Cathie Linz - Her Millionaire Marine

“It’s cooler at night.” Tony’s expression turned stubborn.

“Yeah, when it gets down to seventy. Big deal.”

Tony waved his words away. “You don’t have grandchildren, so you don’t understand.”

“How many do you have now?” Striker asked.

“Six.”

Normally Striker wasn’t the kind to make small talk, but it prevented him from dealing with other stuff—like the fact that Kate turned him on.

His gaze settled on the foyer, where a large portrait of his grandfather hung. Hank King gazed out at the world as if daring anyone to mess with him.

Regrets washed over Striker—regret that time had run out, that he and his grandfather had never made peace, that his grandfather was no longer with them. True, he hadn’t agreed with the old man, but he had never wanted him dead.

Unable to breathe, Striker quickly moved out the French doors to the patio that ran along the back of the house. The lights illuminating the large swimming pool couldn’t compete with the sparkle of stars above. He’d traveled around the world but had always remembered the night sky here at the ranch as being something special.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Tony admitted.

“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”

“I know. It was your grandfather’s idea. That’s why I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I’m just following orders. The Marine Corps’s orders, not my grandfather’s orders.”

“In this case, they are one and the same, si?”

Striker nodded. He’d had always known that this wasn’t the life for him, that he’d have no freedom with his dictatorial grandfather calling all the shots. Yet here he was, doing what his grandfather wanted and returning to Texas.

At times like this Striker was convinced Fate was a female, and that she was laughing her head off at this Force Recon Marine.

“This is a surprise,” Kate’s father noted as he looked at her over the top of the morning paper. This morning, as he did every morning, Jack Bradley was eating breakfast in the formal dining room with its sumptuous red walls and gilded mirror. Her mother had one of San Antonio’s best interior decorators design the area to her specifications—which were rich and richer. “I thought you were still in Washington.”

“I got back late last night. Is that coffee?” Kate slid into a chair and reached for the thermal carafe. She’d walked the mile between Westwind and her parents’ place. Her Italian shoes would never be the same again.

“Of course it’s coffee,” he replied. “What else would I be drinking in the morning?”

“Decaf?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Doctor’s orders.”

“When is your next appointment with your heart doctor?”

“You sound like your mother.” He eyed her critically. “I must say you’re looking rather rumpled this morning.”

Kate wasn’t about to tell him that that was because she’d spent the night next door. “I ended up on a redeye flight last night. I didn’t plan it that way, but we kept running into flight delays…”

“By your use of the term we I’m assuming that you brought Hank’s grandson back with you?”

“His name is Striker, and I didn’t bring him with me, he came with me. He’s a Marine and they don’t take kindly to being brought anywhere.”

“Because he’s a Marine, I would assume he’d be accustomed to taking orders,” her father said, crisply folding the newspaper in half and setting it on the table. “Did he give you any problems?”

Plenty of them, she thought, but they were not the type that she could talk about with her father.

Kate still wasn’t sure how she ended up in the guest bedroom with half her clothes undone. She prayed that the housekeeper had put her to bed, but she had a vague recollection of turning over and seeing Striker looming above her.

Maybe that had been a dream. Surely, he wouldn’t take off her clothes?

What was she thinking? Of course he’d take off her clothes. He was a guy, wasn’t he?

But he was a Marine. Weren’t they supposed to have a higher code of honor or something?

Which meant that if he did undo some of her clothing, he would have done so with his eyes closed.

Yeah, right.

“Well?” her father prompted her. “Were there problems?”

“Nothing I can’t manage.”

“I certainly hope that’s the case.” Her father didn’t sound very confident of her competency. But then that was vintage Jack Bradley. No one could meet the high standards he set, not only for others but for himself as well. “I don’t understand why Hank insisted that you handle this matter yourself.”

“Because he had faith in my abilities.”

Jack picked up a dry piece of toast, glared at it and then tossed it back on the plate. “I should be the one handling his estate.”

“You already have more than enough work to deal with,” Kate reminded him. “The doctor told you that you had to cut back on the number of hours you spend at the office.”

“And I’ve done that.”

“I know you have. Honestly, I can handle things with the King estate. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Hmm.” He made his customary noncommittal murmur which really meant I don’t buy that for one minute.

“Kate!” Her mother’s voice sounded horrified as she entered the room with her customary elegance. Even this early in the morning Elizabeth Hunter Bradley was the epitome of good grooming, wearing silk pants the color of café au lait along with a designer paisley blouse in swirls of browns. As a former Miss Texas she took great pride in her looks, and took great care to maintain them. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“We don’t have a cat,” Kate replied, rather pleased at how calm she sounded given the fact that her stomach was in knots. Kate may have inherited her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes, but she lacked her mother’s innate ability to achieve perfection.

“You know very well what I mean.” Now her mother sounded irritated. “What on earth happened to you? You look as if you’ve slept in that suit.”

“She had a bad flight in from Washington,” her father replied on her behalf.

“What is she doing here at this time in the morning?” Her mother poured herself a cup of coffee. “Shouldn’t she be getting ready for work?”

“I’m right here,” Kate reminded her parents. “I can hear you talking about me.”

“Then answer the question,” her mother said.

“I’m hoping Dad can give me a ride into the city this morning,” Kate said.

“Why do you need a ride?” her mother asked.

“Because my car is still at my condo. So are my clothes.”

“And why aren’t you there?” Her mother continued the inquisition.

“Because the limo from the airport dropped me off out here.” Kate was not about to admit that she’d spent the night at Hank’s ranch with Striker, that he’d possibly put her to bed, removing half her clothes. Let her parents think she’d just gotten in from the airport.

“Dropped you off out here? Why would the driver do that?” her mother said.

“There was a mix-up. Oh, my, look at the time.” Kate made a big deal of tapping her fourteen-karat gold watch, a present from her father. “We’d better be going, Dad.”

“Right.”

Thankfully her father only talked about business during the drive into the city where he’d agreed to drop her off at her condo. He made no further reference to Striker.

That didn’t mean Kate wasn’t thinking about Striker, however. And wondering if she’d only dreamt the magic of his touch on her breasts last night….

“May I help you, sir?” The woman behind the reception desk on the top floor of King Oil’s headquarters eyed him warily.