# Command Control

Sara Jane Stone

A good soldier follows orders!U.S. Army Ranger Logan Reed's Vermont hometown has turned into hell. Logan is now known as either the hot-'n'-available widower or the town hero. And with the memory of his last mission still raw, the last thing he wants is to be called a hero. What he does want is the bold, redheaded stranger who makes his libido stand at attention.Sadie Bannerman is in town to help her pregnant twin…and to lie low until the world learns she's the author of the hottest new erotica novel! Thanks to her explosive chemistry with Logan, she's getting plenty of naughty inspiration for her next book. Because this supersexy soldier knows exactly how to follow her every command….

A good soldier follows orders!

U.S. Army Ranger Logan Reed’s Vermont hometown has turned into hell. Logan is now known as either the hot-’n’-available widower or the town hero. And with the memory of his last mission still raw, the last thing he wants is to be called a hero. What he does want is the bold, redheaded stranger who makes his libido stand at attention.

Sadie Bannerman is in town to help her pregnant twin…and to lie low until the world learns she’s the author of the hottest new erotica novel! Thanks to her explosive chemistry with Logan, she’s getting plenty of naughty inspiration for her next book. Because this supersexy soldier knows exactly how to follow her every command….

Can’t resist a sexy military hero?

Then you’ll love our Uniformly Hot! miniseries.

Mills & Boon Blaze’s bestselling miniseries

continues with more irresistible soldiers

from all branches of the armed forces.


Dear Reader,

I am so excited to share Logan’s story with you! Army Ranger Logan Reed was one of the horse soldiers from my Mills & Boon Blaze debut, Command Performance. He appeared as a side character, but I could not stop thinking about the lonely widower sidelined from the job he loved. I felt he deserved a happily-ever-after. But first, I needed to find the perfect heroine.

Then I met Sadie, the erotica writer determined to succeed. I love writing about strong women, but what made Sadie stand out in my mind was her constant struggle for work/life balance. Sadie seemed like a great match for Logan—except for the fact that he is on a mission to keep a low profile and she is actively seeking publicity for the next book in her bestselling erotica series.

I love hearing from readers! Could you relate to Sadie’s desire to balance her personal life with her career ambitions? Did you enjoy the small-town setting? Let me know! Find me on Facebook or drop by my website, www.sarajanestone.com, and while you’re there don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter to receive information about new releases, contests and more.

Happy reading!

Sara Jane Stone

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After several years on the other side of the publishing industry, Sara Jane Stone bid goodbye to her sales career to pursue her dream—writing romance novels. Armed with a firm belief that dreams do come true, she sat down at her keyboard to write fun, sexy stories like the ones she loved to read. Sara Jane currently resides in Brooklyn, New York, with her very supportive real-life hero, two lively young children and a lazy Burmese cat. Visit her online at www.sarajanestone.com, become a fan of Sara Jane Stone on Facebook or follow her on Twitter, @sarajanestone.

Command Control

Sara Jane Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Maya, for her help plotting this book.

And to my husband, thank you for your endless support and love. I couldn’t have written this book without you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Quotation

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

The things he wants, they are dirty—depraved even—but then so are my fantasies. The difference is he knows how to ask for what he wants, and I lost my voice long ago.

—Isabelle’s Command: Possession, Volume 1

by MJ Lane


“Don’t leave,” he says. This time, his words are not an ultimatum. “Tell me what you want. Anything. I am yours to command.”

—Isabelle’s Command: Submission, Volume 2

by MJ Lane


I found my voice. But now, my heart is exposed. And I don’t know if I’m ready to love him.

—Isabelle’s Command: Control, Volume 3

by MJ Lane (A Work In Progress)

[1]

“EVERY WOMAN IN here is staring at you.”

U.S. Army Ranger Logan Reed looked up from his burger at the petite, white-haired woman across the table. Fact was he would rather be anywhere—Iraq, Afghanistan, a remote African village—but here, sitting across the table from his aunt Lou at The Quilted Quail, an old barn that had been converted into the only respectable restaurant in Mount Pleasant, Vermont.

“Because they want to raffle me off at the Summer Festival.” He returned his attention to his food. After a week spent hiking and camping, he’d thought a decent meal would be worth venturing into town for an early dinner. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You can’t hide from the people who have known you since you were in diapers. Look, there’s Cindy.” Aunt Lou waved her hand at the blond-haired, blue-eyed first-grade teacher. “She was asking when you’d be back from your trip. She is in charge of this year’s raffle and she thinks ‘lunch with a hero’ will be a big-ticket item.”

“I’m not a goddamn hero.”

“Language, Logan,” his aunt scolded.

He watched as Cindy weaved through the wooden tables. He’d been approached by nearly everyone who had anything to do with the town’s Summer Festival since his commanding officer had ordered him to take some time to rest, relax and get his head on straight. After Logan’s mistake had left his teammate with a bullet in the shoulder, he couldn’t blame his CO. And now that a journalist wanted to write a book about the mission Logan had screwed up? The army had even more reason to keep him on R & R.

Active duty Special Forces soldiers did not give interviews. Press, good or bad, hindered his team’s ability to do their jobs. His team, like many of the other elite units, was designed to slip into an area unnoticed, execute their task and leave undetected. Sometimes, their missions required them to blend in with the local population without alerting the enemy. They wore their hair longer than the average military buzz cut. Some of the guys grew beards. And at times, they worked alongside the good guys in the area. If the media put their names and faces out there, along with their rank and job description, the enemy would see it and there was a chance it would handicap their future missions.

Not to mention the fact that nine times out of ten, the press focused on their mistakes, not their wins. His team had completed hundreds of successful missions, but the only one anyone wanted to write about was the one that had gone south. His CO was determined to make sure that didn’t happen.

Logan was ready and willing to do his part and lie low in rural Vermont. His job as a Ranger—it was everything to him. This time, when Logan returned to his team, he would be ready for duty—no distractions. That meant he needed to put his grief to rest.

He’d never forget. Not by a long shot. But he didn’t need to feel like he was drowning in loss every damn day. Jane had been gone for over a year now. At some point, he had to put the past behind him.

But thanks to his friends and family, he felt more bound to his memories than ever. They had good intentions. Still, everyone treated him as if he was supposed to spend the rest of his life immersed in sorrow. Unless he was on the battlefield. Out there they assumed he could do no wrong, as if putting on the uniform transformed him into some sort of idol. That’s why he’d gone hiking in the first place, to get away from the town determined to label him a freaking hero.

“I agreed to come to town for a burger,” he said. “Nothing else.”

“If we always got what we wanted out of life,” Aunt Lou said, “I’d be living in one of those fancy homes like the ladies on The Real Housewives.”

And he’d be back with his team doing the job he loved instead of sidelined indefinitely. Or better yet, Jane would still be alive and he wouldn’t have spent the past year feeling like everyone in his life was tiptoeing around him. He didn’t need an endless pity party.

The smell of Cindy’s floral perfume reached the table first. Logan glanced at the door, debating whether to abandon his burger.

“Mind your manners,” Aunt Lou ordered as Cindy followed her perfume cloud to their table.

Logan stood, allowing Cindy to wrap her arms around him.

“Logan, it’s so good to see you out.” Cindy drew back and looked at him, her brow furrowed. “How are you?”

God, how he hated those three little words. “Just fine, ma’am.”

He reclaimed his seat and his burger. Without waiting for an invitation, Cindy pulled a chair from an empty table and sat down next to him.

“Have you given any more thought to the raffle? The people of Mount Pleasant would be lining up to buy tickets if they knew the grand prize was lunch with our very own U.S. Army ranger. Everyone is dying to learn more about your latest mission.” Cindy dropped her voice to a near whisper, leaning in until the scent of her perfume left him practically gagging. “Especially after seeing that picture in the paper.”

She wasn’t the first person in town to reference the picture that had spread like wildfire through the nation’s media. The image showed Logan and his teammates riding horses provided by an Afghan warlord, their faces thankfully obscured by handkerchiefs. “That’s classified.”

