“I've got better things to do than play political games with a bunch of Commando Barbies. Colonel Brown made it clear that this was an important assignment and political dynamite. Apparently there's some hush-hush deal going down having to do with strategic metals. I have no idea what it's about, but it's probably nothing good.”
“But you said she also told you it could seriously boost our careers,” Stark responded, an eager gleam in his eyes.
“I know you're bucking for a promotion, Stark, but trust me, you're more likely to lose one than gain one on the colonel's 'special assignments.'” He shook his head forcefully. He'd been Colonel Brown's pet now for several years, and his distaste for her special details had grown stronger with each assignment. Stark was one motivated, squared-away marine, but being motivated and ambitious could land him in a world of trouble. Patrick knew that firsthand.
“How bad could it be? We get to play with a bunch of beautiful women, and as long as we keep our hands to ourselves, no harm, no foul. Right?”
Patrick didn't answer. He moved toward the rail as though drawn by invisible forces. After a long moment, he turned to his subordinate. “She's amazing.”
“Who?” Stark scanned the lavishly appointed room.
The woman who had attracted Patrick's attention wasn't the most beautiful in the room, and at a little over average height, she shouldn't have stood out the way she did, but she wore her leadership mantle with obvious ease. Her long braids were pulled back into an elegant chignon. The style displayed the graceful arc of her neck and emphasized her finely drawn features. Her arched brow, pointed chin, and voluptuous mouth seemed more suited to slinky lingerie than the decidedly masculine attire she wore. The incongruity was striking and oddly arousing. In a room full of women of every hue and ethnicity, her dark-as-night skin stood out in sharp contrast. Her commanding presence, combined with lush curves accentuated by her designer BDUs, created a package that he found almost impossible to look away from.
“Right there, Stark, over to the right. She's sparring.”
Stark nodded. “I noticed her earlier. I swear, it's like nothing I've ever seen.”
Patrick didn't respond. They observed for a long, silent moment.
“What technique is that? Definitely not
semper fu
,” Stark said, referring to the nickname for Marine Corps martial arts.
“At first I thought it was
krav maga
,” Patrick said, “but now I haven't a clue.”
“She's holding back, isn't she?” Stark asked.
“Yeah, it looks like the other soldier is a newbie, so she's pulling her punches.” He noticed that several of the women had glanced up at them, and moved back from the rail again. “We'd better get down there. I'm sure they won't like us just watching them this way.”
* * *
Lelia leaned forward to help her sparring partner off the floor. “Private, you've got to watch for the leg lock. It's very basic. And if you do find yourself on the floor, you have to take that opportunity to bring your opponent down too. Do you understand?” she asked quietly.
The recruit nodded, springing quickly into starting position again. Then she faltered, her widened eyes signaling to Lelia that someone had approached from behind. In a movement almost too fast for the human eye to discern, Lelia had the person in a throwing hold. Before the weight difference could register, she had flipped him over her shoulder and stood over him, her legs braced apart in a fighting stance.
She gasped as she realized that the man had to be one of the marines assigned to train with them.
“I'm sorry, Gunnery Sergeant,” she said, recognizing his rank insignia. “I thought you were one of my Guard. I train them to always be prepared for sudden moves.”
Patrick peered up at her from his position flat on his back on the training mat. “Interesting training method. That must play hell with troop retention.”
Full of contrition, she reached down to help him to his feet, only to find herself tossed aloft as he made a countermotion, using her own momentum to energize the throw. Saved from complete humiliation only by years of training, she used the energy from the fall to propel herself up from the floor. The gunnery sergeant sprang up as well and caught her in an elbow lock. She countered with a blow of her own, and the sparring was on.
They punched and counterpunched, neither willing to give quarter. The guards and marines gathered around to watch the impromptu session. Lelia doubted that she'd ever fought anyone nearly as good, and just when she thought she'd have to give in, she saw an opening in his guard. She moved as swiftly as her exhausted muscles would allow, but at the last possible moment he countered again, sweeping them both to the mat once more. They sat there appraising one another, clearly neither interested in resuming the match.
It was only then that she noticed the hush that had fallen over the gym. She took a deep, calming breath, finally realizing that the gunnery sergeant had to be one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen. Even though his hair was cut high and tight as befitted the Marine Corps uniform he wore, the rich chestnut color was arresting, as were the large hazel eyes dappled in greens and golds like an autumn forest. They were set in a deeply chiseled face that would've been at home on any designer's runway. At not-quite six feet, he wasn't a tall man, but his shoulders filled out his BDUs quite impressively. Having thrown him more than once, she knew that despite his lean form, he was very solidly built. The deep silence continued, and Lelia could feel the eyes of her entire Guard focused on her. She knew she had to do something, but she couldn't look away or think of one thing to say. It didn't help that he seemed similarly tongue-tied, so their gazes locked for what had to have been an absurd amount of time. She'd never been more grateful for anything when he took the initiative to speak, thus relieving her of the need to actually form sentences.
