Command Performance. Sara Jane Stone
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here?”
She looked up at him and felt her building sense of oh-God-what-have-I-done fade away. His George Clooney eyes said I want you, while the laugh lines around his mouth indicated he wanted to play a bit first.
She couldn’t feel the vodka anymore, but her sense of daring, the one that had driven her to wear the skinny jeans even though she’d sworn she’d wait until she lost a few pounds, returned. She leaned forward, watching his gaze fall to her chest. “Yes. About twenty minutes away.”
“Favorite color?” His eyes never left her breasts.
Maggie set her water on the table and leaned back, clasping her hands behind her chair as she pretended to consider his question. Her cotton shirt pulled tight against her nipples and she swore she heard him mumble a curse. “Green.”
“Favorite food?” he asked, his voice low.
“Linguine Alfredo.” Most of which went straight to her thighs. But she didn’t give a damn about that right now. All she cared about was his eyes on her chest and the warm rush it sent down her body. If he didn’t hurry up with his questions, she might explode right now before he even touched her.
He drew his dreamy gaze up to her face. His eyes locked with hers. “Where do you like to be kissed?”
“Everywhere,” she whispered.
“Be specific,” he demanded.
“The back of my neck.”
He nodded. “A good place to start.”
The nerves on her neck tingled in anticipation, and lower down her body ached. How had he pushed her so close to the edge of an orgasm without even making contact?
“One last question.”
She nodded.
“Do you like...”
He paused and Maggie leaned toward him, drawn by the unbelievably sexy sound of his voice.
“Nachos?” he asked.
Maggie blinked, falling back in her chair.
“You know, chips drowning in fake cheese?” He smiled. “I thought we might go for a walk around the grounds before we started working on your orgasms. I remember seeing a nacho stand near the picnic tables.”
Oh, you’ve already started working. Her body hummed with anticipation. Between his eyes, his body and his enticing voice, this man could probably seduce just about any woman. Talk about finding a one-night stand with experience.
“Sure,” she said.
“Great. I like a girl who isn’t afraid to eat fake cheese.” Hunter pushed himself out of the chair in one fluid move. He reached for her hand and drew her up. Wobbling on her heels, Maggie held on tight when he began to release her. She curled her fingers around his much larger ones, enjoying the feel of his strong grip. Her own hand seemed delicate by comparison. So what if he was a soldier? If the old saying about a man’s hands offered any indication of what waited for her in his pants, this man’s equipment would deliver.
He led her through the exit into the hot, summer night. The sound of voices, mostly male, and engine parts filled the air, both men and parts still visible in the bright evening sunlight. Seven o’clock, give or take a few minutes, in the evening on a July night in upstate New York. It would stay light until nine—perfect for a car show, but not so great for her courage.
Away from the dimly lit tent, reality came crashing down. What was she doing wandering off with a virtual stranger? What if he was some kind of psychopath? He’d admitted he was a soldier and Maggie knew from personal experience that some of the men who returned from war zones had...problems.
She pulled free from his grasp, pretending she needed both hands to shield her eyes from the sun.
“I left my sunglasses in the car,” she mumbled.
Hunter nodded and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans. “The nacho stand is just beyond the hubcaps.”
Nachos. They weren’t hopping into bed yet, just grabbing a bite to eat. If he turned out to be crazy, she could ditch him and race back to her car. Not that she’d be able to figure out if he was an ax murderer over chips, but she could ask a few more questions.
Falling into step beside him, she said, “So what do you do in the army?”
“Honestly—” he looked down at her with an apologetic half smile “—I can’t tell you much.”
“Top secret missions?”
“Something like that.” He led her up to a red-and-white stand with signs for hot dogs, nachos and cotton candy. “I’m a Ranger, part of the Special Forces, and our missions are classified. My teammates can’t even tell their wives and girlfriends, not that many of the guys are married, about what we do and where we go.”
A Ranger. Like her father. Like the men in Tennessee she planned to interview for her book. Maggie froze, every muscle in her body tensing. The tingling feeling in her breasts? It vanished.
She took a step back and then stopped. The part of her that craved an orgasm from a toned man with big hands and bedroom eyes told her to stay. For the first time in as long as she could recall, the need for an orgasm, the desire to shove her responsibility aside for twelve blissful hours trumped the warning bells.
“What can I get you?” the man behind the counter asked.
Hunter stepped up and Maggie followed. This wasn’t about forever. She could pretend he was an ordinary foot soldier if she wanted. The fact he was a Ranger wouldn’t matter in the morning and it certainly wouldn’t change anything once they took off their clothes.
“Nachos,” Hunter replied. “Extra cheese.”
“So you came for the food?” she asked lightly, turning the conversation away from his military career.
Hunter accepted a to-go container piled high with cheese-covered chips, paid the vendor and led her to an empty picnic table. “Nope, the food is a bonus. My buddy needed to pick up a few parts for his wife’s pickup.”
“Not into trading car parts?” She slid onto the bench.
“My truck could use a tune-up, but I’m not the man for the job. What I said before about changing a tire? That’s about the extent of my mechanic skills.”
“Well, you’re a step ahead of me. Every time I get a flat, I have to call for help.” She reached for a chip to keep her nervous hands busy.
“Is that why you were looking for a mechanic tonight?” he asked. “Need someone to call next time you have a blowout on the highway?”
Underneath the table, his leg brushed up against hers. He moved away, suggesting the touch had been an accident, but Maggie felt a rush of heat just the same, running up her calf past her thigh to her core. If he left her this turned on with an accidental touch, what would happen when he ran his palms over her bare skin? Her gaze fell to his large, capable hands, moving up his forearms to where his biceps disappeared beneath his shirt. In her imagination, his shirt vanished, allowing her to feast on his chest, over his sculpted abs and lower...
Her nipples peaked harder at the mental picture.
“Nope. You’re just what I was looking for,” she said. Was it her imagination or did her voice sound sultry? Maybe even a little seductive? All from one brush of his leg.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes now. He’d been staring at her breasts and they both knew it. Was he mentally undressing her? Picturing what lay beneath her green shirt? Maggie shifted on the bench, her body desperate to move, to touch and be touched. Across the table, Hunter held her gaze the way a soon-to-be lover would—with intent.
Maggie stared back, noting the golden flecks in the rich brown of his eyes. Her lips parted as if