Terms of Surrender

Stop it. It had been far too long since she’d been in a relationship if a guy who’d peeping-Tom’d her when she’d pulled off her underwear was giving her the shivers.

He didn’t peeping-Tom you…you Sharon Stone’d him!

She tried to pull her thoughts together, determined not to give him an opening to make a sleazy remark. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Well, you might not need any help, but I gotta say, you’re really tempting fate.”

Curious about why, but afraid of how he’d answer, she instead replied, “Thanks for your concern, but I’m not worried.”

“Rule-breaker, huh?”

“No.”

“Just like to live dangerously?”

Oh, hell. That cemented it, reminding her of why he’d come over here. He’d definitely seen her strip. “Not in the least.”

“Well, I’ll admit you don’t look the type.”

Her spine stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gesturing toward her hair, then her clothes, he said, “I mean, you look more like a schoolteacher than a rebel.”

That was a good thing. “That’s the plan,” she mumbled.

“You’re not really a teacher, are you?” he asked.

“Not yet.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, damn it.”

“You’re late.”

“How did you ever guess?” she asked, her tone dry.

There went the twinkle. And the dimple. And a broad, white grin. “’Cause you sped in here like demons were on your tail.”

At least he hadn’t said, Demons were on your naked tail.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I have an interview. It’s fifty minutes from now and they said to check in an hour early.”

He waved a hand, unconcerned. “They tell everyone that. But the place is nearly deserted. It won’t take you ten minutes to get the visitor’s pass, I promise. Don’t worry about it.”

“Still, I don’t want to risk it, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“So you’re worried about making a bad impression?”

Blowing out an impatient breath as he stopped her from turning away with just that amused tone in his voice, she admitted, “Yes, okay? Yes, I am.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not doing very well so far.” He pointed to a nearby building. “Personnel offices have a bird’s-eye view of this parking lot.”

Oh, great. Was he saying that he wasn’t the only one who had seen her doing her impromptu striptease? Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked up at the windows, then down at her car, trying to judge the angle. Geometry wasn’t her strongest suit, but it didn’t seem utterly impossible that somebody looking down might have seen as much as this guy had. Plus, she had a sunroof.

“This is bad,” she whispered.

“It’s okay, you can handle it. If anybody says anything, just tell them you were worried about making it on time.”

Gawking, she snapped, “Most people would be too polite to say anything.”

“What does politeness have to do with it?”

“A gentleman wouldn’t put me on the spot about this.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean I wasn’t being a gentleman? My mom’ll be crushed.”

If there had been any snarkiness in his voice, she might have been annoyed, but something about his charm was getting around her defenses. So far, he had been gentlemanly in trying to let her know he’d seen her stripping off her underclothes in broad daylight in a public parking lot.

“Look, I had a run,” she explained, her tone grudging.

He glanced down. “In those heels?”

“Down one whole leg.”

“I thought both legs were usually required for running.”

She managed not to groan, realizing he thought she’d gone for a run. “I had a run in my pantyhose, okay?”

His gaze remained downward, and his voice was the tiniest bit husky when he said, “No big loss. You definitely don’t need ’em. You have great legs.”

Her cheeks warmed. The way he said that indicated he was a leg man. That in itself was refreshing, as most men she knew professionally were interested only in her academic credentials. And the few she met when at a bar or a party were all focused on the two appendages sticking out the front of her body, not the two at the bottom. Hmm. Are breasts appendages?

“Thanks. But the point is, I’m late, I want to make a good impression and I didn’t have time to stop and buy hose.”

He finally got it. “Ahh. That’s why you did it?”

Wondering how pink her cheeks were, she mumbled, “Yes.”

Smiling, he replied, “Well, luckily, I was here to see.”

She gasped. Had he really just said that? Seriously, had he just admitted he’d been lucky enough to catch a crotch-shot from a complete stranger?

“Because, like I said, you really don’t have to sweat the time. So you can go ahead and take care of this.”

