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Chapter One

Striker Kozlowski was a dead man. He knew it the instant he saw the top brass gathered in his C.O.’s office at the Marine Corps headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. His buddy Justice Wilder had warned him that one day he’d have to answer for his hotshot ways. Apparently today was that day.

None of Striker’s thoughts showed as he saluted and stood at attention.

“At ease,” Commander Jenks said. “As you know, this is a delicate situation, and while I can understand your reluctance to proceed, the bottom line is that there’s only one thing to be done here.”

“Agreed, sir,” Striker said. “I’ll apologize to the naval officer.”

“What naval officer?”

So this wasn’t about his fight with a naval officer in a bar last night? “Nothing, sir.”

“As I was saying, we’re all aware that you and your grandfather weren’t close. He made no bones about the fact that he didn’t approve of you being a Marine and he informed every senator and every general he met of that fact. I speak for us all when I say you have our condolences.”

“Thank you, sir.” Condolences because he and his grandfather hadn’t gotten along for years, or because the old man had never approved of Striker joining the Marine Corps instead of his oil company?

“His sudden death must still be dealt with,” Commander Jenks added.

Striker went cold. His grandfather was dead? Not possible. Not Hank King, the mega-millionaire Texas oilman who was tougher than the walls of the Alamo and more stubborn than a packload of mules. Gone. Striker had a hard time wrapping his mind around that concept.

Somehow he’d always thought there would be time to sort things out, to mend the fences that had been broken when Striker had followed in his father’s footsteps instead of falling into line by joining his maternal grandfather’s oil business.

Striker had been trained well by the Marines, so his expression remained impassive as his emotions shut down and he went on autopilot.

The office door opened. “Ms. Kate Bradley, sir,” the gunnery sergeant announced.

A female civilian rushed into the room on a cloud of expensive perfume. “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen,” she said.

Striker recognized her type immediately. She was a ritzy blonde with high cheekbones and an elegant way about her. Her silky hair was drawn away from her face into some kind of intricate knot. The business suit she wore only hinted at the lush body beneath it. He was no expert on women’s footwear, but he was willing to bet that the shoes she wore were Italian and probably cost more than he made in a month.

She radiated class. She also radiated sex appeal. And she was looking at him with disapproval even though he had yet to say a word. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday,” Kate said, her cultured voice running over him like silk, “but you didn’t return my calls.”

“I apologize, ma’am.” He said the words but he didn’t mean them. “You never said what your call was in regard to.”

“I assumed you’d already told Striker about his grandfather’s passing,” Commander Jenks said, clearly not pleased at this glitch in the game plan and holding Kate responsible for that fact.

She didn’t even squirm, holding her ground as only those born and bred to wealth can. “As I said, I wasn’t able to reach him.”

“Let’s cut to the bottom line here,” Commander Jenks said. “Striker, your grandfather left an unusual codicil in his will regarding you.”

“Sir, my grandfather disowned me years ago,” Striker said.

“No, he didn’t,” Kate said. “He may have talked about doing that, but it was all bluster.” Dropping onto a chair, she balanced her slim leather briefcase on her lap before opening it and removing a sheaf of papers. “I’ve come here today as his attorney and the executor of his will. His wish is that you come to Texas and run King Oil for a period of not less than two months.”

“That dog’s just not gonna hunt,” Striker said, deliberately using a Texas phrase. “I’m a Marine, ma’am, not an oilman. I haven’t had any contact with Hank King since I was nineteen and joined the Marines. That’s been twelve years now. And even before that, we never had much of a relationship given the fact that he never approved of his only child, my mother, marrying a penniless nobody Marine named Kozlowski.”

“I tried to reach your mother to give her the news, but there was no answer at the number I had for her.”

“My parents are taking an extended vacation in a rented RV out west,” Striker replied. “I’ll contact them on their cell phone right after this meeting.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kate said softly. “If it makes it any easier for you, Hank died in his sleep. He wasn’t in any pain.”

