View author's other titles

LENGTH: Long Category
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Eliza Black
ISBN 1-58608-436-4
Download $ 4.99
Trade Paperback ISBN 1-58608-659-6
Retail price $9.99
Our Price $7.99
(s&h not included in price)

Captain Breanna Delaney has been charged to gain reconnaissance on the ship, and she brings with her a motley group of militia--none more dangerous than Caleb Sylvaine. In a desperate game of survival, Breanna can't afford to let sexual desire get in her way, but Caleb seems to ignite her in a way that blinds her to anything but him and the touch of his body.

Infamous for her refusal to take a lover, Captain Breanna is a challenge too enticing for Caleb to resist. He's determined to crack her shield and expose the woman beneath ... and he's not above using every weapon at his disposal.

Rating: Contains graphic violence, graphic sex and explicit language.

"Four and 1/2 Stars! Andrea Dionne knows how to start her stories with a bang! This one had me hooked from the beginning until the end. I was captivated by the mystery and suspense of Endless Night. The passion and romance between Caleb and Breanna set the pages on fire, and I enjoyed every minute of their journey! This is one futuristic romance you won’t want to miss!" BJ Deese, eCataRomance Reviews

“Endless Night plays in the traditional sci-fi style, complete with unexplained occurrences, aliens, mysterious encounters and hunt and chase scenes much like the movie "Alien". It's full of suspense, and unique twists and turns that make it a good read. I like the message underneath the story, that even in the future, people need to remain human, with feelings of love.” Linear Reflections

ENDLESS NIGHT

By

Andrea Dionne

Reissued June 2004
Original publication date, August 1997
© copyright by Dionne Thomas
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Road
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Prologue

Quinn raced through the narrow corridor, brushing past the frightened, scurrying people in his flight to his living quarters. The lights ringing the rounded hallway flashed, creating a strobe, devastated his equilibrium and seemed to slow time and reality. He moved as if intoxicated, felt that he was in a nightmare. No matter how fast or how far he ran, the entrance to his family's quarters remained out of reach. All these damn people, he thought, didn't they know they needed to get out? Why weren't they headed for the escape pods instead of dashing back and forth in such a crazed fashion? It was as if their minds had shut down and only their motor functions continued to drive the empty husks that were their bodies, creating further havoc. It must be shock. It had to be. It couldn't have them ... not so soon.

"Get out of here, God damn it! Get to the pods!" he screamed at the wide-eyed, shocked settlers, pushing past them and entering his cubicle at last.

"Thank God, you're here," Samantha cried. "Everyone's gone mad. We have to get out of here before it's too late," she exclaimed, rushing to him and looping her arms around his larger frame in a fierce embrace.

"The pods," he breathed raggedly, his voice husky with his own fear. "If we hurry we can still make it," he added urgently, freeing himself of her clinging embrace and scooping up their two year old.

They left the small room which had been their home for the last six months, weaving through the crowded corridor toward the bay that contained the escape pods for their level. The mob of frightened colonists pushed and pulled, squeezing them like a vice. Quinn’s stomach heaved at the pressure and the heat from too many bodies in too tight a space. The bodies of the other settlers battered him about like flotsam in rough seas, wrenching Samantha from his desperate grip. The air was thick with the cloying scent of fear and horror, making breathing difficult as he fought desperately to reach his wife as she was swept away in the tumultuous tide of frantic settlers.

Panic swept through him, choked the air from his lungs. He gathered a breath and yelled, "Samantha!" as she was carried away from him by the rushing flow of people. She screamed--powerless to fight against the raging throng of people stampeding past the pods into the depths of the ship.

Fighting the heaving mob was like struggling against a rip-tide. Inexorably it tore them apart, pushing him closer and closer to the safety of the pods, carrying Samantha further and further away. Quinn hesitated in indecision as he reached the almost deserted docking area, desperate to rush in search of Samantha, and yet knowing he would be risking their child if he went after his wife. Sam would never forgive him for that.

