At Your Command. Julie Miller

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      “Don’t let this end. Marry me.”

      His body nearly spasmed as he refused to indulge his need until she gave him an answer.

      “Okay.”

      “Okay?”

      Becky grabbed his ass and urged him in. With one deep thrust, Zachariah exploded inside her. She shattered around him and cried out, “Yes!”

      2

      “ZACHARIAH! HEY, BIG GUY! Welcome home!”

      Becky snatched her hand out of the air and pulled it into a fist near her stomach, mortified by her blind enthusiasm. Thank God the crowd of families and friends surrounding her had cheered loudly enough to drown out her impulsive shout. Glancing quickly around, she wished she were tall enough to see over more of the men and women near her.

      “Smooth one, Owens,” she muttered under her breath.

      Had she flagged anyone’s attention? Not that she’d really expected her least favorite fan to follow her the eighty miles from Richmond, Virginia, to the Marine Corps base at Quantico. He hadn’t had the balls to use his own phone or leave a name or traceable address yet, so she doubted he’d really show his face. But the letters and phone calls—no doubt the vengeful enterprise of one of the ex-husbands she’d pursued on behalf of her clients—were coming more frequently now. And dead roses had been left on the windshield of her car and at the front door to her condo, kicking the anonymous stalking up another notch.

      It started simply with I hate you clipped from random magazine letters and sent to her office, along with some heavy breathing on her phone at home. Then he had tried to show he was smart by switching to computer printouts and adding some big words: I bet you aren’t getting any, Princess Plump-ass, so you have to emasculate every man you meet to compensate. The latest note, delivered to her office five days ago with an illegible postmark, had contained a new twist on the usual insults and hurtful words: You think you’re all that, don’t you, bitch? I’m going to take back what you’ve stolen from me. Even if it has to come out of your hide. Included had been a photograph of her walking down the courthouse steps, taken from a distance. In the picture, her heart had been cut out.

      Though she’d reported that last message to her supervisor at the State Attorney’s office, and the letter and photo had been subsequently filed with the Richmond PD, there was little they could do beyond monitoring the situation and working on identifying the culprit. It wasn’t as if Becky didn’t have plenty of candidates to choose from. With her work—taking deadbeat exes to court on behalf of those who couldn’t afford legal representation—she could name a dozen suspects who were less than thrilled by the settlements she’d won. Garnishment of wages. Termination or alteration of custody agreements. In one case, imprisonment. Of course, there was the whole public-humiliation factor of being exposed as a user or loser, in addition to the financial costs. Becky was good at her job. Damn good. Half-assed had never been the Owens way.

      Still, though she’d like to think that someone was mouthing off because he’d gotten his wallet or pride hurt and that the need to strike back would eventually flicker and die, a smart woman wouldn’t take any chances. Becky breathed in deeply and curled her fingers through the chain-link fence blocking off the parking lot in front of her. She needed to purge the moment of panic and gather her wits.

      Catching a glimpse of a pair of shoulders filling a bus window so completely that she could barely make out the square jaw and light-brown hair above them should not have her squealing like a schoolgirl who’d just been winked at by the senior boy on whom she had a crush. So what if Zachariah Clark’s impressive body and effortless strength had plagued her most erotic dreams these past eighteen months?

      Eighteen months since she’d thrown Owens expectations to the wind and done exactly what she wanted.

      She’d defied her father in order to land a job that allowed her to actually make a difference in the world.

      She’d shared a blistering affair with a man she’d met in a bar—an unpedigreed soldier who worked with his hands instead of his family’s money.

      She’d married him.

      Becky exhaled that deep breath between tightly compressed lips. Her conscience had been paying a heavy price for her impetuousness ever since. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if her mother or father, or any one of her clients, got hurt because she was distracted and failed to live up to her promises. Their safety and well-being came first. That stalker toad and her own desires had to come in at a self-disciplined second.

      She couldn’t allow a man’s being in her life again to give her a false sense of security, either. Zachariah wouldn’t be around for long. And people were depending on her, not him. She’d dealt with her problems while he was overseas, and she’d deal with them again after he was gone.

      Cool, calm and collected was also the Owens way.

      Ha! So why was she standing on tiptoe, trying to steal another glimpse through the windows of the approaching bus? Catching herself, Becky lowered her heels into her Italian leather sandals.

      “You don’t do giddy,” she reminded herself on a muttered breath. She glanced from side to side once more, seeing nothing but eager children and anxious spouses and parents.

      Nothing to fear.

      No one who seemed interested in her at all.

      She forced an angry breath from her lungs, hating that she’d given in to any degree of paranoia. She was here alone. Period. Get over it.

      She focused her attention back on the bus.

      As the only child of power broker Bertram Owens, “society”—meaning politicos in Richmond and D.C., the family tree and Bertram himself—demanded a certain degree of decorum from her. Whatever spontaneity that hadn’t been bred out of her by birth had been thoroughly reined in by years of training—except for six-and-a-half fabulous days with one certain Marine.

      In the courtroom and at home, the restraint that she exercised almost daily served her well. She needed it now more than ever, knowing her father was home at the family estate outside of Richmond, waiting for her to fail. Waiting to pick up the pieces of what he considered her misguided adventure into independent living. Waiting to give her an I-told-you-so, let-me-take-care-of-this-for-you hug and steer her back onto the path an Owens heiress should be taking toward securing the family’s future. Namely, marrying one of the stuffy, upper-crust bores on her parents’ list of approved suitors, and settling down to expand the family dynasty like a good little girl.

      Claiming she was seeing someone—who conveniently traveled a lot outside of the country so she wouldn’t have to produce him for family dinners or political receptions—had temporarily staved off her father’s obsession with marrying her off to make mergers and grandbabies. If push came to shove, she’d even pull out the marriage certificate. Though the deception would hurt at first, it was just the sort of crafty business maneuver her father might eventually respect.

      However, Becky intended to save that revelation as an absolute last resort. Her mother, Lily, was still recovering from chemo and radiation treatments to forestall any recurrence of the breast cancer she’d conquered a year ago. Causing her mom stress by ruining her dreams for her only offspring wasn’t particularly appealing. And СКАЧАТЬ