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.
