise. Marriage might be perfect for Riley, but the last thing Hunter needed was another person to support.

He glanced at Maggie. The brazen blonde who’d approached him sat biting her lower lip, her brow furrowed as if she was trying to decide whether she should punch her friend or turn tail and run. He lowered his gaze to her chest. Hunter wanted her to stay. Badly.

“Yes, ma’am.” He met the friend’s challenging gaze. “Army.”

His interrogator frowned and turned to Miss Maggie. “He’s not a mechanic.”

A mechanic? Seriously? He’d never heard of women trying to pick up mechanics. Maybe New York ladies were more practical. Why snag a soldier when you could have someone around to fix your car?

But he couldn’t let Miss Maggie walk away because he didn’t take apart engines for a living. He smiled. “I’m not. But I know how to change a tire.”

“Great,” Maggie said, her brow relaxing.

“Are you a general?” her friend demanded.

He let out a bark of laughter. A general? What the hell? Sure, some women went after navy SEALs. Maybe some even wanted army rangers. But autoworkers and generals?

“No, ma’am.”

Maggie’s friend gave him a long, hard look as if she thought he might be lying, and then to his surprise nodded. “Good.” She looked down at Maggie. “I’ll take a cab home. Call me tomorrow.” She waved as she walked toward the exit, blinding everyone in the tent as the light caught her shockingly pink shoes.

Hunter shook his head and reclaimed his chair. “What do you have against generals?”

“They intimidate me.”

“But I don’t?”

She smiled and leaned toward him. “Oh, no, you do. But for other reasons.”

“Such as?” If she was looking to secure a soldier, she was sure going about it differently. Most ladies asked a few questions about his latest trip overseas and then declared him “sooo brave,” at which point Hunter walked away.

Nothing but a direct order could drag him away from Maggie.

“Reason number one, I haven’t done this before.” She waved her free hand through the air. The other hand remained glued to her glass. “Pick up someone. A man. At a car show refreshment tent.”

He nodded. Bold with a serious case of nerves. And she’d chosen him for her first time. Why? he wondered. His eyes dropped south. They’d get back to the whys. Right now, he wanted to get her naked. But first she had a list of reasons. Hunter grinned. Little Miss Maggie was both beautiful and amusing. For a woman like her, he could afford a little patience. “And reason number two?”

She pursed her full lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth. The sight of her nipples had attracted his interest, but her mouth? The thought of those pink lips touching him went straight to his groin. Hunter reached for his pint glass.

“I’m trying to decide what I need to know about you before we end up in bed together.”

He coughed and sputtered, nearly covering the front of her shirt with the remains of his beer. Once he’d regained his composure somewhat—his dick was harder than ever—he pushed back from the table. “You think about that and I’ll get us another round. What are you drinking?”

“Water.”

Hunter sidled up to the bar, ordered two waters and paid for the earlier beers with Riley’s cash. He’d found the perfect woman, or rather she’d found him—easy on the budget and eager to jump into bed with him. He’d met more women than he could count who swore up and down they did not want a relationship, but brazen-yet-sometimes-shy Maggie was the first he suspected who might mean exactly what she said.

The bartender placed two glasses and a stack of singles in front of him. Hunter took the hint and left a big tip. It was easy to be generous with Riley’s cash. Once he got Sierra out of rehab and employed—God help him—he could afford to drop large tips with his own money. Pushing the less-than-pleasant thoughts away, he went back to the table.

“Your water, Miss Maggie.” He slid the glass in front of her.

The corner of her mouth turned up. “Thank you.”

He picked up his chair and flipped it around. Straddling the seat, his arms resting on the low wooden back, he asked, “So, what would you like to know?”

She stared down at the table a moment then asked, “Do you live around here, or are you just visiting?”