“Sergeant Assad, I presume?” Patrick nodded in her direction.
Lelia took a deep breath, followed by a cough to cover her discomfiture. Everyone in the room was staring at them. “Yes, I'm Sergeant Assad. And you are…?” She watched as he rose fluidly to his feet, before offering a hand to help her rise as well.
“I'm Gunnery Sergeant McBride, and this is Staff Sergeant Stark.” He gestured toward his companion. “We've been assigned to train with your Guard unit.”
Lelia spared a brief glance for his taller, dark-haired companion, then turned and looked back at the gunnery sergeant. “Of course. Thank you for the accommodations. We look forward to training with you,” she said formally.
“So, just what the hell was that fighting technique? I'm pretty good,” he stated flatly without false modesty. He gestured toward his black web belt, which was adorned with a single red stripe. Lelia knew it indicated his status as an instructor in Marine Corps martial arts. “But you almost took me out.”
Lelia raised her brows. “Almost? Who landed on his backside? Twice.”
“Only because I wouldn't think of abusing such a lovely…asset,” Patrick returned with a smirk.
Lelia thanked Allah that her furious blush wouldn't show under her dark complexion. Painfully aware of being the center of attention, she snapped into professional mode, proud of her Guard and their martial expertise. “We don't limit ourselves to one method of defense. As I'm sure you've noticed, we're women. Our bodies are different”—she gave Staff Sergeant Stark a killing glance in response to his fervent “thank God,” then continued—“and we have a lower center of gravity than men. We don't have the upper body strength that men do. Though, of course, we weight train as much as possible.” She gestured toward a group of her soldiers who were training with free weights.
“That being the case, we've modified several traditional martial arts to suit our strength, which is mainly in our legs. We do more kicks and leg locks.” She shrugged. “We've never really named it, but we generally call it WIT, which means 'whatever it takes.'” She changed the subject. “When would you like to begin training? We've been here all morning and would like to take some time to eat. Also, it will soon be time for afternoon prayers. After that we will be ready. We are quite adept at various methods of hand-to-hand fighting. Of course, it is our job to protect Colonel al-Fariq. In our country, women don't serve in combat.”
Lelia knew she was rambling, but his intense stare was disconcerting. She'd never seen that expression on anyone's face before, but he looked as though he'd dearly love to kiss her or…eat her. Either way, she was stunned to discover that she wasn't necessarily opposed to either idea. Warmth licked up under her skin as she flushed in response to his heated stare. Despite being unnerved, she found it impossible to look away.
“You've received the itinerary? I apologize that we're a bit behind. Staff Sergeant Stark and I were rather late in receiving the assignment. Weapons training was to begin this morning. It's my understanding that all of you are qualified in small arms?” Patrick made the statement a question, though she knew Colonel Brown had given him a fairly comprehensive résumé of the Guard.
“That will be good.” She glanced at her watch. “Perhaps two hours? Would you like to meet us at the firing range?”
“You know where it is?”
“Yes. We've been given a tour of the base, so we are quite familiar. Also, Colonel Brown assigned drivers to us for the duration.”
“Very good; then Staff Sergeant Stark and I will meet you in a couple of hours. Enjoy your meal.”
* * *
“Man, what the hell was that?”
“What are you talking about Stark?” Patrick looked over at his companion as they walked toward the chow hall for lunch. “I was simply sparring with Sergeant Assad. We are supposed to be training together.”
“That wasn't sparring. That was just inches from dry fucking. You were looking at that poor girl like she was your last meal. I half expected you to grab her by her braids and drag her off somewhere. You scared her half to death. Hell, you scared me, and I don't swing that way. There had to be fifty people in that gym, and you two didn't even know we were in the goddamned room.”
“You wouldn't be my type.”
“Yeah, you always liked your women the way you like your coffee: black.”
Patrick smirked at his companion. “Shows what you know. I've never limited my dates by race. That would be stupid. That woman would be hot no matter what color she was. But I'm still not going there.”
“If you say so, but from where I'm standing, you've already been there and can't wait for the return trip.” He shook his head. “Man, you're in big trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“All I've got to say is that it would be a goddamned shame if the guy who warned me about getting caught with my hands in the cookie jar wound up getting busted with a mouthful of cookies.”
“That's so not going to happen.”
“Hey, you're the gunny. I'm sure you know what you're doing.”