Kate hadn’t expected Striker to kiss her. She didn’t have time to prepare her defenses before he was already storming them.
His approach was forceful but not in a frightening way. What was scary was the way he made her feel—all hot and shivery deep inside.
The warm pressure of his mouth tantalized her, tempted her, overwhelmed her. The gentle brush of his fingertips against her jawline was at odds with the masterful way he consumed her, arousing a passion within her that had lain buried since Ted’s death.
But even Ted had never created this kind of response in her.
Striker claimed her mouth as if exploring for riches. Her lips parted willingly, allowing his tongue to slip inside and flick inquiringly with a sensuality that drove her wild.
French kissing. She’d never understood the appeal before. Now she could. Oh yes, yes!
Her lips opened even farther under his expert tutelage, following his lead, matching his demands.
She felt the thud of his heart beneath her hand, could feel the softness of his denim shirt beneath her fingertips and the warmth of his skin beneath. She was on fire, passion throbbing through her entire body.
Her knees went weak, making her melt against him. Sexual need pooled in all the feminine places in her body—her breasts, her pelvis—both of which were pressed tightly against his fully aroused hard body.
Out of control. She was completely out of control. And out of her league. Ted may have been a risk taker but he’d never made her feel as if she’d stepped off a plane without a parachute. He’d never made her feel reckless.
This had to stop. She had to stop. But it felt so good. Dangerously good.
Remember what happens whenever you go after what you want.
The thought shot through her mind, shattering the haze of pleasure like a hammer shattering glass.
A second later the kiss was over—she and Striker breaking it off at the same time.
Striker took several steps away from her. He hadn’t expected Kate to respond the way she had—to melt in his arms, to part her lips and grant him entry. Her passion threw him. Then he remembered the last time a ritzy female had kissed him as if she’d meant it…only to later inform him that it was all an act. Carolyn Sinclair. His nineteenth birthday.
Sure, that had been a long time ago, but some things a guy didn’t forget.
And yeah, he’d kissed plenty of women since then. But none of them born with a spoon in their mouth the way Kate had been. They tended not to have any interest in a Force Recon Marine. He’d seen the type in Washington, D.C. They had dollar signs in their eyes. The size of a guy’s bank account was the most important thing to them.
So why would a wealthy lady lawyer like Kate go all hot on him?
Yeah, there were thrill-seeking Special Forces groupies who were turned on by guys because they were Force Recon Marines, but that clearly was not the case with Kate.
He could, however, see the big appeal for her being his newfound financial status. He needed a reason, he needed to get a handle on this out-of-control situation. “I get it. Hooking up with a lowly Marine with a chip on his shoulder wouldn’t look very good on your resume, but the grandson of the founder of King Oil looks excellent, right?”
Kate stared at him with disbelief. “What are you accusing me of now?”
“That you only kissed me because of my connection to several million dollars.”
She was furious. “I don’t need the money. And I wasn’t kissing you, you were kissing me.”
“That dog’s not gonna hunt,” he retorted. “You were kissing me back and enjoying it. I know when a woman melts in my arms.”
Her face turned red. “Know this. You’re just an impossibly stubborn Marine who caught me by surprise. It won’t happen again. Believe me, you don’t have anything I’m interested in!”
Okay, so maybe that was a lie. Kate was interested in his body and his kisses. Or had been. Against her will. But that was before he’d accused her of being some kind of money-grabbing social climber. Now all she felt was anger.
“We have a working relationship, Mr. Kozlowski. Nothing else. You’d do well to remember that and act in a manner accordingly.” Her words dripped ice.
“The same goes for you, ma’am.”
His comment pierced the protective cloak she’d placed around her emotions. He was right. What had she been thinking, responding to his kiss that way? She should have tossed her laptop at him the second he’d touched her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, surprising her. “I shouldn’t have said that. And you’re right. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Like you said, we have to work together.”
Her anger diffused like a balloon that had suddenly had all the air let out of it.
“I’m sorry, too. I should have stopped you. But you caught me by surprise…and I…I was thinking of someone else.” The words inadvertently tumbled out.
“Ouch.” His voice was rueful. “That put me in my place. So who were you thinking of? An old beau?”
“My fiancé.”
“I didn’t know you were engaged. You’re not wearing a ring.”
“I’m not engaged now. He died a number of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Ted was a risk taker like you. Believe me, I’ve got no desire to get tangled up with another man who is an adrenaline junkie.” Turning on her heel, Kate walked out of the room, leaving Striker erotically imagining what it would be like to be “tangled up” with a woman like her.
The steamy heat of the jungle was all around Striker. One false move and he’d be a dead man. He had to remain perfectly still, as he had for hours.