He’d never had the luxury of honestly and openly interrogating the women he met, but if he’d been in her shoes he would have asked the same thing. His gaze ran down her jeans-clad legs—not long, but a good fit for her height—and landed on her lofty heels. Okay, so bacon might sprout wings before he’d wear those supersexy shiny white things, but it was still a good question. “Just visiting. A work thing next week.”

A hint of a smile flashed across her face and her stick-straight posture eased. Relief, he guessed. He waited for her to ask him where he was from, how long he’d been in the army or what exactly he did, which he couldn’t tell her, but Miss Maggie didn’t say a word. “Anything else?”

She drew a deep breath and stared at her water. For a fleeting second, he wondered if he’d read her wrong. He couldn’t tell if she was gathering up the courage to ask another question or run away.

Just when he thought she might ditch her heels and sprint to the exit, she looked him straight in the eye. “No more questions.”

How close is your bed? He kept his mouth shut, waiting for a better response to pop into his brain. Problem was, his brain wasn’t doing the thinking anymore.

“But,” she continued.

God help him, there was a but. He reached for his water and brought the glass to his lips, hoping it would take the edge off the get-her-naked-now feeling pulsing through him.

“I need to make sure we’re on the same page here.” She looked him straight in the eyes, as if she were about to reveal weapon launch codes. “I want an amazing orgasm. Actually, scratch that. I want more than one. So if you don’t think you can deliver, or if you’re looking for more than one night, I’ll thank you for the drink and leave. Because I really need those orgasms.”

He could have sworn he was dreaming. In his wildest fantasies, he’d never imagined he’d meet someone like her. A woman who demanded orgasms, lots of them, without commitment.

Could he deliver? Hunter set the nearly empty glass back on the table. “Honey, I’m your man.”

3

THE PLAN HAD WORKED. Hunter Cross, the man with the bedroom eyes, was looking at her as if he couldn’t wait to tear her clothes off. She could tell from the tension in his body that he was ready to jump up from the table. He’d just drenched the front of his clothes and he didn’t seem to give a damn. That’s what she wanted, a man who cared more about her pleasure than his own comfort.

A rush of excitement washed over her, leaving her skin tingling, waiting to be touched. The feeling took her by surprise. It had been so long since she’d felt that first spark that she barely recognized it. This is what I’ve been looking for, she thought.

“But first, I have a few things I need to know about you before I get into bed with you,” he said calmly.

Or maybe not. He didn’t sound like a man blinded by lust. Maybe she was so desperate for a wild night in bed with a man who made her breasts ache to be touched that she’d imagined his interest.

Her stomach flipped and she reached for her drink, needing to hold something. Why had she picked the most handsome man in the tent, maybe in the entire state of New York, for her conquest? And why hadn’t she started with a normal conversation? She could have asked him what he did in the army, or where he was from. Instead, she’d demanded an orgasm.

Her finger traced the rim of her water glass. Maybe she should run away now and spare herself any further embarrassment. She could stop on her way home and buy a vibrator. Throw in a cinnamon bun and that might be all the wild and crazy she needed in her life right now.

Except her fantasies didn’t involve batteries.

“What would you like to know?” She tried to sound casual, which was hard given she’d whispered the words.

“Do you live around here?”

She looked up at him and felt her building sense of oh-God-what-have-I-done fade away. His George Clooney eyes said I want you, while the laugh lines around his mouth indicated he wanted to play a bit first.

She couldn’t feel the vodka anymore, but her sense of daring, the one that had driven her to wear the skinny jeans even though she’d sworn she’d wait until she lost a few pounds, returned. She leaned forward, watching his gaze fall to her chest. “Yes. About twenty minutes away.”

“Favorite color?” His eyes never left her breasts.

Maggie set her water on the table and leaned back, clasping her hands behind her chair as she pretended to consider his question. Her cotton shirt pulled tight against her nipples and she swore she heard him mumble a curse. “Green.”

“Favorite food?” he asked, his voice low.

