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CHAPTER 1

Alan Prescott pulled his motorcycle into a parking space beside a red convertible. He removed his helmet and set it on the seat. Unconsciously, he ran one hand though his hair, which reminded him he was long overdue for a haircut. It was far from the required Marine high and tight.

He took a moment to enjoy the salty scent blowing off the water. He loved the sound of waves crashing on shoreline rocks. It was much different from churning, wind-whipped waves crashing against an Aircraft Carrier as it sliced through open waters of the Atlantic. The colors, sounds, and smells of ocean never lost their appeal and somehow always soothed his soul.

Maybe because he'd just returned from Afghanistan where it was second nature to examine all vehicles for explosives, or curiosity, he sauntered over to check out the red car. On the seat was a straw hat, some sort of designer sunglasses, an iPod, a full set of scuba gear, and was that a stuffed dachshund wearing a red bikini? He'd seen stranger things, but it made him smile.

Spread across the trunk to dry were a beach towel and a pair of jean shorts. The piece of clothing that caught his attention was a red crochet bikini top. He took a minute to imagine the round, firm breasts that would fit into the triangles. He took one last glance in the car. Only on a military base would someone leave so many valuables unsecured.

He found the Officer's Club practically deserted. His heart set on scotch, he headed into the bar. A country song about ticks was playing on the jukebox. The bartender and her only patron discussed a scuba diving spot he hadn't visited. Alan stood for a moment, listening to the conversation and enjoyed the view through the six double-framed windows behind the bar. Sunlight filtered through wine glasses hanging above the bartender's head creating small prisms of color on the bamboo floor.

"Hello and welcome. We can use a handsome man to join our party," the bartender joked.

Alan glanced over his shoulder, pretending to look for someone behind him.

The bartender laughed. "What would you like to drink?"

"Johnnie Walker Black. Over ice will work," Alan responded, walking toward the bar.

"Coming right up. Welcome to the Key West Officer's Club. My name's Millie," she said from behind the mahogany bar.

"May I join you?" Alan asked the brunette who'd turned at Millie's comment.

A slow smile moved across her full lips. As their eyes met, a rush of adrenaline shot down his spine. He had to force himself to take a breath. What the hell was that?

She motioned to the wooden stool beside her. "Sure. Pull up a stool, Marine."

"Okay, but how do you know I'm a Marine?"

"Actually, deductive reasoning based on your tattoo. On your left shoulder, peeking out from under your tank top, are the letters delis which is the end of Semper Fidelis. I can also see the tip of an eagle's wing at the neckline. I gather it's the symbol for the United States Marines Corp."

Her smile struck him as mischievous and playful. It caused butterflies in his stomach. The scent of coconut floated into his nostrils.

"You would be correct; Alan Prescott of the United States Marines at your service. Ladies, the Marines have landed," he announced, bowing as if to a queen.

After a laugh, she turned further on her bar stool and extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Anne of the United States Air Force. It's nice to meet you."

He shook her hand, glanced at her shirt and smiled at the US Air Force UFO identification chart on the front. Her T-shirt was loose but couldn't hide her curvy, delicious form. Definitely the bikini top's owner. Her enticing, almond-shaped hazel eyes and cute button nose reminded him of a sweet and innocent girl next door. Yet those same eyes twinkled with sexuality. As she turned to retrieve her drink, he noticed a single braid hanging down to her butt. He wanted to reach out and touch the coppery brown wayward curls which had escaped around her temples.

As they chatted, Alan used what his friends called his unnatural talent with women. The muscular definition of her tan arms and legs cried out to be stroked. Her hands and fingers were dainty. More suited for a champagne flute than the weighted highball glass currently in her hand. He'd bet a month's pay she wore a thirty-six D bra. Age always gave him trouble. Thirty-something put him in the ball park, a bit older than he normally went for. But he'd had nine lonely months in Afghanistan. Since all he wanted was someone to help blow off his pent up sexual steam, age quickly became a moot point.

Millie's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Here's your drink, Alan. What brings you to Key West? Are you part of the joint operations exercise?"

"Something like that. Also, I'm visiting friends I was stationed with in Afghanistan." He took a long draw of his drink. "Thanks," he said returning the glass to the napkin Millie placed in front of him.

"Great place to visit. Key West, not Afghanistan. I fly down at least four times a year to visit family and get in some scuba diving." Anne stirred her drink with a straw.

Alan laughed. "No, I wouldn't recommend Afghanistan as a vacation spot. Key West is just what I needed. Okay, it's my turn for some deductive reasoning. You belong to the convertible in the parking lot?" He kept his eyes focused on Anne's.

"Matter of fact, I do. It's a rental." Anne played with the keys on the bar.

"Where're you from?" Alan asked.

"Hampton, Virginia. I'm stationed at Langley Air Force Base. What about you?"

"I'm attached to Joint Operations on Norfolk Naval Base."

"It's a small world." Alan watched as she crossed her feet at the ankles and rested them on the rung of the barstool.

