Big Guns Out of Uniform Read online

Kyle laughed again. He didn't know why. Normally, he was about as serious as they came. His sometimes partner, Retter, had often commented on the fact that Kyle's face would freeze if he ever cracked more than a half grin.

  But something about this woman made him feel...

  Well...

  Kind of giddy. There was no other word for it. And he really hated that girly-sounding word. Giddy and Kyle Foster went together about like a cobra and a mongoose.

  He must have been even more bored than he suspected. She wasn't ravishing or even beautiful. She reminded him of the woman next door.

  A woman who shouldn't draw his notice at all, and yet he found himself staring at her and the way her tiny, light freckles kissed the skin across the bridge of her nose.

  Even more startling was the desire he had to taste every one of those freckles with his tongue. To kiss and tease each one and see how many more she might have in other, more provocative areas of her body.

  Like those creamy thighs that were virtually hidden by her drab tan walking shorts. Thighs that would look much better naked and wrapped around his neck...

  Marianne felt suddenly awkward as she realized the T-shirt Kyle wore displayed more of his muscled chest than it concealed. Of course, built the way he was, it would take several layers of sweaters and a heavy overcoat to disguise that body.

  He reminded her of a linebacker. One with a very tight end.

  He was gorgeous all over. From the top of his sun-kissed dark brown hair to the toes of his scuffed black leather biker boots.

  She frowned as she noticed that.

  "Who wears boots on the beach?" she asked unexpectedly.

  He glanced down at his feet. "I didn't even think about it. Guess it's not normal, huh?"

  She smiled up at him. "Says to me you don't spend a lot of time on the beach."

  "Not really. I'm here under extreme protest. What about you?"

  "I'm this month's winner."

  He frowned as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

  "You know," she said, "the Hideaway Heroine Sweepstakes winner? I'm the one they chose this time."

  "Ah," he said, nodding. "So how's it going?"

  Twirling a small section of her hair, she shrugged. "It's going, I guess. South more than north, but I suppose nothing's perfect."

  "Now, why would you say that?" He indicated the vibrant blue sky with his thumb. "Just look at that sky. It's perfect. Great day. You got the beach to run around on, the surf sliding up. Hell, you can even hear birds chirping."

  "Which is why you were blowing up a sand castle?"

  He gave her a guilty smile that made her knees weak. "Well, okay, nothing's perfect."

  Marianne licked her lips as she watched him hitch his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. He had such a manly stance. One of power, like some sinuous beast just prowling the beach waiting for a morsel to gobble.

  How she wished she were that morsel.

  "So," she said, stretching the word out, "do you do that a lot? Blow up sand castles?"

  "Only if they deserve it." He glanced back to the hole in the beach where his sand castle had been. "That one, unfortunately, had gone bad. Real bad."

  She covered her face as she laughed again. "I guess I better stay on the straight and narrow then, huh?"

  "Marianne?"

  She cringed as she heard the voice of "Brad" coming through the trees from the opposite direction of her uncovered pathway. The actor was extremely handsome, but he was pale and rather feminine compared to the man in front of her.

  "I guess I need to be going," she said reluctantly.

  She started away from Kyle, but he caught her hand in his. The feel of that steely grip on her skin made her entire body burn.

  Before she realized what he was doing, he'd pulled her against the hard, lean strength of his body and lowered his mouth onto hers.

  Marianne sighed at the taste of his lips as his tongue explored her mouth, flicking masterfully in and out. It made her breathless and weak. She held on to those broad, muscled shoulders as she felt the heat pounding between her legs. Heat that made her wet and desperate for this man.

  His muscles flexed beneath her hand, whetting her appetite all the more. How she wished she were touching his tanned skin, sinking her teeth into all that lush, fabulous maleness.

  Kyle growled at how good she tasted. But then he'd known instinctively that she would.

  His cock hardened to the point of pain as he imagined what it would feel like to lay her down on the beach and spend the next few hours watching her come for him over and over again while he slid himself in and out of her sleek wet heat.