Quinn ducked into the mercifully cool and quiet of a nearby pod that offered temporary respite from the chaos of the corridor he'd just escaped. "Honey, I'm going to go find Mommy," he said, setting the child down on one of the benches that ran lengthwise down the vessel, then strapping the tot securely into one of the children's sections of the bench. The child immediately let out a wail of fright and frustration, wiggling and squirming under his shaking hands.

A noise, as of someone standing in the door, made Quinn pause in his task. "Don't leave and don't talk to anyone until…," his voice trailed off into stunned silence as the door to the vessel slid shut with a loud, ominous click. The sound of the air pressure adjusting drowned out the last of the cries for help from the ship. He turned, staring white-faced at the door that had just been sealed. Had someone sealed it? It was entirely too probable. It certainly hadn't sealed itself. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts of Samantha to pay close attention to any possible dangers.

"Oh God, no," Quinn whispered as he realized the door could only be opened once--when they were rescued. The fail safe device had been designed to prevent over-loading of the craft. He rushed to the computer console and guiding mechanisms at the front of the ship, fully intending to blow the door himself. They could find another pod. No one else seemed inclined to use them. Abruptly, the floor beneath his feet shuddered.

"It's releasing," he muttered incredulously, renewed horror etching the lines of his face into a tight-lipped grimace as he felt the vessel shudder again, this time with a series of clicks followed by the sudden sensation of falling. The deafening sound of booster rockets roaring to life drowned Quinn's cry of rage and anguish. He dropped into a crouching position on the floor a split second before ignition tossed him across the pod like a rag doll. Stunned, he wouldn’t have been able to move even if not for the g-forces the ignition burst produced. Finally, the booster rockets shut down and the quieter engines took over guidance of their craft.

Quinn straightened on his knees, too stunned to think beyond the fact that that there was no way he could get back to the ship. They could do nothing now but wait for rescue. Finally, he moved to the whimpering child, untangling the restraints and clutching the toddler to him. "It's okay, Honey," he soothed.

"I … wan my mommy."

"Hush child, she'll get out." She had to. She was just too damned smart and stubborn to give up without a fight.

He stood, cradling the child in his arms as he turned to face the rear window to view the ship, Mayflower, on which all their hopes and dreams had been settled. An involuntary shudder raked through his body, traveling down his spine and settling in his clenched stomach. "No! It's not possible…!"

Quinn looked out into the black, endless night of space, a fathomless expanse rich in the promise of new worlds and adventures … a dark void where there should have been a ship and wasn’t.

Chapter One

Captain Breanna Delaney leaned against the smooth frame of the large window that encompassed the entire back wall of President Howard Benson's office. Only vaguely listening to the rambling monologue of space station Helios II's Chief Executive, she sighed as she studied the wide expanse of space and the blue sphere below, beautiful in its tranquil simplicity. Breanna had come to Helios II to escape her private demons, hoping to find some peace within herself during her extended leave at the space station, high above her home planet, Earth. She hadn’t found it. She began to think she never would.

Distracted from her own musings finally by some vaguely heard remark that pricked her interest, Breanna turned from the window and looked at the pudgy, pink face of Howard Benson.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her gaze intent now as she probed the tiny, black eyes almost hidden by a fold of fat above them.

Somewhat startled by the sudden intensity of her gaze, Benson broke off his ceaseless monologue, confusion furrowing his brow. After a moment, enlightenment dawned and his expression settled into what seemed his habitual one of displeasure and uneasiness once more.

"Oh," he snorted. "I was just saying it would be ... uh ... be very much appreciated if you could take care of this problem for us. You've had considerably more experience than any of our militia and there'd be a ... large bonus for you if you could pull it off. The company and I feel you would prove to be a valuable asset to us on this mission," he said with a final grunt, patting his protruding belly somewhat absently--a blue vest stretched to near popping over its fullness.

Breanna sat heavily in the chair before the window and rubbed her tired eyes, wondering vaguely if she would ever know the luxury of an uninterrupted night's sleep. It wasn't weariness, however, that made her pause before she spoke. Nor was it reluctance to take the offered assignment. She was eager for it, hungry for the answers the mission might offer in helping her lay her own demons to rest.