"Yes, it is. Now, for the record, will there be an angry husband or boyfriend storming in to challenge me to a duel for talking to you?" She'd woken his sexual appetite, and he was very hungry. Her southern accent and smile sent a bolt of pure lust raging though his body.

There was a momentary flash of humor in her eyes. "Nope. No husband for a long time and, well, boyfriends are highly overrated," Anne offered with a wink and a grin.

Her eyes twinkled with the momentary facial expression. What would those beautiful eyes look like in the moonlight? "That begs for an explanation, but I'll save that for our second date. What's your job at Langley?" He sipped his drink.

She brushed one of the loose curls of hair behind her ear. "I'm a Nurse Practitioner."

"Cool. If I get sick, I know where to find you. Can I buy you a drink?" he asked as he discreetly continued checking her out. Visions of her pressed against a wall, her tiny wrists captured above her head in one of his hands. Using his mouth and hand to explore her neck and the delights hidden under her shirt. He imagined stroking her breasts and caressing her nipples until they throbbed. Kissing her until she was breathless and her knees buckled. He had to make a conscious effort to pull his mind back to the present. I was in Afghanistan way too long. " Can I buy you a drink?" he asked again.

Anne finished off the liquid in her glass. "Yes, thank you. Millie, could I please have another?" She asked as she slid her glass across toward the edge of the bar.

"What are you having, Vodka over ice?" Alan inquired.

Anne smiled. "No. Water, but it's on the rocks." She shook her glass and the ice clinked against the sides. "I was in the sun quite a bit today. Need to rehydrate. You know my job; what's your mission, Marine?"

"I'm in logistics. I move items from point A to point B in a very proper and precise military manner," he replied using his well-worn pat answer. I wonder what this sweet thing would say if I told her I command a multi-military group of anti-terrorist assassins.

"Logistics sounds very exciting." Anne rolled her eyes and grinned.

"Yes, my life revolves around the process." He laughed. Her slightly sun-kissed round face and killer dimples begged to be caressed. "What brings you to the club?"

"I'm meeting friends and family for dinner. And you? Stopping in for a quick drink?"

"Sort of the same. A guy I served with in Afghanistan has been reassigned here. During my last deployment, I was loaned to a unit with SEALs and Noodle Wingers — oh excuse me — helicopter pilots. Anyway, his mother-in-law sent us cookies, brownies, candy, and silly string at least once a month. If you didn't know, silly string is great for detecting booby- traps. She's in town, and those of us in the unit are throwing a party to let her know how much we appreciate everything she did for us."

"Having a party to thank her is a sweet thing to do."

"She sent us birthday gifts, cards, packages, and stuff for the holidays. I received an afghan for my bunk within two weeks of joining the unit. This lady didn't know me from Adam's house cat, yet she treated me like her own son. Every package came with a card signed, "Stay Safe. I'm praying for you, Gram. Plus, I want to see if she matches the picture in my head."

"What's the picture?" Anne asked as she sipped her drink.

"You know the sweet grandmotherly type. Wears an apron and makes cookies from scratch, not a mix. Sits crocheting in her rocker and watching Wheel of Fortune while thinking about an early bedtime. Probably owns six cats. Goes to church every time the doors are open and prays for everyone. The kind of grandmother everyone would love to have."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Anne responded as she toyed with her left flamingo earring.

"There're my friends." Alan smiled as he waved to the group in the entryway. "Nice talking to you."

"Same to you," Anne replied and finished her drink.

"Will you be around for a while? I'd like to buy you a real drink."

"Check after your party." She stood, pulled some bills out of her pocket and placed them in Millie's tip basket. She exited the bar, turned left and headed down the hall.

Alan looked at the ceiling and let out a deep breath. The woman was sexy hot. The way her long braid swayed across her heart-shaped ass caused tightness in his jeans. She had his full attention and would do very nicely for a weekend of fun.

* * *

Anne made a beeline for the ladies room. She dropped into a blue wicker chair, propped her feet on a footstool, removed her cell phone, and dialed her best friend. Laura answered on the third ring.

"Hey, girlfriend. How's Key West?"

"Oh, it's wonderful. Just damn wonderful," Anne snapped as she stood and paced around the room.

"Sarcasm, I recognize that —"

Anne cut her off in mid-sentence. "You win the bet."

"You've been in Key West less than forty-eight hours. You can't be afraid to walk into a bar, talk to a man. I know it's been a long time. The bet is you kiss a man. A real, live, breathing male. You don't have to throw him on the floor, take him right there. Although, now that I think of it, that would do you a world of good. It's not normal to go without as long as you have."

Anne paced faster. "Oh. I was in the bar. Found a sexy Marine, flirted my butt off."

"So what's the problem? Wait, he didn't turn you down? Men are such jerks."

"No, I'm pretty sure he's interested. Hell, I'm interested. He's a friend of Mike's."

"Wait, your son-in-law Mike?"

Anne held the phone away from her ear to avoid the over-loud laughter. "Are you done?" she asked after several seconds.

"Okay. Tell me about him? Don't leave out anything, all the stats."