“Take care of it?” she asked. What? Did he think she was going to run back and magically produce new pantyhose from her purse, like a rabbit out of a hat, and put them on?

“Sure. Just get back in your car. I’ll help you out.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Uh…”

“I mean, if you need some directions, I can hop in the passenger seat and show you.”

Directions? She’d bet he knew a lot about women’s underwear and could give directions on how to get in—or out—of them.

The very thought of that reminded her again that she wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt; that cool spring breeze flitting up her legs now felt a bit warmer.

The man did put off some serious heat.

She suddenly acknowledged the second big danger of going commando—aside from possibly getting caught. Getting aroused.

No, not aroused. But aware. Very, very aware.

He gestured down at his clothes. “That is, if you don’t mind getting in close quarters with somebody so dirty.”

She gulped, more confused than ever. Was this guy intentionally playing word games? Was he propositioning her…or teasing her? Being flirtatious, or serious? Was she just being dirty-minded when thinking about how he’d said the word dirty?

“I’m not following,” she said.

Appearing sympathetic, he explained, “You look stressed and nervous. Let’s just get in the car and eliminate some of that tension before you go inside.”

Relieve her stress. Her tension.

There was one surefire way to do that. Hmm. Maybe that explained why she’d been stressed for thirteen months, two weeks and four days. Oh, and seven hours. But who was counting how long it had been since she’d been laid? Though, she supposed writing a dissertation had been pretty stressful, too. At least, that’s what the last guy she’d been involved with had thought. He’d stopped calling around the time she hit page one-twenty and officially lost her mind. Well, unofficially lost it—diagnosing yourself was a no-no in her line of work.

“Come on, let’s just do it. You’re running out of time, and you know you’ll feel better afterward.”

There. He’d stopped beating around the bush and suggested they do it. It, it. There had been no suggestive wag of the eyebrows, but what else could he mean? They’d moved beyond flirting and pantyhose. This complete stranger was proposing he help her relieve her tension by having sex in her car.

“It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”

If he did mean it it, she couldn’t help wondering why he’d brag about it being over so fast. But she didn’t wonder long; mainly she just felt disappointed. Yeah, she’d been distracted by his sexy wickedness for a moment or two. But now she could only feel punched in the gut by disappointment. He hadn’t gone for the cheap line right away, but he’d still managed to come up with a sleazy suggestion eventually.

He might look like a blue-collar Prince Charming, but he was just another guy playing a game of follow-the-leader with his own dick.

“I don’t think so. Heaven forbid it take longer than you think,” she said, keeping her chin up and her eyes narrowed.

Marissa turned to walk away, already wondering how long she’d be thinking about those twinkling amber eyes and that incredibly sexy smile. Would she stop wondering what it might be like to kiss those perfect lips with the words that had emerged from them ringing in her ear?

“Okay, it’s your wallet.”

She paused midstep, glancing back at him. “My wallet?”

“Sure. The towing charge is $250.00.”

Utterly confused, she turned around completely. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He pointed to a nearby sign. The one that said, “Employee Parking Only.” In the small print beneath were a few more words: “Violaters Will Be Towed At Owner’s Expense.”

“They’re real Nazis about it, even when the lot’s practically empty.”

Oh. My. God.

“Like I said, getting your car towed out of here during your interview wouldn’t make the best first impression. And I promise, you do have time to move it. This place is pretty dead. I really don’t mind escorting you to the closest public lot.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered. “You were talking about my car? About where I was parked?”

“Of course.” Then, suddenly realizing the same thing she had—that they’d been having two different conversations—the sexy guy quirked a brow and tilted his head.

“What, exactly, were you talking about?”

THE BLONDE WITH THE scraped-back hair, the uplifted chin and the irritated expression was looking at him like he’d sprouted a set of wings out of his back. And while Lieutenant Commander Danny Wilkes did love to fly, he really couldn’t manage it without the aid of an F/A-18 Hornet. Even the most experienced Naval Aviators couldn’t, as far as he knew.