“Linguine Alfredo.” Most of which went straight to her thighs. But she didn’t give a damn about that right now. All she cared about was his eyes on her chest and the warm rush it sent down her body. If he didn’t hurry up with his questions, she might explode right now before he even touched her.

He drew his dreamy gaze up to her face. His eyes locked with hers. “Where do you like to be kissed?”

“Everywhere,” she whispered.

“Be specific,” he demanded.

“The back of my neck.”

He nodded. “A good place to start.”

The nerves on her neck tingled in anticipation, and lower down her body ached. How had he pushed her so close to the edge of an orgasm without even making contact?

“One last question.”

She nodded.

“Do you like...”

He paused and Maggie leaned toward him, drawn by the unbelievably sexy sound of his voice.

“Nachos?” he asked.

Maggie blinked, falling back in her chair.

“You know, chips drowning in fake cheese?” He smiled. “I thought we might go for a walk around the grounds before we started working on your orgasms. I remember seeing a nacho stand near the picnic tables.”

Oh, you’ve already started working. Her body hummed with anticipation. Between his eyes, his body and his enticing voice, this man could probably seduce just about any woman. Talk about finding a one-night stand with experience.

“Sure,” she said.

“Great. I like a girl who isn’t afraid to eat fake cheese.” Hunter pushed himself out of the chair in one fluid move. He reached for her hand and drew her up. Wobbling on her heels, Maggie held on tight when he began to release her. She curled her fingers around his much larger ones, enjoying the feel of his strong grip. Her own hand seemed delicate by comparison. So what if he was a soldier? If the old saying about a man’s hands offered any indication of what waited for her in his pants, this man’s equipment would deliver.

He led her through the exit into the hot, summer night. The sound of voices, mostly male, and engine parts filled the air, both men and parts still visible in the bright evening sunlight. Seven o’clock, give or take a few minutes, in the evening on a July night in upstate New York. It would stay light until nine—perfect for a car show, but not so great for her courage.

Away from the dimly lit tent, reality came crashing down. What was she doing wandering off with a virtual stranger? What if he was some kind of psychopath? He’d admitted he was a soldier and Maggie knew from personal experience that some of the men who returned from war zones had...problems.

She pulled free from his grasp, pretending she needed both hands to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I left my sunglasses in the car,” she mumbled.

Hunter nodded and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans. “The nacho stand is just beyond the hubcaps.”

Nachos. They weren’t hopping into bed yet, just grabbing a bite to eat. If he turned out to be crazy, she could ditch him and race back to her car. Not that she’d be able to figure out if he was an ax murderer over chips, but she could ask a few more questions.

Falling into step beside him, she said, “So what do you do in the army?”

“Honestly—” he looked down at her with an apologetic half smile “—I can’t tell you much.”

“Top secret missions?”

“Something like that.” He led her up to a red-and-white stand with signs for hot dogs, nachos and cotton candy. “I’m a Ranger, part of the Special Forces, and our missions are classified. My teammates can’t even tell their wives and girlfriends, not that many of the guys are married, about what we do and where we go.”

A Ranger. Like her father. Like the men in Tennessee she planned to interview for her book. Maggie froze, every muscle in her body tensing. The tingling feeling in her breasts? It vanished.

She took a step back and then stopped. The part of her that craved an orgasm from a toned man with big hands and bedroom eyes told her to stay. For the first time in as long as she could recall, the need for an orgasm, the desire to shove her responsibility aside for twelve blissful hours trumped the warning bells.

“What can I get you?” the man behind the counter asked.

Hunter stepped up and Maggie followed. This wasn’t about forever. She could pretend he was an ordinary foot soldier if she wanted. The fact he was a Ranger wouldn’t matter in the morning and it certainly wouldn’t change anything once they took off their clothes.

“Nachos,” Hunter replied. “Extra cheese.”

“So you came for the food?” she asked lightly, turning the conversation away from his military career.

Hunter accepted a to-go container piled high with cheese-covered chips, paid the vendor and led her to an empty picnic table. “Nope, the food is a bonus. My buddy needed to pick up a few parts for his wife’s pickup.”

