Tall, Dark and Devastating: Harvard's Education. Suzanne Brockmann

They’re pretty negative. I think they’re afraid we’re somehow going to hurt the finks.”

      Harvard smiled. “They’re probably right. God only knows what will happen if the finks don’t get their beauty sleep.”

      “I’ve also put in a call to Laughton’s office,” Joe told him. “But I’m having trouble reaching the man. So far, his staff has been adamant that the rules stand as is.”

      The door slid open and Blue stepped onto the deck. “Sorry I’m late.”

      Harvard looked at Joe. “He look sorry to you?”

      “He’s trying.”

      “He’s not succeeding. Look at that smile he can’t keep off his face.”

      Blue sat down. “Okay, okay, I’m not sorry. I admit it. So what are we talking about? P. J. Richards? Her test scores are off the scale. And I assume you’re both aware she’s an expert-level sharpshooter?”

      “Yeah, we’ve already voted her in as Wonder Woman,” Harvard told him.

      “What we’ve got to do now,” Joe said, “is make sure she’s got the same warm fuzzy feelings about us that we have about her. We want her going back to Laughton and telling him, ‘These guys are the best,’ not ‘Whatever you do, stay away from those nasty SEALs.’ She’s been kind of aloof, but then again, we haven’t exactly welcomed her with open arms.”

      “Consider that about to change,” Blue said. “I heard Lucky talking before I left the base. P.J.’s having dinner with him—the Alpha Squad’s ambassador of open arms—right this very moment.”

      Joe swore. “That’s not what I had in mind. You’d better go and intercept that,” he said, turning toward Harvard.

      But Harvard was already running for his car.

      P.J. punched her floor number into the hotel elevator.

      Well, that had been a joke.

      She’d finally decided to take some action. Over the past few days, she’d come to the conclusion that she had to attempt to make friends with one of the SEALs. She needed an ally—because it was more than obvious that these big, strong men were scared to death of her.

      She needed just one of them to start looking at her as if she were an equal. All it would take was one, and that one would, by example, teach the others it could be done. She could be accepted as a person first, a woman second.

      But that special chosen one wasn’t going to be the SEAL nicknamed Lucky, that was for sure.

      He had a nice smile and an even nicer motorcycle, but his intentions when he’d asked her to join him for dinner hadn’t been to strike up a friendship. On the contrary, he’d been looking for some action.

      A different kind of action than the kind she was looking for.

      He’d fooled her at first. They had a common interest in motorcycles, and he let her drive his from the base to the restaurant. But when he rode behind her, he’d held her much too tightly for the tame speeds they were going.

      And so she’d told him bluntly between the salad and the main course that she wasn’t interested in anything other than a completely nonsexual friendship. By the time coffee arrived, she’d managed to convince him. And although he wasn’t as forthright as she had been, from the way he kept glancing at his watch she knew that he wasn’t interested in anything other than a sexual relationship.

      Which left her back at square one.

      The doors opened, and P.J. stepped into the small sitting area by the elevators. She searched through her belt pack for her key card. She almost didn’t see Harvard Becker sitting in the shadows.

      And when she did see him, she almost kept going. If she’d had any working brains in her head, she should have kept going. But in her surprise, she stopped short, gaping at him like an idiot. He was the dead last person she’d expected to see sitting in the hallway on the soft leather of the sofa, waiting for her.

      Harvard nodded a greeting. “Ms. Richards.”

      She had to clear her throat so her voice wouldn’t come out in an undignified squeak. “Were you looking for me? Am I needed on base? You could have paged me.”

      “No.” He stood up—Lord, he was tall. “Actually, I was looking for Luke O’Donlon.”

      “He’s not here.”

      “Yes, I can see that.”

      P.J. started for her room, afraid if she didn’t move, her anger would show. Who was he checking up on and trying to protect? Her or Lucky? Either way, it was damned insulting. She unlocked her door with a vicious swipe of the key card.

      “Do you happen to know where he was headed?”

      “Back to the base,” she said shortly. She wanted to slam the door behind her, but she forced herself to turn and face him.

      “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he said quietly.

      “Was there anything else you wanted?” She knew as soon as the sarcastic words were out of her mouth it was the wrong thing to say.

      Undisguised heat flared in his eyes, heat tinged with an awareness that told her he knew quite well his attraction was extremely mutual. He wanted her. The message was right there in his gorgeous brown eyes. But all he did was laugh, a soft chuckle that made her heart nearly stop beating and the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

      All she had to do was step into her room and hold open that door, and he would come inside and…

      And what? Mess up her life beyond repair, no doubt.

      He was not on her side. He’d flatly admitted that he didn’t like working with her, he didn’t want to work with her.

      P.J. moistened her dry lips, holding her head high and trying to look as if she were totally unaffected by the picture he made standing there. “Good night, Senior Chief.”

      She closed the door tightly behind her and drew in a deep breath.

      Dear God, how on earth was she going to make it through another six weeks? She needed an ally, and she needed one bad.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      HARVARD KNEW THE MOMENT P.J. walked into the bar. He turned and sure enough, there she was, looking everywhere but at him, pretending he didn’t exist.

      Today had been a classroom day for the finks, and Harvard had had other business to take care of. He’d gone to the mess hall at lunchtime, hoping for…what? He wasn’t sure. But when he got there, Wes told him P.J. had gone to the firing range.

      The afternoon had passed interminably slowly, the biggest excitement being when he spoke to Kevin Laughton’s assistant’s assistant, who had told him there was no way the FInCOM rule book was going to be altered to allow for two- or three-day-long exercises. And hadn’t they already compromised on this issue? And no, Mr. Laughton couldn’t come to the phone, he was far too busy with important matters.

      Harvard had wheedled and cajoled, reasoned and explained, but he’d hung up the phone without any real hope that Laughton would call him or Joe Cat. He’d cheered himself up some by calling the friend of a friend of a friend who worked at the Pentagon and who faxed him the layout of FInCOM headquarters, where Kevin Laughton’s office was housed. He’d spent his coffee break pinpointing the areas of FInCOM HQ that would be most vulnerable to a direct assault by a small, covert group of SEALs. He’d managed to put a smile on his face by imagining the look on Laughton’s face when he walked into his high-level security office and found Harvard and Joe Cat sitting there, feet up on his desk, waiting to talk to him.

      Harvard headed for an empty table in the bar, keeping P.J. securely in his peripheral vision, trying to figure out the best strategy for approaching her.

      It was funny.