“Surely you can share some of the details,” Cindy pressed. “Perhaps over lunch with the raffle winner? All the proceeds go to the school’s literacy program.”

Logan reached for his beer and took a long drink, wishing like hell he could get up and leave. He had a hunch the raffle winner would be a woman—the men in town wouldn’t be caught dead on a lunch date with him—and she wouldn’t be interested in the nitty-gritty details of his latest mission.

Since he’d been home, a number of single women had tried to cozy up to him, always proclaiming how sorry they were for his loss while trying to drop subtle hints they were interested if he was ready to start dating again. It was plain weird.

Logan glanced at the door. Too bad he couldn’t call for an extraction team and fast-rope out of there. But walking away wouldn’t stop Cindy from trying any tactic to get a commitment out of him. He gave his aunt a pleading look.

“Cindy, you know he can’t talk about the details of his missions.” His aunt stood and took Cindy’s arm. “I think I saw Suzanne Hummel on the patio, and I need to speak with her about the band she hired to play at Summer Festival.”

“Of course.” Cindy turned to him, dropping her voice low. “Promise me you’ll think about the raffle. We need an answer soon. The festival is only days away.”

Aunt Lou pulled Cindy away, but they were still within earshot when Lou called over her shoulder, “If you leave first, do me a favor and move the small desk in the library down to the guesthouse.”

Logan nodded. He had every intention of ducking out as soon as he finished his burger. He’d driven his truck here knowing he might need to escape before his aunt. “Sure. After I feed the cows.”

“Before,” his aunt insisted. “I have a tenant arriving today and she’s a writer. Asked if we could provide a space for her to work.”

Logan frowned. A writer—specifically a journalist—was the reason he was on forced R & R. “A writer? What kind?”

“She didn’t say, but you can ask her yourself when she arrives.” Aunt Lou walked away, taking Cindy with her. “And think about the raffle, Logan.”

Logan turned his attention back to his burger. He had nothing against raising money for literacy, but posing as a hero? It made him feel like a hypocrite. Yes, he’d ridden a horse through Taliban country. Big deal. He’d also been so damn distracted when his team had gone in to rescue the three female aid workers held captive in a remote region of Afghanistan that he’d forgotten to cover his teammate. One inch in another direction and that bullet would have hit the woman in Hunter’s arms. It had practically brushed the top of her head.

No, he couldn’t sit down to lunch and recount his heroics. He was biding his time in Mount Pleasant, helping his aunt with the farm, until he could return to work. It killed him, sitting on his hands, away from the action. But he knew he deserved the punishment. And this time when he went back, he needed to have his head in the game 100 percent.

Still, his team was like family. Aside from Aunt Lou, the only one he had left. Being away from them—the loneliness ate at him.

Logan shook away the thought and returned to his burger. Across the restaurant, the door opened, letting in a shaft of midday summer sunlight. A redhead with mile-long legs walked in and headed for the bar that ran the length of the barn-turned-restaurant.

He studied the mysterious woman as she moved across the restaurant with carefree confidence. In one hand, she held a spiral notebook and a small purse. She was new to town, probably a tourist, though she didn’t look like the type to spend her free time hiking and biking. Her high-heeled sandals screamed big city.

Her loose curls bounced with each step, the bright red a sharp contrast to her creamy white skin. And her green eyes shone with playful mystery, as if she had a secret she wanted to whisper in his ear. Everything about her was vivid, fresh and exciting.

His gaze returned to her legs, narrowing on the point where they disappeared beneath her black miniskirt.

If you think her skirt is too short, she’s too young for you. His teammate wasn’t with him tonight, but Mike’s familiar mantra echoed in Logan’s mind. One of his T-shirts would cover more of her legs. He closed his eyes. And, great, an image of the redhead in his army T-shirt was now planted in his mind.

Logan forced himself to look away. She was too young for him. Not that thirty-five was ancient, but the word widower made a man seem older than his years.

He took one last look as the redhead slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. She’d chosen a seat close to his table and the proximity offered an up-close view as she crossed her legs, the indecent skirt sliding a little higher. Too young and too wild. Logan turned away, praying no one saw the longing in his eyes.

If he was being honest with himself, what he really wanted was a few nights of hot and heavy sex to take the edge off his loneliness. Nothing serious. Just something physical to make him feel alive.

Logan caught the waiter’s eye and signaled for the check. While he waited, his gaze drifted back to the woman.

He watched as she accepted a glass of red wine and opened her notebook. She took a sip, but her eyes never moved from the words in front of her. Setting the glass down, she drew her lower lip into her mouth and ran her teeth over it. She made reading look like a forbidden act, something that should be done behind closed doors.

The waiter returned and Logan opened up his wallet. Then he stood and headed for the door. He had to get out of here. Longing and loneliness would not change the fact that any reasonable woman would expect things he wasn’t ready to deliver.

[2]

“SEDUCE ME. I want to feel your hands on me. Your mouth, your tongue. I want to feel every inch of you holding me down, claiming me,” I say as I lean back on the bed. “That’s an order.”

Sadie read the words for a third time, but failed to reach the next paragraph. She couldn’t concentrate on the pages she’d written yesterday. Not with a man staring at her. Reading a sex scene in public was nothing new. In Manhattan, she’d reviewed her chapters while riding the subway. Before she’d sold her first book, commuting to and from her multiple waitressing jobs was when she’d done most of her writing.

But reading while a stranger watched her as if he wanted to devour her? That destroyed her focus and sent parts of her body spiraling toward take-me-now excitement.

Sadie shifted in her seat. His attention—and her response—reminded her how much her body missed her ex and their regular bedroom workouts, even if her mind had moved on quickly in the wake of their parting three months earlier. But the interest she felt had nothing to do with the past.

She looked up from her notebook as the stranger walked by her bar stool. With his wavy dark brown hair, piercing brown eyes and muscles even his cargo shorts and loose black T-shirt couldn’t hide, the man defined ruggedly handsome.

She turned her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. He seemed strangely familiar. Studying his backside as he walked toward the door, she knew. Mr. Ruggedly Handsome looked like Hugh Jackman when he’d played Wolverine in the X-Men movies—minus the facial hair—from his serious expression to his ready-for-battle body.

He walked with grace and purpose. Part of her wanted to go after him, find out if he was available and interested. But she couldn’t. Not right now. Her sister would be here any second. As long as she was in Mount Pleasant, her family came first. Everything else, from work to drool-worthy strangers, needed to take a backseat.

The door opened and he disappeared into the sunshine, leaving Sadie to her reading.

“There you are.” Laurel, Sadie’s twin, enveloped her in a big hug. They might have been born the same day, but the similarities ended there. Sadie had inherited their father’s Irish coloring, while Laurel looked like the all-American girl next door with her blond hair and blue eyes. A very pregnant girl next door.

“Careful, you’ll crush the baby,” Sadie said, struggling to maintain her balance on the barstool.

Laurel squeezed tighter. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You said you needed me.”

“I know. And you always come through for me. But this time you’re here. For a whole month. I never thought you’d leave New York for that long.”

“I can barely believe it myself.”

An entire month in small-town Vermont, away from the hustle and bustle of her everyday life in New York City, away from sushi delivered to her doorstep, away from her quiet writing space. Of course, she could work here. She could write anywhere. But still, she was here. For Laurel. For once, she was trying to put her sister first, to tip the scale between personal life and professional.

“Sit. Please,” Sadie said, pulling away from her twin’s embrace. “You look like you should be resting with your feet up. You’re...”

“Enormous?” Laurel said with a wide grin.

“That wasn’t the word I was looking for.”

“Only for another month.” Her sister took her hand and squeezed. “I can’t believe you’ll be here when the baby arrives. I asked Dad to come up, too, but he said the trip was too expensive.”

Sadie frowned, her wineglass hovering close to her lips. “I sent him an extra check with a note to buy a plane ticket.”

