Twelve super-sexy books.
All the gorgeous military heroes you can handle.
One UNIFORMLY HOT! mini-series.
Don’t miss Mills & Boon® Blaze®’s first twelve-book continuity series, featuring irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.
Watch for:
THE SOLDIER by Rhonda Nelson (Special Forces) July 2010
STORM WATCH by Jill Shalvis (National Guard) August 2010
HER LAST LINE OF DEFENCE by Marie Donovan (Green Berets) September 2010
SOLDIER IN CHARGE by Jennifer LaBrecque (Paratrooper) October 2010
SEALED AND DELIVERED by Jill Monroe (Navy SEALs) November 2010
CHRISTMAS MALE by Cara Summers (Military Police) December 2010
Uniformly Hot!
The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.
Her Last Line of Defence
By
Marie Donovan
MARIE DONOVAN is a Chicago-area native, who got her fill of tragedies and unhappy endings by majoring in opera/vocal performance and Spanish literature. As an antidote to all that gloom, she read romance novels voraciously throughout college and graduate school.
Donovan worked for a large suburban public library for ten years as both a cataloguer and a bilingual Spanish storytime presenter. She graduated magna cum laude with two bachelor’s degrees from a Midwestern liberal arts university and speaks six languages. She enjoys reading, gardening and yoga. Please visit the author’s website at www.mariedonovan.com and also her Sizzling Pens group blog at www.sizzlingpens.blogspot.com.m.
MILLS & BOON
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Available in September 2010 from Mills & Boon® Blaze®
BLAZE 2-IN-1
Branded
by Tori Carrington
&
Naked Attraction
by Jule McBride
Her Last Line of Defence
by Marie Donovan
Caught on Camera
by Tawny Weber
In memory of two humble men: my grandpa Oz, who merely “cleaned up in Europe”; and Great-Uncle Richard, who “watched the fireworks” while trapped under a bush on a hill in the Philippines.
And to my husband, who tells me you can indeed sleep on the back of an armoured tank if you get tired enough.
God bless all our soldiers.
Chapter One
“No, NO! HELL, NO! Not just hell no, fu—”
“At ease, Sergeant!” It wasn’t a suggestion.
Luc Boudreaux clamped his mouth shut and wondered who in the hell he had pissed off badly enough to lead him to this. He thought he’d made it through his Afghan tour of duty without stepping on his crank. He’d stayed away from the local girls, avoided shooting anyone who didn’t deserve it and brought some decent health care to several tribes whose only technology was Soviet-era weaponry.
He took a deep breath. “Sir, may I ask why I am being selected for this task?”
Captain Olson, his commanding officer snorted. “Can the ‘sir’ shit—you haven’t called me ‘sir’ in years. Now pull the stick out of your ass and sit down.”
Luc dropped into the beat-up office chair and stared at his boss across the equally beat-up desk. Special Forces spent their budget on gear, not furniture. “Okay, Olie, what the hell?” He spread his hands wide in frustration.
Magnus Olson, or “Olie” as he was known to his men and half of Afghanistan, stroked the long blond beard that made him look like a recruiting poster for Viking pillagers. Luc guessed his own black beard made him a pirate poster boy. “Like I was trying to say before you ripped me a new one, here’s the rest of the deal, and I have to admit it’s a crappy one—you train Congressman Cook’s daughter in jungle survival skills, and the fine congressman won’t torpedo your career.”
“What?” Luc leaped to his feet.
Olie let him blow off several choice remarks before lifting a meaty hand. “Okay, okay. Sit down, Rage, and I’ll go over this again real slow with you.”
For once, Luc was living up to his nickname of the Ragin’ Cajun. Most of the time it was a team joke since he was usually a mellow guy. But now, no. The battle lines were drawn.
Olie reached behind him, pulled a beer out of the minifridge and tossed the bottle to Luc. “Drink up. We deserve it.”
Luc popped the cap and took a long pull of the icy brew, suddenly weary. “Seriously, why me? Get a jungle survival school instructor. I have lots and lots of leave coming my way, and I need to get back to Louisiana.” His parents and grandparents had had serious home damage from the last hurricane that blew through, and Luc was going to help them rebuild.
“‘It has to be you, it has to be you-u-u-u,’” Olie crooned to the old show-tune melody. “You’re the only guy I know who survived the jungles of San Lucas de la Selva alone for more than a month with only the clothes on his back and a machete.”
“Oh, mon Dieu.” Luc sat up in horror. “His daughter is going to San Lucas de
