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  “Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure,” Striker replied, moving past Tony to head for the grand staircase. “Kate took one of those motion sickness pills and it’s zonked her. Are the bedrooms still upstairs?”

  Tony nodded and led the way. The expensive Oriental carpet runners softened the sound of Striker’s footsteps as he mounted the steps and efficiently made his way to the closest guest bedroom. There were five in the house.

  After placing Kate on the bed, still without a word from her other than a ladylike sigh, Striker turned to Tony. “Is Maria still the housekeeper here?”

  “No, her daughter Consuela is housekeeper now. But she’s not here today. She had to visit her mother in the hospital in Corpus Christi. That’s why I’m here in the house instead of over at the foreman’s place.”

  “Are you the only one here?”

  Tony nodded.

  “We have to get her ready for bed,” Striker said with a nod down at Kate.

  “Ready for bed? No, this is not something I do.” Tony hurriedly backed out of the room. “I will see you downstairs.” He paused on the threshold before turning back to narrow his dark eyes at Striker. “I can trust you to behave as a gentleman, si? Not to take advantage of Señorita Kate?”

  “You can trust me, Tony.”

  The foreman nodded briskly. “Bueno.”

  A second later, Striker was alone in the softly lit bedroom with Kate.

  Plan, prepare, execute. These were the steps a Marine took to accomplish his mission.

  Tonight Striker’s mission was to prepare Kate for bed. Which meant removing her shoes.

  Check.

  What about nylons?

  He needed more information. If they were pantyhose…

  They weren’t.

  Okay, then. Speedy decision making was one of the signs of a good Marine, and Striker was a very good Marine.

  Removing nylons.

  Check.

  It was getting hotter than a tropical jungle in here. That’s why his fingers trembled slightly after he peeled the sheer nylons off her long legs.

  Kate mumbled and nearly poked his eye out with her knee as she rolled onto her side.

  Now the curve of her hip drew his attention. So did her bare thighs, exposed by the hiked-up hem of her skirt. He knew firsthand how incredibly soft her skin was.

  He shifted his attention to a less provocative area.

  He probably should remove her suit jacket. Striker undid the first two buttons, not knowing what he’d find beneath. What he found was a lacy black bra that made his heart stop.

  The temperature in the room rose another twenty degrees. The last button on the jacket was proving to be especially stubborn. The backs of his fingers brushed against her breast as he struggled—struggled to breathe.

  She cuddled closer.

  His breathing stopped. His body throbbed.

  He got the last button undone and temporarily retreated.

  Okay, he had to be fast about this, because drawing things out was only prolonging the sexual torture.

  Jacket and then skirt removed efficiently.

  Check.

  She was wearing a slip. Black like her bra.

  Fine, she could keep wearing it.

  Because he’d had enough for one evening.

  Striker grabbed a comforter from the chest at the foot of the bed and covered her with it, from chin to toe. Then he hightailed it out of the room.

  He was greeted by Tony at the foot of the stairs.

  “Señorita Kate is okay?”

  Striker nodded. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. She took some new kind of travel sickness pill that knocked her out. She’ll be fine,” he repeated. Striker wasn’t so sure about himself, however. His body still ached. What kind of pervert was he to get so aroused over an unconscious woman’s half-naked body?

  Yeah, well, Striker had never claimed to be a saint.

  He deliberately focused his attention on the ranch foreman. “Like I said before, Tony, those are mighty nice slippers.”

  “They are a gift from my granddaughter. They keep my poor feet warm.”

  “Your feet warm? It’s early September. The average temperature down here this time of year is in the mid-eighties.” Or so he’d discovered when surfing the Internet for information on King Oil and San Antonio while waiting for their flight to board. Kate wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a laptop. He’d tossed his into his seabag at the last minute.

  “It’s cooler at night.” Tony’s expression turned stubborn.

  “Yeah, when it gets down to seventy. Big deal.”

  Tony waved his words away. “You don’t have grandchildren, so you don’t understand.”

  “How many do you have now?” Striker asked.

  “Six.”

  Normally Striker wasn’t the kind to make small talk, but it prevented him from dealing with other stuff—like the fact that Kate turned him on.

  His gaze settled on the foyer, where a large portrait of his grandfather hung. Hank King gazed out at the world as if daring anyone to mess with him.

  Regrets washed over Striker—regret that time had run out, that he and his grandfather had never made peace, that his grandfather was no longer with them. True, he hadn’t agreed with the old man, but he had never wanted him dead.

  Unable to breathe, Striker quickly moved out the French doors to the patio that ran along the back of the house. The lights illuminating the large swimming pool couldn’t compete with the sparkle of stars above. He’d traveled around the world but had always remembered the night sky here at the ranch as being something special.

  “I didn’t think you’d come back,” Tony admitted.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”

  “I know. It was your grandfather’s idea. That’s why I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I’m just following orders. The Marine Corps’s orders, not my grandfather’s orders.”

  “In this case, they are one and the same, si?”