“Oh, well, he didn’t mention it,” Laurel said, the excitement in her eyes dimming.

Damn him, Sadie thought. Her father might begrudge her charity, but he didn’t have to take it out on Laurel. As far as Sadie was concerned the monthly checks weren’t a handout. Their father had worked hard to provide for his twin girls after their mother had passed away when they were babies. Now it was Sadie’s turn to take care of him. She had the money to ensure they stayed afloat. And with the way her book had taken off, she could do a lot more than pay the bills. But her father and sister would only accept so much.

Laurel shrugged. “It’s just as well. I don’t know where I’d put him. We barely have room for you and the baby.”

Sadie set her wineglass on the bar. “I found someplace else to stay.”

Laurel’s brow furrowed. “You’re staying with us. After all you’ve done for us, the checks you sent when I lost my job, we owe you. I can’t repay the money, but I can feed and house you for the next month. Please, Sadie. Let me do this for you. I promise to bake your favorite cookies.”

“I’d be in the way on your couch.” Laurel and her husband rented a cramped one-bedroom cottage outside of town. And while Sadie lived in a Manhattan apartment the size of a shoe box—albeit one with a Central Park view—it had been years since she’d shared her living space with her twin. They’d fought day and night back then. She couldn’t imagine it would be better now that Laurel was eight months pregnant.

“I saw an ad online for a guesthouse rental on the neighboring farm,” she continued. “I called and it was available. This way you will have some time with Greg before the baby arrives and I will have space to write. I have a book due soon.”

“Lou’s guesthouse?”

Sadie nodded. “I spoke with a woman named Louise Reed.”

“Everyone calls her Lou.”

“Well, I’m staying in Lou’s guesthouse,” Sadie said firmly. “But that does not change the fact that I’m here for you. I’m going to be the best big sister.”

“You’re five minutes older. I don’t think that counts,” Laurel said, her eyes brimming with tears. It was an old argument. One they’d joked about for years. “But thank you,” her twin added. “For everything. I appreciate the money. We wouldn’t have survived without it. Still, having you here means even more to me. And one day, I’m going to find a way to repay you. When you need me, I’ll be there. I promise.”

Those heartfelt words sent a wave of guilt crashing down on her. She was here for her sister. Mostly.

She glanced around the spacious restaurant, unable to meet her twin’s gaze. Everything about the place was quaint and welcoming. At the back, they’d kept the old sliding door from when the building had been a barn. High up in the A-frame ceiling, light poured in through long horizontal windows. This place was a world away from her life in Manhattan. But when she went back, her life wouldn’t be the same. Not even close.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Laurel said, as if reading her mind. Sadie had never been able to hide anything from her twin. It was a little scary how easily Laurel knew what Sadie was thinking. But the connection did not run both ways, which was just plain unfair.

“I know you had to get away before the world learns about your secret identity,” Laurel continued.

In a few weeks, everyone would know she’d written the erotica novel everyone was talking about—Isabelle’s Command by MJ Lane. Sadie would be on national TV promoting the release of the second book in the series. She felt a wave of excitement just thinking about it.

But two weeks earlier, a small problem had threatened her carefully planned reveal. She’d caught a photographer outside her building when she’d gone out for a bagel. Thankfully, she’d spotted him first and quickly covered her face with her arms. She’d heard the camera’s click, click, click, but knew he’d only caught shots of a faceless red-haired woman walking into her building.

Of course, he’d still tried to save his story by calling her publicist to verify the woman in the pictures was MJ Lane before printing them. Her publicist had lied, telling the man no. But not all of them would fact-check. If she wasn’t careful, she would not be able to keep her secret until the release of her second book. Another tabloid reporter might run the story on a hope and a prayer that the facts were correct.

Telling the world Sadie Bannerman was MJ Lane—it would happen. And she was determined to make the most of the story. This was her career, her future, her everything.

But it needed to unfold according to her plan. Here, in rural Vermont, there was very little chance her secret would get out before her next book release. Her big disclosure would be perfect.

Almost.

Once the world learned who she was, she knew her relationships, already strained from the time and energy she poured into her work, would be marked with a big fat F for failure. She’d have less time for her sister. And her father? She hadn’t asked him, but she had a hunch he didn’t like the idea of the whole world knowing she wrote erotica. He acted as if taking the money she made from her work was a cardinal sin.

She might not be able to set things right with her dad in the next few weeks, but she could take this opportunity to be here for her sister. Laurel needed her and this time sending a check to help cover the bills wasn’t enough.

“It means so much to me that you’ll be here when the baby arrives.” The tears were no longer brimming; they were flowing down Laurel’s face.

“Oh, no, don’t you start. If you cry, we’ll both be a weeping mess in minutes, and I refuse to cry in public. I’m here for a whole month. We’re going to have some fun together before my little niece arrives.” Sadie caught the bartender’s attention. “Do you have pie?”

When they were little, pie had been the family cure-all. Their dad had never known what to do with two crying girls, so he’d decided it was best to splurge on a trip to the diner for a slice or two.

“Yes, dear,” the man old enough to be her grandfather said. “Apple, cherry and Maine blueberry.”

“Apple,” Laurel said quickly.

He nodded. “Two slices?”

“No,” Sadie said. “We’re going to need the whole pie.”

[3]

AFTER MORE THAN a decade in the army, Logan knew when to withdraw and wait for the enemy to pass. Not that the pack of elementary school teachers were hostiles, but after his encounter with Cindy two days earlier, he wasn’t taking any chances. He hadn’t planned on leaving the farm, but his aunt was driving him crazy, constantly badgering him about the raffle.

Logan spotted the women leaving the coffee shop on Main Street before they saw him, and his training kicked in. Opening the door to the one-hundred-and-something-year-old Victorian house that had been converted into Main Street Books, he slipped inside. A covert entrance except for the jingling bell attached to the door announcing his presence. He found a position in the rear corner of the store, deep in the maze of bookshelves. The only window in this section looked out on a side alley lined with garbage cans. No one would spot him back here. Pulling the nearest book from the shelf, he pretended to read the back cover.

“If you need assistance picking out a romance novel, I can help.”

His gaze snapped to the woman standing two feet away holding a book in each hand—the redhead from The Quilted Quail. She’d traded in her miniskirt for a pair of jean shorts, but that didn’t affect his reaction. The desire he’d felt when he’d first seen her returned full force.

“But if it’s your first time—” she continued, placing the books back on the shelf “—you might want to steer clear of erotica.”

“Erotica?” Logan glanced at the book in his hand. On the front cover was a practically nude woman lying on a bed. A man in leather pants stood next to her, holding a whip. It looked like an image out of a men’s magazine, not something he’d find on the shelf in his hometown. “Mount Pleasant sells erotica?”

“Not much,” she said grimly. “But what they do have is pretty good.”

She stepped toward him, close enough for him to smell a hint of her soft floral scent—not overpowering, but enticing—and reached for a book on the shelf above his head. The side of her breast brushed his arm, sending a red-alert signal through his body.

“If you’re looking for a classic romance, this is one of my favorites.” She held out a copy of a Jane Austen novel.

He shook his head. “Read that one in high school. It wasn’t for me.”

She placed the book on the shelf and turned to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To find the perfect romance, I’ll need to know a little bit more about you.”

Was she hitting on him? It had been so long since he’d played that game, he wasn’t sure of his next move.

Tired of sitting on the sidelines waiting for his life to restart, he decided to take a chance. What was the worst thing that could happen? She’d walk away leaving him with a hard-on he wasn’t sure he was ready to act on? At least he’d have felt something other than loneliness and grief.

“Not much to tell. I’m home on leave.”

“You’re a soldier?” Her smile widened. “Let me guess. Special Forces.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He couldn’t tell from her reaction if she was one of those women who jumped into bed with a man because he wore a uniform or ran in the other direction. Part of him hoped it was the former. “Army ranger.”

“No kidding?” Laughing, she scanned the shelves before selecting another paperback. “This one should be just right for you.”