“Not into trading car parts?” She slid onto the bench.

“My truck could use a tune-up, but I’m not the man for the job. What I said before about changing a tire? That’s about the extent of my mechanic skills.”

“Well, you’re a step ahead of me. Every time I get a flat, I have to call for help.” She reached for a chip to keep her nervous hands busy.

“Is that why you were looking for a mechanic tonight?” he asked. “Need someone to call next time you have a blowout on the highway?”

Underneath the table, his leg brushed up against hers. He moved away, suggesting the touch had been an accident, but Maggie felt a rush of heat just the same, running up her calf past her thigh to her core. If he left her this turned on with an accidental touch, what would happen when he ran his palms over her bare skin? Her gaze fell to his large, capable hands, moving up his forearms to where his biceps disappeared beneath his shirt. In her imagination, his shirt vanished, allowing her to feast on his chest, over his sculpted abs and lower...

Her nipples peaked harder at the mental picture.

“Nope. You’re just what I was looking for,” she said. Was it her imagination or did her voice sound sultry? Maybe even a little seductive? All from one brush of his leg.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes now. He’d been staring at her breasts and they both knew it. Was he mentally undressing her? Picturing what lay beneath her green shirt? Maggie shifted on the bench, her body desperate to move, to touch and be touched. Across the table, Hunter held her gaze the way a soon-to-be lover would—with intent.

Maggie stared back, noting the golden flecks in the rich brown of his eyes. Her lips parted as if they had an inkling of what he wanted to do. Would he kiss her? Tear off her clothes and take her right here, right now, bending her over the picnic table?

She blinked and looked away, the image too hot to handle over nachos. Was she ready to move beyond chitchat and accidental touches? The new Maggie cried yes, but not here. Not yet. One kiss from this man would lead somewhere, and she didn’t want their first round to be in the backseat of a Toyota at the fairgrounds. Definitely not part of her fantasy.

“So you’re Special Forces and all you can do is change a tire?” she asked, trying to shift the mood before she reconsidered her position on backseat sex.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but over the years I might have learned how to hot-wire a car.” He used one chip to scoop up a pile of loose cheese. She followed the movement of his hand to his mouth. How would those lips feel against her skin, trailing kisses up her inner thighs, lingering over the place that was pushing her closer and closer to saying forget the chips and take me to bed, right now?

Not yet, she reminded herself. Forcing aside the image of hot kisses, Maggie pointed to a table full of knobs and pipes. “But you couldn’t tell me what those are?”

He finished chewing and raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to talk about car parts?”

His leg pressed up against hers, and this time it stayed there. Definitely not an accident. It was as if he couldn’t sit across from her and not touch her. It should have made her nervous, the clear, physical signal that this man wanted her. But it didn’t. Instead, excitement and anticipation flooded her body to the point where she could barely remember what they’d been talking about.

Car parts. He’d asked if she wanted to discuss car parts. The answer was no. But—

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“Now that we’ve eaten, I’m ready to start thinking about those orgasms you asked for. Unless you need more time. We can take a walk around and peruse the merchandise. But I had to say something. It was starting to feel like the elephant at the table. I keep trying for small talk, but the O word is front and center in my mind.”

“That’s my fault.” She clasped her hands together on the table. “I’m bad at this, and I should never have been so direct.”

“Hey, I liked your approach.” Hunter reached out and rested one of his large hands on top of hers. It was an intimate gesture, but it felt right. More than right, it felt good. Reassuring. “It was a first for me, but a welcome break from most boring getting-to-know-you conversations.”

“So you’ve had a lot of experience with this? With one-night stands?”

“A time or two.” He shrugged. “I’m one of those guys who run away from romantic commitment. But orgasms? Those I can deliver. But first...”

His voice trailed off as he rose slightly, reaching across the table with his free hand.

“What?” she asked.

