Jennifer Labrecque - Soldier In Charge

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Dear Reader

I’ve written many heroes in the course of my career, but I don’t know that any of them deserve that description more than Lieutenant Colonel Mitch Dugan. There’s just something about a man in uniform, one whose purpose is to protect and defend, whose very code of conduct isn’t just a set of rules that he lives by, but is inherent in his makeup as a man—and makes a girl stand up and take notice. That sort of mentality sets him apart from your average guy and makes him more…everything. More sexy, more worthy, more noble. And that kind of guy needs a special kind of woman.

What he doesn’t need is a free-spirited woman who grabs him and kisses him the first time she sees him, who’s dedicated to her own career, who considers herself allergic to the military lifestyle. When photographer Eden Walters shows up to photograph a paratrooper calendar, Mitch discovers there’s one thing he hasn’t been trained to handle—her!

I love to hear from my readers, so be sure to pop by my website— www.jenniferlabrecque.com —or visit my group blog with fellow friends and authors Vicki Lewis Thompson and Rhonda Nelson at www.thesoapbox queens.com . There’s a party in our castle every day.

Happy reading,

Jennifer LaBrecque

After a varied career path that included barbecue-joint waitress, corporate numbers cruncher and bug-business maven, JENNIFER LABRECQUEhas found her true calling writing contemporary romance. Named 2001 Notable New Author of the Year and 2002 winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, she is also a two-time RITA® Award finalist. Jennifer lives in suburban Atlanta.

Twelve super-sexy books.

All the gorgeous military heroes you can handle.

One UNIFORMLY HOT! mini-series.

Don’t miss Mills & Boon® Blaze®’s first twelve-book

continuity series, featuring irresistible

soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

Watch for:

THE SOLDIER by Rhonda Nelson (Special Forces) July 2010

STORM WATCH by Jill Shalvis (National Guard) August 2010

HER LAST LINE OF DEFENCE by Marie Donovan (Green Berets) September 2010

Soldier in Charge by Jennifer LaBrecque (Paratrooper) October 2010

SEALED AND DELIVERED by Jill Monroe (Navy SEALs) November 2010

CHRISTMAS MALE by Cara Summers (Military Police) December 2010

Uniformly Hot!

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.

This book is most gratefully and humbly dedicated to the men and women in our armed forces and to their families. Thank you so very much for your service.

“YOU’VE GOT TO DO IT,” Eden Walters’s best friend, Patti, said. “The calendar is for a good cause—all the proceeds will go to 82nd Airborne families who’ve lost loved ones in the line of duty. You’re the best photographer in the business and you know the military. You’ve got to do it,” she repeated.

This was a no-brainer. Eden settled back in the wrought-iron chair in her courtyard and laughed, “No, I don’t, Patti. Your wheedling isn’t going to get you anywhere this time, even if you are a professional at it.” She was not being talked into photographing a calendar of Army jumpers. Nope. Not her kind of assignment. Just the thought made her tense up. She took a deep breath and consciously relaxed. Patti could find another professional photographer to rope into this one.

Patti added her signature snort to the attendant sounds of a late-summer evening in New Orleans’ French Quarter—the burble of Eden’s fountain to the left of the table, the restless whisper of a breeze through the potted palm fronds and bougainvillea, the distant float of laughter and music, the occasional whine of mosquitoes punctuating the cicadas endless chorus.

“A professional.” Another snort. “You certainly know how to add a touch of glamour to my job, don’t you?” They both knew Eden had the utmost respect for Patti’s job as a volunteer recruiter for a nonprofit agency. “It’s a good thing I love you like the sister I never had…” Patti trailed off, her good humor evident despite her grousing tone, to sip at the pale yellow limoncello, “You made this?”

“Yep. From my very own lemon tree,” Eden nodded toward her pride and joy in the corner of the courtyard’s brick wall confines, barely discernable in dusk’s shadows.

“Delicious. And I can’t believe it took me so long to get down here to see you.” Patti leaned her head back against the wrought iron chair and offered an approving smile. “This place is so totally you.”

Eden grinned. She’d known Patti would love her home. They’d met in sixth grade at the base’s middle school in Hawaii, where both their fathers had been stationed and the two girls had become firm, fast friends. They talked once a month and had long ago fallen into the habit of not answering the phone unless they both had at least an hour at their disposal to yak. Eden had e-mailed pictures but it had taken Patti three years to manage a visit. Her money had been as tight as Eden’s.

Eden had fallen in love with the vintage Creole town house, circa 1842, from the moment she’d seen its twostory pink façade faced with turquoise shutters and a second-floor iron balcony. It had spoken to her artist’s soul, murmured this is where you belong. The first-floor parlor had provided the perfect gallery setting for her photographs, with the upstairs serving as her private living quarters. But it was the lemon tree, laden with the most spectacularly large, yellow fruit she’d ever seen, tucked into the back corner of the foun-tained brick courtyard that had sealed the deal for her.

The place was outside her budgeted price range. And even though a building report came back that the place was structurally sound and the wiring and plumbing had been updated post-Katrina, it needed some serious TLC. Her parents, particularly her Brigadier General father, would have a friggin heart attack—they considered New Orleans lawless and vulnerable to another disaster.

She’d made an offer the next day.

Once again her parents had tagged her as impulsive. She preferred to think of it as instinctive. And yeah, sometimes it got her into trouble—well, maybe a lot of times—and granted she’d had to eat red beans and rice damn near every meal for a year, but it was finally paying off. She and her photography business had blossomed and grown beyond her wildest imagination. It was as if, after years of growing up in the stifling military environment, she’d finally found a rich, nurturing place to plant her roots. Granted her photography took her all over the world, but she always came home to here.

“Want to play with the tarot cards?” Patti asked half an hour later when they’d finished their lemon-infused vodka. Eden wasn’t drunk, she didn’t even qualify as bonafide tipsy, but she was definitely relaxed. And tarot cards were the kind of thing you did with a longstanding friend on a summer night in Nawlin’s. Plus, Patti seemed to have a gift with the cards. Tomorrow night they were going out for zydeco dancing, but today they’d strolled through all the French Quarter shops and tonight was for catching up.