She handed him the book. The cover showed a man’s naked chest with dog tags hanging around his neck.

“He’s a soldier, a SEAL, and she’s a nurse,” she said. “They have hot sex, overcome a few challenges and fall in love.”

“The hot sex part sounds good.” He set the book back on the shelf. “But I’m not looking for a fairy-tale ending.”

She handed him back the first book. “Then maybe you should stick with erotica.”

Her fingers brushed his, sending shock waves through his body. He let her hand linger a moment, not wanting to let the feeling go. Logan glanced up at her and saw the heat in her eyes. He knew he’d made the right call. Whatever was happening here wasn’t one-sided.

He shook his head. “I’m not into whips.”

“So just hot sex?” She turned back to the bookshelf and he instantly missed the physical connection. He wanted her hands on him and it didn’t matter where.

He watched her index finger tap her lips as she scanned the books. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth and for a second all he could think about was what she would taste like.

“Just sex,” he managed.

“I’m sure we can do better than ‘just sex.’ Don’t you want to leave yourself open to new experiences? We can find something wild that doesn’t include whips.”

“Don’t think I’m ready for that,” he said truthfully. He was in uncharted territory—flirting with a mysterious stranger. He should probably walk away now before it went any further.

But his feet refused to move. Excitement and anticipation pumped through him for the first time since he’d set foot in Mount Pleasant. If he couldn’t ship out with his team, maybe this was the next-best thing.

“But plain old hot sex I can handle,” he added, praying that wasn’t a lie.

She hesitated for the first time since he’d entered the store. Had he said the wrong thing? Gone too far?

“Are you going to walk away without telling me your name because I’m not into whips?” he asked, hoping to spark the laughter he’d seen in her eyes just moments ago.

“What if I told you I could convince you to give it a try?” The uncertainty disappeared, but hell if her expression wasn’t serious.

“Are you really into—”

“No, I was teasing. Whips aren’t my thing,” she said smiling. “And I’m Sadie.”

“Logan.” He ran a hand up and down the back of his neck. “But now I’m kind of curious how you’d convince me.”

Sadie laughed. The sound was like a drug. It drew him in and left him wanting more.

“I’d start by reading to you.” She took the book from his hands and opened to the middle.

“‘That’s right, baby,’” she read. “‘Harder. Please.’”

He didn’t think it was possible for him to get more turned on, but the combination of her husky voice and bright, laughing expression took him up a notch. Given that her eyes were fixed on the book, he didn’t think she’d noticed.

But that hadn’t stopped him from picking up on her response. His gaze swept over her, settling on her breasts. Either she was freezing in the unair-conditioned store or her nipples were begging for attention.

“‘I want you to drive your hard...’”

She looked up at him, catching him with his gaze locked on her chest. Shit. He quickly looked away.

“Too much for a morning reading at Main Street Books?”

“No,” he said with a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It is just that I haven’t done this in a while. Flirting.”

She nodded, closing the book. “Just got out of a relationship?”

“Something like that. I’m a—”

He couldn’t say the word. For the first time in months someone had looked at him with something other than pity. If he said the word widower the laughter would vanish. And then she’d leave. He might not be sure where this was going, but he didn’t want her to disappear.

It had been over a year since he’d lost his wife to cancer. Before she’d slipped away, she’d been sick. For eighteen long months, his world had revolved around illness, pain, loss and pity—even from his teammates. Not a hint of laughter.

He wanted to move forward. After his last mission, he didn’t have a choice. His grief had distracted him at the worst possible moment. He needed to add some lightness back into his life.

“It’s a long story,” he added.

She turned her head to one side, studying him. “One that explains why you’re hiding from a group of women?”

He blinked. “How did you know?”

“I saw your covert entrance and the group of ladies across the street. Pretty sneaky. Although next time you might want to choose the nonfiction section.” Her tone was friendly, but no longer teasing. “Why are they after you?”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, determined to hear her laugh again. “But first, I need your word you won’t join forces with them.”

She lowered her voice as if they were discussing a top-secret mission. “I promise.”

“They’re trying to raffle me off to the highest bidder.”

Sadie let out a bark of laughter, raising her hand to her mouth. “And you’re not for sale?”

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “But those women? Man, they’re relentless. If my team found out? I’d never be able to live that one down.”

The bell over the door rang. Sadie stepped back and peered around the last bookshelf in the section. From there, he suspected she could see the front door.

“They’re in the store.” She returned to the romance/erotica section and scooped up her purse. “We need to get you out of here. We can’t have a tough soldier like you become the laughingstock of your team.”

She took his hand and pulled him along behind her. “Come with me. I’m parked out back.”

Hand in hand, Logan followed her through the bookshelf maze. He knew they weren’t in any real danger, but his heart raced. What would this wild, sexy woman do next?

Sadie froze midaisle. If his training hadn’t kicked in, he would have crashed into her, probably sending them both to the floor. As it was, she’d left him off balance.

Without warning, she pressed him against a side door between two bookshelves. He caught himself before the shock of her body against his sent them both tumbling.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

Instinctively, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her around, shielding her from view, or enemy fire. But this was a bookstore in Vermont, not a war zone. Still, he didn’t step away.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, sending his racing heart into overdrive. Her lower body fit between his splayed legs. With her heeled sandals and long legs, he would only need to lift her another inch before sliding inside—if they were naked and he was ready. At the moment, he only had one of the two working in his favor.

When he was on a mission, the adrenaline sometimes left him standing at attention. A hazard of the job. But right now it had everything to do with the woman staring up at him as if she couldn’t wait for his next move. She shifted, rocking her hips against him. There was no way she could miss the hard evidence of just how turned on he was.

Her gaze drifted to his lips, an invitation to taste. Logan groaned, lowering his head until their lips were practically touching. And he hesitated. Releasing her waist, he ran his hands through her loose wavy hair, his eyes roaming over her parted lips. He wanted to kiss her. But not here. Not like this.

She pushed up on her tiptoes, making every muscle in his body aware of just how much he wanted her. Turning her head, she brought her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I think the coast is clear. On three, let’s make a break for it. My car is the blue Prius on the left. Ready?”

He nodded, relieved and at the same time wishing the full-body contact wouldn’t end.

“One, two, three,” she said.

He stepped away, letting her slip in front of him and lead the way to their escape car.

This was crazy, but right now he didn’t care. He felt alive and more turned on than he’d been in years—a helluva long way from that lonely cliff’s edge he’d been standing on for months.

* * *

SADIE PEELED OUT of the parking lot with Mr. Ruggedly Handsome in her passenger seat. Her hands gripped the wheel, her body tense with excitement. But as soon as they turned onto the main road, guilt crept up on her. She’d come to Vermont for her sister, not to “rescue” hot soldiers from a crowd of women—especially one still reeling from a recent breakup or worse.

God, what if he was married? Sadie took her eyes off the road long enough to glance at his ring finger. Bare. She let out a breath of relief.

Still, there was a story behind that brief moment of hesitation she’d witnessed earlier. If she had to guess, a complex one. Sadie had enough problematic relationships in her life right now. If—and that was a pretty big if—she decided to have a vacation fling, it wouldn’t be with a complicated man.

But Logan was a walking five-alarm fire. The anticipation of that almost-kiss had left her body on edge. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Turning left, she drove the length of the block, and turned left again.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” he asked.

“Back to the parking lot,” she said. “I think the coast is clear by now. And to set the record straight, I’m not in the habit of kidnapping men I meet in bookstores.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan nod. “Go straight up ahead and turn left at the next stop sign. That will get you back there. The one-way streets here are like a maze.”

“You’re from the area?”

“Born and raised,” he said. “Where are you visiting from?”

“Manhattan.”

“Long way from home,” he said.

Distancewise it was a few hours by car, but after forty-eight hours in Mount Pleasant, her home felt like a faraway world.

“My sister is having a baby.” Sadie turned right, pulling in beside a large blue truck. “She asked me to come up and lend her a hand.”

