If Captain Clay Masters hadn’t been so focused on the sexy brunette wearing a red bikini, he might not have been nailed in the head by a spiraling football.
Damn. He glanced at his old high school buddies, both of whom were laughing like hell, and then he retrieved the ball.
Over the last thirteen years, he’d stayed in touch with Duck and Poncho via email, texts and occasional phone calls, but they hadn’t spent any real time together since they’d all gone off to college. But you’d never know that. The moment they got together last Saturday in the baggage claim area of the Honolulu airport, it seemed as if they’d never gone their separate ways.
Now here they were, spending their well-earned vacation time on Oahu’s North Shore. The surf season had ended weeks ago, so the beach was secluded and nearly empty, other than the three friends and the petite brunette stretched out on a towel on the sand.
Poncho nudged Clay’s arm and nodded toward her. “She sure is rocking that red bikini.”
He had that right. Clay hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her ever since she set out her towel on the sand. And when she’d applied her sunblock? He’d been tempted to ask if she wanted his help.
But he hadn’t come here to hit on the first woman he saw. He wanted quality time with his buddies. Once they arrived, he’d traded in his flight suit for board shorts and flip-flops. He hadn’t even bothered shaving the past two mornings, which gave him a shadow of a beard. And instead of answering to sir or Captain, he’d reverted to the nickname he’d earned as a star quarterback at Wexler High—Bullet.
“Remember what I told you when I picked you up at the airport,” Clay told his buddies. “This week, I’m just a good ol’ boy from Texas, soaking up the sun and enjoying the surf.”
“We heard you,” Poncho said. “But hell, Bullet, maybe you should reconsider and proclaim your military status. Just look at her.”
Clay had been looking. She was stunning, with long brown hair and a body shaped to feminine perfection.
But ever since he’d gone to West Point, he’d been assigned to a military installation. And it hadn’t mattered where he was stationed, there were always plenty of local women who wanted to latch on to a military man, particularly an officer, for the bragging rights. And the benefits package wasn’t bad, either.
That didn’t mean Clay hadn’t had his share of romantic flings, but whenever he left the base, he usually kept his Army status under wraps.
“She looks lonely.” Poncho nodded toward her. “I’m going to talk to her. Maybe she’d like to join us for a cold beer.”
Duck laughed. “Just leave it to me, y’all. I’ve had more luck with the ladies than either of you.”
“Maybe so, but she doesn’t strike me as being your type.” Clay stole another glance at the bikini-clad brunette. “She doesn’t look like a buckle bunny or a rodeo queen.”
At that, Poncho gave Duck a nudge. “Don’t get carried away, man. She’s got her eye on Bullet. I’ve seen her stealing peeks at him every so often.”
Clay had noticed that, too, which was more than a little tempting. But he wasn’t about to desert his friends, no matter how gorgeous a lady was. “Come on,” he said. “This isn’t supposed to be a week of nights on the prowl. We’re here to relax and have fun—with each other. So are you going to stand around gawking at our neighbor or play ball?”
Poncho snatched the football from Clay’s hands, and the game picked up right where they’d left off. But like before, Clay had a hell of a time keeping his focus on throwing passes. Or catching them.
“Hey, Bullet.” Poncho slapped his hands on his hips. “You’re lagging, old man.”
Clay shook off his hormone-driven thoughts, realizing he’d gotten sluggish. So he threw a hard spiral to Poncho, who dropped it. “Ha! Look who’s lagging now.”
They continued to toss the ball, but how was Clay supposed to keep his mind on the game when he couldn’t keep his eyes off the sexy brunette?
Finally, he decided to throw in the towel. So he called a time-out to his friends. “I’m ready for a cold beer.” He was also ready to start the grill.
As his buddies trudged through the sand to the place where they’d left their stuff, two other young women, a blonde and a redhead, arrived at the shore and began setting out their ice chest and towels.
“What do you know,” Poncho said. “Looks like we have company. And if Duck and I play our cards right, we could all get lucky tonight.”
Poncho and Duck might be willing to sidle up to the newcomers, but Clay was still drawn to the olive-skinned brunette who could’ve modeled for the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Not that she was doing anything especially sexy or alluring. Hell, she was just reading a book.
“It’s clear that Clay has scoped out the brunette,” Poncho said, “which is fine by me. I’ve always favored blondes. That is, unless Duck wants to arm wrestle me for her.”
“No problem,” Duck said. “I’ll take the redhead.”
“Okay, guys.” Clay folded his arms across his chest. “What if they’re not interested?”
“Oh, they’re interested. They keep looking over here and giggling. But you’ll have to work a little magic on the brunette.” Poncho chuckled. “Something tells me you’ve gotten a little rusty at laying on the charm.”
“I’ve still got the touch. There are some things a guy doesn’t forget.” But Clay wasn’t in the mood for romantic fun and games tonight, especially if his friends struck out with the new arrivals. In fact, he had half a notion to go back to their rented beach house, open a cold one, turn on the TV and hang out inside. Alone.
“While you light the grill,” Poncho told Duck, “I’ll lay a little buenos días on the lovely twosome and invite them to our barbecue.” Then he glanced at Clay. “What are you waiting for? Go offer the brunette an invite. Or would you rather I lay a little groundwork for you first?”
“I don’t need your help.” Clay stole another glance at the brunette. Chances were, she was on vacation, too.
Oh, what the hell. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her. Maybe she’d be interested in the cowboy type and in sharing a night they’d both remember—long after they each went their own ways.
* * *
Sergeant Erica Campbell lay on her back, her open historical romance novel held up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare while she read.
Earlier this afternoon, she’d noticed the three hotties who’d been splashing in the water and playing football on the shore. The one called Bullet had glanced her way, and when their eyes met, he tossed her a big, Texas-size grin. She meant to ignore him, but he seemed so boyish and charming that she couldn’t help returning his smile.
All three of them were attractive and well built, but Bullet either spent a lot of time at the gym or had a job that required strength and vigor.
His light brown hair was short, much like his friends’. Water glistened on his broad shoulders. Six-pack abs and a taut belly drew her undivided attention like a sharp, crisp salute. Now