  There were few things in life he liked more than the sight of a woman caught in the middle of an orgasm. The sound of her delighted cries as he nibbled and teased the last tremor from her body.

  And this was a woman he could savor from now until the end of time....

  "Marianne!"

  He didn't want to let her go, but then, he'd never been the kind of guy to perform before an audience, nor did she strike him as the kind of woman who would appreciate him trying to broaden their horizons in that respect.

  Reluctantly he released her.

  Damn. Kyle didn't say anything as he watched the klutz--who tripped over the sand castle's crater as he crossed the sand--take off with his woman.

  He glanced at the blackened hole on the beach.

  Target number one had been destroyed.

  Target number two...

  She would have to be conquered.

  For the first time in a month he felt the familiar adrenaline rush surging.

  At last he had a mission.

  Marianne Webernec and her sweet little mouth that had tasted like honey.

  One taste and he'd been hooked. And he wasn't the kind of man to leave well enough alone once his curiosity was aroused.

  Curiosity, hell, his whole body was aroused, and he wouldn't be sated until he'd tasted a whole lot more than her lips.

  No way. Before he was through with her, he would know every minute part of her body and every way to make her scream out in pleasure.

  Kyle smiled at the lecherous thought.

  This was one challenge he was going to savor well.

  Chapter Two

  "Hey, Sam," Kyle said to the surly man behind the concierge desk as he entered the lobby of the small luxury hotel where he'd been staying literally against his will.

  Since Kyle had been shot in the line of duty (about six times, they assumed--five bullets had been dug out, and there was some debate on what had caused the sixth wound), his boss had decided Kyle needed a vacation at the hotel his agency owned on a remote, private island out in the middle of the Atlantic.

  Kyle thought the six-week "vacation" was completely unnecessary, but Joe had insisted, and anyone who had ever tried to argue with Joe Q. Public soon found out they would have a better time moving a mountain than budging Joe even an inch.

  So here he was, a highly trained special ops agent, bored, healed, and raring to go, only to find Joe laughing at him every time he called and begged for a plane ride off this godforsaken island.

  At least until twenty minutes ago, when fate had finally shone on him again.

  Suddenly the thought of the next week looked promising.

  Kyle stopped at the desk where Sam sat holding a longneck beer propped on his knee while watching a Lakers game on ESPN. In his mid-fifties, Sam looked like the picture-perfect image of a stout Scotsman. He had a ruddy complexion and a wide, serious face that was topped by a thick unruly mane of stark white hair. He wore black-rimmed glasses that continually slid down his broad nose and that he constantly pushed back up.

  But the most interesting thing about him was his companion, Roscoe. An old basset hound, Roscoe had about as much attitude as any dog Kyle had ever met. And in a strange way, Kyle liked that old dog as much as he liked Sam.

  Kyle paused at the counter and respectfully waited for a commercial before he int
errupted the hotel's manager. "Tell me something, Sam. What's on the other side of this island, and why am I not supposed to go over there?"

  Sam shrugged as he looked up from the small television. He took a quick swig of beer before he answered. "That's them weirdos from that publisher, Rose Books. You'd have to ask Joe for more details. He's the one who rents this part of the island from them so we can do some covert training, or in your case emergency R and R. I think he knows the owner of the publishing house or something."

  "Do you know what goes on over there?"

  "Yeah, and it's spooky as all get-out."

  "Spooky how?"

  "It's Sex Camp."

  Kyle choked at the unexpected answer. "What?"

  "Sex Camp," Sam repeated simply, as if there were nothing unusual about the title. "They have these women what read those romance books, and every few months or so one of them wins a trip out here to live out their fantasy novel, and they put on this whole grand show with the winner."

  Sam pushed his glasses up. "Makes you want to know what's in them romance novels women read. I've been reading Tom Clancy for years, and all I get is submarines and war stories." He snorted. "I ain't never had the itch to run into the woods with a bunch of sailors and try to throw them on the ground. You know what I mean?"

