Linda never made decisions like this, but as Clive unlocked his front door, she swore that she wasn’t going to second-guess herself. Which, of course, meant that she couldn’t stop doing it.

“Would it be inappropriate for me to ask why we’re here?” Clive was standing in the center of his apartment’s living room.

Thor began sniffing his way around the apartment as she also checked it out.

It was a very guy space. A leather lounger, built on the same scale as Clive—big—faced a large television. Football or cooking shows? She’d bet on the latter.

Beside his chair was a large collection of books in untidy stacks. She looked closer: dessert cookbooks. The walls were mostly decorated with—she moved closer—pictures of chefs shaking hands with Clive and of knit goods. A quick scan around and she spotted a tall, glass-fronted mahogany cabinet so full of yarn that it looked like a rainbow gone mad. A massive sweater of gray wool, covered in intricately overlapping cables, had been tossed on a couch.

“You really do knit.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

She turned for the kitchen. Inspecting that, even if she wouldn’t be able to judge most of what would be in there, would be far more comfortable than answering why she was here. There was a splendid, lived-in quality to the apartment. Her own small studio could still pass military inspection.

“Linda,” he snagged her elbow as she tried to pass by.

His simplest touch brought her to a halt. It was just them now. No chef peered at them from behind a mixer. No teen was likely to drop in, seeking chocolate and dog training tips. It was just them and she didn’t know what to do about it. Her plans for some sex with an interesting man whom she liked felt foolish now that she was here.

It had been a while. Secret Service training had kept her hopping enough that she could brush off the various passes made by the other trainees. Those had also faded away as she’d worked through the course in half the normal time—many of them hadn’t liked that. And before that in the 75th Rangers she’d…

Clive kissed her.

Her whirling thoughts slammed into focus. Clive. She’d been working with Dilya and giving her the basics techniques for training Zackie when Dilya had done a teen thing that Linda remembered all too well from her own past. The girl had suddenly realized that she was learning something from an adult and that didn’t fit with a teen’s independent self-image. Between one eyeblink and the next, Linda had been alone with Clive, who was so immersed in his drawings and notes that someone could have indeed bombed the White House and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Clive. His kiss deepened and she let her body mold against his as he wrapped his arms about her. Exactly as she’d guessed, it felt like being hugged by a big, warm, kindly bear. His powerful hands were gentle as they held her close.

She’d become enthralled with watching him work in his kitchen—his chocolate shop—even if it was just designing. The focus, the obvious joy he took in the process. His quick smile and bright eyes had gone quiet as he worked and she could see the man revealed. He gave a first (and second and third) impression of being light-hearted and quick-thinking, living for the banter of the moment.

But not when he was working on a chocolate recipe. To that he brought a focus she easily recognized: it was the difference of a grunt in for a tour or two and the long-term professional soldier.

And at the moment, he was bringing that same incredible intensity of concentration to melting her bones as if they were actually made of chocolate.

It was working.

Not only was he reshaping her body to his, but if he were suddenly to let go, her liquid knees would be sure to melt out from under her.

He didn’t let her go, but he did ease back and break their kiss by the simple expedient of standing up straight. He had at least eight inches on her height…she’d never kissed such a tall man. Rather than uncomfortably submissive, she felt as if she was being cared for. The former she’d have to think about but the latter she had no experience with and it was confusing as hell.

“Now,” he whispered as he looked down at her with those deep, warm eyes of his. “Why are you here?”

“This,” she managed on an uneasy breath that didn’t sound anything like her.

“Not good enough, Linda.”

Not good enough? If his kiss and embrace had felt any better she’d—

Again Clive left her with no good words.

“What are you really asking, Clive?”

“We’re not going to simply tumble into bed and screw each other’s brains out.”

“We’re not?” That sounded very good at the moment.

“Linda,” he practically groaned in agony.

Unable to think while looking at his eyes, she tipped her head down and placed her nose and forehead against his chest.

With his strong hands he dug into her back muscles and continued the job of melting her against him.

If they weren’t here to screw… But they were. She knew enough about reading men to know that’s exactly why they were here. It was why she’d said he should take her home and he hadn’t argued. At least not until now when the bedroom door stood less than ten feet away. Hell of a time to stop a seduction.