She'd thought that, of course, many times in the past, but she knew ... knew this time would be different.

It was no part of her plan, however, to allow Benson to see that eagerness. He would try to use that to his advantage, she knew, twist the situation until she became the supplicant. Moreover, she didn't want him having second thoughts, didn't want his curiosity focused on her background. She wasn't certain it would withstand an intense probing by company officials. Not on this matter.

Her bleary gaze settled at last on the chair while she composed her disconnected thoughts.

It seemed out of place in the otherwise stark and ultra-modern office. The chair was plush and ornate, like something from another era. Absently she rubbed her hand over the textured surface of one padded arm, wondering at its origins, wondering if she seemed as out of place here as the chair she occupied. But maybe it was only her imagination. Maybe she didn't look as out of place to others as she felt ... as she'd always felt ... as she'd begun to think she would always feel, no matter where her wanderings took her.

Experience? she thought. Well it was a fact that she had that in plenty. She’d volunteered for some of the hairiest missions executed in the last decade, but she rather thought he was referring to her training in the regulars. Helios II's militia was an undisciplined group of routies--at least 50% of them anyway--men who for one reason or another, couldn't cut it in the regulars.

She shrugged with feigned disinterest, smiling very faintly. "I've had better offers. On the other hand, I confess my vacation hasn't been all that entertaining. I'm not used to quite so much rest and relaxation.... You say it's been twenty-five years since the ship was last heard from?" she asked almost casually, keeping her voice even with an effort. She knew, though, without his confirmation exactly how long it had been and how many passengers had disappeared without a trace.

Howard Benson squirmed in his chair. He was fairly certain she was as eager to take the mission as he was for her to take it, but fairly sure wasn't something he liked. He preferred absolute certainty and he didn't really want to get caught up in speculation about the strange disappearance and even stranger sudden reappearance of the ship in question. "Yes, twenty-five years. There were no known survivors except two. A Quinn--"

"I already know about that, Mr. Benson," she said, cutting him off dismissively. "But, if I'm to do this I'll need a reliable squad and from what I saw when I looked over the files you gave me, few of your men have seen any action at all and fewer still have the discipline I'd expect of a trained militia...." She shrugged, implying she was resigned to working with what was available, however unfit she saw them. "We'll need weapons, supplies, a ship. I can give you a list of the supplies we’ll need...."

Benson sputtered for a moment at her abrupt commands, obviously wrestling with indignation at her assessment of his militia, but he quickly recovered. His facade of pleasantry was gone now, however, replaced with a brusqueness equal to her own.

"I've already assembled a squad according to your recommendations, Captain. They've undergone extensive training and are extremely loyal to the company," he added, trying to keep a note of defensiveness from creeping into his comments. "They have been briefed on the situation. A ship is being readied now, supplies loaded, and weapons checked. All await your final approval. Once you've given it, you can be on your way."

A little surprised, Breanna hid it, merely nodding her approval. "That will be fine."

"Good, good. We'd like to get this matter taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Find out what you can about the ship's disappearance and the ... well ... whatever you can about what happened to the passengers and then get out. We don't need or want anything like the disaster twenty-five years ago," Benson said gruffly.

Clearing his throat, he rose from behind his immaculately clean desk and walked toward Breanna. "Don't let me keep you, Captain. I know you're as anxious to be on your way as we are to have this situation resolved." Smiling somewhat nervously, he helped her from the fluffy softness of the chair and waddled towards the door, his hand on the small of her back, pressing her forward. "My secretary will show you the way to the dock. I feel confident that you won't fail us."

Finding herself in the corridor outside his office, Breanna blinked as the door closed abruptly in her face, feeling uneasiness slide down her spine to mingle with the anticipation fluttering in her belly. Well, there was nothing to do now but go through with it, she thought as Benson's secretary, Ms. Melanie, smiled and rose from her seat behind her desk. "If you're ready, Captain?" she said politely.

