Men in Uniform
Nine sexy stories about our favorite men in uniform, from some of the biggest names in romance…
Along Came a Spider by New York Times Bestselling Author Delilah Devlin: All Spider Longren wants is time alone to recharge after a grueling mission, but what he gets is caught in the double crossfire of passion and danger.
Coming in Hot by USA Today Bestselling Author Kate Meader: Firefighter Tyler has one problem. He’s still got his V-card. And he wants his best friend Evie to help him lose it, only she has no idea he’s wanted her for years. Time to make his move.
Precious Cargo by USA Today Bestselling Author Nicole Morgan: With a hit out on Alena’s life, U.S. Marine Brandon is faced with protecting her while completing his mission… And keeping his hands off her is the hardest task of all.
View from the Top by USA Today Bestselling Author Carmen Falcone: Retired Air Force pilot Mack always desired Jenny but couldn’t act on it because she’d been too young. Now, years later, he’s ready to show her they’d make a great couple—in and out of the bedroom.
Two for the Road by Bisou deVie: One city girl from LA. One sexy Greek paramedic from Canada. One road trip. What could go wrong?
Call Me Crazy by Rebecca Royce: Faith keeps calling Sheriff Wyatt about something odd she keeps seeing in her yard… But all he sees is one sexy woman he wants for a night of hot passion.
The Navy Seal’s Secret Baby by Kat Baxter: A hot NAVY Seal, an awkward teacher, and a weekend of hot sex. It was supposed to be temporary, but a baby changes everything…
Always Ready by Kimberly Nee: In town for a few days from his job in the Coast Guard, Steve helps Lauren live out her sexual fantasy. But it’s the staying together part that’s challenging…
Ready for Trouble by Tina Donahue: Jake loves his job as a cop and loves the steamy Florida women more—as long as they’re into casual. And that means hands off his boss’s sister…
Read an Excerpt
Spider Longren knew his reaction was way out of context with the situation, but looking down at the crushed metal tackle box gave him grim satisfaction. The solid punch had left his knuckles tingling, which reminded him he was among the living.
So, the lock probably hadn’t been stuck in the first place. Maybe it had only needed a jiggle to free it. He’d buy his buddy Tank a shiny new one to replace the dented old box. At least now he could see the hook he needed. It was on the ground along with the scattered, colorful flies and shiny weights.
Selecting a hook, he settled back into his folding chair and reached for the box of worms he’d bought at the bait shop at O-dark-thirty that morning. He grimaced as he impaled a large wriggling worm. The moment had arrived. The moment Tank had described as one of pure bliss as he gently flung back his pole then jerked it forward to cast, the sweet sound of the reel whirring a sure path to inner peace.
Spider’s line landed limply about ten feet from his chair. Well, hell. That’s what the weights were for. He turned the handle on the reel, and the hook whizzed closer. A mindless task. Annoying as hell.
He rifled through the spilled contents of the tackle box, looking for one of the small brass weights. Pain stung the end of his index finger, and he jerked back his hand to find a large drop of blood bubbling up from a puncture. An ISL bullet hadn’t managed to sideline him for more than a month, but now he wondered whether some flesh-eating bacteria might find its way inside the small wound, so he rifled some more to find a tube of antibacterial cream. Wound treated, he returned to the task of finding a weight and tying it next to the hook, trimmed the excess line with the K-bar knife from his web belt, then stuck another worm onto the hook and prepared to cast his line, again.
But first, he needed a few deep breaths to calm the anger that had him itching to get up from his seat on this small rocky outcrop that jutted into a fast-moving river, the outcrop forming an eddy Tank had promised would yield a fish or two.
Ever since they’d returned from their last rotation in the sandbox, Spider had been edgy, unable to relax, terse with his friends—to the point they’d told him he needed to get laid or go a round with someone who’d kick his ass good in a boxing ring. Tank had cleared his throat after that last suggestion and recommended his own favorite stress break: a weekend of fishing, alone in the wilderness. No voices. No sounds other than the swishing of the trees as the wind filtered through their branches, the gentle burbling of the water, the occasional warble of a bird…
The thought of isolating himself in the forest, on purpose, as a way to let go of the tension that kept him wound tight, had sounded like a slice of pure heaven. After getting the GPS location of Tank’s favorite watering hole, he’d left Little Creek last night, arriving in the North Carolina national forest in the early morning hours at a roadside motel Tank promised didn’t have bed bugs. He’d dropped his gear in his room, which turned out to be exactly as his buddy had promised—old, but clean. The slight smell of mildew in the bathroom was kind of comforting in its own way.
