Breakpoint Read online

  “Fuck,” he muttered as he tossed the nearly useless towel over the shower bar and squeezed toothpaste onto a brush.

  How about trying to be honest? he blasted himself. You’re not thinking marriage. You’re thinking sex. Hot, wet, blow-the-top-of-your-head off, blind-the-eyeballs sex with that female who’s sending off signals that could probably be picked up from outer space.

  He glanced down at the stainless-steel diver’s watch he’d put on the top of the toilet tank. Giving them time to take in some chow before flying out to that carrier, Dallas calculated that they had exactly four hours, twenty-eight minutes, and forty-five—make that forty-four —seconds of rack time here at the lodge.

  Which, given that they’d undoubtedly end up in male and female sections of that ship—boat—meant that any sheet tangling would have to wait until they got back to dry land.

  So, he told his body, which leaped to attention at the idea of getting up close and personal with Juls Decatur, you’re just gonna have to suck it up.

  For now.

  He pulled his skivvies up his legs and hoped his dick would take the hint and quiet down.

  Females, Dallas, had discovered, were at the same time both gloriously unique and remarkably similar. Experience had taught him that getting along with a woman was a bit like solving a linear differential equations problem.

  There were a finite number of possibilities, all with the female as the single unknown variable. Being a patient man, he was willing to do all the metaphorical subtracting, multiplying, and dividing until he found the value of the variable that made the equation true.

  He knew there were people—such as the female he was interested in—who might object to being considered part of a mathematical equation. But Dallas had always been drawn to math.

  It did, after all, make sense. It was stable. It didn’t change. Two plus two didn’t equal three on Tuesday or six on Friday. It had always, from the days Neanderthals were drawing lines in the dirt or on cave walls, added up to four.

  A prime number didn’t suddenly become “unprime” after a bad night.

  Most people, if asked, would probably assume relationships were along the lines of weather. But Dallas had found just the opposite. Because all relationships, like equations, required equilibrium.

  Which brought his mind back to Julianne Decatur. Dallas strongly doubted that any relationship with her could ever become boring. Challenging, yes. But she was proving his analogy because the amount of positive expression he directed toward her had appeared to be contributing to changes in her reciprocal feelings.

  The fact that they were opposites in so many ways only made the equation that much more interesting. Factor in his more impulsive, go-for-it personality, with her being a more cautious, follow-the-rules type, and while they might often be at odds, they could end up anywhere between love and hate. But one thing was certain—the relationship would never be dull.

  Finally stepping out of the bathroom, ready to face the bed and the gorgeous woman waiting for him in it, he was somewhat disappointed to find her already sleeping.

  He stood beside the bed for a moment, taking in the damp blond hair spread over the pillow, the gold-tipped lashes resting on cheeks the color of rich cream, the slightly parted lips.

  She’d pulled the sheet up to her chin, but that didn’t keep him from noticing how her breasts rose and fell with each breath. From imagining how they’d feel beneath his hands. How her skin would taste. And how she’d buck when he’d take a nipple in his mouth and tug.

  But apparently not tonight.

  Sighing, he climbed into the other side of the bed and turned off the light.

  As the scent of her shampoo and whatever female lotion she’d smoothed over her body surrounded him like a sexy, seductive cloud, Dallas decided it was going to be a very long night.

  27

  In the magical way of dreams, Julianne had been transported from the less than luxurious transient BOQ to an aquamarine lagoon fringed by pandanus trees. The bay, which curved out toward a backdrop of mountains, was separated from the vast blue Pacific by a long ruffle of dazzling white sea foam; waterfalls scored the velvet green mountain faces in rivulets of molten silver.

  Clad in a Barbie pink bikini—a color she’d never owned, and skimpier than she’d ever dared wear in real life—she was lying facedown on peach-hued coral sand, straddled by a seriously ripped hottie in cammie shorts who was rubbing oil all over her sun-warmed body.

  The scent of coconut oil blended with the fragrance of plumeria, sandalwood, and oleander drifting on the soft trade winds.

  Julianne sighed as she imagined her faceless stranger’s wickedly clever hands stroking their way across her shoulders, down her sides, his fingers brushing her breasts before traveling down her back, slipping beneath the bikini bottom before moving on to create havoc on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, spreading oil and a sensual warmth at the same time.

  Just when she feared she was on the verge of melting, he turned her in his arms. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. She wanted to reach up and touch it, to brush it away, but her bones strangely lacked the strength, so she could only lie there, drowning in a pair of melted chocolate brown eyes.

  His lips were full but firmly cut, and when he smiled, a hot, sexy smile meant just for her, a pair of dimples flashed in mahogany tanned cheeks.

  As she dragged her gaze away from those too enticing lips to his strong, unshaven jaw, his dark hands continued to smooth the oil over her.

  Just when every hot, edgy nerve ending in her body was practically screaming for more, he lifted her leg, fitting it over his hip, pulling her close.

  They fit perfectly. As she’d always known they would. Her soft breasts pressed against the rock-hard strength of his chest, the crispness of the hair on his legs was a sensual stimulus against her smoothly waxed ones, and when he cupped her butt in those broad, strong hands and began rocking against her, she slid a hand between their bodies, freeing his erection from his shorts.