Breanna nodded wordlessly. She knew full well the direction of the docks. She hadn't been on the space station long, but this mission was not one she intended to take lightly or as a matter of course. It was not business as usual. She'd checked everything out--everything. Benson needn't worry that she would fail in her mission, but it wasn't due to any concern over pay disputes that might arise over failure.

They had reached the dock, and she saw with renewed surprise that her crew was bustling about in final preparation for their journey. Benson was obviously far more anxious even than she'd realized and she couldn't say that she liked that.

She had her own reasons for wanting the mission behind her, chief among them the fact that she was half way through her leave and would have to hustle if she were to accomplish anything before she was due to report back. But why was Benson in such a rush? The ship's sudden reappearance had caused something of a sensation and a great deal of speculation, but the excitement over a disaster already a quarter of a century old was quickly dying down.

Mentally, she shrugged the uneasiness away. Politics, she thought disparagingly. Politicians were never really interested in much of anything beyond their popularity polls. No doubt he was extremely anxious for his militia to make him look good. Particularly since he'd come under fire in the past as having one of the least disciplined militias in the system.

Catching sight of her, the dock master barked a command and the men shuffled into a ragged line-up. The burly dock master glared at them, but, apparently deciding their lack of discipline was hardly worth commenting upon this late in the game, merely turned his attention to his roster and called out each squad member's name, the last being Caleb Sylvaine.

Her attention caught, Breanna felt a strange little jolt as her gaze sought and found the man and she put a face with the name. Sylvaine ... ah, yes, the troublemaker. She recalled his file was twice as thick as any of the others. Pages and pages of practical jokes and pranks along with brig time logs almost as long as her arm and records of disciplinary duty filled the folder to maximum capacity. She’d expected someone younger for some reason, expected him to look more juvenile.

Of course pranks weren't the only thing filling his file. He'd also had twice the combat experience of the other militia men. That alone made him an asset, albeit a risky one. Still, all things considered, the rawness of the other men considered, he'd be good to have on this mission.

He was the quintessential bad boy if ever she’d known one. Being a woman, she could instantly recognize his type and knew to be wary. As a soldier, she had to resist the urge to throw him in the brig merely for signing up for this mission. Handy or not, in her experience, they were usually more trouble than they were worth if only for the fact that any female within sight would be prey for his sexual appetites.

Regardless of her personal feelings and prejudices, she couldn't help but think he looked every bit the rogue his files made him out to be. Dark blond hair, almost too long for company standards, ruffled about his head and forehead in unruly waves. His stance was borderline insolent, his expression wavering between seriousness and utter deviltry. His lean body filled out the regulation jumpsuit as if formed for it, and she felt an odd quiver ripple inside her as she studied him.

As if sensing her attention, his gaze shifted abruptly, trapping hers for a long moment, something glittering in those murky hazel depths that she couldn't quite identify. It set her guard up instantly. It wouldn't be wise, she realized, to dismiss him too lightly.

"At ease," Breanna said abruptly, breaking eye contact with an effort.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she began her oft repeated speech of what she expected from her men even while she wondered wryly what possible effect it could have on such a motley group. It certainly couldn't hurt, however, to make it clear to them that she was accustomed to having her orders obeyed instantly, without question, or to point out that she could, and would, deal with insubordination swiftly and effectively.

Ending, she dismissed them to finish their preparations. At that, the squad split up and went about their business. She kept her eye on Caleb as he talked and joked with a giant of a man. Angus, if she wasn't mistaken. Caleb's mouth broke into a lopsided grin as he talked with the big man, moving boxes to be loaded onto their ship.

The smile elicited a quiver of anticipation in her belly and it wasn’t even directed at her.

Caleb Sylvaine was going to be a handful, she thought wryly, tamping her unruly reaction with an effort.

Mentally, she braced herself for what was to come. Horse-play and silly pranks were one thing while off duty or even while on duty as long as the men weren't engaged in critical activities, quite another during a mission when it could well risk the lives of everyone. She had no idea what to expect once they reached the Mayflower.

She expected, and would have, absolute discipline within the ranks. They were going to learn very quickly that she wouldn't put up with anyone endangering the mission.