He’d headed out on foot, following his GPS into the woods, just a flashlight to guide him, a fishing pole and his folding chair over his shoulder, the tackle box under his arm and a cooler carried at his side. Watching the sun rise from the rock outcropping that stretched nearly to the center of the river had further heartened him that he’d chosen well, because during that last hundred miles of driving he’d wondered if he shouldn’t have chosen door number one and simply gotten laid.
Well, he was here now. It was Saturday morning, and he had until Monday to return to base. All he had to do was follow Tank’s simple instructions—hook a worm, cast, wait until something happened, pop the tab on a beer, wait some more, reel in the line, and then hook another worm. Rinse and repeat. The path to nirvana. Catching a fish wasn’t the actual goal.
He reached back and cast his line again then watched it sail far out toward the center of the river, but a sudden gust of wind pushed it back to the bank on the other side of the eddy. He jerked his pole, but the hook had caught on vegetation. Huffing a breath, he pushed up from his chair and jerked harder on the line.
A metallic tinkling sounded. “What the hell?” he whispered under his breath. He tugged again, this time more gently. The sound repeated, but more muted this time.
Since fishing wasn’t nearly as interesting as exploring the source of the sound, he walked back across the rocks, climbing down to the river bank, then cut through the woods in the direction he’d heard the tinkling sound.
He pushed through a thicket of bushes then happened to glance downward. A nearly invisible filament, thicker than a spider’s web, was stretched ankle-high. A booby trap. His heart thudded, pounding more solidly inside his chest—a comforting feeling, really. He crouched and followed the direction of the filament with his gaze. Just as he decided to step out to explore, he heard rustling in the bushes and froze.
Dead ahead, he saw two figures moving through the forest, dressed in camo, holsters strapped to their thighs.
Moving quietly, he backed out of the thicket then moved along a path parallel to the men. Maybe they were simply hunters, stalking prey. If so, he’d leave them to their weird little survivalists’ play. However, the hand signals used by the first in line, a raised fist to halt, spread fingers pointing at his eyes, a single digit, indicating one target… Those were military signals. What the hell was going on?
And then he saw it—a small blue pup tent. A smoking campfire. He tensed, realizing he had only his K-bar as a weapon in case shit went sideways, and these guys weren’t just sneaking up on a buddy to scare the shit out of him.
Another signal was given, and the second man moved away, stealthily circling the camp—until he met a trip wire and a jangle of tin cans pushed both to give up their advantage and charge into the camp. One man grabbed the tent and pulled it up, stakes and all, to reveal an empty bedroll.
Whoever they hunted had given them the slip, maybe forewarned by Spider’s rattling of tin with his fishing line. In any case, it was time for him to leave.
He stepped backward but halted when one of the men called out, “There!”
The slim figure of a woman jumped up from behind a bush and headed deeper into the thicket. The man crashed after her, his accomplice right behind him.
Spider didn’t hesitate. Although armed only with his K-bar, no way was he letting these two harm the woman. He followed, moving as quietly as he could to keep from alerting them someone else was in the forest.
A cry sounded from ahead, and he halted at the edge of a small clearing to find one of the men kneeling on the ass of the woman while he pulled zip ties from his pocket. The other man stood several feet away, his weapon drawn and pointing toward the woman.
While they laughed at her muffled curses as she tried to wriggle free, Spider slid his knife from its scabbard and left the trees, edging toward the one guarding the woman.
A branch snapped beneath his feet. The man’s head turned. His eyes widened, and he swung his pistol toward Spider.
Spider flew at him, shoving up his arm as he tried to push him to the ground. A shot rang out, whizzing past Spider’s ear. Shit just got serious.
The man kneeling on the woman pulled his weapon free, but she jerked against him, toppling him, then with her hands behind her back, she rolled and kicked out at him, striking him in the temple.
Spider hooked a boot behind the ankle of the man he battled then threw his weight against him, bringing him down.
His guy still held the weapon and was fighting Spider’s grip on his upper arm, turning his elbow and aiming. Spider kneed his opponent in the groin. Another shot fired, this one nicking the back of his upper arm.
With the sounds of the woman continuing to fight the other man, Spider knew he had no other choice; he pushed his blade through the man’s rib cage, grimacing as he shoved and jerked it upward.
The man’s eyes lost their focus, and he went limp beneath Spider.
Spider rolled off and scrambled to his feet, ready to do battle with the second man, but the woman appeared to have the upper hand—or thigh. Somehow, she’d locked her thighs around the man’s neck. His face was purple; his features slackened.
After sliding his knife into its scabbard, he walked toward the woman, whose expression was wild and fierce. Holding out his hands, palms down, he said, “It’s over. You can let him go.”
Her glance darted toward him.
“You can let him go,” he repeated, this time more slowly.
She relaxed her thighs and fell back against the ground, her body quivering.
Spider knelt and rolled away the body, freeing her. “Let me take care of that zip tie.”