Hot-Blooded. Karen Foley

      

      Hot-Blooded

      Karen Foley

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      For my friends and colleagues, Storme, Greta, Kelly, and Gladys—the fearless women who have volunteered to serve and sacrifice. You are amazing. Thank you for your support!

      Dear Reader,

      I was so excited when my editor proposed the It Takes a Hero series. What could be better than a story that involves a tough, capable, totally hot guy in a uniform? Especially when he’s willing to put everything—including his heart and his life—on the line?

      My day job with the Department of Defense provides me with some unique opportunities to work alongside our men and women in uniform, including those who take voluntary deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. While I’ve never found the courage to do this myself, several of my female colleagues have done so. For the most part, these women have been assigned to the larger bases with nice living quarters, fitness centers, etc. But I couldn’t help thinking … what would happen if a woman suddenly found herself in a remote outpost that contained none of these amenities? What if she had to depend on a tough, capable, irresistibly sexy guy for everything? And what if he found himself tempted to throw protocol and training out the window in order to meet her every need?

      I hope you enjoy Chase and Elena’s story … and that it meets your every reading need.

      Enjoy!

       Karen

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Prologue

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Epilogue

       Copyright

       Prologue

       Anbar Province, Iraq

      THE SPIT of machine-gun fire and the acrid stench of burning oil and scorched metal filled the air. First Sergeant Chase McCormick surveyed the battle through a pair of high-optic binoculars from his perch atop an armored Humvee. He and his special ops team had just extracted a pair of Marine snipers from a site twenty miles away when they’d received reports of a large U.S. supply convoy traveling through the dangerous Anbar province. They’d immediately made a detour to intercept the convoy and escort them through the region, but they’d arrived too late.

      Insurgents, hidden in an orchard on one side of the dusty road and in a crudely dug trench on the other, had attacked the convoy, which was now taking heavy fire from both sides. Chase had to give the truck drivers credit; along with their security detail, they were some tough sons of bitches and were holding their own.

      Despite the fact the insurgents had managed to destroy two Humvees and the lead supply truck, their smallarms fire was mostly inaccurate and ineffectual. Chase had seen enough combat to know that this battle would be over shortly, but the entire scenario had him pissed off on a level so deep that he had to shut that part of himself down or risk losing his focus on the immediate mission.

      While Al-Qaeda had, for the most part, been neutralized in the Anbar province, there were still pockets of rebellion and several attacks on the U.S. troops had occurred in recent weeks. Chase had received intel reports that the insurgents were hiding twenty miles to the north, where the sniper team had been conducting reconnaissance for the past five days. But in reality they had been here, digging their damned trenches and stockpiling their IEDs and rocket-propelled grenades.

      As he watched, a driver exited one of the supply vehicles. Chase saw she was female, and she was aiming her weapon at the tree line, focused on some hidden target that even Chase couldn’t see. In the next instant a second soldier, who up until that moment had been manning a fifty-caliber gun mounted on top of one of the convoy’s gun trucks, abruptly abandoned his position and swung to the ground, apparently intent on intercepting and protecting the woman.

      “Son of a bitch,” Chase muttered beneath his breath, and swung his gun around to cover the man. Didn’t he realize his best option for protecting the girl was to stay with his weapon?

      As the soldier sprinted toward the woman, he took a direct hit from the assailant hidden in the trees, and went down on his knees before pitching face forward onto the ground. Chase swept the tree line with machine-gun fire, but was forced to stop when the female soldier stepped directly into his sights. She shouldered her weapon and bent to drag the wounded