Cathie Linz - Her Millionaire Marine

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.

Striker stood in the bedroom of his furnished rental apartment near the base, jamming a few of his belongings into his seabag with one hand while pressing the memory dial button on his cell phone with the other. Kate was waiting outside for him in a cab.

After years as a Force Recon Marine, Striker was well accustomed to deploying on a moment’s notice. But he wasn’t accustomed to doing so in regard to his family.

Fighting for freedom or justice was something he could manage. He didn’t know how to manage telling his mom about his grandfather’s death.

Striker considered telling his dad the news and having his dad tell his mom. But the bottom line was that Stan Kozlowski was no better at this kind of thing than Striker was. In fact, he may even have been worse.

“Hello?”

He smiled at the sound of his mother’s soft-spoken voice. Many were deceived by her sweet demeanor, which camouflaged a will of steel. Angela King Kozlowski needed to be strong to be a Marine’s wife, to marry him against her father’s wishes and to raise five sons of her own. He and his brothers would walk on hot coals for her.

“Hello?” Angela repeated. “Is there anyone there?”

“Hey, Mom, it’s Striker.” He could hear the sound of the ocean in the background. “Where are you?”

“Eating lunch along the Oregon coast. It’s really lovely out here, Striker. You should visit this area sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” He figured he’d stalled long enough. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got some bad news.”

“Is it your brothers? Are they okay?”

Striker cursed under his breath at the fear in his mother’s voice. He should have started differently. “No, it’s not my brothers. We’re all fine. It’s your father. I’m sorry, Mom, I just found out that he’s passed away. Heart attack. In his sleep, so he didn’t suffer.”

She was silent.

Striker swore silently. He shouldn’t have just spit it out like that. He should have worked up to it gently. Sure, his mother was a steel magnolia, but even she was bound to be upset by news like this. She might be strong, but she also had a softer side. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s just a surprise. Somehow I thought he’d always be down there in Texas, running King Oil.”

“Yeah, well, about King Oil…it seems that he didn’t disown us the way we thought.” He told her about the terms of the will as briefly as he could.

“I had no idea my father was planning something like this,” his mom said. “How do you feel about it all, Striker?”

“I’m ready to obey my orders.”

“Of course you are. But that wasn’t what I asked.”

Striker tossed in his shaving kit before closing his seabag. His mom wasn’t just tough yet caring, she was also incredibly astute. She could probably sense that he was upset about this turn of events, despite his best efforts to hide that from her.

He loved his mom, but there was no way he was talking about his emotions with her. He hadn’t done that since he was ten and he sure wasn’t about to start now. “Listen, I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m sorry to be giving you such bad news about your father.”

“What about the funeral? When will it be?”

“Funeral?” Striker repeated, not even having thought of that.

“He didn’t want the fuss of a funeral,” Kate said from behind him, startling him. “He had a private burial earlier this week.”

Striker couldn’t believe Kate had slipped past his customary awareness of his surroundings. As a Force Recon Marine, his very survival depended on him being able to keep his head at all times, in all circumstances.

He’d dealt with combat situations. He’d completed surgical strikes in the dead of night. He’d successfully executed search-and-destroy operations. So why was one rich blonde throwing him?

“Let me get back to you on that, Mom. We’ll talk again soon.” Jabbing the end call button, he tossed his phone aside to glare at Kate. “What are you doing in here?”

“I was wondering how much longer you’d be? Our flight leaves in two hours, we really should be at the airport right now.”

“You’ve never heard of knocking before you enter a place?”

“I did knock, you didn’t answer. The door was ajar, so I came in.”

Leaving doors open? Striker never did that. Another sign that he didn’t have his head screwed on straight at the moment.

He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out exactly what it was about her that was getting to him. She was pretty, but he’d dealt with pretty women before. Quite successfully.

She was classy and wealthy.

Okay, those were things he tended to avoid in his women.

Not that he went for trashy girls. But the ones born with a silver spoon in their mouths tended to hit him the wrong way. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out why.

He’d turned nineteen during that summer he’d spent with his grandfather in Texas. His grandfather had thrown a big party, big in the way only Texans know how to accomplish. Wanting to show off, his grandfather had chosen a superexclusive country club as the location.

The entire thing had been a disaster as far as Striker was concerned. Not at first. At first, he’d been flattered by the attention of all the girls. What hormone-driven male of that age wouldn’t have been?