  Striker nodded. He’d had always known that this wasn’t the life for him, that he’d have no freedom with his dictatorial grandfather calling all the shots. Yet here he was, doing what his grandfather wanted and returning to Texas.

  At times like this Striker was convinced Fate was a female, and that she was laughing her head off at this Force Recon Marine.

  Chapter Three

  “This is a surprise,” Kate’s father noted as he looked at her over the top of the morning paper. This morning, as he did every morning, Jack Bradley was eating breakfast in the formal dining room with its sumptuous red walls and gilded mirror. Her mother had one of San Antonio’s best interior decorators design the area to her specifications—which were rich and richer. “I thought you were still in Washington.”

  “I got back late last night. Is that coffee?” Kate slid into a chair and reached for the thermal carafe. She’d walked the mile between Westwind and her parents’ place. Her Italian shoes would never be the same again.

  “Of course it’s coffee,” he replied. “What else would I be drinking in the morning?”

  “Decaf?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Doctor’s orders.”

  “When is your next appointment with your heart doctor?”

  “You sound like your mother.” He eyed her critically. “I must say you’re looking rather rumpled this morning.”

  Kate wasn’t about to tell him that that was because she’d spent the night next door. “I ended up on a redeye flight last night. I didn’t plan it that way, but we kept running into flight delays…”

  “By your use of the term we I’m assuming that you brought Hank’s grandson back with you?”

  “His name is Striker, and I didn’t bring him with me, he came with me. He’s a Marine and they don’t take kindly to being brought anywhere.”

  “Because he’s a Marine, I would assume he’d be accustomed to taking orders,” her father said, crisply folding the newspaper in half and setting it on the table. “
Did he give you any problems?”

  Plenty of them, she thought, but they were not the type that she could talk about with her father.

  Kate still wasn’t sure how she ended up in the guest bedroom with half her clothes undone. She prayed that the housekeeper had put her to bed, but she had a vague recollection of turning over and seeing Striker looming above her.

  Maybe that had been a dream. Surely, he wouldn’t take off her clothes?

  What was she thinking? Of course he’d take off her clothes. He was a guy, wasn’t he?

  But he was a Marine. Weren’t they supposed to have a higher code of honor or something?

  Which meant that if he did undo some of her clothing, he would have done so with his eyes closed.

  Yeah, right.

  “Well?” her father prompted her. “Were there problems?”

  “Nothing I can’t manage.”

  “I certainly hope that’s the case.” Her father didn’t sound very confident of her competency. But then that was vintage Jack Bradley. No one could meet the high standards he set, not only for others but for himself as well. “I don’t understand why Hank insisted that you handle this matter yourself.”

  “Because he had faith in my abilities.”

  Jack picked up a dry piece of toast, glared at it and then tossed it back on the plate. “I should be the one handling his estate.”

  “You already have more than enough work to deal with,” Kate reminded him. “The doctor told you that you had to cut back on the number of hours you spend at the office.”

  “And I’ve done that.”

  “I know you have. Honestly, I can handle things with the King estate. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “Hmm.” He made his customary noncommittal murmur which really meant I don’t buy that for one minute.

  “Kate!” Her mother’s voice sounded horrified as she entered the room with her customary elegance. Even this early in the morning Elizabeth Hunter Bradley was the epitome of good grooming, wearing silk pants the color of café au lait along with a designer paisley blouse in swirls of browns. As a former Miss Texas she took great pride in her looks, and took great care to maintain them. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “We don’t have a cat,” Kate replied, rather pleased at how calm she sounded given the fact that her stomach was in knots. Kate may have inherited her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes, but she lacked her mother’s innate ability to achieve perfection.

  “You know very well what I mean.” Now her mother sounded irritated. “What on earth happened to you? You look as if you’ve slept in that suit.”

  “She had a bad flight in from Washington,” her father replied on her behalf.

  “What is she doing here at this time in the morning?” Her mother poured herself a cup of coffee. “Shouldn’t she be getting ready for work?”

  “I’m right here,” Kate reminded her parents. “I can hear you talking about me.”

  “Then answer the question,” her mother said.

  “I’m hoping Dad can give me a ride into the city this morning,” Kate said.

  “Why do you need a ride?” her mother asked.

  “Because my car is still at my condo. So are my clothes.”

  “And why aren’t you there?” Her mother continued the inquisition.

  “Because the limo from the airport dropped me off out here.” Kate was not about to admit that she’d spent the night at Hank’s ranch with Striker, that he’d possibly put her to bed, removing half her clothes. Let her parents think she’d just gotten in from the airport.

  “Dropped you off out here? Why would the driver do that?” her mother said.

  “There was a mix-up. Oh, my, look at the time.” Kate made a big deal of tapping her fourteen-karat gold watch, a present from her father. “We’d better be going, Dad.”

  “Right.”

  Thankfully her father only talked about business during the drive into the city where he’d agreed to drop her off at her condo. He made no further reference to Striker.

