Night Maneuvers

chapter 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, images 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.”