Unless that’s what this was. Was it?

Instead of a hot, sweaty release, what if… What if… What if she actually wanted to be here? To be here with Clive rather than just some guy most likely to sate her body for a night?

And it was true.

Dilya had whispered something offhand before she left the Chocolate Shop. They’d been looking down at the two dogs, and Zackie was actually sitting at alert and waiting quietly for the next command. “Such a good doggie. We can see so much more of who you are when you’re being quiet, can’t we?” The dog had wagged her tail in happy response, revealing that she really was a sweetheart and not just a hyperactive ball of beautiful fur.

Then Dilya had been gone, leaving Linda to watch the quietly working Clive.

And she’d seen so much more of who he was. He was a man alive with ideas. His chocolate shop had photos of them taped to every surface: a mottled orange-and-red sky, a breaking ocean wave, a red-winged blackbird’s wing. He didn’t merely make chocolates. Clive sought inspiration in nature. He might look like the guy most likely to play the front four on a football team, but instead she could only marvel at the delicate confections he’d created and the way he drew. Beneath that ever-so-distracting exterior, there was an intelligent, thoughtful, and skilled man.

At that moment, his probing fingers found a locked-up muscle beneath her right shoulder blade. He massaged it until it released with a suddenness that took her breath away. And when she breathed back in, with her face still planted against his chest, he filled her senses just as surely as he’d filled her thoughts.

She now knew why she was here.

“Take me to bed, Clive.” She’d thought it would be the action that mattered. But it wasn’t. It was the man.

* * *

It was enough.

It was too much.

Clive ached for Linda like he’d ached for no woman before.

He’d wanted her clear words that she really did want to be here. That she did want to give her body to him.

And she certainly didn’t need to tell him twice.

He scooped her up in his arms, and she simply buried her face against his neck. Turning sideways, he barely managed to scoot them through the bedroom door.

Then, by the light spilling in through the doorway, he saw that the bed was unmade. His bathrobe was on the floor. The…

He hadn’t known he’d be bringing home a beautiful woman or he’d have—

Linda looked up to see why he’d stopped.

“You really are a civilian. As long as those rumples are all yours, you’ll get no complaints from me.”

“They’re all mine,” his voice felt hoarse, stuck deep in his chest. “Have been for a while.” Longer than usual, by far. As if he’d somehow known he was waiting for Linda Hamlin to step into his life.

She offered a thoughtful hum that might have been pleasure and might have been a cat’s purr of contentment.

He was past thinking about such things. Setting her on her feet, he wasn’t really sure how to begin. But Linda had taken care of that without him noticing. As he’d carried her, she’d unbuttoned his shirt.

Once again she placed her face against his chest; he now felt the tickle of her warm breath on his skin. The brush of her impossibly soft hair, even her happy sigh as she slid her arms inside his shirt until they were wrapped around him.

He wanted her to speak, though he wasn’t sure why. Usually, when he bedded a woman, it was all about feeling: his hands on her skin, her reactions as he laved her body with touch and kiss as fine as decorating a chocolate. They would occasionally talk or guide and that was fine.

But with Linda, he wanted to hear her thoughts. He’d already learned that she was a woman of few words. He would have to coax her verbal responses just as he might another woman’s physical ones.

“Tell me about—” his words choked off as she slipped his pants and underwear off his hips and dragged his bare body against her with fingers dug hard into his behind. She was so distracting that again he hadn’t noticed her actions undressing him.

Undressing him. But she was still fully clothed. She hadn’t even taken off her US Secret Service jacket, though she had unzipped it when they’d entered the apartment building.

US Secret Service. His past was filled with secretaries, aides, a lobbyist or two, and even a US Congresswoman. All professional women of the office variety. And, in hindsight, a disproportionate number of them had indeed been tall blondes exactly as Linda had teased him.

This short brunette of the military variety was something completely new.

Linda took a step back and shucked off her jacket. He almost missed the fact that if he didn’t stop her, she’d strip down the rest of the way just as quickly.

He wanted her naked, but not merely stripped down.

Grabbing one of her hands before it could grab the hem of her blouse, he went to twirl her into an impromptu dance step.

