Heat It Up

Letting her into his life is not an option. Letting her go…impossible.

Out of Uniform, Book 4

One look at Thomas Becker’s seriously ripped body, and Jane Harrison is having trouble remembering why she tracked down the Navy SEAL. Oh, yes, that hot scoop for her magazine. Instead they get trapped in an elevator together—and she gets sizzling hot sex.

After the delicious encounter is over, Becker’s out of there, she’s left off balance, and even more determined not to take no for an answer. Either for that interview, or another chance to find out if he always goes commando.

One minute Becker is making it plain his answer is no. The next, he’s using the only weapon at hand to calm her confined-space panic attack—a kiss. And caving in to a fierce, unexpected need that wasn’t even on his radar. Long term? Hell no—not after the divorce that just spit him out. But a fling with the redheaded reporter with a brutally honest mouth and a body made for sin? Abso-effing-lutely.

Trouble is, when the week is over, she isn’t even close to being out of his system…

Warning: Contents under pressure. Hot elevator sex, a redhead who knows exactly what she wants, and a Navy SEAL who can’t help but give it to her. May cause spontaneous combustion. Be sure to fan yourself frequently.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Heat it Up

Copyright © 2010 by Elle Kennedy

ISBN: 978-1-60928-066-6

Edited by Laurie M. Rauch

Cover by Angela Waters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

F
irst Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: June 2010

www.samhainpublishing.com

Heat It Up

Elle Kennedy

It was hot as hell. The temperature was already in the 90s and steadily rising, the sun, a big yellow ball in the middle of a cloudless sky, radiating waves of heat. Sweat stained the front of Thomas Becker’s camo T-shirt. Not even the gust of wind hitting the chopper could cool him down, and the four other men inside seemed to be experiencing the same discomfort.

“Man, I hate South America,” Carson Scott remarked, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of wind and rotors.

“It’ll get cooler when we’re in the jungle,” John Garrett said with a shrug, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Carson sighed. “I hate the jungle too. Monkeys freak me out.”

Next to him, Ryan Evans, the youngest and rowdiest member of Team Fifteen, hooted. “Does Holly know what a wimp you are?”

“Naah, I bet he tells her a bunch of stories when he gets back from overseas,” Matt O’Connor chimed in. “Painting himself as the hero in each one.”

“Oh, I’m definitely Holly’s hero,” Carson shot back, wiggling his eyebrows. “She’s always the damsel in distress when we role-play. Except for that one time, when I got to be a weary, injured traveler and she was the virgin nurse who tenderly nurtured me back to health.” The men in the chopper laughed. Becker cracked a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not that he didn’t like the other guys, or find them entertaining, but the four of them had worked together for years. He was the new guy. Well, technically, he was their new superior. As a Senior Lieutenant, he now headed up the SEAL team, but for the past five years, he’d led a team out on the east coast.

He’d moved to California six months ago, after his wife—now
ex
-wife—landed a modeling campaign that required she relocate to the west coast. Her career was everything to Alice, and like a good husband, he wanted to support his wife. Two months later, he was signing divorce papers, and rather than go back east, he’d decided to stick around for a while. He’d been assigned to Team Fifteen, whose members were legendary around the base. Not just for their impressive mission success records, but for their success with the ladies. Players, other SEALs called them.

Garrett was married now, and Carson had been in a long-term relationship for a couple years, but the other two, Ryan and Matt, apparently kept the reputation alive by prowling the club scene and hooking up with warm, willing females.

Becker didn’t get the lifestyle. He was only thirty-two, but he’d been in a committed relationship since he was eighteen years old. Sure, that relationship had died a fiery death four months ago, but even now, divorced and single, he couldn’t picture himself doing the casual sex thing.

Lately, he hardly thought about sex at all. He much preferred going out on missions, even in scorching-hot parts of the world like Colombia. At least when he was stealing through the jungle he didn’t have to be reminded of Alice.

Looking down at the map in his hands, he studied the area they were going to be dropped at. It was at least half a day’s hike from their target, but they couldn’t land any closer to the rebel camp, not without alerting the enemy.

“That’s where she’s being held?” Matt said, leaning in closer for a better look.

Becker nodded, then pointed to a ridge on the map. “I say we separate there. Split up, approach from two directions.”

The other men offered their opinions, but it didn’t take long to formulate an extraction plan.

Elizabeth Harrison had been a hostage of the rebels for three days now, and during that time, the SEALs were able to get satellite images of the camp, detailed notes about the terrain, as well as the locations of the twenty or so armed guards.

Becker wondered how Elizabeth was holding up. It had been seriously shitty luck on her part, being captured during an assignment in the neighboring village. She was a photographer in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she was lucky that the government gave a damn about her. A lot of people up on the chain of command were anxious to see the American journalist brought to safety.

