“Besides you trying to get close to P. J. Richards, you mean? Trying to hold her hand out in the woods?” Wes Skelly laughed at his miserable joke. “Jeez, Senior Chief, only time in my memory that you were the first man down in a paint-ball fight.”
“That was my paint ball that hit you, H.,” Lucky drawled. “I hope it didn’t hurt too badly.”
“Hey, it’s about time he found out what it feels like just being hit,” Bobby countered in his sub-bass-woofer voice.
“I couldn’t resist,” Lucky continued. “You were such a great, big, perfect target, standing there like that.”
“I think Harvard let you shoot him. I think he was just trying to score some sympathy from P.J.,” Wes said. “Is she hot or is she hot?”
“She’s a colleague,” Harvard said. “Show a little respect.”
“I am,” Wes said. “In fact, there are few things I respect more than an incredibly hot woman. Look me in the eye, H., and tell me that you honestly don’t think this lady is a total babe.”
Harvard had to laugh. Wes could be like a pit bull when he got hold of an idea like this. He knew if he didn’t admit it now, Wes would be on him all night until he finally caved in. He met Crash’s amused gaze and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “All right. You’re right, Skelly. She’s hot.”
“See? Harvard was distracted,” Bobby told Lucky. “That’s the only reason you were able to hit him.”
“Yeah, his focus was definitely not where it should have been,” Lucky agreed. “It was on the lovely Ms. Richards instead.” He grinned at Harvard. “Not that I blame you, Senior Chief. She is a killer.”
“Are you gonna go for her?” Wes asked. “Inquiring minds want to know. You know, she’s short, but she’s got really great legs.”
“And a terrific butt.”
Wes smiled blissfully, closing his eyes. “And an incredible set of—”
“Well, this is really fun.” Harvard looked up to see P. J. Richards standing directly behind him. “But aren’t we going to talk about Tim and Charlie and Greg’s legs and butts, too?” Her big brown eyes were open extra wide in mock innocence.
Silence. Dead, total silence.
Harvard was the first to move, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I have to apologize, ma’am—”
The feigned curiosity in her eyes shifted to blazing hot anger as she glared at him from her barely five-foot-two-inch height.
“No,” she said sharply. “You don’t have to apologize, Senior Chief Becker. What you have to do is learn not to make the same disrespectful mistakes over and over and over again. What you as men have to do is learn to stop dissing women by turning them into nothing more than sex objects. Great legs, a terrific butt and an incredible set of what, Mr. Skelly?” She turned her glare to Wesley. “I have to assume you weren’t about to compliment me on my choice of encyclopedias, but were instead commenting on my breasts?”
Wes actually looked sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry, ma’am.”
“Well, you get points for honesty, but that’s all you get points for,” P.J. continued tartly. She looked from Wes to Bobby to Lucky. “You were the first three tangos I shot out there tonight, weren’t you?” She turned to Crash. “Exactly how many members of your team were hit tonight, Mr. Hawken?”
“Six.” He smiled slightly. “Four of whom you were responsible for.”
“Four out of six.” She shook her head, exhaling in a short burst of disbelief as she glared at the SEALs. “I beat you at your own game, and yet you’re not talking about my skills as a shooter. You’re discussing my butt. Don’t you think there’s something really wrong with this picture?”
Lucky looked at Bobby, and Bobby glanced at Wes.
Bobby seemed to think a response was needed, but didn’t know quite what to say. “Um…”
P.J. still had her hands on the hips in question, and she wasn’t finished yet. “Unless, of course, you think maybe my ability to hit a target was just dumb luck. Or maybe you think I wouldn’t have been able to hit you if I had been a man. Maybe it was my very femaleness that distracted and stupefied you, hmm? Maybe you were stunned by the sight of my female breasts—which, incidentally, boys, are a meager size thirty-two B and can barely be noticed when I’m wearing my combat vest. We’re not talking heavy cleavage here, gang.”
Harvard couldn’t hide his smile.
She turned her glare to him. “Am I amusing you, Senior Chief?”
Damn, this woman was mad. She was funny as hell, too, but he wasn’t going to make things any better by laughing. Harvard wiped the smile off his face. “Again, I’d like to apologize to you, Ms. Richards. I assure you, no disrespect was intended.”
“Maybe not,” she told him, her voice suddenly quiet, “but disrespect was given.”
As he looked into her eyes, Harvard could see weariness and resignation, as if this had happened to her far too many times. He saw physical fatigue and pain, too, and he knew that her head was probably still throbbing from the blow she’d received earlier that evening.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking that despite everything she’d said, Wesley was right. This girl was smoking hot. Even the loose-fitting T-shirt and baggy fatigues she wore couldn’t disguise the lithe, athletic and very female body underneath. Her skin was smooth and clear, like a four-year-old’s, and a deep, rich shade of chocolate. He could imagine how soft it would feel to his fingers, how delicious she would taste beneath his lips. Her face was long and narrow, her chin strong and proud, her profile that of African royalty, her eyes so brown the color merged with her pupils, becoming huge dark liquid pools he could drown in. She wore her hair pulled austerely from her face in a ponytail.
Yeah, she was beautiful. Beautiful and very, very hot.
She stepped around him, heading toward the bar. Harvard caught up with her before she was halfway across the room.
“Look,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the cowboy music blaring from the jukebox. “I don’t know how much of that conversation you overheard—”
“Enough. Believe me.”
“The truth is, you were a distraction out there tonight. To me. Having you there was extremely disconcerting.”
She had her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow raised in an expression of half-disdain, half-disgust. “And the point of your telling me this is…?”
He let his eyelids drop halfway. “Oh, it’s not a come-on line. You’d know for sure if I were giving you one of those.”
Her gaze faltered, and she was the first to look away. What do you know? She wasn’t as tough as she was playing.
Harvard pressed his advantage. “I think it’s probably a good idea for you to know that I believe there’s no room in this kind of high-risk joint FInCOM/military endeavor for women.”
P.J. gave him another one of those you’ve-lost-your-mind laughs. “It’s a good thing you weren’t on the FInCOM candidate selection committee, then, isn’t it?”
“I have no problem at all with women holding jobs in both FInCOM and in the U.S. military,” he continued. “But I believe that they—that you—should have low-risk supporting roles, doing administrative work instead of taking part in combat.”
“I see.” P.J. was nodding. “So what you’re telling me is that despite the fact that I’m the best shooter in nearly all of FInCOM, you think the best place for me is