His face was blackened. So was his soul. He’d seen and done so much. Nothing that could be talked about, nothing that could be revealed. But nothing that could be forgotten, either.
Faces appeared out of nowhere, hands grabbing for him.
Striker fought back, sweat pouring off his face. His muscles bunched as he tossed one man after another off him. But there were too many of them.
The next thing Striker knew, he was being staked out in the hot sand, the sun beating down on him. He pulled against the restraints holding him down but couldn’t get free.
Then she was there. Kate. Standing above him, looking all cool and calm.
“Believe me, I’ve got no desire to get tangled up with another man who is an adrenaline junkie,” she told him.
Infuriated, Striker yanked free of the wrist manacles and tugged her down to him. She sprawled over his aroused body and kissed him as they rolled over and over in the hot sand….
Striker woke up as he landed on the floor with a thump.
Damn. He rubbed his right elbow. He’d been dreaming. About Kate. And had ended up rolling out of the bed.
He felt like an idiot. What kind of Force Recon Marine was he to hit the deck like a raw recruit?
Well, at the moment he was a fully aroused Force Recon Marine.
A cold shower took care of that. There was no point going back to bed, since it was almost daylight anyway.
Striker hated dreams. Most of the time he refused to acknowledge he even had them.
He’d never been the type to analyze stuff, unless it was data relating to a mission. But there was something about Kate that was different.
Women had never thrown him before. He’d found plenty of them attractive. But there had never been this curiosity to know more and this inability to remain focused.
Kate wasn’t the first woman he’d known to throw his work as a Force Recon Marine in his face. Several women over the past decade thought they could seduce him away from the Corps, only to call him names when they couldn’t succeed.
He’d always tried to be upfront with them. Had always tried to make the rules of engagement clear, even in his sexual relationships. He was a Marine first and foremost. He wasn’t giving that up for any woman. He didn’t have a regular nine-to-five job that allowed for long-term relationships.
Kate was right. She didn’t need to get hooked up with him.
But that didn’t stop him from wondering about the fiancé who had died. And it sure didn’t stop him from remembering the taste of her parted lips, or the feel of Kate’s lush body pressed against his.
“What do you know about Kate Bradley?” Striker asked Tony as the two men sat in the big kitchen, downing a plateful of Consuela’s tasty huevos rancheros an hour later. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows onto the surface of the pine table that could seat a dozen easily. Everything at Westwind Ranch was larger than life, reflecting Hank King’s philosophy that bigger was better.
But Striker wasn’t consumed with thoughts of his grandfather this morning. He was consumed with Kate.
“What do you want to know?” Tony countered.
“She told me she was engaged once.”
“Si, that is right.”
Getting information from Tony was like pulling teeth out of a porcupine. But Striker wasn’t about to give up. Surrender was not in this Marine’s vocabulary. “What happened?”
“He died.”
Striker gritted his teeth and reined in his impatience. He could tell by Tony’s slight smile that the older man was enjoying yanking his chain. “How?”
“In a car crash. She was there.”
“In the car?” Striker’s chest tightened at the thought of her in a serious car accident.
“In the crowd.”
“What crowd?”
“The crowd watching the race. Her fiancé liked racing cars. His family was very wealthy. He did not need the money. It was the thrill. He was always doing wild things. That last one, the car racing, killed him. Only days before their wedding. She was so young and pale at the funeral.”
“When did this happen?”
“After that summer you were here. Maybe a year later. Maybe a little less.”
Yet Kate still thought about her fiancé when she kissed Striker. She must have loved the guy a lot. And to have seen him die in front of her that way, that had to be rough.
Striker felt like a heel for being so hard on her. Maybe that’s why she had that Ice Queen routine going on. To protect herself from guys like him. He could understand that.
Jeez, now he was analyzing her. Not like him at all.
“Why are you interested in Kate?” Tony asked him.
“Because we’ll be working together for the two months I’m here. She’s advising me on the extent of Hank’s estate and business holdings.”
“She sure left here in a hurry the other morning,” Tony noted.
Striker shrugged and poured himself another mug of Consuela’s delicious coffee.
“She must have walked all the way over to her parents’ house. Must be over a mile,” Tony said.
“That was her choice. She could have waited and gotten a ride from you or me.”
“Bah!” Consuela exclaimed, entering the conversation for the first time. The housekeeper’s dark hair was held back with a wide silver clip as she glared at them both with indignant brown eyes. “Men! They have no idea.” She lifted her eyes heavenward before returning her gaze to them. “Señorita Kate would not wait after you put her to bed.”
Striker gave Tony an accusing look.