  He was full and heavy, and every bit as hot as the fires burning in her own blood. In fact, she was amazed he wasn’t scorching her palm as she curled her fingers around him, stroking the silky flesh, guiding it toward that wet, needy part of her aching to be filled.

  Although it was the dead of night, somehow Dallas could feel the warmth of the Hawaiian sun on his body. He could hear the ebb and flow of the Pacific Ocean tide, smell the evocative scent of flowers and coconut oil.

  And, most amazing of all, he could feel the woman sprawled over him, her body hot and fluid, her breath a warm, soft breeze against his neck as she fit her feminine curves against his male angles and began to rock her pelvis against his.

  He drew her closer. Slipped his hands beneath a piece of silky material so skimpy he wondered why she had even bothered wearing it, then closed his hands on her butt, enjoying the inarticulate sound of pleasure she made when he squeezed that soft but firm flesh.

  And then—oh, sweet Jesus—she’d freed his dick and taken him in her clever hands, her nails skimming from root to tip with just enough pressure to send jolts of electricity surging through his blood.

  Even as his body was vividly awake, his brain was still fogged, struggling to make logic of how he’d gotten from the way-less-than-five-star base accommodations to this private beach.

  It was in no way logical. But any need to sort the problem out disintegrated as those deft fingers urged him toward her sweet spot.

  She was wet and hot, and as their flesh touched, he could feel her opening like a tropical flower to the sun.

  He was about to slide into that welcoming warmth when his brain belatedly clicked in, screeching a warning like a Klaxon.

  Oh, shit.

  He wasn’t really on a beach.

  He was in a bed. About to have sex with a sexy, smart woman, which sure as hell wasn’t the worst way to pass the time.

  Except it was unprotected sex. And while he might not be a saint, he’d neve
r, ever, even during his hormone-driven teenage years, made that mistake. Which was why he immediately began to back away.

  “No,” she murmured, twining that leg around him like a python. For a slender woman, she sure was strong. “Don’t stop now.”

  He wasn’t certain whether or not she was still dreaming. Or awake. Or somewhere in between. But he still couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk it. Because even if he had a rubber handy, which he didn’t, if she wasn’t fully aware of what they were about to do, there’d be repercussions later.

  Bad enough that she’d be pissed while they were trying to solve the crime of the dead pilot. If she believed, even a little, that he’d taken advantage of her while she’d been asleep, he might never get another chance.

  “We gotta.”

  Although it definitely wasn’t his first choice, he reluctantly shifted their positions so they were lying side to side. She still had that long, smooth leg over his hip, but at least he wasn’t pressed up against her crotch.

  “Spoilsport.” Her eyes opened, and in the faint purple predawn glow slipping through the crack between the drapes, he could see both disappointment and a bit of humor in those eyes, which once again reminded him of the lagoon he’d been dreaming of.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I am now.” But not entirely, he decided, as she skimmed her fingers down the side of his face. “I don’t do this,” she said, her expression suddenly sobering.

  It was a line he’d heard before. Too many times, and on most of the occasions the claim had been obviously false, making him wonder why women felt the need to lie about sexual experience. Hadn’t the days of guys wanting virgins gone out with those crinolines from Happy Days?

  But knowing this woman’s feeling about truth, justice, and the American way, he believed her. And decided not to point out that she sure as hell almost had this time.

  “You didn’t do it now,” he said instead.

  “Thanks to you.”

  She sighed heavily, removed her leg, and sat up in the bed. Although that oversize T-shirt covered up the breasts his fingers were itching to touch again, she still hitched the rumpled sheet beneath her arms.

  Having learned when to keep his mouth shut, Dallas decided against pointing out that after having practically impaled herself on him, it was a little late for modesty.

  “It would’ve been all right,” she said. “I’m on the pill.”

  “Which isn’t one-hundred percent effective. And doesn’t prevent against STDs,” he pointed out. His realizing that he sounded like a damned PSA was all it took to cause his penis to deflate.

  “True. But I’ve read your service record.”

  “Only up until you interrogated me.”

  “No.” Her lips quirked, just a little. “I got an update earlier.”

  Dallas hadn’t thought she could surprise him. He was wrong. “You hacked into my records while we were supposed to be looking for clues?”

  “It didn’t take long.” Her grin broke free.

  She was actually proud of herself. Which, given her black-and-white temperament, was another surprise. He’d already discovered Juls wasn’t that ice-bitch lawyer she’d obviously worked overtime to appear to be. The lady was as complex and, although he suspected she’d argue the case, as beautiful as mathematician Helge von Koch’s famed fractal snowflake.

  And every bit as individual as a snowflake created by Mother Nature.

  “I did, after all, have a good teacher,” she was saying as he reluctantly dragged his sex-starved mind back from a vision of making love to Juls on a bear rug in front of a blazing fire inside some cozy mountain cabin while falling snow drifted, shutting them off from the outside world.

  “You had a physical after leaving the service,” she reported. “And another before joining THOR. And you might be a risk taker, but you’re not reckless. Despite what that pop star coyly hinted about there being something going on between the two of you—”

  “Shit. You read about that?”