  Not really. Sam had a bad habit of not always making sense. "Beg pardon?" Kyle asked.

  "Listen," Sam continued as he idly stroked Roscoe's head. "A word to the wise, son, you got to be real careful walking around after dark whenever one of them fantasies is going on. They don't call it Sex Camp for nothing. I've seen them do things on the beach that'll make you go blind. Hell, some of it I didn't even know was humanly possible."

  Kyle couldn't keep his mouth from hanging open as he thought about Marianne being the latest winner. There was no way his sweet little visitor would do something like that.

  Was there?

  And if there was, then she'd better damn well be doing it with him.

  "Are you yanking my chain?" he asked Sam.

  "Nah, why would I?" Sam gave him an intense stare over the top rims of his glasses. "You think they're normal women when they come off the plane, but they're really raving nymphomaniacs cleverly disguised."

  "Bullshit."

  "Nah, boy, it's true. They come off the plane looking all nice and normal, and within twenty-four hours they turn into Debbie Does Dallas or Richard or whoever she can find. It's horrifying what happens to these women." He pointed to his dog. "See Roscoe here? He's only two years old. He went into the woods one night and now look at him. Their antics done aged him twenty years overnight. And don't get me started on them men they got. I don't know where they find them. But something about them ain't right, neither. So I stay on my side of the island as far away from all of them loons as I can get."

  "I don't believe you."

  Sam shrugged and turned back toward the television as the game resumed. "You don't got to believe it. Truth is truth. You should be here whenever they're doing one of those historical reenactments. They make us run around in costume in case we accidentally bump into one of their winners. It's a big pain. We have to say things like 'my lady' and shit. I feel like a blooming idiot. Can you just imagine my fat ass in a tutu or tights or whatever those godawful things are called?" He blew out a disgusted breath. "I got too-too much for those things, and their director, Aislinn Zimmerman, once tried to borrow Roscoe for scenery."

  Roscoe whined at that.

  "That's right, boy. Don't worry. Old Sam would never let them abuse you." He glanced back at Kyle. "That's why I keep Roscoe hidden. The last thing I need is my poor dog going blind, too."

  Kyle stood there stunned by Sam's disclosures. He just couldn't see the woman he'd met doing something like that. She'd seemed so pure. Innocent.

  No, he didn't believe it. But this whole scenario would require more research.

  Heading for the elevators, he decided it was time to get down to business and do what he did best.

  Research, infiltrate, and take whatever action necessary to achieve his objective.

  THREE HOURS LATER Kyle sat back in his office chair, reviewing his reconnaissance data.

  Marianne Webernec was a high school teacher from a small town outside Peoria, Illinois, whose only claim to fame was once winning the statewide spelling bee in junior high school. She hadn't even been homecoming queen.

  She'd graduated with good grades, not exceptional ones. Done college in five years, then went back to her hometown to teach German and French at the local high school.

  She'd never even had a speeding or parking ticket. Not even in college.

  There wasn't much here to say she was anything out of the ordinary.

  Nothing except for the way his body had reacted the moment he had held her in his arms. The way her hard, puckered nipples had looked underneath the cotton of her tank top.

  The way her warm, welcoming mouth had tasted...

  Someone knocked on his door.

  Instinctively Kyle reached for his weapon, only to roll his eyes at the reflex. Some habits died hard. It was why Joe had sent him here to the island. There was no chance in hell any of his enemies would ever find him. In all the world, this was the only "safe" place any of the BAD agents had.

  He pulled his hand back from the holster.

  "Come in."

  The door opened to show Sam with Roscoe at his feet. "Hey, you busy?"

  Kyle swiveled his desk chair around. "Not really. What'cha need?"

  "Well, after you left, Roscoe got me to thinking...."

  Kyle arched a brow at that. The older man had a strange relationship with his pooch.