“As I said, I barely knew the man.” Striker’s voice was remote.

“Be that as it may, the terms of the will are very clear. You are to return to Texas with me and run King Oil for two months.”

Even saying the words “return to Texas” made Kate’s stomach feel fluttery. She was trying to stay calm, but this meeting was much harder than she’d anticipated. When she’d walked into the office on the Marine base and realized that his commanding officer had broken the news to Striker, she’d felt both guilt and relief.

Not that Striker looked upset or emotional. He looked incredible but tough. The last time she’d seen him had been the last time he’d visited Hank. Striker had always been good-looking with his dark hair and green eyes, but the nineteen-year-old boy had grown into a combat-hardened man. There were lines on his face and shadows in his eyes that only hinted at the hardships he’d seen.

He obviously didn’t remember meeting her that summer he’d worked on his grandfather’s ranch so many years ago. But she remembered him. He’d played a pivotal part in her life, even though they’d barely met.

Closing her eyes, she was transported back in time to that fateful summer, when she was seventeen and had often ridden her Arabian horse Midnight over to the spring-fed pond that bordered their ranch with Hank’s. The first time she’d seen Striker, he’d been stark naked, skinny-dipping in the cool waters on a sultry day. She could still see the droplets of water running down his muscular, tanned body. She’d silently watched him walk into the water, without making her presence known.

Not the proper behavior for a well-bred girl like herself. Especially given the fact that she was going steady with Ted at the time, and would become engaged to him a few months later, on her eighteenth birthday.

Kate’s sexual fantasies about Striker had started then, and had only continued to increase that steamy summer. She’d seen Striker several other times, often finding him tossing hay in the barn wearing only well-washed jeans and a sheen of sweat.

Her mouth went dry at the memory….

Oh, yes, Striker had made a huge impression on her fanciful mind.

And now here she was, expected to return to Texas with him.

What on earth had made Hank think that she’d be able to deal with Striker? She’d tried to tell the oil baron that this was a bad idea, but he hadn’t listened to her. The men in her life never seemed to listen to her. Not really.

“I’m thinking of going into public law,” she’d told her father in her last year of law school.

“Nonsense. You’ll join the family firm like we planned. You’re a Bradley, and Bradleys always do as expected.”

And so, in the end, she had. She’d done what was expected, including getting engaged to Ted Went-worth…with fatal results.

Kate took a soothing breath, before reminding herself that this was no time to be reviewing her life choices. She had to keep her focus here. She had a feeling she’d need her wits about her in order to deal with Striker.

She knew he was a Force Recon Marine, which meant he was a risk taker. An adrenaline junkie, like Ted.

Opponents who faced her in court called her Ice Queen because of her regal demeanor and distant manner. She used those tactics now, opening her eyes and facing Striker. “As I said, your grandfather’s will states that you return and run King Oil for at least two months or else the entire company will be shut down. If you do return with me, the King fortune will be split equally among you and your four brothers. In addition, a sizable amount will be bestowed upon your mother.”

Striker told himself he shouldn’t have been surprised that, even in his death, Hank King was trying to force him into this idiotic plan.

But Striker still held the ace in the hole. Money had never been important to his family. They’d managed okay without much of it. His mother believed that wealth had been a terrible burden and made Hank a bitter man.

“So King Oil is sold off.” Striker said. “So what?”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Kate replied. “Everyone who works for King Oil will be out on the streets if you don’t come back.”

As if on cue, the Marine Corps’ top brass, present but silent until now, explained their presence. General Hyett was their spokesman. “Top government officials are of the opinion that King Oil is too important to go under, that such a thing would make the economy unstable after the series of recent corporate bankruptcies. Therefore, it’s in the country’s best interest that Captain Kozlowski spend the two months at King Oil.”

Striker had been trained to fight and rescue, to do whatever was necessary for his country’s best interest. No doubt his grandfather had counted on that when devising his will.