Tony just shrugged. “I cannot lie to Consuela. She asked me why the guest room bed was used and I had to tell her.”
“What did she threaten you with?” Striker retorted. “Coffee withdrawal?”
“Worse. She threatened not to make me any of her sopapilla. It is even better than her mother’s.”
Striker remembered the incredible fried pastry dessert served with honey that Maria used to make. “How is your mother?” Striker asked Consuela.
“Bueno. The eye surgery went well. She will soon be seeing better than ever before. Better than you two men who cannot see that a woman would be embarrassed by having to face the man who put her to bed the night before.”
“Nothing happened to be embarrassed about. Other than Tony here wearing bunny slippers when we showed up.”
Consuela was not distracted by Striker’s comment. She stuck to her guns. “You cannot put yourself in her shoes?”
Striker shook his head.
“No way. She’s a woman. I’m not.”
Consuela grabbed their empty plates and marched off, muttering under her breath in rapid Spanish.
Put himself in Kate’s size-six shoes? What did he know about how women thought? And he was certainly no expert in the love department. Give him something simple, like covert tactical maneuvers, any day.
Thinking about tactical maneuvers reminded him that he needed to deal with upper management at King Oil this morning. He’d be wise to keep his thoughts firmly centered on that and off of a certain lady lawyer who kissed like a sexy angel.
“What did you do to her?” Tex demanded as soon as Striker arrived at King Oil.
“To who?”
“To Kate. She lit out of here yesterday as if her hair was on fire.”
There had definitely been some fire involved. When they kissed it had been instant combustion. Like a land mine, hitting you when you least expected it.
Striker should have known better. He’d felt the chemistry between them from the moment he’d first seen Kate back at Quantico. He’d chalked it up to resentment about her ritzy, bossy ways. But there had been more to it than that.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Tex impatiently reminded him. “What did you do to Kate?”
He wasn’t about to admit that he’d kissed her. Instead he said, “You don’t have to worry about Kate.”
“I do worry about her. I’ve known her and her family for a coon’s age.” Tex fixed him with a laser look. “You do anything to hurt her and you’ll have to answer to me.”
“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior with her. Now can we get back to business? I want you to gather the executives together so I can talk to them.”
“They’re already together,” Tex said. “In the large conference room.”
“How did you know that’s what I was planning for today?”
“I didn’t. They had this meeting scheduled before you showed up. And they’re having it without you.”
“Who called the meeting?”
“Charles Longly, V.P. of Finance.”
Striker remembered briefly meeting him yesterday, a tall man with a receding hairline and greedy eyes. Striker had overheard the guy talking to another executive, not realizing he was being overheard. “I think it’s ridiculous that we have some grunt from the Marines coming in here and pretending to run things for two months,” Charles had complained.
Oh, yeah, this grunt from the Marines remembered Charles Longly all right.
“Give me a quick wrap-up of your opinion of this guy,” Striker told Tex.
“The sneaky sort of maneuverer. A weasel who prefers vice to advice,” Tex noted tartly.
“Well now, if that isn’t just too bad. Because I definitely feel like giving out some advice today. And I do believe I’ll go do that right now in the large conference room.”
“Here.” She slapped a file folder in his hand. “This is their agenda for the meeting.”
Charles was sitting at the head of the conference table, with his back to the door when Striker burst in unannounced. “You can’t go in there…” a frazzled secretary guarding the outer doors said.
Striker ignored her. The huge conference room had the same view as his grandfather’s office. It also had tons of food laid out. No paper cups of coffee for this crew. Only fine china and silver.
“Ah, there you are, Striker,” Charles said as if he were in charge of things. “Since you’re not familiar with business procedures, you might want to just sit down in the corner there and observe today’s meeting until you’ve learned more about the company.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Striker said, strolling over to the catered goodies and popping a strawberry into his mouth. “It looks like you have all the luxuries here. And the executive head down the hall looks like something out of a palace,” he noted, using the Marine terminology for bathroom. “Is that marble in there?”
“Finest Italian marble on the floors and walls as well as the counters,” Charles noted proudly.
“Must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Your grandfather believed in having only the best.”
“At the expense of his people?” Striker countered.
“Excuse me?”
“I saw the annual reports. Now as you said, I’m not familiar with business procedures, but I saw that many of you received huge bonuses despite the fact that the company’s net worth is lower now than it has been in years.”
“The company is just going through a rough patch right now,” Charles said defensively.
“And whose fault is that?” Striker said.
“There are a number of reasons for the economy…”
Striker interrupted him. “I’m not talking about the economy, I’m talking about this company. And about the policy of those at the top getting fat at the expense of the little guy at the bottom. You laid off workers as cost-cutting measures and you’re threatening to lay off more.”
