Hot-Blooded. Karen Foley

woman nodded sympathetically. “That happens a lot. Where are they sending you now?”

      Elena squinted, trying to recall the name of the base where she was headed. “Some forward operating base in Afghanistan. Shangri-la?” She laughed. “No, that’s not right, because I’m pretty sure this place isn’t paradise.”

      “Do you mean Sharlana?“

      “Yes! That’s the place.”

      The woman’s face grew sober, and she took a long swallow of her wine, avoiding eye contact.

      “What’s wrong?” Elena asked, dread uncoiling in her stomach. “Do you know something about Shangri-la that I don’t?”

      The woman lowered her cup and sighed. “Didn’t you hear? The Taliban attacked a U.S. base just forty miles north of Sharlana last night. Eight civilians were killed.”

       What?

      Elena stared at the woman. “Are you sure?”

      “Oh, yeah.” The woman gave a bitter laugh. “There are no military stationed there. Rumor has it that the civilians who were assigned there—including the ones who died—had ties to the CIA, so the base is probably only used by intelligence personnel.”

      Elena blew out a hard breath. “That’s awful.” She hesitated. “Has anything like that ever happened at Shangri-la, er, Sharlana?”

      “Not that I know of, but then again, there’s a Marine expeditionary unit stationed at Sharlana to deter any attacks.” She smiled at Elena. “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

      That was the second time that day she’d heard those words, so why did she have trouble believing them? With a groan, she grabbed the nearest bottle and proceeded to pour several fingers of a pale green liquor into a plastic cup. She tipped it back, swallowing the entire contents in a single, long gulp and then gasped as the alcohol burned the back of her throat and made her eyes sting.

      “Whoa, take it easy,” admonished the other woman, watching her with a mixture of astonishment and admiration. “That stuff’ll knock you on your ass.”

      “Oh, good,” Elena gasped, as warmth seeped through her body. “I’m actually in need of a little technical knockout.”

      The woman laughed. “Suit yourself. Just remember that you’ve been warned. Good luck, hon.”

      Elena watched the woman saunter away before she poured herself another glass of the green liquid, this time filling the cup. The alcohol had left a pleasant taste in her mouth, a sweet mixture of black licorice with minty undertones. She took a hefty swig, swirling the liquid around on her tongue and enjoying the flavor. She never drank anything other than wine or the occasional glass of beer, and now she wondered why. This stuff was delicious.

      “Careful there. You know what they say about the Green Devil.”

      The voice was deep and amused, and something inside Elena quivered in response. She turned to see a man leaning negligently against the bar, watching her. A broad-shouldered, lean-hipped man with a face that could have graced any number of different magazines, from guns and hunting, to high fashion. The appreciation in his eyes, combined with his lazy smile, caused a rush of heat to slide through her veins that had nothing to do with the liquor she’d just consumed.

      He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, and her first thought was that he had a body designed for battle—or a woman’s pleasure—honed to masculine perfection and sculpted in a way that she’d read about but had never actually seen up close. He had impossibly chiseled cheekbones and a mouth that would put a Renaissance angel to shame. In the indistinct light, she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, and his dark hair was cropped close in a distinctly military style. He was altogether delicious.

      Elena wanted to bite him.

      The thought came out of nowhere and shocked her so much that she started, sloshing the alcohol over her fingers.

      “Green Devil?” she repeated lamely, sucking the liquid from her fingers and trying not to stare.

      He nodded toward the cup she held. “Another name for absinthe.” Reaching out, his hand closed around the cup, his fingers brushing against hers and sending a quicksilver thrill of awareness through her. “Did you know this stuff was banned in the U.S. until just a few years ago?”

      “No, I had no idea.” Elena watched as he swirled the cup in contemplation. “Why was it banned?”

      He raised his gaze to hers, and one corner of his delectable mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile. “The government believed it contained hallucinogenic properties, and could cause a person to lose their sanity.”

      Elena had absolutely no doubt that it was true. In fact, she was certain that she was hallucinating at that exact instant. What other reason could there be for the vivid images that were flying through her head? Images of this man, naked and gleaming with sweat as his body moved with purpose and strength over hers, his muscles flexing as he drove into her. She could actually smell him, a mixture of pure, male sex and something subtle and spicy, and the combination made her feel intoxicated.

      Oh, yeah. She had definitely lost her sanity.

      She passed a hand over her eyes and gave a shaky laugh, trying to dispel the erotic imagery. “Wow. I had no idea. I guess I owe you a big thank-you for saving me.”

      “Chase McCormick,” he said, extending a hand. “Always glad to be of service.”

      Oh, if only!

      Elena reached out, and his fingers closed warmly over hers. Hardly realizing she did so, she stepped closer to him. The only thing she was conscious of was a slow heat building low in her abdomen, and how her breasts felt full and tight.

      “Elena de la Vega.” Was that her voice that sounded so husky and breathless?

      He smiled, and the floor shifted beneath Elena’s feet. The man was more gorgeous than he had any right to be, but when he smiled … sweet mercy!

      “Easy,” he said, and set the cup aside to grasp her beneath her elbow. He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “You okay? For a second there, you looked as if you were going down.”

      Now there was an idea.

      How long had it been since she’d pleasured a man with her mouth? On that score, her sister Carmen had been right. Her sex life had been boring and predictable, and as much as she’d like to put the blame fully on Larry, he’d had no trouble trying something risqué with his new girlfriend. Which meant Elena must be the one with the problem, and it was way past time she did something about it.

      Now she looked at Chase McCormick, and just the thought of tasting him … of having him in her mouth … caused ribbons of lust to unfurl low in her belly. In fact, just thinking about touching this man caused her heart to beat faster. She had no idea who this guy was, and yet here she was, contemplating doing risqué things with him that she’d never done with Larry.

      Her eyes slid over Chase again, admiring the broad thrust of his shoulders and the way his T-shirt hugged the contours of his pecs and his flat stomach. She wanted badly to touch him.

      She’d worked with dozens of military guys over the years, and while several of them had made their interest in her clear, Elena had never been tempted into a relationship. For the most part, they’d been too masculine, brimming with testosterone and confidence. She’d known instinctively that a man like that could overwhelm her, both physically and emotionally. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was to be dependent on another person for her own happiness. She’d seen what that kind of neediness had done to her parents and had vowed she wouldn’t make the same mistake.

      But as her gaze drifted over Chase’s leanly muscled physique, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to be with him, to let him overwhelm her.

      To lose herself in him.

      He