She didn’t answer, merely staring at him with those huge blue eyes, framed with the thickest lashes he’d ever seen. They fluttered as she blinked rapidly, like she was confused, trying to think of what to say. Considering he suspected the two of them had been engaging in totally different conversations, he figured he’d give her a little time to get herself together.

Not physically, of course. Oh, she was already together in that regard.

Funny, ever since he’d caught sight of her a few minutes ago, he’d had the refrain from Van Halen’s Hot For Teacher going through his head. Even before she’d confirmed she was here to interview for a teaching position, she’d just come across as that cross of übersmart and supersexy. Like the fantasy ninth grade science teacher he’d never had.

He didn’t know about the übersmart yet—so far their brief interaction had been a little odd, and she hadn’t been at her conversational best.

But supersexy? Hell, yeah.

Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine what the thick, ash-blond strands would look like falling in a curtain over her shoulders. He’d already noticed the deep blue eyes, but had put away any blue-eyed-blonde-bimbo associations the minute she’d lifted her chin and frowned at him.

There was something sharp about her—a little edgy. He hadn’t seen a single pouty look on her pretty face, nor one heavy-lidded, come-hither stare. And she hadn’t walked or stood in a way that emphasized her curves, sending silent signals every guy learned to recognize by the age of fourteen.

Those curves. Oh, he’d definitely noticed those. He couldn’t help but notice. He’d been openly admiring her slim calves while wondering about the long length of thigh he couldn’t see beneath her skirt.

The clothes might be perfectly respectable—demure, in fact, at least if you looked up the definition of skirt and blouse in the dictionary. But not the way she wore them. The way the skirt hugged every inch of curvy hip and perfect backside, and the afternoon breeze molded her silky blouse against her slim shoulders and full, pert-tipped breasts, made her outfit rank right up there with anything out of Frederick’s of Hollywood.

Sexy and prim, forward and flustered, unsure and determined. All in all, she was a contradictory puzzle—the most interesting one to cross his path in a very long time.

Right now, the only word to describe her was confused. The woman was staring at him, her eyes only slightly rounder than her mouth. It was as if he’d said something incomprehensible.

“Towed?”

He nodded, wondering if he should rethink that smart idea. She seemed to have trouble following a simple conversation. “Yeah. Towed. And then they ransom your car back to you for a ridiculous amount of money. They do it all the time. I think that’s how they’re going to fund the next generation of battleships.”

Her mouth snapped shut, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth for a second. She raised her hand to her face, covering her mouth. Then a sound emerged. A chuckle. Followed by another one. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and she slowly shook her head back and forth.

Danny’s own smile widened. They’d apparently been crossing signals and he trusted she’d soon let him in on the joke. He felt even more sure of that when she dropped her hand and her chuckles turned into snorts of laughter.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“You gonna tell me what we were really talking about?”

“Not on your life.”

Ooh. Interesting. Very interesting. He quickly ran over their conversation in his mind, trying to find anything outrageous, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t do it. He’d asked if she wanted to make a good impression and pointed out the window, she’d admitted she was in a hurry, he’d suggested she take a minute to move her car. What could be more innocent?

Except, the dirty part. But, she couldn’t have thought he meant…no. This teacher-type wouldn’t mentally go there.

Her eyes were now damp with what looked like tears of laughter. Her expression had gone from amused to embarrassed.

Okay. Maybe she had gone there.

“Did you think I was propositioning you? That I wanted to get you in your car to…”

Looking almost sheepish, she slowly nodded.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been told I sometimes move a little fast. But believe me, I do not usually meet a woman, and, five minutes later, tell her she oughta do me in the backseat of her car.”

Another grin. “Your mom definitely wouldn’t think you were gentlemanly if you did that.”

“My dad would be the one who’d whack me one if I ever did such a thing. And my baby sister would kick my ass.”

Her chuckles finally died, though her smile remained. That smile made her look younger, softer. Made her blue eyes gleam in the bright sunlight. Her tension had eased somewhat, so that she didn’t appear as rigid, and a few years had fallen off her face without that frown and pointy chin-lift thing.