  Sam came in and handed him a small paperback. "I sent Lee over to the other side of the island to find out what was going on over there for you, and he came back with that book. It's what they're reenacting at the moment, so I thought you might want to read it for a good laugh or something. I know you're not used to inaction, so I thought it might give you something to do."

  Kyle inclined his head to him. "Obliged."

  Sam nodded, then turned and left with Roscoe in tow.

  Alone again, Kyle stared at the white cover with the title Danger in the Night and the author's name, Rachel Fire, emblazoned over it. On the spine was a single red rose logo from Rose Books. He turned the book over and scanned the back. The first thing that caught his attention was the name of the heroine, Ren Winterbourne, which was what Marianne had called herself.

  The next one was the plot synopsis.

  Undercover agents.

  Kyle laughed out loud. This was perfect. His little schoolteacher was dreaming of...

  Well, him.

  Oh, yeah, this was the best. Leaning back in his chair, Kyle began to read the first page of the book, which was a small form and an invitation to the readers:

  WHAT'S YOUR FANTASY?

  Do you ever dream of getting away from it all? Just for a week or two?

  Have you ever read a romance novel and thought...

  What if?

  Have you ever, just once, wanted to be the heroine in a book and to have the man of your dreams come in and rock your world?

  Your dreams could come true. Enter the Hideaway Heroine Sweepstakes, and you, too, could be headed off to be the heroine in your favorite romance novel. Just send in your name, address, and phone number, the title and author of your favorite book, and the reason(s) why you need a break from your everyday life.

  One lucky winner will be selected every two months. No purchase necessary. Enter as many times as you like.

  For more information, please visit RachelFire.com.

  Good luck!

  Kyle turned the page, and the hot sex scene on the first page was enough to shock him to his core and make his cock so stiff, he couldn't even sit comfortably.

  Holy shit, this was what Marianne read for pleasure?

  Just what else did his simple little teacher do for fun?

  MARIANNE SIGHED AS "Brad" p
ulled his gun out from under his coat. Of course, it got tangled in the hem and he almost dropped it, but once he finally wrestled it free, he pointed it at the others.

  "Back off," he snarled, and yet it sounded somehow less than convincing even to her.

  The other men around them made snarling noises and animal-like gestures that reminded her of an old campy Batman episode from TV. She half expected Olga and her Cossacks to come barreling out at any moment, followed by Vincent Price playing Egghead.

  It was all she could do not to laugh.

  Strange how the idea of this hadn't seemed ludicrous when she'd told Aislinn Zimmerman that she wanted to be Ren Winterbourne, but for some reason the reality of it left her feeling like a fool.

  "Come on, Ren," Brad said, taking her by the arm. "I'll get you out of this."

  How she wished he could.

  Unfortunately all of this would continue for at least another week until her fantasy life was over and she could return back home to Illinois.

  Who would have ever thought that would be appealing?

  Someone please save her from Brad, the bad actor, and the poor souls who were being paid to act like clean-cut criminals.

  She half ran out of the building with Brad towing her along by her hand. This was the part where Brad in the book was supposed to pin Ren up against the wall and kiss her senseless.

  Instead, Brad ran with her down the beach toward the hotel where they were staying.

  "Are they behind us?" he asked.

  "No," she said without looking. In her fantasy vacation package, unlike the book, the bad guys never really came after them. It was as if they were afraid of hurting her, even though she had signed a legal waiver promising not to hold the Zimmermans or Rose Books liable should she be hurt.

  Brad stopped and took a minute to catch his breath. Marianne idly found herself wondering if Kyle would be as winded as Brad after so short a run.

  How ridiculous was that? But then, she hadn't been able to get that man out of her thoughts since Brad had "rescued" her from him. Especially Kyle's wonderfully tight rump, which had been begging her for a covert fondling.

  Too bad she had lacked the courage even to try and grope him.

  Well, at least she'd gotten one really good kiss out of this experience.

  Hmmm...Maybe she should plead a headache and venture to the other side of the island again in search of the only man who'd turned her head since she'd stepped off the plane three weeks ago.