“No offense intended, Striker…” Charles was using that condescending tone again, the one that made Striker want to punch his lights out. “But business management really isn’t your field of expertise.”
“Leadership is my field of expertise.”
“Perhaps, but we aren’t in the Marine Corps.”
You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the Corps, Striker thought to himself as he moved to stand at the head of the table. “FYI, several books have been written about the links between Marine Corps philosophy and successful business management.”
“So you’re going to treat us as if we were in boot camp?” Charles said, his voice mocking.
“An excellent idea.” Striker’s voice changed to that of a leader giving an order. “Hit the deck and give me twenty push-ups.”
Charles blinked at him uncertainly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About the push-ups, yes. For now. But not about boot camp management.”
“That’s not realistic. The management of King Oil is a very complex issue, not something you can walk in off the street and comprehend.”
“Unless you’re a Marine.”
“Again, no offense intended,” Charles said in that condescending voice again, “but being a Marine doesn’t give you superhuman abilities.”
“It might. It definitely gives me the experience of dealing with complex situations. Successfully undertaking multiple missions. Handling a flood of raw information, or conversely a shortage of information. These things are our specialty. Marines thrive on multiple threats, situational ambiguity and rapidly changing conditions. What’s the matter, Charles? You appear to be surprised by my comments. You didn’t think a grunt from the Marines knew big words like situational ambiguity?”
Charles looked ready to swallow his tongue.
Striker looked around the room, his narrow gaze a challenge. “Anyone else care to comment? No? All right then. Another thing Marines are good at is taking complex issues and breaking them down to their essence. So tell me, what is the purpose of King Oil?”
He was greeted with dead silence.
“Come on, people,” Striker said. “Give me some answers here.”
“To make money,” Charles stated.
“What else?” Striker said.
“To discover, manage and utilize our oil resources.”
“What else?” Striker repeated.
“To be the best at what we do.” This response came from a woman toward the back of the room.
“And how do we go about accomplishing those things?”
Again silence.
Striker sighed. “Let me tell you a little about the Marine Corps Officer Candidate School training. They don’t just read a bunch of books or sit around and listen to lectures. They do that in addition to being herded from ten-mile marches to grueling calisthenics to crawls through the mud—without much sleep. Now I don’t plan on having you do all that. Not literally. But I want you to think outside the box. I expect you to know what goes on in this company, to be able to put yourselves in your workers’ shoes. I want fresh answers to old questions. I want to see what kind of team you have going here. What is this company’s goal?”
“To make money,” Charles repeated.
“I thought that was one of our purposes,” Striker countered.
“That can’t be a goal and a purpose?”
“You tell me.”
And so it went, with a majority of the old guard remaining stubbornly silent in their disapproval of such goings-on.
But some of the younger members spoke up, brain-storming ideas with relish as to creative ways of making this company work without any further layoffs.
All the while, Striker stood back and observed how the old guard continually shot down each new idea.
“We’ve never done things that way before,” was a mantra to them.
By the end of the day, Striker was ready to blow something up. Seeing the top dogs’ intractable insistence on hanging on to the old way of doing business, Striker was even more determined to speak to the rank-and-file members of the company to get their input on things. One idea that had come up today was instituting an employee suggestion box program, one that would be more than just lip service.
Striker checked with Tex to schedule a meeting with low-level managers and then arranged for visits to King Oil’s offshore oil rigs the following week.
“I heard you got a skunk by the tail,” Tex told him.
“Is that your colorful Texas way of saying I stirred things up at the meeting this afternoon?”
“Then yes, Tex, I reckon I do have a skunk by the tail,” Striker drawled. “It sure stinks like a skunk and walks like a skunk.”
“Well, you’d best get ready for more skunk chasing.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the Oilman’s Club is throwing a Texas barbecue in your honor this Saturday.”
“Send my regrets,” Striker said.
“I’ll do that the day after a rooster lays an egg.”
It took him a moment to translate that into a no. “Look, it just doesn’t feel right given my grandfather’s recent death to be out celebrating at a barbecue.”
Tex laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s what Hank would have wanted.”
Her comment irritated Striker instead of consoling him as she’d no doubt intended. “Do you think that’s how I make my decisions, by doing what my grandfather would have wanted?”
“I think you could teach the folks around here a thing or two,” she admitted. “If you don’t blow them up first. Not that a few couldn’t use a good demolition job.”
Striker had to smile. “You know what? You’d make a fine Marine, Tex.”
“And you’ll make a fine Texan someday,” Tex replied. “With enough coaching from me.”