Karen Foley - Heat of the Moment

Warm and alive and in his arms, kissing him with a fierceness that caused every cell in his body to stand at attention.

He knew he should push her away, but he was incapable of breaking the delicious contact.

Every fantasy he’d ever had of Holly Durant—and he’d had more than his share—was playing out in front of him, and he wasn’t about to do anything to ruin it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think straight. Desire slammed into him, fierce and hard. Sweet Christ, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

The microscopic part of his brain that still functioned was firing warning shots. He was all wrong for her.

“Holly,” he finally said, his voice strained and thick. “We can’t do this.”

But she only moved closer. “Yes, we can,” she contradicted him softly, pressing a moist kiss against his collarbone.

To hell with doing what was right. Nothing could prevent him from reaching for Holly, not even the sound of his cane as it clattered onto the floor. The warning shots had come too late; he’d just taken a direct hit and he was going down….

Dear Reader,

It seems just yesterday that I was sitting with my editor, brainstorming ideas for this exciting miniseries, which revolves around four soldiers and how each of their lives is altered by the events of a single day. And suddenly, here I am, writing the final book.

I loved coming up with the heroine of this story. Lt. Holly Durant is so strong and never wavers in going after what she wants, even if it means risking enemy fire to save the man she loves. Holly is hailed as a hero for her actions, but it’s up to Sgt. Shane Rafferty to keep her safe when the enemy follows her home.

I hope you enjoy reading Holly and Shane’s story as they discover the true meaning of what it takes to be a hero!

Happy reading!

Karen Foley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Karen Foley is an incurable romantic. When she’s not watching romantic movies, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, and enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.

For Lt. Col. Kathy Lauden, Maj. Kristi Lowenthal,

and Lt. Erika “Mo” Schoenthal: your selflessness and dedication are an inspiration. Thank you for your service.

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

Anbar Province, Iraq

NAVY LIEUTENANT HOLLY Durant blew out a hard breath of frustration and glanced into the passenger mirror of the five ton cargo truck. The five or six days that it would take to complete this particular assignment meant that the mountain of paperwork waiting for her back at Al Asad Air Base would be twice as high when she returned. At this rate, she’d never catch up.

Behind her, a convoy of military supply vehicles stretched for a quarter of a mile along the dusty road. She didn’t typically accompany the movement of supplies to the outlying posts, but this assignment was unique. She was personally escorting her senior supply clerk, Sergeant Ramon Martinez, from Al Asad Air Base to Camp Fallujah, a forward operating base located a hundred kilometers away. She no longer trusted him with the responsibility of overseeing the massive supply operations in Iraq. At Camp Fallujah, he would work under the direct supervision of a senior officer in supplying repair parts and construction equipment to the Seabees in western Iraq. Technically, it wasn’t a demotion, but she was sure he didn’t see it that way. A quiet man by nature, he’d been even more so during the two hours that they’d been driving together.

Her gaze slid sideways toward the sergeant, noting the sheen of sweat that coated his skin. As if sensing her silent appraisal, he turned his dark eyes to her and Holly had to push down her own misgivings and feelings of guilt about having initiated an investigation into his activities. He had the largest, most expressive eyes she had ever seen on a man, and right now they reminded her of a dog that had just been kicked. He obviously didn’t understand why he was being moved to a new location and Holly couldn’t tell him the truth. She’d merely told him that Fallujah needed an experienced sup ply clerk, but his unhappiness was apparent in the defeated slump of his shoulders, and the way he repeatedly sighed.

“If you’re getting tired, we can switch at the next turnoff and I can drive,” she offered, although she knew he would refuse. Despite her suspicions, Sgt. Martinez was unfailingly polite and respectful of her rank.

His eyes widened. “Oh, no. I’m fine driving, ma’am. But thank you for the offer.”

Holly nodded and turned her attention away. Maybe she should have confronted him directly. Maybe, after all, there was a reasonable explanation for what was going on. It was difficult to imagine the mild-mannered sergeant was capable of any wrongdoing. But it was too late; she had already initiated an investigation into the supply process at Al Asad and now it was up to the Inspector General to determine if any crime had been committed.

Holly suspected that Martinez was responsible for the loss of tens of thousands and maybe even hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of supplies, but she had no solid proof. Although his job required that he obtain receipts for the equipment he received and sent out, he consistently had excuses and explanations for why he hadn’t acquired the requisite documentation, or why the paperwork he did have was sloppy and full of errors. He also had access to a substantial fund of money with which to procure certain supplies and services from local contractors, rather than going through the protracted process of waiting for the items to be shipped from the States.

Holly had begun the task of reconciling these accounts, but it would take her weeks to sort through the thousands of transactions. Constructing buildings, re pairing runways, and maintaining an infrastructure in such a remote and inhospitable location was hard enough without somebody deliberately sabotaging their efforts. That one of her men might be responsible was intolerable, and although she found it difficult to imagine Martinez doing anything so sleazy, all the evidence indicated otherwise.

She’d voiced her suspicions to her commanding officer, Commander Comstock, several weeks ago. He’d assured her that he would look into the matter, but when she’d broached the subject to him again, just days earlier, he’d been uncharacteristically short with her. He’d curtly told her that he didn’t need a lieutenant to tell him how to do his job, and that the situation was being handled. Whatever that meant.