She put the car in Park and turned to him. Tension radiated off Mr. Ruggedly Handsome. His mouth formed a thin, grim line. The playful, teasing man she’d seen in the bookstore had vanished.

“You’re the writer,” he said. “The one renting Lou’s guesthouse.”

Sadie smiled. “Word travels fast.”

“Small town.” Logan opened the door. With one foot on the pavement, he turned to her. “Thanks for the rescue. And to set the record straight, I’m not in the habit of letting beautiful women kidnap me.”

His words warmed her body. “Beautiful, huh?”

“I should be going.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Remembering their almost-kiss between the shelves? The heat in his eyes said yes. But she also saw regret. Maybe he’d meant what he’d said earlier in the store—he wasn’t ready. Perhaps the past still had a hold on him?

Logan exited the car, careful not to slam her door. He gave a little wave and then disappeared across the lot.

“Well, that’s a first.” She put the car in Reverse. She’d never had a man almost kiss her, call her beautiful and then disappear before he found out what she wrote.

Sadie turned onto the main road. She could always ask Laurel about the handsome soldier, but she didn’t want gossip. She’d rather hear his story from him. There was something about the longing she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. It left her wanting to do more than read sex scenes to him. She wanted to get to know him in bed and out, learn his secrets and unlock his mysteries.

[4]

“YOU’RE HOVERING.” Laurel stood in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, the other resting on her belly.

“You should sit down.” Sadie plucked the utensil from her twin’s hand. “Rest. You’ve been standing over that stove all morning.”

“We need food,” her twin protested.

“I just filled your fridge with groceries yesterday.” Sadie had been horrified when she’d looked through her sister’s kitchen and realized her twin was barely getting by foodwise. She knew Laurel and her husband had been struggling since Laurel had lost her job, but Sadie sent money every month despite Laurel’s protests. Her very pregnant sister should not be living off mac and cheese.

“I need to fill the freezer. Once the baby comes I won’t feel like cooking. And we can’t live on takeout up here like you do in New York.” Laurel snatched the spoon back and turned away from Sadie.

“Greg can cook for you. Isn’t that part of a husband’s job after the baby comes?”

Laurel snorted. “He’s not allowed in my kitchen. But even if I did let him in, he won’t have the time, between work and the baby—”

“Wait, Greg’s not taking time off?”

“He can’t afford to. As it is they’ve cut his hours at the plant back to thirty-two. That’s how we lost our benefits.”

“I told you I’d pay the hospital bills. If you need more so Greg can stay for a week or two, the money is yours. I have more than enough to cover whatever you need, especially after this next book comes out.”

“No. He can’t risk losing his job. I appreciate the offer. So does Greg. But we can’t turn to you for everything. We’re trying to get back on our feet. If Greg does well, if he works hard and gets promoted, we’ll have benefits again. And when the baby’s old enough, I’m going to find another job,” Laurel said, stirring briskly.

“I know you’re trying. Greg, too,” she said. “But you’re about to have a baby. He should be home with you in the beginning.”

“I’ll have you here,” Laurel said. “I won’t need him.”

“I’m here now. Why don’t you let me finish that while you sit down?” Sadie made another grab for the spoon only to have her hand slapped away.

“I need to cook. And you’re worse than Greg in the kitchen. Go. Write. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Your hovering is driving me batty.”

Sadie closed her eyes and groaned in frustration. Three days. She had been in town for seventy-two hours and they were already making each other crazy. A month would be torture unless she started focusing on her book.

“Promise me you will rest after this casserole is in the oven,” Sadie said, “and I’ll leave you alone until dinner.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Sadie pursed her lips. “We were never Girl Scouts, Laurel.”

“I know.” Her twin waved the spoon at the screen door. “Out. Be back at seven for dinner.”

Sadie marched down the squeaky wooden steps and into the yard. She’d walked over. After living in Manhattan, it seemed odd to drive the equivalent of a few city blocks to visit her sister. She moved through Laurel’s overgrown backyard, not slowing down when she reached the mowed field indicating Aunt Lou’s farm. Following the fence line to the cow pasture, she headed for the red wooden barn. Her cute, quaint guesthouse stood on the other side of the cows’ home.

Sadie studied the barn as she approached. The building shone like a freshly washed fire truck in the midday sun. Someone had painted it recently. The metal gate at the front of the barn swung open. Sadie froze.

Mr. Ruggedly Handsome, the man who wanted “just hot sex, no whips,” walked out carrying a bucket. If she believed in fate, she would have thanked her lucky stars for depositing him on her doorstep. But she’d stopped believing in fairy godmothers and magic wands years ago. And destiny? It had never handed her anything. Her career, her success—those she chalked up to hard work and drive. No, it wasn’t fate; it was coincidence, and an opportunity to learn more about him.

Sadie watched him set the bucket down. Jeans hugged the backside she’d admired that first afternoon at The Quilted Quail and a gray army T-shirt showed off his muscular arms. Leaving the gate open, he disappeared inside. When he came back, he carried two more large blue buckets, his biceps flexing from the exertion.

Sadie bit her lip. She could return to her desk in the guesthouse and write, or she could offer to help Mr. Ruggedly Handsome with his buckets. Her brain didn’t even have a chance to vote before her legs started moving toward the barn.

She had hours to kill before dinner. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her day than working alongside Logan, drawing him into conversation. She wanted to see him laugh again. He’d been full of humor at the bookstore, teasing her in the stacks. Then, one quick drive around town and he’d become withdrawn and quiet. Any woman in her shoes would be curious.

“Hi, stranger,” she said, offering him a smile.

Logan stopped a few feet outside the barn, but he held on to the buckets, which suited her fine. She didn’t mind seeing his muscles in action. His gaze ran down her body, taking in her plain black tank top, jean shorts that skimmed the tops of her thighs and slip-on canvas flats. Maybe not the best outfit for the farm.

But then he looked her straight in the eyes. Not a hint of disapproval there. No, she was willing to bet her next book advance that the soldier-turned-farmhand liked what he saw.

“Sadie.” The way he said her name—it was as if he’d expected to run into her. He paused before adding, “Good to see you again.”

She smiled. “I’m renting the guesthouse. If you’re working here now, soldier, you might be seeing a lot of me.”

“Lou is my aunt.”

Her smiled faded. He could have mentioned that in the car. Was that why he’d pulled away?

“I’m helping her out while I’m home,” he added.

“Need a hand?”

“I’m good. Just watering cows,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He turned to the fields. The water in the buckets sloshed up the sides with each step. Sadie fell in beside him. She wasn’t going to let him get away. Not this time.

“Laurel kicked me out. I could write, but I’d rather procrastinate and enjoy the fresh air.” She moved closer and that sharp need she’d felt in the bookstore sent her pulse racing. She wanted to grab the front of his T-shirt and pull him up against her. Instead, she reached for one of the buckets.

Logan stepped to the side. “I’ve got this. If you don’t mind walking through cow fields, I could use a hand running the hose out to the watering troughs near the barn. It will reach the first two enclosures.”

He was sending her out to pasture. Alone. “I think I can handle that.”

He nodded. “The hose is at the back of the barn. Half of the herd is in the first field, but they shouldn’t bother you. The back one is empty at the moment. I’ll be working in the front if you need help.”

Logan turned and headed off. Sadie took that as her cue to start her chores. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could find him and ask for another task, one that required two people. Eventually she’d learn why he was so intent on pushing her away.

Two hours later, Sadie knew she’d found trouble. She’d filled the first two troughs easily enough. Then she’d spotted the third, smaller pen with tall metal fencing set apart from the others with one big cow pacing in circles. Figuring she would be doing Logan a favor, one he might thank her for later, she pulled the hose over and opened the metal gate.

Big mistake. The cow, or rather the bull—how had she missed the horns?—charged past her, knocking her off her feet. Her eyes widened in horror. She waited for the animal to run for the road. But, no, he headed straight for the pastures Sadie had just watered, and gracefully—which was flat-out astounding given his size—leaped over the lower wire fence.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She sprung to her feet and ran for the barn. She needed to find Logan. Fast. And she had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t make him laugh.