Which put a lot of pressure on Becker and his team to make sure they got her out safe and sound.

Fortunately, Becker was damn good at his job.

As he rolled up the map and tucked it in the pocket of his camo pants, he gave each man on the chopper a stern and somber look that had them squirming in their seats.

Then he clapped his hands together and said, “All right, boys. Elizabeth Harrison needs rescuing.

Let’s not keep her waiting.”

Jane Harrison lingered in the doorway, unable to take her eyes off the man across the large workout room. As far as faces went, his was nothing extraordinary. No Brad Pitt or anything. Average features, eyes an unremarkable shade of brown, a dark buzz cut. Handsome, sure, but nobody who would make you freeze in the middle of a busy street with your tongue hanging out. Yet, that’s exactly what she was doing, wasn’t it? Half-drooling as she stared at him. It was the body. She’d never seen anyone so ripped, so masculine. He was about six feet or so, with broad shoulders, a chest that looked rock-hard, and a trim waist that led to a taut backside.

He wore a light blue T-shirt, and his biceps flexed and bulged each time he lifted one of the weights in his hands. A tall, brown-haired woman stood next to him, frowning, and even from across the room, Jane heard the woman tell him to take it easy. But Jane knew this wasn’t the kind of man who took anything easy. Intensity rolled off him in waves.

She’d planned on approaching him here, in the brightly lit gym at the physical therapy center, but she hesitated by the door. Liz hadn’t mentioned how commanding this man was. Or what a great body he had. Then again, Liz had probably been too busy getting shot at to notice what her rescuer looked like.

Jane watched as the therapist finally took the weights from Thomas Becker and set them down on the rack. The brunette looked annoyed. Probably because her patient seemed determined to push his physical limits when four weeks ago he’d taken a bullet to the arm.

“See you on Friday,” the physical therapist said.

Thomas Becker just nodded, then headed for the door.

As he got closer, Jane drew in her breath. Okay, she had to quit focusing on his body and remember why she’d come here. This man had saved her sister’s life. She was here to interview him, not fuck him.

“Mr. Becker?” she said when he reached the door.

He glanced at her, forehead wrinkling. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Jane Harrison. You were in charge of the rescue mission for—”

“Elizabeth,” he finished. “She okay?”

“She’s great. Thanks to you and your team.” It unnerved her, how serious his expression was. He hadn’t even smiled in greeting. “Liz is my sister.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Jane faltered for a moment, not sure what to say next. It was obvious Thomas Becker didn’t have much interest in talking to her, seeing how his brown-eyed gaze kept darting toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll walk out with you then.” She took a step down the corridor, and he followed her, his strides a million times longer than hers. He didn’t do the gentlemanly thing either and try to match her gait, just barreled down the hall, while she struggled to keep up, which was hard to do in three-inch heels. She still wore the short black business suit and heels she’d donned for her morning meeting with her editor at
Today’s World
, the magazine she worked for, and the outfit hadn’t been designed for chasing after a very tall, very hot Navy SEAL.

“So, I came here to ask you a favor,” she said as she hurried after him.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

They reached the elevator, which triggered a spark of panic in her gut. She usually avoided elevators like the plague, but she wasn’t about to ask this man to go down ten flights of stairs after he’d gotten shot rescuing her sister. As he reached to punch the elevator button, she noticed how large his hands were. He had long fingers, oddly graceful considering the size of his hands, but covered with just enough calluses to give him that manly, rough edge.

“I’m a journalist, and I’d like to write a story about my sister’s rescue. Since you were in charge of the operation in Colombia, I was hoping to interview you.”

Thomas Becker studied her for a long moment, his gaze sweeping up and down, side to side. She felt it the second those brown eyes rested on the cleavage spilling out of the camisole under her suit jacket, because her nipples tightened and poked against her bra. She could tell he was assessing her. Not in a sexual way, since his eyes remained expressionless, but like he was figuring out whether to take her seriously or not. Evidently he decided
not
was the answer to his internal question, because he offered a brusque shake of the head and said, “Sorry, not interested.” The elevator doors opened, punctuating his stiff response.

Without glancing back, he stepped into the car.

Jane stood frozen in place for a moment, insulted. A tad pissed. Then she bounded into the elevator after him, hoping he couldn’t see the hot flush on her cheeks. Why was this guy so rude? Liz had told her he’d been extremely warm and gentle as he’d lifted her into the helicopter. So either Liz was wrong and Thomas Becker was an asshole or, as usual, Jane’s Playboy Bunny body had caused yet another man to reach an unfair conclusion about her.