Lindsay McKenna - Degree of Risk

“The least we’re getting out of this is a kiss,” he whispered against her lips, hauling her tightly against him. Moving his mouth softly across Sarah’s lips, he heard a delicious moan rise in her slender throat. Her luscious body, filled with curves and softness, melted against his harder angles. She tasted of clean water, her lips opening eagerly, her hands sliding around his neck, straining to get as close as she could to him.

Ethan’s nostrils flared as he inhaled her unique, womanly scent. It was sweet and drove him wild with hunger. The silk of her hair tickled his jaw as he brushed his mouth across her lips, welcoming Sarah home. Welcoming her back to him. He captured her face with his long, spare fingers and, as he eased from her mouth, saw her cheeks flush. Sarah’s drowsy blue eyes opened, and Ethan felt his soul melting into hers. Her breath was as shallow and uneven as his. He tunneled his fingers through her soft, silky black hair, watched her lashes fall closed beneath the massaging pleasure of his fingertips. The move exposed her slender neck and he leaned over, tasting her flesh, hearing those soft, pleasurable sounds vibrate in her throat, pressing her body more insistently against his. Sarah smelled good, tasted good.

Releasing her hair, Ethan caressed her lips, opening them, moving his tongue inside, needing to feel her heat, that fire he knew that smoldered so hotly within her. A desperate mewl came from her as he touched her tongue. He was in such trouble, deep trouble, if he didn’t stop now. Ethan was so damned hard, he ached.

He drew his mouth from hers, sliding his hand down her long, supple spine, caressing her hip, bringing her tight against him, to feel his erection. “Dammit,” he breathed roughly against her temple, kissing her, feeling her hair tickle his face, “I’d give my right arm to have somewhere to make love to you, Sarah.” Ethan knew she’d never consent to use that table. They were too exposed to someone walking in on them. He wasn’t ever going to put her into that position.

Sarah felt his frustration. “Let’s look at our schedules again.”

His large hand splayed out across her hips, his hardness pressing deep into her belly, making her contract. Her breathing was uneven as she felt his kisses from her temple to her cheek. This time Ethan’s mouth curved powerfully against hers, a man claiming his woman. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world to be loved. To finally belong to someone who cherished her as Ethan did.

Tearing his mouth from hers, his eyes glinting with raw lust, Ethan muttered, “You think your flight schedule’s changed since the last time we looked at it?”

Sarah managed a whispery laugh. “No, but maybe if we look at it long enough, it might magically change?”

How Ethan wished. Her CO, Major Donaldson, was giving Sarah fewer days off than the male pilots in her squadron. Not only that, he was assigning her more standby time. That meant she was on duty, had a helicopter at her disposal for anyone who needed it and her services during that twenty-four-hour cycle.

“Tell you what. I’m going to use a little SEAL magic and see if we can’t get a day off together.”

Sarah sighed and drowned in his narrowed gray eyes. “Uh-oh,” she whispered, a grin tugging at her mouth as she stepped out of his arms. “Winners win and losers lose.” It was another SEAL saying, and judging by the feral look on Ethan’s face, he wasn’t going to lose this one.

Chapter 2

Major Tom Donaldson sat in his squadron office at Ops, going over the flight reports from the pilots in his medevac squadron. When he looked up, he jerked his head, surprised. Master Chief Gil Hunter from the SEALs stood in the open doorway to his office. Scowling, he muttered, “The least you could do is announce yourself.” The son of a bitch.

“We never announce when we’re coming,” Hunter growled. He was dressed in SEAL cammies, a SIG Sauer pistol in a drop holster on his right thigh. He was six feet three inches in height and filled the small, cramped office. In his left hand, he carried a file.

Donaldson eyed him nervously. Ops was busy midafternoon. The helos were winding up outside, some Apache combat helos and some Chinooks. “What do you need?” he snapped, uneasy. The last time this SEAL pushed his weight around, it was because of that bitch, Sarah Benson. He’d never wanted her in his squadron because she was a risk taker, and he had a budget to keep. The Black Hawk she flew inevitably had bullet-hole damage or worse when she returned from a mission. She always cost him money.

Just because Benson was engaged to a SEAL, the master chief who ran the platoon had made it his business to lean on Donaldson. A month ago, the master chief had come to see him, closed the door and they’d had a little heart-to-heart chat. Donaldson knew Hunter was friends with Army Colonel Koch, his immediate superior. And Hunter told him to order his male pilots to stop harassing Benson. Or else. So, he ordered them to stop. But that didn’t mean Donaldson wasn’t going to get even with her.

Hunter turned and closed the door and then sat down in front of Donaldson’s desk. “I’m busy, dammit. What the hell do you want?” Donaldson saw the man’s green eyes glitter. Hunter reminded him of a wolf stalking his victim. Him.

“First,” Hunter murmured, keeping his voice pleasant, “I want to thank you for seeing that the harassment of Chief Warrant Officer Benson stopped.”

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Just a little thing,” Hunter murmured. He handed the papers to Donaldson from the file he carried. “Something doesn’t make sense to me, Major, and I was hoping you could help me understand it.” He pointed to the August flight schedule for the medevac pilots. “Chief Benson is getting more flights and more standby duty than any other pilot.” Hunter looked up and held Donaldson’s startled gaze. “Is there a reason for this?”

Glaring at Hunter, Donaldson said, “I didn’t notice that.”

“I did.”

The silence thickened in the office. Donaldson ground his teeth, staring at the August schedule. Dammit! He’d done the scheduling on purpose. “It’s just a minor mistake,” he muttered defiantly, throwing the papers on his desk, leaning back in his chair, a smug look on his face.

“Then fix it.”

The growl in Hunter’s voice left nothing to translate. Donaldson stared at him.

“You’re not going to tell me how to schedule,” he snarled. Hunter shrugged in response. Damn him!

“It might be good to revise the last week of that August schedule, Major.” Hunter gestured lazily toward the papers on his desk. “I think Chief Benson deserves two days off. Don’t you? To somewhat balance out the unfairness of her schedule the previous three weeks?”

Nostrils flaring, breathing unevenly, Donaldson took in the iciness in the master chief’s expression. His voice was neutral, nonthreatening, but by God, he could see the rage burning in his eyes. Donaldson gripped the arms of his chair. “I don’t suppose you have the dates of those two days in mind?”

Hunter’s mouth crooked. “I think Wednesday and Thursday of next week would be just fine if it works for you?”

“Done,” Donaldson snapped. “Now get the hell out of my office!”

Hunter rose slowly, unwinding like a snake, his face hard and unreadable. “Thank you, Major.” He turned, opened the door and left as quietly as he’d come.

* * *

When Sarah didn’t have duty, she always stayed in the small room the SEALs had painted and set up for her. They’d found her a real bed to sleep in, not a cot. Even better, there was air conditioning. At her tent, she, like everyone else, bunked in the heat of the night, making for miserable sleeping conditions. As she sat up and rubbed her eyes, she noticed a white envelope beneath the door. A soft smile came to her face. Ethan had written her a poem! Her heart expanded with fierce love for him. When she’d first met him, there would be a card on the plywood floor, just inside the flaps of her tent.