* * *

LOGAN HAD KNOWN he’d run into Sadie. She was living on his aunt’s property. Part of him—the same part that reacted to the sight of her long legs in those shorts—had been eager to see her again. But common sense told him to stay away from the sexy, vibrant writer.

Ten paces back from the last empty water trough, Logan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Not many people had his number. It was probably Aunt Lou calling to harass him about the raffle.

Logan set the overflowing buckets down and retrieved his cell, glancing at the caller ID. Or his commanding officer calling him back to active duty.

“Colonel,” he said.

“Reed,” Lieutenant Colonel Walt Johnson barked. “How are you?”

He closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Fine, sir. Ready for duty.”

“I’m not calling you back yet. You’re to remain on R & R until we handle the fallout from your last mission,” Johnson said. “I am in New York with Chief Cross. Your teammate will be working with the writer who is so damn intent on digging into your little joyride. Cross will act as her official liaison, helping her set up interviews with your team. Unofficially, he’s under orders to control the message of her book.”

“Sir, if there is anything I can do—”

“There is. Sit tight and stay the hell out of trouble. Don’t talk to the press. I don’t care if a kid wants to interview you for their fourth-grade paper. The answer is no. Do you understand?”

There was only one response to that question. “Yes, sir.”

“Trust Chief Cross to do his job.”

“I do.” Logan’s team was like family. They had each other’s backs. Always. And Hunter Cross never failed when it came to a mission—or a woman. But if he messed this one up? Logan’s career was likely over. The last thing the top brass wanted to see was mistake and Special Forces in the same sentence. Not to mention the fact that after publicity had rained down on the SEAL team who’d taken out bin Laden, the army wanted the Rangers to stay out of the media. Period.

“Expect a call in the next few weeks. When that call comes, be ready to return to work. Do whatever you need to do. Talk to a shrink if that is what it takes. The minute you set foot on base, I need you here and focused. One hundred percent. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead. Logan slipped his cell into his pocket and reached for his water buckets. It was almost over. In a few weeks, this clusterfuck would be behind him. All he had to do was make damn sure he had a handle on how to move forward with his life, how to be something more than the guy who’d lost his young wife to cancer. And while he worked on that, he had to keep a low profile, stay out of the media and away from writers.

Like the one living in his aunt’s guesthouse and watering his cows. Didn’t mean he couldn’t daydream about Sadie’s long legs, or—

“Logan! Logan!” The mental picture in his head, the one he’d been unable to stop replaying over and over since she’d walked up to him wearing those too-short shorts, carried a similar soundtrack, but without the panic.

“Logan!”

He dropped the filled buckets and ran toward the sound of Sadie’s voice. She came racing around the corner, barreling straight into him. He pulled her close, preparing to take the brunt of the fall as they hit the ground. Stumbling back a step, he felt something hit the back of his knees, sending them both tumbling into a recently filled trough. She landed squarely on top of him, her long wet limbs tangling with his, rubbing back and forth as she flailed about in the water.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

The adrenaline rush combined with the feel of her body against his. The wet, frantic friction overloaded his senses. He could feel every inch of her wet limbs gliding over his. And it was too damn much.

Without a word, Logan dunked his head back and let it sink under the water, hoping to find some perspective. But the only thing waiting for him was wanting. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it. The desire to strip away her shirt, to touch her, while she rode his thigh...

Christ, she’d knocked all the common sense out of him. He couldn’t go there. Not with her. As far as threat levels went, she was more than a few notches above a fourth-grade reporter, even if he didn’t know for sure if she was a journalist.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Sadie’s wild thrashing had stopped. Her hands rested on the side of the tub, lifting her top half out of the trough. Her bottom half straddled his waist, a knee on either side of him, but she was doing her best to keep her body lifted off his.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I let the bull escape.”

“You went into Titan’s pen?” He looked her over, this time checking for signs of injury. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She pressed down on the sides of the trough and lifted herself out. He missed the contact instantly. “But he jumped the wire fence.”

Logan sighed. “And now he is in with the heifers.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stood, his soaking wet clothes forming a puddle in the dirt at his feet. “Not your fault. I should have warned you to steer clear of him.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, obscuring his view of the tank top clinging to her like a second skin. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Logan looked out at the heifers’ field. He had a list a mile long of the things he wanted to do, but he knew what needed to be done. “Round him up.”

They spent the next hour chasing one very determined bull. Or rather, he chased the bull and Sadie did her best to distract him, running around in those damn shorts. Still, he had to give her credit. She put her heart into the chase, waving her arms, screaming at Titan. She looked so damn cute he half expected the animal to follow her home. Hell, he wanted to.

When they finally secured the bull in his pen, she turned to him. “Not how you planned to spend your afternoon?”

He let out a laugh. “No.”

She smiled and it lit up her whole face. “Come back to the guesthouse with me. Those rocking chairs on the front porch are calling my name. And I owe you a cold drink.”

He knew he should turn around and head back to his chores. Maybe change into dry clothes. His jeans and shirt were damp, though no longer dripping thanks to the hot afternoon sun. Still, clean clothes were probably a good idea. But after herding a bull, he was too tired to fight the attraction.

“All right,” he said.

She led the way around the barn and up the three wooden steps he’d rebuilt when he’d first arrived back home. Waving toward the pair of green rocking chairs, she said, “Wait here and I’ll grab our drinks. Beer, water or orange juice?”

“I’ll take a beer.”

Sadie disappeared through the front door and he settled into a rocker. Eventually, he’d get around to asking her what kind of writer she was. He hoped like hell her answer wouldn’t be “reporter.”

The door swung open and Sadie appeared carrying two bottles, a pair of forks and a pie dish. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And the only thing I have is half a leftover apple pie from The Quilted Quail.”

“I like pie. Here, let me get that.” Logan took the dish from her hands.

“Thanks.” Sadie claimed the empty rocker, and handed him a beer and a fork. “Dig in.”

They passed the dish back and forth in silence, sipping their drinks, and watching the sun sink lower behind the green mountains and casting long shadows over the cow pastures. It wouldn’t be dark for several hours, but they were well into late afternoon. Aside from the occasional moo from the field, everything was quiet.

“I’m sorry again about letting Titan out,” she said. “As you can probably tell, I don’t have much experience with farm animals.”

“Now you know to steer clear. Messing with a bull.” He shook his head. “It’s risky.”

She laughed. And hearing that sound—it was worth spending an hour chasing a horny beast.

“You don’t get anywhere without taking risks and looking for new adventures,” she said.

Logan nodded slowly, digesting this bit of wisdom. “This is where you’re looking to go? A rural Vermont cow farm?”

“If you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I would have said absolutely not, I’m just here for my sister. But right now, I’m thinking I like it here. Risks and all.” She turned to him. “What about you? Is this where you want to be?”

“I’m enjoying the company right now.” He lifted his beer bottle to his lips, not meeting her intense gaze. The way she looked at him—it felt as if she could see straight through him.

“But?”

“Most days I’d rather be with my team than playing farmer,” he admitted.

“Then why are you here?”

He shook his head. “Let’s just say I screwed up. Big-time. That’s why I’m home. I’ve been ordered to remain on R & R.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather be at war?”

“It’s what I do,” he said. “Being in Mount Pleasant is driving me crazy.”

“Ah, the raffle.”

“That’s part of it.” There were also the memories, some good and some that reminded him of all the mistakes he’d made in his life.

“Are you going to do it?”

He watched as she licked her fork clean, her lips running over the utensil until she’d consumed every last drop. He’d never been attracted to the way a woman ate pie before. But everything about this woman’s mouth turned him on. “Probably. Aunt Lou will insist.”

“And you always listen to your aunt?”

He shrugged. “Most of the time.”

“That’s sweet.” She smiled, piling another large bite onto her fork.