“You have some cheese on your cheek.”

Cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand, he swept his thumb over her face, gently brushing the corner of her lips. Maggie hadn’t learned much about men growing up, but she recognized the soft stroke against her skin for what it was. It had nothing to do with fake cheese. This man wanted to claim her.

He returned for a second sweep, this time running over the full width of her lips. She leaned into his touch, relishing the warm sensation between her legs. She parted her lips and allowed her tongue to dart out and lick the cheese off his hand. Then, in a move the old Maggie would never have considered, she captured his thumb between her lips and gently drew it into her mouth, sucking lightly. His smile widened, suggesting he liked her bold response to his simple touch. She ran her tongue up and down his thumb the way she longed to lick another part of his anatomy.

Hunter let out a low moan. No doubt he’d understood her unspoken message loud and clear. She didn’t want to be the only one enjoying orgasms tonight.

“Maggie.” He spoke softly, barely above a whisper, his eyes locked with hers.

That one word, her name, made the sizzling heat between them jump from an I-think-I-want-you eight to an I-must-have-you eleven. Forget sex in the backseat of her car. If one of them didn’t pull away soon, they might be heading toward sex on the picnic table after all.

Smiling, he withdrew his hand. Maggie felt the absence from head to toe, but silently promised herself it wouldn’t last long. Once they were alone, she had every intention of running her lips over him again. And she wouldn’t limit herself to his thumb.

“So, what will it be?” he asked, his tone low and seductive.

“Car parts or orgasms?” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Orgasms, please.”

“I have one more question.” Hunter stood and walked around the table to offer his hand. He’d recovered his light, playful tone, but his gaze remained intent. “Did you drive here?”

Maggie placed her hand in his. “My car’s parked in the lot.”

“Great. My hotel is five minutes from here. Unless you’d rather go to your place?”

“No, we can’t go there.” On her feet and steady, she pulled her hand free and turned to pick up her purse, hoping he hadn’t seen the panicked expression flash across her face. She couldn’t take him home with her. She needed the freedom to walk away in the morning, or tonight, if things didn’t go as planned.

“Marriott it is,” he said playfully. Maggie felt her panic ease. “May I have your keys?”

She led the way to her rented Toyota, rummaging through her bag. She’d gone for sexy shoes, but opted to keep her sensible holds-everything-but-the-sun purse. Including the condoms Olivia had given her. She stumbled as her hand brushed the box.

“Easy.” He took her elbow and guided her through the crowd. Maggie kept her eyes on the exit gate. She felt her face flush and knew if she looked at him now, he’d see the pink in her cheeks. All from a box of condoms. But, oh, the promise they held.

From the corner of her eye, Maggie saw a pair of tall blonde women in strapless tops and painted-on jeans checking out Hunter. Judging from their near-perfect bodies, the blondes did not have a linguine Alfredo problem.

Hunter released her elbow and pressed his palm flat against the bare skin on her back. He drew her closer until her hip brushed the side of his body. Instead of moving away from him, she leaned into his touch, enjoying the way her skin tingled. Half an inch lower and he would have touched the fabric of her shirt, but no, he’d opted for the intimate she’s-mine touch.

“Honey, you’re a helluva lot prettier,” he murmured.

She glanced up at him and followed his gaze to the blonde Barbie look-alikes. “Thanks.”

He smiled down at her. “Find your keys?”

“Right. The keys.” His hand stayed firm against her skin, guiding her through the gate as she turned her attention back to her bag. But she could barely focus. Not when he was touching her. She’d never been so aware of a man, never had her imagination fast-forward to where his fingers would go next. Higher or lower?

The sounds of the car show faded as they made their way through the parking lot. “They’re in here somewhere. I can drive. I know where the Marriott is—”

His hand fell away and she instantly missed the feel of him as he allowed her to step in front of him. Five minutes and they would be at the hotel. Five minutes and he’d be touching her again. If only she could find the key...