“Sir, I feel compelled to point out that I know nothing whatsoever about the oil business or about business in general,” Striker said.

“That doesn’t matter,” General Hyett replied. “All you have to do is show up and stand guard for two months, then you can return to your regular duties. Isn’t that right, ma’am? You said that would meet the terms of the will.”

“That’s right.”

“Good. Then it’s agreed,” the general stated. “Look on this as just another mission, Captain. I’m sure you’ll complete it as successfully as you have all the others.”

Striker nodded curtly. He knew when he was beaten. “Thank you, sir.”

“You and Ms. Bradley may use the conference room next door to work out the details,” Commander Jenks told Striker. “That will be all. Dismissed.”

Striker saluted before doing a precise about-face and heading for the door, which he held open for Kate. It wasn’t until they were alone in the conference room that he displayed some of his pent-up frustration and anger.

“You and Hank had this all worked out, didn’t you?” he growled.

“For your information, I told Hank that this wasn’t a good idea,” Kate replied in that highfalutin voice of hers.

“Bravo for you.”

“He didn’t listen to me.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Look, I’m no happier about this state of affairs than you are.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time than deal with stubborn Marines who have a chip on their shoulder.”

The woman clearly had an attitude problem. He knew why he was upset—he felt like his grandfather was still trying to control him even from beyond the grave. In addition, Striker had never done well dealing with the world of the rich and privileged.

He had his reasons, going all the way back to his time on Hank’s Westwind Ranch. That had been his mom’s idea. Hank had convinced her during one of their rare phone conversations that “the boys” should have a choice, should see what they were missing. Hank could have suggested having them work the rigs out in the oil fields, but instead he’d been wily enough to suggest they visit the ranch.

Striker wondered if his mom had ever been afraid her sons might be wooed over to the dark side by the wealth and the power visible at Westwind. Or if she’d trusted them to stand by the ethics and values she’d instilled in them from birth.

Sure, money had been tight when he’d been growing up. But there had never been a lack of respect, love or laughter in their household.

The same could not be said about the domain of Hank and his “child” King Oil. In Hank’s world, he was absolute ruler. If you weren’t with him, then you were against him.

Which is why Striker had been so sure Hank had written him off. That and the fact that the old man had vowed to disown him the last time he’d seen him, after the disastrous nineteenth birthday party Hank had thrown for Striker. In fact, Hank had shouted the words, tossing the threat at him as if throwing hand grenades. His face had been taut with rage, his oversized fists clenched.

Not the picture of the loving grandfather. But there had been other moments, when Hank had taught Striker how to bait a hook and taken him fishing, that had given Striker hope that there might have been a bond forged between them.

He’d never know now….

Striker turned off the memories and refocused his attention on Kate.

The bottom line was that this lady lawyer, with her fancy ways and arrogant assumptions that he’d obediently fall in with his grandfather’s plans, represented that wealthy lifestyle—the one that Striker had so painfully collided with that summer.

Oh, yeah, he had plenty of reasons to be upset.

But he didn’t know why she had eyed him so disapprovingly, calling him a stubborn Marine. Her voice had a new edge to it, an edge that got him wondering what her story was.

“How many Marines have you dealt with?” he asked.

“Not many,” she admitted. “But I know your type.”

“Really? And what type might that be, ma’am?” he drawled, noticing for the first time how lush her mouth was.

“The type that takes pleasure in living on the edge. The type that never feels more alive than when you’re risking your life.”

“Is that a crime?”

Kate wanted to answer that it should be. But that would mean revealing too much about her inner feelings, so she bit her tongue and stayed silent instead.

“How long were you Hank’s attorney?” he demanded.

“Why do you care?” she countered.

“Just answer the question.”

“Two years. Before that my father had been his attorney for a number of years. But my father had a heart attack and was required to cut back his workload, so I took over several of his clients, including Mr. King.”

