Night Maneuvers Read online

  “Head up, don’t watch your feet.”

  What? How could she make sure she didn’t trip if she couldn’t watch her feet?

  “Good, now turn—slowly. Put one hand on your hip.”

  She was kidding, right? Did women really go through all this just to attract a man? She stuck a fist on her hip.

  “Now come back toward me and watch yourself in the mirror. See how the new, subtle highlights in your hair soften your complexion and the new cut accentuates your cheekbones?”

  Whatever. If Jordan said so. Alex smiled and nodded when Jordan asked her to try the walk again. And again. If she could survive The Spa Dragon, she could live through anything. Even—God help her—shopping. The facial had been kind of nice until the Dragon had told Alex her skin was “appallingly dry” and asked about her skin care regime.

  Regime? Um…soap. Water.

  The Dragon had looked as if she wanted to call security and have Alex thrown out until she’d agreed to buy the entire package of cleansers, exfoliators and moisturizers.

  The pedicure and manicure had felt wonderful, but regulations forbade the bloodred nail polish that Jordan wanted her to get. The color would so clash with her combat boots and camo. She chuckled at the thought, lost her balance and teetered over, grabbing a stack of shoeboxes on her way down. An entire row of boxes and shoes came crashing on top of her as she landed hard on her butt.

  Jordan rushed over. “Oh, my gosh, are you okay?”

  “Nothing bruised but my pride.” She tried to get her feet under her to stand.

  “No, no, Alex! Not like that. Knees together.”

  “What? How the—” She clamped her mouth shut at Jordan’s raised brow. “Okay, okay.” Alex somehow managed to stand with her knees together and smoothed down the little black dress Jordan said was an essential piece in every woman’s wardrobe. Of course, she’d said that about every item in the five shopping bags full of new clothes.

  “Um…Alex?”

  “Yeah?” She hobbled over to a bench and lifted a throbbing ankle onto her knee.

  “We’ve got one more stop to make. Something I didn’t think of until you—well, until a moment ago.”

  “Does it involve shopping? Do we have to?”

  “Do you want to make him crazy, or don’t you?”

  Reserves of strength straightened her spine. “I want that womanizing jerk brought to his knees.” She rubbed the ball of her poor, tormented foot.

  “Then follow me, Captain Hughes.”

  After paying for the shoes plus two other pairs of heels, Alex followed Jordan across the department store to the section devoted to undergarments. Good grief. The fancy pieces of nothing came in every style, size and color imaginable. Alex usually bought her plain white undies by the six-pack at the commissary. She’d never seen the point in spending good money on something no one would see anyway. But now…

  She wandered around feeling completely overwhelmed until she spotted a violet-red thong and bra set made entirely from scraps of flimsy lace. Bet it would itch like crazy. But it seemed like just the sort of thing to drive a guy like Mitch absolutely wild. Not that she ever planned on him seeing it, but it would certainly help her feel sexy.

  With a wicked grin, she found her bra size and took it to the dressing room.

  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 tan
k 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 hers
elf 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.”