Anne could visualize Laura grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. Her feet propped up on the footstool by the pool, a glass of wine within reach. "Didn't you hear me? He's a friend of Mike's."

"And that's a problem for you, why?"

"He's young, very young." Anne plopped in the chair again. Put her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hand.

"And?"

"Don't you get it? I can't go there."

Laura responded as if Anne hadn't even spoken. "How young are we talking? Eighteen? Twenty?"

"Crap, I don't know, late twenties, earlier thirties." She began pacing again.

"He's legal, fair game. Aren't you the one who says age doesn't matter?"

"Yes. But not when it comes to sex. What'll Brianna think?" Anne stopped and placed her hand on her hip.

"Probably like me, your daughter will think it's about damn time."

Anne let her chin drop to her chest and shook her head. "Talking to you makes no sense. Bye."

"Wait, seriously, wait."

"W — h — a — t?" The word came out in three long syllables.

"I'll be watching for a blue moon."

"What?"

"If you get lucky, there'll be a blue moon."

"Goodbye, Laura. I've got to change for the party." Instead of dressing, she fell into the wicker-backed chair. Damn good time for her sexual temperature to flare up. Anne giggled. It hadn't flared up. It was more like spontaneous combustion, and she had an idea this wasn't going to be a controlled burn.

* * *

The enticing woman continued to occupy Alan's thoughts as he headed toward the banquet room. If Anne was still around after the party, he'd talk her into a walk on the beach.

Why hadn't he gotten her number or given her his? As a last resort, he might leave a note on her car. Five minutes and one kiss was all he needed. The Prescott charm never failed.

Sipping his drink, he scanned the room. The three sets of double doors at the far end of the room had been opened to allow the cool breeze to flow in off the water. The smoky smell of a roasting pig drifted in with the salty air. Round tables covered in bright, tropical print tablecloths with flamingo centerpieces were placed around the room. Alan remembered a conversation he'd had with Mike about a running joke over flamingos between Brianna and her mother.

Standing on either side of the bar decorated as a tiki hut were two six- foot inflatable pink birds. Each one was holding a chalkboard explaining the exotic drinks being offered. He headed toward the bar.

"Hello, Alan. Would you like to refresh your drink?" Brianna asked when he reached the bar.

He handed her the empty class. "I'll trade this in for a glass of pineapple juice."

"Okay, coming right up."

As she added ice and juice to a glass, Alan asked, "Do you have a place for gifts. I brought your Mom something from Dubai."

"That's very nice," Brianna responded.

"I wanted to make sure your Mom knows how much I appreciated what she did. Her cards, cookies and funny gifts were awesome. Sometimes those were the only things I had to look forward to."

"The funny thing is Mom gets a great deal of pleasure putting the packages together. I guess it's a win-win. The family table is inside to your left. There're a couple of gifts already there."

"Thanks." He picked up the glass and moved across the room, acknowledging the people he knew. Alan placed the gift on the table and looked around. A jolt of excitement hit him in the gut when he noticed Anne. She'd changed into jeans and a red cotton blouse with cutouts exposing her shoulders. She was talking to a group of people, using her hands to animate the words. Her hair hung in curls around her full breasts and danced as she talked. Her delightful laugh drifted toward him. Alan realized he was staring, but he couldn't look away. She turned, caught his gaze, and raised her drink as if to toast him. What was it about this woman who held him mentally captive?

"Well, I'll be damned. Marines can read a map. Glad you found the place." Mike joined Alan, and they exchanged handshakes. Alan responded, "Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed this opportunity. I want to thank your mother-in-law in person. When's she arriving?"

Mike took a step back and raised his brow wrinkled in obvious confusion. "Man, how much have you had to drink?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"You were talking to her when we came in."

"Who? When? What the hell are you talking about?" he stammered.

"You were sitting right next to her in the bar. I waved to you both from the door."

He choked on his sip of the drink and fought to keep from spitting the liquid all over the floor. "She's your mother-in-law? No way, man. Cut the bullshit. Hold on, I'll be right back." He quickly crossed the room. This had to be one of the group's practical jokes. They always tried to outdo each other. He'd fallen for this one hook, line and sinker. No way Anne's a grandmother.

Before he could reach her, three kids ran toward her shouting, "Grammy Bear!" Anne squatted and greeted each of them with hugs and kisses.

Alan continued to cover the distance between them. The kids moved to a table of munchies as he reached her. A grandmother? How could he hit on a grandmother? Surely he would roast in hell for this one.

"Hello, Marine. Sorry to disappoint you. I didn't bring my apron, and the club doesn't appear to have a rocking chair." Anne winked as a slow smile crossed her face.

He looked down into her eyes. As he did, another rush of pure lust hammered his mind. "This is so wrong."

"What?" she asked. Her voice laced with native undertones he couldn't miss.

He looked at his feet and answered, "Never mind, it's nothing."

"Come on, Marine. Tell the grandmother all about it," she teased, patting his arm.

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Excerpted from "Stealth Maneuvers"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Elizabeth Anne Moss Grover.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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