Striker wondered what she was thinking, wondered what was going on behind those cool blue eyes of hers. He preferred doing that to dealing with his own torn emotions—the unexpected grief at knowing he was never going to make peace with his grandfather, the conflicting resentment toward the old man for manipulating him even from the grave.

He had to view this entire mess as if it were just another special op. Get in, accomplish the mission, get out.

But none of his missions had ever tugged at his emotions this way.

Sure, he’d been affected by some of the things he’d seen over the years. But you packaged it up, put it on the shelf and got on with the job.

Good advice. He needed to do that here.

Striker had a feeling that would not be easy in this case.

Not that Marines were into easy. No, difficult was their specialty. A good Marine loves a challenge. And Kate was certainly a challenge.

Under other circumstances he might even have enjoyed flirting with her. If she hadn’t acted so icy and above him.

“I made our return travel arrangements before I left Texas,” she said. “We’re booked on a flight to San Antonio tonight.”

Okay, this was another thing that aggravated him about her. “Sure of yourself, aren’t you.”

Kate wished that was the case, but it wasn’t. Not at all. Striker could disrupt her normal calmness with remarkable ease. Which was why she’d wrapped her Ice Queen mantle around herself for protection. Who wouldn’t be rattled by coming face-to-face with the man who’d been the source of so many of her secret sexual fantasies, forbidden fantasies.

But there was more to it than that. So much more…

The bottom line was that Kate hadn’t anticipated this…thing…this physical thing that seemed to exist between them.

Just passing by him when he’d held the door open for her had made her heart beat twice as fast. Sitting at the large conference table with him now made her breath catch. And she had yet to even touch him. Not that she planned on doing that. But it was bound to happen at some point.

Maybe it would be best if she got it over with right now. Waiting for it only made things worse.

She dropped her pen, which obediently rolled across the table toward him. Striker picked it up, but instead of handing it over to her, he tossed it onto the yellow legal pad she’d taken out of her briefcase.

Was he deliberately avoiding touching her? Why?

She tried to imagine herself in his shoes—discovering that a member of her family had died, someone with whom she’d never made her peace. She’d be a wreck. She’d been a wreck when her father had had his heart attack two years ago.

But Striker was different. For one thing, he was a guy and guys dealt with these things differently. He was also a Marine, which no doubt meant he was even more disciplined about not showing any emotion.

Maybe she should be a little more understanding. “I’m sorry things have worked out this way, Striker.”

It was the first time she’d said his name and the sound of it on her lips made his heart unexpectedly clench. His strong reaction to her caught him by surprise. This particular female had a way of getting under his skin. Not a good sign. So he did what any good Marine would do. He fought back. “I don’t need your pity.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her. Great, now he had more guilt to add to the mess.

Concentrate on the mission, he grimly ordered himself. But it didn’t work. Not with her sitting so close that he could hear her breathe, could smell her rich perfume, could see the way her tongue darted out to nervously lick her lower lip.

He reached for the pitcher of cold water that stood in the center of the table. So did she. His hand covered hers. Her skin was so soft. He could feel her fingers tremble like soft butterflies against his callused palm.

Kate reminded herself about that old adage of being careful what you wished for. She’d wondered what touching him would be like. Now she knew. It was incredibly powerful.

Sexual awareness shot like a lightning bolt up her arm, infusing her entire body with hot restlessness and forbidden thoughts.

No, she wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t getting involved. Not with Striker. No way, no how. He triggered memories much too painful to relive.

She slid her hand from his so suddenly the water pitcher almost tipped over.

Anger rushed over her, surprising her with its intensity. He was just a Marine, she bitterly reminded herself, another risk-taking adrenaline junkie who lived to cheat death. In the end, Striker and her former fiancé weren’t that different after all. Except that Striker was still alive…and Ted wasn’t.

There was no changing the past, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She was going to keep her relationship with Striker strictly professional—no matter what it took.