that scenario was far-fetched given that the last time he’d seen her she had been fifteen and going through the bohemian stage of her search for her personal art style. She’d spent months wearing burlap, shunning shampoo and was usually covered in burns from the soldering iron she used to make her avant-garde metal sculptures.
But hey, maybe she’d get lucky.
In one form or another.
Frankie bounced across the floor in her beribboned Lucite heels, wondering if this was how Cinderella had felt when she’d spotted the prince at the ball.
Half delighted, half terrified.
And totally turned on.
* * *
STRIPPERS, BODY SHOTS, flashing lights and wild dancing.
Las Vegas at its finest.
Otherwise known as one of Lieutenant Phillip Banks’s many versions of hell. Right up there with email spam, traffic jams and drug kingpins with a taste for exotic torture.
A man who believed in discipline, he made a point to do everything in his power to avoid the first two and take down the latter.
Especially the latter.
Phillip stared at his drink, slowly twisting the glass this way, then that, while memories of his time as Valdero’s unwilling guest flashed through his mind.
After he’d been captured on a mission gone wrong, it had taken his team three days to effect a rescue. In those three days, Phillip had experienced new levels of pain, discovered rage and reevaluated his beliefs about revenge.
For most of his life, his goal had been to be the best. To excel in all things—school, the military and the SEALs.
Now?
Now all he wanted was revenge on that sadistic son of a bitch, Valdero. And he planned to get it. He had the operation mapped out, he had a good idea who had sold out the team and he was ready to lead the mission to take Valdero down.
Phillip gulped his scotch with a grimace.
Hell, he’d even gone above and beyond the mandatory psych evaluation to ensure—and prove to those in command—that he was mentally capable of handling it.
He was ready.
Unfortunately, he was also in Las Vegas.
Frowning, Phillip looked around. He’d rather be in Coronado, studying strategy and perfecting his plan.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t think twice about doing an about-face and making for the nearest exit.
But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.
This, God help him, was his sister’s wedding.
A headache throbbing behind his left eye, he leaned his head against the back of the booth, watching the dancers wriggling all over the modified stage. He cringed when the leggy brunette in the middle did a wicked bump and grind.
“Helluva party,” someone said, forcing Phillip to quit glaring at his dancing sister.
When he saw who was speaking, he automatically came to attention.
“Sir?”
“The party, it’s the wildest wedding I’ve ever attended.” Lieutenant Commander Blake Landon winced as the groom got up on stage, too, showing an impressive bump and grind of his own. “Although I’m pretty sure I didn’t need to see that.”
Wondering where he could get his eyeballs sandblasted, Phillip could only grunt his agreement.
“You’re not celebrating?” Landon asked, dropping into the chair opposite Phillip so his back was turned toward the stage. Phillip would have preferred that spot if not for his policy to always sit with his back against a wall.
“I’m sure Lara considers my being here celebration enough,” Phillip responded, figuring that and an appropriate wedding gift were really all anyone could ask of him.
“That was a good thing you did, giving the bride away.”
Swirling the ice melting in his second scotch that night, Phillip could only shrug. A year ago—hell, six months ago—he’d been in what he considered peak form for a military officer. He’d trained hard, he was at the top of his game physically and mentally and he’d been completely unencumbered. He’d had no family to answer to, and his relationships with his fellow SEALs had been distant enough for him to do his job without any emotional baggage. And he’d been absolutely positive that he was on the right track.
And now?
He was reluctantly attending a tacky Las Vegas wedding with half of the SEAL platoon, his entire team and a sister he’d spent most of his life comfortably estranged from. And his right track? That had taken a sharp turn left.
“Sir?” he said, leaning forward, knowing his words would be easily drowned out by the loud music if anyone else were listening. “Any word on Candy Man?”
Landon’s easy look faded at the mention of Valdero’s code name. His eyes went military hard and his demeanor shifted automatically.
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Landon said. “And you haven’t been cleared for the mission. So until we’re back on base, why don’t you relax and enjoy your sister’s happiness?”
Phillip clenched his teeth to keep his argument at bay, baffled at the unfamiliar fury surging through him. Apparently the extra therapy he’d gotten after the clear psych evaluation hadn’t helped much. Before, he’d never gotten angry, never questioned orders. Yet here he was, ready to leap across the table, grab a superior officer and demand that he be allowed revenge.
Phillip tossed back the last of his scotch, wishing the alcohol would dull the hold those strange emotions had over him. He’d been called uptight most of his life, and he’d embraced that label. Reckless emotions were something he’d never indulged in.
Landon glanced over his shoulder, where the bride and groom were now slow dancing, in spite of the heavy bass ricocheting off the walls. “Give yourself a pat on the back for your part in bringing them together.”
“That’s all on them,” Phillip said, wincing as the groom’s hands slipped down to cup the bride’s ass.
“Blake?”
Both men looked over and smiled. Phillip donned the polite society smile he’d been trained from birth to offer. Landon’s smile was much sappier, the kind that said the guy was seriously crazy over his wife.
“Dance?” Alexia Landon asked, trailing her fingers over her husband’s shoulder.
Landon nodded, and then gave Phillip a long look.
“Whether you want credit or not, from what I hear, the bride and groom are giving it to you,” he told Phillip as he got to his feet. With that and a grin, he followed the leggy redhead onto the dance floor.
“Don’t