“My mom passed away when I was a kid and my dad, well, he was never in the picture. My aunt and uncle raised me. My uncle died of a heart attack three years ago. Lou is... She’s all I have left.” He heard the grief in his voice and knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

Logan brought his beer to his lips and drained it, careful not to look over at Sadie. He wanted something from her, but not pity. Still, he felt her gaze on him, studying his profile. He had a feeling she wanted to ask him a question.

“Whatever it is, go ahead and spit it out.”

She turned her fork over in her hands. “You said you screwed up. What happened?”

Logan looked off into the surrounding Green Mountains. Lined with evergreens, these peaks were a world away from the ragged war-ravaged cliffs in Afghanistan. He was about to feed her his automatic “that’s classified” response, but first he had to know why she was digging. “Aunt Lou said you’re a writer. Are you a reporter?”

He studied her face, waiting for her answer. But he knew before she opened her mouth that his paranoia had pushed him way off base. Her brow furrowed with surprise. Then laughter transformed her face, making her eyes sparkle.

“Nope,” she said. “Not even close. I write fiction.”

“All right, then,” he said. “The answer to your question is classified. I can’t talk about my missions.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m going in for another. You want one?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said.

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him, her gaze burning a path down his body before she nodded and headed inside. He watched the screen door close behind her. If she could set him on fire by just looking at him, what would happen when he touched her? Did he want to find out?

Yes. No hesitation. It was the first time in months he’d made a split-second decision, one that felt certain and solid. After all, his colonel had told him to do whatever it took to move forward. He had a feeling going after Sadie, kissing her, maybe more, would do more for him than sitting down with a shrink. Logan stood and followed her inside.

* * *

SADIE HEADED DOWN the short hall, her mind still turning over his words. She’d been on the verge of asking him whether he was married, but something in his voice had stopped her. The depth of his grief when he talked about his family seemed too raw and fresh for a childhood loss. It left her wondering about his secrets again. Everyone had them, but his seemed edged with sorrow. And a far cry from a married man looking to sneak around on his wife.

She’d thought about offering the usual expression of sympathy, but she had a hunch this wasn’t a man who wanted pity. She’d rather see him laughing, and maybe after another drink or two, naked.

She carried the empty bottles to the kitchen and found two more, setting them on the counter. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the fridge. A picture of Logan without his work jeans and T-shirt filled her mind. She’d seen the outline of those muscles when she’d sent them both tumbling into the water trough. But her imagination went a step further, picturing him in the shower, wet and glistening, begging for her to touch and taste.

In her fantasy, he stood back against the wall, his hands flat on the tiles. It would take all of the man’s willpower to keep his hands off her, but he would if he wanted to feel her mouth on him. She’d make that clear. And like a good soldier, he’d follow her orders.

The wooden floorboards creaked in the hall and Sadie opened her eyes. The erotic shower scene vanished, but it had left its mark. She was leaning against the fridge practically panting with desire, the downside to having an overactive imagination.

Logan turned the corner. She saw him hesitate for a second and guessed he’d noted her come-and-get-me look. He crossed the kitchen and planted one hand on either side of her head. Holding his body away from hers, he looked down into her eyes before dropping his gaze to her parted lips.

That look—it was part question, part warning. He wanted to kiss her. He planned on kissing her. And right here, right now, she wanted the real thing, no more almost-kisses in bookstores. But he didn’t move.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

Heat flared in his eyes.

“Now,” she added.

He lowered his head until their lips almost touched. And then, damn him, he froze.

Sadie reached out, grabbed his hips and drew him close, craving contact. This man wanted her. She could feel it. But something had a hold on him. And she needed to know what it was.

Running her hands up from his hips, over his oh-so-tempting chest and shoulders, she moved to his biceps, then down his powerful forearms to his hands. Entwining her fingers with his, she forced him to release his hold on the fridge.

“The other day, in the bookstore, you started to say something. You said ‘I’m a’—but never finished the sentence. Now might be a good time to tell me.”

[5]

LOGAN CLOSED HIS EYES. One kiss. That was all he wanted. One kiss before he watched pity eclipse her laughing, playful expression. Christ, she wanted it, too. The way she’d said that one word—now—had turned him inside out with need. But he’d hesitated, damn it.

“Logan?”

Opening his eyes, he stepped away, his arms falling to his sides. He didn’t have a choice now. He had to tell her. “I haven’t kissed a woman in a while.”

She nodded, watching him, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s been more than a year.” Longer since he’d claimed a kiss that would lead to more. “I—”

A loud ring echoed in the kitchen.

Sadie’s eyes widened. “The landline.” She raced across the kitchen to the cordless phone on the far wall. “Hold that thought. I need to get this.”

She frantically punched a button on the phone. “Laurel? Are you having the baby?”

Logan blinked. If the woman on the other end said yes, he needed to make himself scarce. Talking about his late wife while her sister was in labor? Not going to happen.

“Dinner?” Sadie closed her eyes. “I’m the worst sister in the world. I got caught up in something and forgot. Laurel, I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”

Sadie hung up the phone and turned to him. “I’m sorry. I completely lost track of time. I promised my sister I’d be back for dinner.”

“No problem. I’ll head out.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. Her sister had bought him some time, but he knew if he wanted to kiss this woman he had to tell her that he’d lost his wife to cancer. If she stuck around long enough, someone in town would volunteer the information.

But after he told her, would she order him to kiss her? Not likely. No matter how that conversation played out in his mind, it didn’t lead to her mouth on his and her body tight against him.

“Logan?”

He paused in the archway between the kitchen and the hall. “Yeah?”

Sadie smiled, her expression still brimming with heat and laughter. That look—it made him want things he might not be ready to handle based on his performance today.

“If Laurel’s still pregnant tomorrow,” she said, “I could help you with the farm chores.”

He raised an eyebrow. After he’d chickened out when she’d demanded a kiss, she was still interested? Part of him wanted to say, Forget the chores, let’s start again here. In front of the fridge.

But this woman was trouble. Her laughter drew him in like a drug. He wanted to take her to bed. He wanted to talk to her and tell her things he hadn’t shared in a long time—only he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready.

“I promise to stay away from Titan,” she added.

The answer was no. He knew that, but— “I was planning to repair the heifers’ birthing pen,” he said. “I could use a hand. Come find me in the barn tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll bring the coffee.”

* * *

SADIE RUSHED INTO her sister’s cramped kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her. Out of breath from running across the fields adjoining the two properties when the sun was so low behind the clouds she could barely see—this was why people drove cars short distances in the country, no streetlights!—Sadie stared at her sister.

“You didn’t tell me Louise Reed had a ruggedly handsome nephew,” she said.

Seated at the kitchen table beside her husband, Laurel looked up from her half-empty plate. “Are you late for dinner because you were with the supersexy soldier?”

Greg, her twin’s husband, glanced up, a fork full of steak and potatoes suspended inches from his mouth.

“No.” Sadie sank into the empty chair next to Laurel.

Her sister eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure? If you were, I want details. Especially the naked ones.”

Greg set his fork down on his plate and pushed back from the table. “That’s my cue to leave.”

“I was not with him. Not like that.” But she’d thought about it.

“Yet,” Laurel said.

Sadie waited until she heard Greg turn the TV on in the other room before she nodded. “Yet.”

“He’s an army ranger.”

“I know,” Sadie said.

Laurel smacked the wooden table with her open palm. “So you talked to him.”

“I helped him with the farm chores. And afterward, I fed him pie.”

Her twin’s eyes sparkled. Leaning forward as far as her belly would allow, she spoke in a low voice. “I heard a rumor he rode a horse into battle. And Cindy said—”

“I’m not interested in gossip,” Sadie said, shaking her head. “If I want to know something, I’ll ask him.”

“You’re planning to see him again?”

If she had her way, she’d do more than see him. But sharing her interest with Laurel didn’t feel right. She was here to help her twin, not the handsome soldier who might have ridden a horse through a war zone. God, that sounded hot. Part cowboy, part soldier and all muscle—the man was a walking, talking fantasy. With secrets. She couldn’t forget about those.