“I’d love to stay and apologize for casting aspersions on your character. But I do need to get to my interview.”

He nodded. “I understand. Just move your car. Fast.”

“Done.” She turned to walk back to her car, pausing once to glance back at him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Then, a spontaneous urge made him add, “Maybe I’ll see you when you’re finished.”

She stopped and turned around, looking…interested.

Interesting.

“You’ll be working all afternoon?”

He gestured toward the shop. “Lately it seems like I never get out of here. Some of these officers can man a billion-dollar nuclear submarine but don’t know how to drain the transmission fluid out of a Chevy.”

She nodded once, slowly. “Okay then. Maybe I’ll see you.”

If he had his way, she most definitely would. In fact, he might just have to make sure of it. Though it didn’t need it, maybe he’d pop the hood on his much-babied ’67 Impala and give her another oil change. A lengthy one.

He wanted to see this woman again. He didn’t know her name—God, how could he not have gotten her name?—but he definitely wanted to learn it.

As she got in the car, he almost yelled to ask what he should call her if they happened to bump into each other again. But it seemed a little too pushy. If he was meant to know it, he’d know it. If he was meant to see her again, he’d see her again…oil change or no oil change.

Danny was a big believer in fate. That John Cusack movie, Serendipity, was a major chick flick and he’d pretended to gag his way through it when his sister had made him watch it once. But deep down, he kind of liked the idea.

He wasn’t a very spiritual guy, but he did believe in things like karma and putting out good thoughts and getting them back in return. What goes around, comes around, that kind of stuff. Call it fate, or destiny, whatever.

Things happened for a reason. People came in and out of your life because they were meant to. And if the beautiful blonde was meant to come back into his, she would.

He stood by the motor pool, watching as she got into her little sedan, prepared to wave as she drove by. But a minute went by, and then another, and she didn’t move.

It appeared she wasn’t leaving his life quite as quickly as he’d thought.

Her door opened. One beautiful leg appeared, then she stepped out and turned to face him.

“My car won’t start.”

Danny lifted his eyes toward the sky and smiled.

Serendipity.

2

Saturday, 5/7/11, 02:40 p.m.

www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/07/quickone

Just checking in between interviews on my phone. I was so busy last night getting ready for 2day that I forgot to put up my usual “Saturday Sinners” post.

Newbies—every Sat I talk about somebody who has been very bad this week. Last Sat was about that jerk whose wife found a YouTube vid of him marrying another woman…without getting a divorce first. “Sunday Saints” is about someone very good.

I guess I’m the sinner today ‘cause I forgot to blog.;-)

Anyway, how about you guys take the floor? Say h’lo to each other. I’ll check in when I get home. L8er—

Mari

MARISSA WAS HALFWAY THROUGH her meeting with a woman from Human Resources, feeling confident she’d rocked the interview with the Deputy to the Commandant, when she remembered her underpants.

Oh, not that she wasn’t wearing them. That was impossible to forget. She’d picked a hell of a first time to go commando.

No, she didn’t have to worry about panty lines, but there were definitely other distractions. Like getting used to, uh, everything being exposed to any random updraft.

So, no, she hadn’t forgotten for one minute that she was pantyless beneath her skirt. But she had forgotten—however briefly—what she’d done with those panties. When the woman interviewing her made a comment about a white-glove ceremony, it popped into her mind that she’d left her silky black undergarment, along with her pantyhose, in her car’s glove box.

And an adorably sexy, very nice mechanic was right now working on her car, having insisted he didn’t mind trying to find out what was wrong with it while she was at her interview.

And in order to check out what was wrong with the car, he might need to get the owner’s manual.

And while reaching into that glove box for that manual, he might just grab a fistful of recently worn lingerie.

Oh, God.

Under normal circumstances, a superhot, sexy dude touching her underwear might give her a little thrill. Normal circumstances being if said underwear happened to be on her person at the time.