Breanna strode purposefully to where Caleb stood talking with Angus, his back to her. Angus' broad grin straightened at her approach, his face darkening with solemnity. Caleb paused in his story to glance over his shoulder to look at what had caused the man's sudden discomfort.

"Sylvaine, I need to speak with you alone for a moment," Breanna said curtly, her expression uncompromising.

Uneasy, Angus nevertheless stood his ground. He wasn't leaving his friend to fend for himself and be torn apart by "the ice queen." He'd heard way too many stories about her.

"Alone?" Caleb asked, managing to make the single worded question highly suggestive even before he turned his head and winked at Angus. "Sure thing," he added, signaling Angus with a jerk of his thumb to leave them. Angus paused a moment, as if questioning the wisdom of Caleb's decision, but finally ambled off in search of his other friends, looking somewhat like a disappointed puppy.

Sylvaine's blatant insolence produced a fracture in Breanna's icy facade. The fact that Angus had looked to Sylvaine for dismissal before leaving, as if she wasn't in charge but rather that Sylvaine was, brought forth a heated eruption she had some difficulty controlling. She would deal with Angus next, she decided. First things first.

"Lance Corporal Sylvaine, you will address me with proper military respect and refrain from making such comments when I address you in the future. Are you clear on that, soldier?"

It took some effort to control her dismay, as well. She realized she hadn't fully appreciated the problem she was going to encounter pulling these men even into a semblance of a working militia. This crew was going to need some serious discipline, starting with Caleb Sylvaine. Benson had been too lax with them. It was time for a wake-up call and they were about to get one.

He straightened and saluted. "Yes, ma’am."

He was testing her—just as any other soldier did when coming under her command. She’d had men thrown in the brig for less than what he’d done. Even in this day and age, men were hard pressed to accept orders from women of rank. Better to be a ruthless hard ass than a paper tiger.

"I’ve seen from your file that you have quite a history," she said curtly, fixing him with an icy stare, fighting the flitting nervousness caused by his own unflinching gaze. She was slightly mollified by the fact that he'd responded to the command in her voice, but only slightly. Most men would have looked away a long time ago, let alone met her stare and held it.

He shifted his gaze from her own, focusing straight ahead when she didn’t back down. His lean jaw clenched at her accusation, enhancing the firm line between corded neck and hard jaw. A muscle ticked in his cheek, attractive in some strange way. Annoyed with herself for even noticing, she firmly tamped the errant thought, realizing with a spurt of surprise that it had, if only momentarily, distracted her from her goal. Distraction was something she couldn't afford, certainly not now if she was to instill even a modicum of respect in these men.

Caleb tensed at her accusation, though he wasn't completely surprised that the ice queen was confronting him with his past. He had been surprised, however, at being allowed to go on this mission in the first place and had to wonder at her motives for permitting him to come.

With effort, Caleb assumed a surprised, innocent expression, "I do?"

"Captain," Breanna said tightly.

Something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps a touch of respect? "I do, Captain?"

"You do. And I want to make it perfectly clear that I won't be taking any of your crap on this mission, Sylvaine, so don't be batting your baby blues at me, soldier. Your jokes could jeopardize the others and I can't and won't abide that. Are we clear on this, soldier?"

A faint flush darkened the skin on his cheekbones, but whether of embarrassment or anger, Breanna wasn't certain. He didn't leave her long in doubt.

"Who's to say once we get out in space, I can't do just as I damn well please? I'm not in your man's Marines, Captain Delaney," he reminded her insolently. "I take my orders from President Benson."

He'd heard a long time ago that no one could crack the calm facade the "ice queen" kept her emotions under. It would be a real pleasure to be the first to do so. He'd always liked a challenge. He curbed the urge to inform her that his damn eyes weren’t blue. They were hazel if she cared to notice!

Her eyes narrowed at that comment. "Hereafter your orders come directly from me, soldier. I don't have time to baby you. If you screw up--"

"What? What'll you do to me?" he interrupted her. "Make me serve more brig time? Or how `bout a day of calisthenics? What could you do to me that everyone else hasn't already done?" he asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Her lips tightened. "Shoot you." She didn't wait for his response. She didn't want to hear it. Spinning on her heel, she left just as she'd come, not altogether pleased with the results of her confrontation.