  “It would’ve been a little impossible not to at least see the headlines, since they were screaming out from magazines at every grocery store checkout register in the country. But they were just tabloid trash, because you never touched her.”

  “And you’re sure of that why?”

  “Because you might have a reputation for being a player. But you’re a stand-up guy. You’re not going to screw around on the job.”

  “You called that one mostly right.” Because the dream was still lingering in his head, teasing him with seductive memories, Dallas couldn’t be this close to Juls without touching her.

  So, deciding it couldn’t get him into too much trouble, he ran a hand down her arm, linked their fingers together, and lifted her knuckles to his lips. Then he met her eyes over their entwined hands. “I’m more than willing to make an exception. When you’re fully awake. Because I want you totally aware of what I’m doing to you.”

  He turned their hands and touched his mouth to the inside of her wrist and felt her pulse leap. “What we’re doing to each other.”

  “I’m awake now.” She was trembling. Just a little. The funny thing was that, although he’d never experienced the sensation before, so was he.

  “Yeah.” Oh, Christ. Temptation had a name. And it was Julianne Decatur. “But I also want time to do things right. Without having to worry about a bunch of Marines showing up at the door to remind us that we’ve got reservations on that plane out to the carrier.”

  “You know, I really hate it when you’re right.”

  Although this was not the typical pillow talk Dallas was used to, and certainly not the kind he’d been planning to have with this woman, he laughed.

  “Believe me, sugar,” he said, “you’re not alone.”

  28

  What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? Not only had she been twined around O’Halloran like a python, even after they were both fully awake, she’d invited—actually come close to begging—him to make love to her.

  No. What she’d wanted from him was hot, sweaty sex.

  Nothing more.

  Preferring to put things—even her own thoughts—into nice, tidy boxes, Julianne assured herself that what had happened between them had merely been a perfectly natural reaction between a man and a woman who, while stressed, exhausted, jet-lagged, and sharing a bed, found themselves on the brink of dream sex.

  Dream sex so erotic that the real thing couldn’t possibly live up to the fantasy. At least, that was what she told herself as she dressed in the adjoining bathroom, leaving the bedroom to the man she’d jumped.

  The trick was to keep reminding herself of the difference between fact and fantasy and she’d stay out of trouble.

  Since she would be going aboard the carrier, she tied her hair into a ponytail, then twisted it into the bun she’d learned at the academy. That first day she had struggled for ten minutes with her fine blond hair. She’d nearly bitten the bullet and hacked it off, but having inherited her father’s stubborn trait, she’d refused to give up a challenge; now she could pull it off in seconds without even thinking about it.

  She left the bathroom and saw him standing there, looking too sexy for that white T-shirt that displayed his buff body and showcased his rock-hard biceps in a way that had her on the verge of drooling. Or maybe dropping to her knees and unzipping those khaki trousers and taking him in her hands and . . .

  No! What on earth was the matter with her? Evidently, the change to civilian life had caused her to lose her mind as well as the discipline she’d always worn like a second skin.

  Dragging her eyes from the part of his body that had, only minutes earlier, been hot and heavy against her, she met his gaze.

  But instead of the humor or ego once again, it was hunger—raw, primal, and as seductive as sin—she viewed in those dark brown eyes.

  Seeking something, anything, to say, she could only come up with, “I’m starving.”

  Which was not only lame, but recklessly sug
gestive.

  A suggestion that didn’t go unnoticed as his eyes lit up with the humor she’d expected.

  “We’ve got time for chow before we go wheels-up,” he said, saving her the embarrassment of his picking up on her unintended double entendre. “But I don’t think we should leave this room unoccupied. Just in case.”

  In case whoever had placed the listening device came back.

  “Although a free continental breakfast comes with our rooms, I doubt a couple sweet rolls will be enough fuel for today. Especially when we don’t have any idea when we’re going to eat next. So, what would you say to me rustling us up some chow at the base Mickey D’s while you hold down the fort?”

  “That works for me. Do you think it could’ve been those NCIS guys who bugged us?” she asked as the thought belatedly occurred to her. She’d been so focused on the investigation into the pilot’s death, she hadn’t zeroed in on them as possible bad guys.

  “Could’ve been.” He, on the other hand, didn’t sound at all surprised. “In fact, our friendly Luau Barbie could even be part of the agency.”

  Another thing she hadn’t considered. “That bikini wasn’t exactly naval NCIS regs.”

  He shrugged, the gesture stretching the seams of the cotton knit in a way that once again drew her attention to his broad shoulders. Shoulders that looked capable of carrying a great deal of responsibility.

  “She could’ve been working undercover. I’ve gone into countries disguised as a woman.”

  “Sure you have.” She’d be more likely to believe he’d posed as the Jolly Green Giant.

  “Hey, if I’m lying, I’m dying.” He held up his right hand as if taking an oath. “As unattractive and heavy as they are, you can hide a lot beneath those black burkas. Add to that the fact that women are pretty much invisible in a lot of Middle Eastern countries, and it’s not that hard to get around where you need to go. Do what you have to do.”