But superhot, sexy dude finding them balled up in her car, and wondering what the hell kind of psycho takes off her underwear right before an important job interview?

Uh, yeah. Not so much.

“You are so screwed,” she muttered with a groan.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” asked the woman.

Things just go from bad to worse.

Fortunately, her interviewer was distracted, flipping through a file, and had barely glanced up. Yanking her thoughts together, Marissa stammered, “Uh, you’re so…shrewd. I mean, the way you have everything organized.” Forcing a laugh, she added, “My home office is a mess, I can never find anything.”

“I see.”

The woman offered her a tight smile. It could have been genuine, or it could have been her way of humoring Mari while she figured out a way to make sure the crazy blonde who talked to herself in the middle of a meeting didn’t get hired. The woman probably already disliked her because she had to work on a Saturday, the Deputy to the Commandant being too busy with end-of-the-year activities to schedule a weekday interview.

Sighing deeply, Mari said, “Forgive me, I’m a little nervous. I’m mumbling.”

The woman’s face softened. “It’s okay.” Lowering her voice and leaning closer, she added, “And don’t worry—you’re not screwed. In fact, I think you did very well.”

Oh, Lord. Definitely bad to worse. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it. Believe me, I work around a bunch of sailors all the time. The language can be…salty.”

The ice broken, they spent the next half hour talking about the job, which Marissa wanted more than ever. At first, it had just been about employment—getting paid to do something other than peddling overpriced shoes at a Harbor Place boutique so she could pay the bills. Now that she’d come here and learned more about the guest lecturer position—what she’d be doing, who she’d be talking to, why she was needed—she knew she wanted it. Badly.

As someone who’d had to play mom for her younger siblings from the age of fourteen, Marissa knew she was good with teens and young adults. She could relate to them—maybe because she’d still been a kid herself when she’d been thrust into such an adult role.

She could manage both mindsets. Could dish with her eighteen-year-old sister about some hot guy she’d met in Bio 101, but also put on the cautionary Mom hat and remind her that college was about learning, not about guys.

She could support her twenty-one-year-old brother when he decided to go to art school rather than finish college, and also worry about how he was going to support himself drawing comic books.

And as for her twenty-six-year-old brother, well, hers would be the shoulder he would lean on when he finally decided to come out to their incredibly old-fashioned, rigid father…who so wasn’t equipped to deal with having a gay son.

Yes, she was definitely part old soul, part young adult, and had been for fifteen years. So she had the right background to deal with college kids.

Plus, she’d grown up in the military. She’d been a victim of one of its most common negative side effects—spouses unable to deal with it, families wrecked because of it. Kids raised by distant, rigid, militaristic parents. She knew what happened to the children of weak mothers who couldn’t cope and cheating fathers who couldn’t love.

“The Deputy to the Commandant told you why some midshipmen will be returning here before the official start of the summer semester?” asked the interviewer.

Mari nodded. “He said they are faced with washing out.”

“Yes. Some should, either for academic reasons or lack of seriousness about their decision to attend.”

“I’m sure there are some who apply for the wrong reasons.”

“Exactly. Others, though, might succeed, but they’re unsure about whether they can live a military life, or have unrealistic expectations about what that life entails.”

“Hence the need for a reality check.”

“Exactly.”

Bringing in guests to talk to these young men and women on their own terms, about real-life issues they faced—outside the day-to-day of the military—seemed like a very good idea. One guest speaker was an accountant who would be showing them what their financial futures might look like. Another was a diplomat who’d be talking about the big world picture.

And if she got the job, Mari—Dr. Marissa Marshall, who wrote a dissertation on the effect of the military on relationships and families—would be discussing their personal lives. Dating, marriage, children. Confusion over gender roles and the trouble sexism can bring into a household. The costs, the sacrifices, the potential pitfalls.

It made sense. A lot of sense. She only hoped the deputy agreed she was the right person for the job, and that he wasn’t too worried about her age, which he’d mentioned a couple of times during their meeting.