Except his pants had slid from around his thighs to around his ankles and instead of stepping forward into the lead, he plunged to the carpet, nearly crushing Thor, who had come in to see what was going on. With a yip of surprise, Thor scooted back out the bedroom door.

A similar sound came from Linda because he hadn’t let go of her hand as he went down. She landed hard against him, firmly planting a shoulder in his gut and knocking most of the wind out of him.

While he was busy gasping for air like a beached fish, Linda propped an elbow on his ribs and looked down at him.

“Is this how you usually run your seductions?”

“Sure,” he managed on a gasp. “Dark choco-late,” took two breaths. “Smooth moves. Wrestle to carpet.” He tried to reach for her, but his arms were still in his shirtsleeves and the bulk of the shirt was pinned beneath him. Worst seduction, ever.

Then Linda did what he’d been trying to forestall, or at least draw out. She grabbed the back collar of her blouse, yanked it off, then tossed it aside. A slightly stained gray sports bra followed moments later.

He’d been right. With Linda Hamlin, you got what you saw. No lacy lingerie purchased special for the moment. No coyness over wearing work clothes—no matter how high end—rather than date clothes.

And with absolutely spectacular results. He knew of her strength. Had witnessed it, felt it as he’d rubbed her back. But to see how so much power had been translated into the female form was astonishing. She looked only a little broader of shoulder than might be expected for her size. But with even the slightest motion, he could see the muscles rippling beneath her beautiful skin.

And what skin. It wasn’t all smooth, powdered, moisturized, and who knew what else. There were scars on her arms, a big one on her shoulder that looked like…

“Dog teeth?”

She followed the line of his gaze, then shrugged. “Bite training. He caught me above the training sleeve. Seventeen stitches. I thought men only looked at one thing on naked women.”

“Well, I’ll admit to noting that you have exceptionally nice breasts.” Again he reached for them and again he failed. He tried to raise his shoulders enough to free the trapped shirt, but she was still leaning against his chest and he couldn’t get the leverage.

But Linda was about so much more than her womanly parts. Though now that she’d mentioned them, it was hard to look away.

That earned him a smile before she leaned down and rubbed against him chest-to-chest. He watched her eyes as she slowly gave herself over to the sensations. The tough soldier-turned-dog handler faded away and the hidden woman who intrigued him as much as the latter slowly emerged. Her eyes slid shut and her mouth opened slightly as the shift continued.

He leaned up enough to kiss her and they both groaned.

“Where?” She finally whispered.

Clive waved a hand at the nearby nightstand. She straddled his chest, still wearing her khakis as she reached over and dug out some protection. He planted a kiss on her breastbone just between her breasts and she scooped a hand to support his head and keep it there. Her breasts were soft and warm, brushing against his cheeks. He’d always been an unabashed breast man, in any size. But at her breastbone he felt as if he was somehow closer to who she was. Powerful muscle close over solid bone. The essence of this woman lay not in her splendid curves, but in her pervasive inner and outer strength.

With him sheathed and her pants shed, again in some maneuver he’d missed, she hovered over him. Her palms braced on his shoulders kept him still trapped by his shirt. Pinned by that and the most dramatic woman he’d ever been with.

* * *

Linda felt as if she teetered upon some brink. Men were easy. You gave them what they wanted and, if all went well, you got some of what you wanted as well.

But Clive confused her.

He kept insisting on seeing her, Linda, rather than merely some woman. And if she knew who that was, it would definitely help.

She knew Sergeant Hamlin. More than one unit had nicknamed her Ball-breaker because she didn’t take shit from anyone. And any grunt who dared perform at one millimeter less than a hundred percent of their potential around her soon found out just how dangerous that was—though she saved literal ball-breaking just for those who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no.

Clive had kissed right her where her dog tags had hung for a decade, as if he could somehow fill the hole that their removal had left. She didn’t believe in nostalgia and had stripped them off as she’d driven out of the Fort Benning gates on that last day, but she’d missed them. Missed them horribly without realizing it until Clive planted a kiss there as if he could heal the gaping wound left by the removal of her dog tags and the end of her military career.

With a subtlety of understanding, he also didn’t reach for her, merely letting his hands rest on her thighs where she knelt over him. He somehow knew that she had to find her own way through the maelstrom that being with him had stirred awake.