  That didn’t mean Kate wasn’t thinking about Striker, however. And wondering if she’d only dreamt the magic of his touch on her breasts last night….

  “May I help you, sir?” The woman behind the reception desk on the top floor of King Oil’s headquarters eyed him warily.

  Striker couldn’t blame her. He knew he looked out of place. He didn’t own a suit, not that he’d wear one if he could at all avoid it.

  And he wasn’t sure of Marine procedure for wearing his uniform in this case. Sure he was here as a result of his commanding officer’s request that he do so. But did this really qualify as Marine business?

  He’d settled for jeans and a denim shirt. Standard attire in Texas. But not, apparently, on the executive floor of King Oil’s headquarters, if the receptionist’s frown was any gauge.

  “Good morning, ma’am.” He flashed his best smile at the suspicious receptionist. “I’m Striker Kozlowski.”

  “Oh, Mr. King’s grandson. I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t know it was you.” The woman was practically trembling in her shoes.

  “No problem,” he assured her as she ushered him in past the frosted glass doors that led to the executive offices.

  Striker remembered visiting King Oil’s San Antonio headquarters the one summer he’d spent with his grandfather before joining the Marines. He never thought he’d set foot in this place again.

  Midland or Houston were the more customary locations for an oilman’s headquarters, but then his grandfather had never been one to follow the crowd. He’d taken a shine to San Antonio and had decided to set up business there. End of story. Or the beginning of it.

  His grandfather’s office suite was at the end of the wide hall. A massive desk stood guard outside the inner sanctum. He paused several feet away to assess the situation…and to appreciate the young woman standing beside the desk. She could have been a lingerie model. She was petite and busty with long red hair that reached halfway down her back. Her short skirt showed plenty of leg.

  For the first time since this thing had started, Striker felt optimistic. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

  The metal nameplate on her desk said she was Tex Murphy.

  She didn’t look like a Tex to him, but he didn’t really care what her name was. He was just standing there enjoying the view when he heard Kate’s voice by his side. “Good morning, Striker.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on sexy Tex. “Was Tex Murphy my grandfather’s assistant?”

  “Yes. She’ll be your assistant, as well.”

  “Great.”

  “But that’s not Tex,” Kate informed him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the young woman you’re drooling over is not Tex Murphy.”

  “Marines do not drool,” Striker stated, swiveling his gaze to Kate.

  “Right.”

  “You, standing over there by Kate, state your business,” a grouchy, gravelly voice demanded.

  Striker’s dreams of being pampered by the sexy redhead dissolved. “Let me guess. That’s Tex.”

  “Yes, it is,” Kate said cheerfully.

  There’s no way anyone would mistake Tex for a lingerie model. She did have a lot in common with a drill sergeant, however, including the voice. She was a petite little thing, but she had the bearing of a general. Her short hair was gun-metal gray and her light blue eyes reflected her dissatisfaction.

  “Is she always this grouchy or is she just not a morning person?” Striker asked.

  “Tex is always this way,” Kate replied with a smile that told him she was taking great satisfaction in this.

  “Great.”

  “Don’t tell me a big bad Marine like you is afraid of a spitfire like Tex?”

  “Marines are never afraid,” he stated.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Striker decided she was having entirely too much fun at his expense. T
ime to turn the tables on her. “So where did you disappear to this morning?”

  “This is not the time to discuss that,” she noted with a meaningful look in Tex’s direction.

  “Don’t tell me a big bad attorney like you is afraid of a spitfire like Tex?” he mocked her.

  “Tex has ears and eyes in the back of her head,” Kate muttered.

  “I heard that,” Tex growled. “So you two might as well get yourselves on over here and talk to me directly instead of behind my back.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Striker said before flashing her a grin. “Striker Kozlowski at your service, ma’am.”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” Tex retorted.

  “Doubt what? That I’m Striker?”

  “That you’re at my service. That you’re up to no good, now that I’d believe.”

  “Ma’am I’m just here to…” To what? He regrouped. “To assess the situation.”

  “I can tell you the situation. Your grandfather, God bless his soul, has cashed in his chips and departed this earth. For some reason he saw fit to complicate all our lives by demanding that you, a Marine, spend time pretending to be an oilman in charge of a huge company. Luckily you’ve got me to help you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be an invaluable asset, ma’am,” Striker noted solemnly.

  Her narrow gaze was filled with suspicion. “I hope you’re not fixin’ to be messin’ with my routine around here.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Striker assured her.

  “I hope you are fixin’ to be messin’ with some other folks’ routines. They won’t take kindly to that, an outsider like you comin’ in here and messin’ with things.” She gave him an assessing head-to-toe look. “But then you don’t appear to be the sort of man to walk away from a fight.”

  “I’m a Marine, ma’am. We don’t walk away from fights.”

  “And they’re never afraid,” Kate added with a grin. “He already told me that much.”

  “Anything else I should know about Marines?” Tex demanded.

  “Plenty, but we don’t have to go into all the details this morning.”

  “Just remember you’re in Texas now.”