Warm breath tickled her neck and Maggie lost her train of thought.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said. Soft fingertips swept her hair out of the way and then...lips. Soft, full lips.

Oh, God. Oh, my. Oh, yes...

She melted. His arm snaked around her waist, drawing her back against a hard wall of muscle. Sensation rushed down her body, settling into a warm ache as her knees went weak. He’d hit the perfect spot. He’d found the one place on the back of her neck, halfway between her shoulder and her hairline, that drove her mad with desire. Twelve months with Derrick and he’d never kissed her there, never turned her body to liquid need.

She pressed into the hard, muscled planes of his body, arching her back until her bottom rubbed against his crotch. She felt the hard evidence that he was just as turned on as she was. And feeling that, she wanted to be wild. She wanted to lose herself in a sea of excitement and desire. Her body was so alive it felt foreign. Was this really happening? To her?

Hunter sucked gently at the nape of her neck, keeping his hand pressed against her waist. Higher, she thought, move your hand higher. If he didn’t touch her breasts soon, her nipples would burn holes in her shirt. Forget the hotel, she wanted him here. Now. Against the car.

As softly as he’d pulled her to him, he let go. She steadied herself against the driver’s side door as her need slowly fell from an I-want-to-get-naked-with-you-in-the-parking-lot eleven to a nine.

“How about I drive,” he said, his voice like gravel.

“Good idea.” She managed to reach into her bag, her fingers searching, her mind unfocused from his kiss...and bingo. She withdrew the car key.

Like a man on a mission, he took her hand and quickly led her around to the passenger side. He unlocked her door and held it open as she slipped her giddy, excited body into the seat. But in the quiet car, away from him, her driving need faded and doubts seeped in. Maggie closed her eyes and clasped her hands together on her lap. She’d been seconds away from begging him to take her in the parking lot after a single kiss. What would happen once they were in his hotel room? Alone?

She didn’t say a word as he drove to the Marriott and turned into the parking lot. Alan Jackson’s “Gone Country” filled the car. Not country, she thought. Crazy. Out of control. She’d picked up a strange man at a car show, planned to have sex with him and told him as much. An hour ago she didn’t even know his name.

Her right hand reached for the door, her fingers gliding back and forth over the electric lock button. Crazy. Plain and simple. Her plan, which had sounded brilliant earlier, now seemed insane and maybe even a little dangerous. There was a reason sane people went on dates, shared meals and engaged in hours of getting-to-know-you small talk. It was so they didn’t fall into bed with a sinfully handsome man without knowing anything more than his name and occupation, that he liked nachos and could change a tire.

Oh, and he was a Ranger.

Maggie stole a quick glance at him and realized she knew more than what he’d revealed during their brief time together. Hunter Cross appeared to be a first-class gentleman and clearly knew his manners. He’d stood and held her chair. He’d opened the door for her. And he knew where to kiss her.

The memory of the kiss made the aching return. But was that enough? What if they got up to his room, she took off her clothes and he refused to wear a condom? She couldn’t just walk out of his hotel room the next morning wondering if he’d gotten her pregnant or worse.

He put the car in Park near a side entrance. She kept her gaze fixed on the red exit sign above the hotel door, her hands shifting in her lap. She interlaced her trembling fingers and then released them.

“Maggie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to do this. I’ll say good-night and let you drive home. Or we can go inside to the hotel bar and have another water. Your call.”

“No, I do.” Interlaced fingers drummed against opposite hands. “I want this.” I want you. Badly.

“Honey, your hands haven’t stopped moving since we got in the car.”

She released her grip and forced her fingers to lie still on her thighs.

“Nervous?” he asked gently.

“Yes.” Fingernails digging into her jeans, she turned to him. “I think I left out a few important questions back at the fairgrounds.”

He rested his arm on the center console and grinned. “I don’t have a favorite color, but I love homemade lasagna.”