Caleb watched Breanna leave, admiring her buttocks but mentally kicking himself for letting her get the upper hand. How had that happened? He'd never had any problems before. The only rise he'd gotten out of her was a slight narrowing of those wondrous eyes of hers and a slightly more forcible command.

Her threat, he dismissed, not because he doubted for a moment that she would carry it out, but because, contrary to what she apparently thought, he was a soldier first and foremost, and he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't in the habit of horsing around when things got really serious. At any rate, he was more interested in her at the moment than his botched career.

Rumors abounded that no one could get to her. Supposedly she never smiled, was never surprised, and rarely showed anger--hence the name "ice queen."

There was something strange about that ... repressed. People acted like she didn't have feelings at all, never had them, never would. He wondered for a moment what it must feel like to be so isolated and insulated from any sort of real interaction with other people. What would it feel like to never be drawn into an actual conversation, never made welcome? There had been no good-byes to her from friends, and no greetings for that matter, save for one of respect for her station.

He shook the thoughts off, deciding he wouldn't let it bother him. Turning back to the box he had been sorting through before the confrontation, he discovered that his mind wasn't on the task anymore. It irked him that he couldn't dismiss her as easily as she'd dismissed him. He had more important things to be thinking of than one lone woman, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something worth discovering beneath that icy facade of hers. One thing was certain. He'd never been able to resist a challenge, particularly not when it concerned a woman.

* * * *

The door of the cantina burst open as Breanna reached it. A body came flying out, slamming against the opposite bulkhead. Stunned, Breanna’s gaze automatically followed the flight of the body. When it came to a stop against the bulkhead, she saw that it was Caleb.

Shaking his head, he turned over and sat down with his back against the wall. Apparently, he wasn’t too drunk—or too dazed—to notice that he wasn’t alone. He looked up at her.

A crooked grin curled his lips. His hazel eyes gleamed with both mischief and something else that Breanna decided she didn’t want to interpret as he scanned her length in a leisurely, appreciative fashion.

"Captain Delaney, come to rub elbows with the grunts?"

Breanna’s eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk, soldier?"

His grin broadened if possible. "No, ma’am. I’m sober as a judge. Scout’s honor."

"You’re not a scout," she said coldly. "You’re a soldier."

"On leave," he reminded her, crawling to his feet. "Excuse me, ma’am, I have some business to attend to. I’ll be right back."

Steadying himself, he drew a bead on the door to the cantina, pushed himself away from the wall, and headed back in. He disappeared from view for about two minutes. Abruptly, the cantina door burst open again and a body flew through it, skidding across the corridor.

Breanna looked down at the man. This time, it was James Corbett.

"Corbett--" Before Breanna could get anymore than that out of her mouth, he scrambled to his feet and launched himself inside the cantina once more. Breanna glared at the swinging door. At this rate her whole damn crew was going to be in the brig by morning. They’d be tied up at dock for months or she’d be hunting another crew.

Straightening, she turned resolutely toward the door of the cantina. She’d only made two steps in that direction, however, when the doors flew open for the third time. Caleb slammed into her like a cannonball.

She cushioned his blow that time, slamming into the bulkhead and then sliding down onto the floor with Caleb sprawled on top of her. Both of them were too stunned to move for several moments.

Finally, Caleb levered himself slightly away from her and looked down. A slow grin curled his lips. "We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Captain. The men are gonna talk."

"Get off of me," Breanna said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, ma’am," Caleb said, rolling off of her and climbing to his feet. He held out his hand to her. She slapped it away and got to her feet unassisted.

"What the hell is going on here, soldier?"

"Just a little dispute," Caleb said. "I can handle it. Be back in a minute."

Breanna caught hold of his collar, popping three buttons off his shirt. He stopped, looked down at his bare chest, and sent her a wicked grin.