“I’m living in his aunt’s guesthouse,” Sadie said. “I’ll probably bump into him again.”

“So no plans?” Laurel pressed.

“I might have agreed to help him repair a birthing pen for the heifers,” she admitted. The downside to not spending time with Laurel—she forgot how easily her twin knew when she was fudging the truth. “But only if you don’t need my help.”

Laurel raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to fix a birthing pen? Did you tell him you don’t know a screwdriver from a hammer?”

“He didn’t ask. And I’m not that hopeless. Anymore.”

“When was the last time you used either?”

Sadie picked at the potatoes on her plate. “Not recently.”

“Yeah, you’ll be a great help.” Laurel stood and began clearing the table. “You’re going to end up having wild sex in a barn while I sit here watching my feet swell.”

Guilt came crashing down on her. Sadie abandoned the steak dinner she’d barely touched and brought her dish over to the sink to help her sister. “If you need me, I’m here.”

Laurel waved her away, taking the dirty dish from her hands. “No. You should have sex with the soldier.”

“I’m not looking for a vacation fling,” she said. “You know that is not why I’m here.”

Laurel placed the untouched steak on a cutting board and began slicing. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t seize the opportunity. Your last relationship ended in disaster three months ago. And I’m willing to bet you haven’t had sex since then. Am I right?” Laurel stopped slicing and gave her a pointed look. “I’m right,” her twin said. “Get the loaf of bread from the fridge, please.”

Sadie did as she was told.

“A fling is just what you need,” Laurel continued. “Just do yourself a favor and don’t tell him you write erotica.”

Sadie set the bread down beside the cutting board, her gaze fixed on the dark night outside the window. The memory of her last failed relationship still stung. She was over Kurt, but the way he’d run for the hills the moment he’d learned about her career, claiming it would damage his future political career? That hurt clung to her. So did the fact that he’d assumed his career ambitions trumped hers.

But deep down she’d always known her work would be a deal breaker. When she’d revealed her pen name, Kurt had focused on the graphic, sexual elements in her book. She’d explained that her writing was about a young woman learning to ask for what she wants in a relationship. But still he’d asked her to walk away from the publicity and all the opportunities that went with it.

And she’d said no.

Success was important to her. She did not want her children to grow up wearing shoes that were a size too small because she couldn’t afford new ones. She would not let Laurel’s baby grow up wanting.

But Kurt hadn’t understood her drive. To him, revealing her identity equaled trouble, not book sales and a flush bank account that would provide for her family.

“He asked me if I was a reporter,” Sadie said.

“Logan?”

She nodded.

“Then you have many, many more guesses before he reaches erotica writer.” Laurel laid six slices of bread on the counter. She paused and looked right at Sadie. “This is your chance to have a fling with a man before you broadcast your secret identity to the world. Think about it. This time next month every man you meet will see you as the woman who wrote a bestselling erotica series.”

Do you honestly want to walk down the street and have everyone look at you and think “that’s the woman who writes about threesomes”?

Kurt’s words ran through her mind like a highlight reel from her breakup. She knew others would make the same assumptions. And as much as she liked sex, she was a “one man, one woman” kind of girl.

“You’re right. I’m not looking forward to starting every first date with the guy wondering if I’m into the same things as my characters,” Sadie said, while Laurel turned her attention back to the sandwiches. “Okay, I might do it. If he’s interested.” And he was. She’d felt the proof when pressed up against him.

[6]

MIDDAY LIGHT POURED in the bedroom window as Sadie searched for her sneakers. They were her only pair of shoes suitable for farm chores. She finally found them buried at the bottom of her suitcase. While she was lacing them up, her cell vibrated on the floor beside her.

“Anne-Marie,” Sadie greeted her publicist. “I hope you have good news.”

“Good and not so good. Are you sitting down?” Anne-Marie demanded in her raspy smoker’s voice that made her sound like an evil woman hunting Dalmatian puppies to make a coat.

Sadie glanced at the bedside clock. Eleven in the morning. She’d lost track of time when she’d sat down at her computer early that morning to write a few pages. She was already late, and pretty soon Logan would start wondering if she’d flaked on him.

“I’m sitting, but I don’t have much time.”

“Make time,” Anne-Marie said. “My good news—it is huge.”

A thrill ran through her. “Huge as in a movie deal?”

“Close. I just spoke with the producers over at Today in America. They want to reveal the woman behind MJ Lane on live TV during the prime-time slot the day your next book releases. In addition to the interview, they will do a piece on how you moved to New York City from Maryland to seek your fortune. How you struggled, working as a secretary by day and a waitress at night in order to support your father, who served our great nation. And how you used your precious spare time to write your first book.” Anne-Marie paused. “Your father is a veteran, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” And he was going to hate this story. The entire world knowing he relied on his daughter to make ends meet? He might not speak to her for months. There was even a chance he’d refuse to cash her monthly check. “He served.”

“Wonderful,” Anne-Marie said. “After they talk about your backstory, they will bring you out for an interview. If we play our cards right, we’ll announce a major motion picture deal for Isabelle’s Command.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Sadie cried.

“Before you get too excited, you should know that it is a pretty big if at the moment,” Anne-Marie said. “The studio is backing away from the deal. They’re nervous about turning another erotica book into a major motion picture. The casting for that other erotica film hasn’t been easy.”

“I don’t want to lose this, Anne-Marie.” Sadie wanted to see her work made into a movie. And she wanted to add the hundred-or-so thousand dollars from that deal to her growing safety net. “What if we can find a way to keep the press interested and talking about MJ Lane until the show airs?”

“Perhaps. If the studio feels that you’re a big enough name to warrant the risk, it might work. How do you plan to do that without revealing your identity?”

“I’ll think of something,” Sadie promised.

“Think fast,” Anne-Marie said. “We don’t have much time. Now, for this interview you need to look like MJ Lane from head to toe. Something hot and sexy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll start shopping online tonight.”

“It needs to be perfect,” her publicist insisted. “This is the big break we’ve been waiting for. We’re sharing the morning show plans with all of the bookstore accounts and they’re begging for more copies on day one.”

The morning show, the movie deal—this would change everything. She’d made more money than she’d ever dreamed of from the first book’s sales. But taking her career to the next level would solidify her savings. It wouldn’t just start her niece’s college savings account, it would fill it with some left over for graduate school.

The success, the financial stability—it was everything she’d wanted from her professional life. But while her publicist rambled on and on about the perfect outfit and if they should hire someone to do her makeup, Sadie’s mind drifted.

What would Logan think if he knew? Would he look at her differently? Probably. She didn’t want to find out. She liked the way he looked at her now, as if part of him wanted to run away, but the other part couldn’t resist her. Not the bestselling erotica writer, but Sadie, the woman who loved apple pie and beer, who was struggling to be a good sister and who failed miserably when it came to farm chores.

But in a few weeks, after the morning show, Sadie Bannerman would be forever tied to her erotica-writing alter ego. She would never walk away from the publicity. But still, the thought was a little daunting. Only a few more weeks of anonymity. Maybe less, if the news leaked before her morning show appearance.

“How many people know that Sadie Bannerman is MJ Lane?”

“Only a handful at Today in America,” her publicist assured her. “And a few at the movie studio.”

“That increases the chance of someone finding out earlier,” Sadie said.

“It does,” Anne-Marie agreed. “But aside from that one photographer who snapped a few shots of you entering your building months ago, the press isn’t actively pursuing the story.”

Not yet, but that had to change if she wanted to lock down that movie deal.

“Anne-Marie, you saw the pictures that photographer took, right?”

“Yes. They were garbage. Mostly shot from behind. When his editor called I told him I could not confirm or deny your identity because I couldn’t see your face. We don’t need to worry about him.”

“But if someone, an unnamed source, confirmed that the woman in the pictures is MJ Lane, the paper would run them?”