“That’s great, but I need to know more.” The words tumbled forth as if she’d opened a floodgate, but she kept her eyes locked on her hands. “Like your medical history, and maybe a few references. And if you’re allergic to latex.”

He reached over and took her hand. His fingers wrapped around her palm and she felt the fear wane. She glanced up at him. If he was offended, she couldn’t tell from his gentle smile.

“Maggie, I won’t hurt you,” he said seriously. “You have my word. I have condoms with me and I plan to use them if you’re still interested. I swear on my father’s grave that I have a clean bill of health. I just spent four weeks in a VA hospital followed by two months of inpatient therapy. They ran every test in the book and I’m clean.”

“Why?”

“Gunshot.” It was his turn to look at the exit sign.

“Oh, God.” This was quickly becoming more complicated. Of all the men in the car show refreshment tent, she had to pick an injured Ranger. Depending on the extent of his injuries, the man sitting in the driver’s seat of her rental car might never return to active duty.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked.

Hunter laughed and smiled at her with his oh-so-handsome eyes. “Honey, I’ve been up for this since I first saw you at the bar.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at his thighs and saw the telltale bulge. The heat she’d felt when he kissed her neck returned full force. I want that, she thought. Inside me, thrusting me over the cliff into orgasm territory. Her excitement returned, but this time it was laced with something else. Power. She was the reason his pants were tight, probably uncomfortably so. And that inkling of control eased some of her fears.

“But if you’ve changed your mind, I will say good-night and go up to my room.” He paused and she kept her gaze fixed on his lap. “I would much rather give you those orgasms you need.”

“I don’t want to leave.” She withdrew her hand from his. “I just...I don’t know where to start.”

“Maggie. Look at me.” She lifted her gaze. Their eyes met and Maggie forgot to breathe. She stared deeply into his brown eyes and she knew, just knew, she could trust this man—at least for tonight.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She obeyed.

“Now, tell me what you want, what you desire. Anything.”

I want you to take charge. Tell me what to do. But she couldn’t say that. No one had ever asked her what she wanted before. How could she reveal her fantasies to a virtual stranger? “I...I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” He reclaimed her hand and traced soft circles with his thumb. She leaned closer. “What have you always wanted to do but never had the chance? I promise I won’t laugh and you won’t shock me.”

“I don’t know....” How to put my fantasies into words.

She heard a soft rustling and sensed him moving closer and then—lips. The soft, full lips that had tantalized her neck in the parking lot gently brushed the edge of her mouth. Capturing her lips with his, he kissed her slowly, as if he’d be content to stay here in her car all night. Just kissing.

But making out in the front seat didn’t come close to fulfilling her fantasies. That was something the supposedly passionless Maggie would do—the Maggie who’d never shared her desires with the man she planned to marry. And right now? Passion threatened to short-circuit her brain. She leaned into him, hoping he’d take the hint and give her more.

Hunter did not disappoint. As far as first kisses went, this one was more of a conversation. He licked her lips as if asking, Do you trust me? Maggie opened her mouth slightly. His tongue swept inside, deepening the kiss, demanding to know if she was ready for more. As if he could sense her yielding, he stole his mouth away from hers.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Or maybe there’s something you don’t want.”

“I don’t want to be in control.” The words slipped out. “I just want to be and feel. Just for a little while.”

He leaned in again and his lips touched her ear. “Lucky for you, I like to be the one calling the shots.”

His tongue licked her earlobe and she groaned. Had she really said those words out loud? Really asked a man, a virtual stranger who could make a woman’s panties wet with just one look, to take control in bed? What if he misunderstood? She didn’t want to have to think or ask for what she needed; she just wanted him to know. But was that even possible? And what if he took charge by tying her to the bed? She might have a panic attack if she couldn’t get up and leave.

But wasn’t it time she finally let herself go? Maybe a little panic was good. Her carefully organized life would still be waiting for her in the morning.

“Come upstairs with me.” It was a command, a gentle one, but she knew from his tone he’d taken over.

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