Breanna was still gaping at that bare expanse of chest, her mouth ajar.

"Captain," Caleb said. "If you’re gonna put it like that … your place or mine?" he asked huskily.

Breanna sent him a cold-eyed glare. "Watch your mouth, soldier. That’s insubordination."

He moved toward her, stalking her. Surprised, Breanna backed up. He crowded close against her as she encountered the bulkhead.

"I’d much rather watch yours."

Breathless, and more than a little disoriented, Breanna stared up at him blankly. "My what?"

Grinning, Caleb lifted a finger and traced it down the middle of her chest. "Your everything, actually."

Swallowing with an effort, Breanna collected herself and slapped his hand away. "Is the whole damn crew in there getting roaring drunk?"

"Yes, ma’am. But I don’t like crowds. I think me and you should go off by ourselves. It’ll be a lot more cozy. And I get performance anxiety if there’s too many people around."

She put her hands against his chest and gave him a shove. "What you need to do is go to your quarters and sober up, soldier."

He studied her for several moments then ruffled a hand through his hair. "Uh … the thing is … I’m not entirely sure where my quarters are."

She gave him a look. He widened his eyes innocently. "You’re not that drunk."

"Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. The question is, do you really want to take a chance on me being caught by the MPs before I can find my way back to my quarters?" he said confidentially, leaning toward her and placing one hand over her breast.

Despite her irritation, that hand felt like fire on her breast. Breanna looked down slowly at it and then looked at him again. Although that look generally had the effect of making most men’s knees turn to water, Caleb merely waggled his eyebrows at her.

He looked at his hand and pulled it away in a leisurely manner. "Sorry, sir—uh, ma’am. I think I’m getting too sober. I’m going to head back in for another drink."

Breanna grabbed his shirt again, dragging him to a halt and popping three more buttons off his shirt. It was open to his waist now. He looked down at his bare chest and belly and then looked up at her again.

Breanna let out an irritated sigh. "I’m going to walk you to your quarters, soldier, but that’s only because I don’t want to have to look for another Lance Corporal tomorrow before I leave. I expect you to behave yourself."

Smiling, he draped one arm across her shoulders. "Sure thing, Captain."

He staggered slightly as he took a step down the corridor, dragging Breanna with him. She reached instinctively to steady him, planting her palm in the middle of his bare chest. "This is the wrong way, soldier. It’s the other way."

"Oh," he said, turning so abruptly his feet tangled with hers and they stumbled back against the bulkhead again.

Somehow--she couldn’t quite figure out how he’d managed it--but they were almost nose to nose. He stared at her for several moments. "What did you say your name was again, darling?" he murmured as he covered her mouth in a kiss.

He pressed her into the wall, his flat belly molding to the line of her body. He slanted his head, coaxing her with his lips, his tongue moving along the seam of her mouth, seeking entrance.

Heat unfurled in her belly with his soft entreaty, so unexpected given his condition, and she began to suspect he was not nearly so drunk as he’d made out. Deliberate as it was, she couldn’t help but thrill to the hot movement of his lips.

She wanted to open her mouth, invite him inside, but that would be asking for too much trouble.

She needed to keep her head, keep her cool.

He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth. She drew in a sharp breath, pressing her palms against his chest, intent on pushing him away. He sucked her lip into his mouth, rubbing himself against her, urging her thighs apart until he was practically inside her.

The hard ridge of his cock dug into her belly as he forced his knee between her thighs and the hardened muscles rode up against her cleft. He ground it against her, a deliberately thorough motion that had her jerking in response.

Moisture instantly flooded her cunt, making it pulse with the rush of blood from her pounding heart.

She gasped and pushed him back. Off balance, he stumbled and slammed back against the opposite wall in the corridor.

He raked an insolent, bold stare down her body and up again. He touched his chin with a forefinger, rubbing his thumb over his lips as he gave her an appreciative look. "Sweet," he said, as if savoring a treat. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were just enjoying yourself with a grunt, Captain."

Breanna breathed heavily, trying to control her rage—at herself and at him. "You have just earned the rest of the night in the brig, soldier."