Her Millionaire Marine. Cathie Linz
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Waiting for it only made things worse.
She dropped her pen, which obediently rolled across the table toward him. Striker picked it up, but instead of handing it over to her, he tossed it onto the yellow legal pad she’d taken out of her briefcase.
Was he deliberately avoiding touching her? Why?
She tried to imagine herself in his shoes—discovering that a member of her family had died, someone with whom she’d never made her peace. She’d be a wreck. She’d been a wreck when her father had had his heart attack two years ago.
But Striker was different. For one thing, he was a guy and guys dealt with these things differently. He was also a Marine, which no doubt meant he was even more disciplined about not showing any emotion.
Maybe she should be a little more understanding. “I’m sorry things have worked out this way, Striker.”
It was the first time she’d said his name and the sound of it on her lips made his heart unexpectedly clench. His strong reaction to her caught him by surprise. This particular female had a way of getting under his skin. Not a good sign. So he did what any good Marine would do. He fought back. “I don’t need your pity.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her. Great, now he had more guilt to add to the mess.
Concentrate on the mission, he grimly ordered himself. But it didn’t work. Not with her sitting so close that he could hear her breathe, could smell her rich perfume, could see the way her tongue darted out to nervously lick her lower lip.
He reached for the pitcher of cold water that stood in the center of the table. So did she. His hand covered hers. Her skin was so soft. He could feel her fingers tremble like soft butterflies against his callused palm.
Kate reminded herself about that old adage of being careful what you wished for. She’d wondered what touching him would be like. Now she knew. It was incredibly powerful.
Sexual awareness shot like a lightning bolt up her arm, infusing her entire body with hot restlessness and forbidden thoughts.
No, she wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t getting involved. Not with Striker. No way, no how. He triggered memories much too painful to relive.
She slid her hand from his so suddenly the water pitcher almost tipped over.
Anger rushed over her, surprising her with its intensity. He was just a Marine, she bitterly reminded herself, another risk-taking adrenaline junkie who lived to cheat death. In the end, Striker and her former fiancé weren’t that different after all. Except that Striker was still alive…and Ted wasn’t.
There was no changing the past, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She was going to keep her relationship with Striker strictly professional—no matter what it took.
Chapter Two
Striker stood in the bedroom of his furnished rental apartment near the base, jamming a few of his belongings into his seabag with one hand while pressing the memory dial button on his cell phone with the other. Kate was waiting outside for him in a cab.
After years as a Force Recon Marine, Striker was well accustomed to deploying on a moment’s notice. But he wasn’t accustomed to doing so in regard to his family.
Fighting for freedom or justice was something he could manage. He didn’t know how to manage telling his mom about his grandfather’s death.
Striker considered telling his dad the news and having his dad tell his mom. But the bottom line was that Stan Kozlowski was no better at this kind of thing than Striker was. In fact, he may even have been worse.
“Hello?”
He smiled at the sound of his mother’s soft-spoken voice. Many were deceived by her sweet demeanor, which camouflaged a will of steel. Angela King Kozlowski needed to be strong to be a Marine’s wife, to marry him against her father’s wishes and to raise five sons of her own. He and his brothers would walk on hot coals for her.
“Hello?” Angela repeated. “Is there anyone there?”
“Hey, Mom, it’s Striker.” He could hear the sound of the ocean in the background. “Where are you?”
“Eating lunch along the Oregon coast. It’s really lovely out here, Striker. You should visit this area sometime.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.” He figured he’d stalled long enough. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got some bad news.”
“Is it your brothers? Are they okay?”
Striker cursed under his breath at the fear in his mother’s voice. He should have started differently. “No, it’s not my brothers. We’re all fine. It’s your father. I’m sorry, Mom, I just found out that he’s passed away. Heart attack. In his sleep, so he didn’t suffer.”
She was silent.
Striker swore silently. He shouldn’t have just spit it out like that. He should have worked up to it gently. Sure, his mother was a steel magnolia, but even she was bound to be upset by news like this. She might be strong, but she also had a softer side. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s just a surprise. Somehow I thought he’d always be down there in Texas, running King Oil.”
“Yeah, well, about King Oil…it seems that he didn’t disown us the way we thought.” He told her about the terms of the will as briefly as he could.
“I had no idea my father was planning something like this,” his mom said. “How do you feel about it all, Striker?”
“I’m ready to obey my orders.”
“Of course you are. But that wasn’t what I asked.”
Striker tossed in his shaving kit before closing his seabag. His mom wasn’t just tough yet caring, she was also incredibly astute. She could probably sense that he was upset about this turn of events, despite his best efforts to hide that from her.
He loved his mom, but there was no way he was talking about his emotions with her. He hadn’t done that since he was ten and he sure wasn’t about to start now. “Listen, I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m sorry to be giving you such bad news about your father.”
“What about the funeral? When will it be?”
“Funeral?” Striker repeated, not even having thought of that.
“He didn’t want the fuss of a funeral,” Kate said from behind him, startling him. “He had a private burial earlier this week.”
Striker couldn’t believe Kate had slipped past his customary awareness of his surroundings. As a Force Recon Marine, his very survival depended on him being able to keep his head at all times, in all circumstances.
He’d dealt with combat situations. He’d completed surgical strikes in the dead of night. He’d successfully executed search-and-destroy operations. So why was one rich blonde throwing him?
“Let me get back to you on that, Mom. We’ll talk again soon.” Jabbing the end call button, he tossed his phone aside to glare at Kate. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was wondering how much longer you’d be? Our flight leaves in two hours, we really should be at the airport right now.”
“You’ve never heard of knocking before you enter a place?”
“I did knock, you didn’t answer. The door was ajar, so I came in.”
Leaving doors open? Striker never did that. Another sign that he didn’t have his head screwed on straight at the moment.
He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out exactly what it was about her that was getting to him. She was pretty, but he’d dealt with pretty women before. Quite successfully.
She was classy and wealthy.