Men were supposed to be easy.

Clive Andrews looked easy. His sweet face and smiling eyes said that he absolutely was easy. But with every gesture, with every move, he proved that he was the most complex man she’d ever met.

His kindness was without question.

His humor, his ability to laugh at himself even as he tumbled to the carpet in the middle of a dance step and played the fool, was something she knew she’d be a better person if she could learn.

And the man… There wasn’t a thing about him that wasn’t substantial.

His impact on her thoughts was all out of proportion with any prior assignation. And to take him inside… It felt as if she was about to bare her very soul for him to see. Of course, Clive Andrews was the one proving to her that she even had a soul, so perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing.

Easing down, she slowly took him in. One long, slow, delicious slide all the way down until she couldn’t believe how extraordinarily he filled her in every way.

Definitely not a bad thing.

* * *

“It will be dawn soon,” Linda mumbled from where she lay beneath the covers, her head on his chest.

“Dawn,” Clive managed to acknowledge as he finger-brushed her hair so that it spread like a liquid ganache over his neck and shoulders. A featherweight as light as her kisses and the flutter of her eyelashes against his cheek when they kissed.

Dawn of a new day. New day? He had trouble even remembering the Clive of yesterday. In a single night, Linda Hamlin had transformed him. Yesterday he’d been a chocolatier who enjoyed women. Today he knew for a fact that there was no other woman for him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake a whole night and come out of it feeling more energized than when the evening had started. Yes, sex on the carpet, hard against the tile wall in the shower with the hot water sluicing over them, and finally on top of her in the bed had certainly had their impact. But it was the times between, curled up in each other’s arms and talking easily, that he’d most remember.

Piece by tiny piece, like a layered chocolate truffle that continued without end, she slowly revealed herself. The triumphs and heartbreaks of working with the dogs. And with the people. He’d never given much thought to the civilians of countries caught up in war zones against their wishes. Now they seemed so real that he’d never see the war-torn, ex-military men prowling along the White House fence the same way again. They hadn’t wanted war either, but everything had been stripped from them until all they had left was looking through an iron fence at the center of power. Did they find comfort there or a focus for their ire?

And he was a chocolatier. How useless was that?

Yet Linda was so compassionate that she had talked him down from that as well. “It gives me hope, knowing that normal life continues. That I can walk into the mall and hit See’s Candies. It’s a sign of all the things we’re doing right.” After that he’d made a particularly gentle love to her, for it was the best way he could think to thank her.

“I just wish I could do more,” he brushed at her hair some more. Out the window, the low gray clouds reflected back the streetlights.

“You do.” She pulled back the sheets enough to uncover her face so that he could trace his fingertips over her fine features. Somehow she knew that it was the same conversation they’d abandoned hours before. “Think about the dessert you just designed.”

He’d told her about it earlier. Now it sounded trite. He rolled his eyes.

“No, Clive,” she propped herself up to look down at him. “I’m serious. A mission isn’t achieved by me and my dog leading the way, searching for IEDs. It’s won by the intel analyst who found the target, the commander who planned and ordered the raid. The helo pilots. The grunts on the ground. The snipers on overwatch. The eyes in the sky of the drone operators. We each do our little piece. Even then victory isn’t assured, but it’s not for want of trying.”

Clive blinked at the force of her tirade, but she continued.

“Your role may not seem obvious to you, but how do you know that your contribution won’t be the tipping point? You don’t. You just do what every good soldier does. You do the best you can; and as long as you keep doing that, no one can ask more of you. Besides, you’re much farther up the chain than I am. Maybe your ‘silly’ dessert will help make a change so that people like me don’t have to deploy in the first place.”

“Have you always been such an optimist?”

“I’m not. I’m a fierce pessimist. Maybe I’ll tell you about my parents someday.”

Then she shuddered against him and he wasn’t so sure that she was pretending. Only then did he realize that her life story to him had begun with the moment she joined the Army.

“Or maybe not,” she continued softly. “But I’m also a realist who see what works.”

“There must be something you’re optimistic about?”

In answer she slid a hand down his chest, over his stomach, and wrapped those fine fingers around him.

“Okay,” he had to agree. “I’m feeling rather optimistic about that too.”