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Lee-Ann Graff Vinson

Lee-Ann GraffVinson, Author of Love and Liberty

Thirty-nine years and two children later, my life finally came back to my passion—writing. Every author knows it is passion, perseverance and a thick skin that breeds success. Hell, that is what breeds success in every walk of life. Success to me is the completion of a rather good piece of writing, if I do say so myself. Luck is the ability to have it published for everyone else to read.

So, to hurry along my passion of becoming successfully lucky, I entered into the Winghill School of Writing, joined various writing groups, and follow diligently the advice Writer’s Digest sends to my email box almost daily. It is safe to say that the pipe dream of becoming a professional writer is no longer just that. I have worked in various fields in my life, some fulfilling, some not. But, as you know, a career is not what makes you. It is the full aspect of family, friends, loved ones and work that give you your joy or edge. All gave me insight into the way in which the world, and the people in it, revolve. Now that I am, dare I say, older, I am able to look at these “experiences” and channel them into a therapy like no other—writing.

Life is full of mysterious, romantic, hurtful, joyous, painful encounters. What would the world be without its pain and suffering or its ecstatic happiness? Real life occurrences are what make us who we are. They also make up the majority of my writing style. I can create fantasy and spiritual as well. Let’s face it, life without a little fantasy now and then can seem quite daunting, and we are all spiritual creatures, whether we like it or not. What intrigues me most is the ability of the human mind and heart to overcome.

So, here I sit in my suburban home office, watching all the trials and tribulations of life, and living some of them, forever in hope of creating the next best-seller. Until then, I am enjoying all the bumps and rejections I receive along this journey and am a firm believer in “what doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.”

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New Title(s) from Lee-Ann Graff Vinson

Georgia's Smile by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson Love's Trust by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson Callie's Fate by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson Love and Liberty by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson
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Georgoa's Smile by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson
Georgia parked in front of the flower shop where she worked. Her eye throbbed behind her dark sunglasses. She knew she had to leave her husband, Philip, but after last night’s threat of what would happen if she did, she was even more scared to go. Little did Georgia know that when she opened her car door to go to work that morning, she would run into the man who was willing to change all of that.

Marc Ramos was a man, a very handsome, but married, man. A man who made Georgia’s heart beat again after years of neglect. His mere touch sent chills through her body and took her breath away. Never before had Georgia felt such passion for a man, and definitely not a man she had almost brought to his knees with her car door.
Word Count: 4700
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $2.99 
Love's Trust by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson  Daphne Lambert left the comforts of home to spend three months living a soldier’s life in Iraq. A reporter for the Boston Globe, Daphne patrolled along side some of the Army’s finest. When their troop triggered a planted IED, Daphne never expected to find true love in the arms of her savior. A man who, she would later find out, was the intended target of the bomb.

Sergeant John Ramos was a well-respected leader of his platoon. A routine search for IED’s ended up in the death of two good soldiers, and the loss of a leg for John. One year later, John finds himself the target of a court martial and the only person he can turn to for help is the woman he saved, the woman he loves.

Word Count: 10,500
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $3.99
Read the In-House Reviews of Love's Trust
Callie's Fate by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson  When Callie takes the red-eye home to surprise her husband for their anniversary, she finds the surprise is on her. She watches as a blonde tart in six-inch heels teeters out from her home and toward a cherry-red Mustang, which is parked in her spot.

Enraged, Callie does the only thing she can do. She drives to her favorite coffee house, scrolls through divorce lawyers who claim to eat cheating husbands for breakfast, and cries. Her only consolation is Christian, a Marine, whom she befriended on a chat site almost a year earlier.

While waiting for her marriage to end, Callie agrees to finally meet Christian in person. She has always been a woman in control, but the mere touch of this man has her begging for more. Christian is only too happy to oblige, leaving Callie agreeing with the motto ‘The Few and The Proud’. She has never experienced a man who could make her see stars, but Christian does his duty, and does it well.

Unhappy circumstances bring them together. A week of sexual bliss makes it impossible for them to part, leaving them to wonder how they can, once again, test the hands of fate.

Word Count: 15500
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $3.99

Read the In-House Reviews of Callie's Fate! 
Love and Liberty by Lee-Ann Graff-Vinson  Captain Dana Jenkins of the United States Army is about to embark on a mission that will change her life. This isn’t Dana’s first deployment, but it is proving possibly to be her last. As part of the platoon traveling from Camp Liberty, Iraq to Camp Taji, Dana’s convoy gets ambushed. She and the surviving soldiers are taken prisoner by the merciless Iraqi rebel group, Al-Moofoona. Their only hope lies in the hands of their fearless leader, Captain Jack Parsons—the man with whom Dana has fallen hopelessly in love.

Captain Jack Parsons can only sit and watch as what is left of his platoon is ordered into the back of a truck. Along with his men, they’ve taken the only woman he’s ever allowed to penetrate his heart. Jack is going to do everything in his power to save them all before it’s too late.

Word Count: 22,600
Buy at: Smashwords (all formats) ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Amazon
Price: $3.99

Love and Liberty by Lee-Ann Graff Vinson  Order the Love and Liberty PRINT Book Today! (ISBN: 978-1-61950-051-8)


Georgia's Smile

On Tuesday morning, Georgia Robinson drove her usual route to her job at the floral shop. One eye was almost swollen shut behind her dark sunglasses, making it difficult for her to see the road. She came to an abrupt stop at a red light and watched as a young couple crossed the street in front of her. They were holding hands and laughing as they walked, as if to a single melodic beat. Georgia startled at the sound of a car horn honking behind her. She looked at the now green light and stepped on the gas.

Her life was not going the way she had intended. At thirty-six, Georgia sold bouquets to men and women wanting to surprise their loved ones. Her dream of university after high school and becoming a lawyer ended when her father died and she’d gone to work to help her mother pay the bills.

She met Philip the day after she turned nineteen. He had entered the flower shop and asked Georgia to give him the biggest and best bouquet of flowers she could create and send them to his mother for her birthday. When he came back to the shop the following day to ask her out on a date, she thought her struggle had finally ended. The day she brought him home to meet her mother, Philip told her she would marry him someday. He was handsome in a Phi Beta Kappa sort of way and worked at his father’s investment banking firm handling the investment loans department. He was successful and four years her senior; he looked out for her.

When Georgia’s mother passed away from alcohol abuse three years later, Philip proposed to her while standing at her mother’s bedside. Two weeks later, at city hall, Georgia stood beside Philip and exchanged vows. He moved into Georgia’s childhood home and assumed the mortgage, making changes to the décor here and there as he saw fit. Georgia didn’t mind because she thought she would finally be able to go back to school to fulfill her dream. Philip would take care of her now.

Stopped at another light, Georgia almost choked on the memory. The only person Philip took care of was himself. When Georgia had asked Philip if she could go back to school to become a lawyer, Philip made a guffaw sound first and then, when he saw she was serious, he let out a giggle that turned into a riotous laugh. In between fits, he told her no one as stupid as her would ever make it in the world of law. You needed intelligence, you needed animal instincts, and you needed a backbone. All of which, Philip informed her, she didn’t have.

Georgia tried to end her marriage to Philip shortly after his degrading verbal attack. That was when the first beating occurred. The backhand was unexpected and hit her square on the jaw. Now the violence was a regular occurrence. Typically, the marks were in areas that could be covered up but last night’s warring had left Georgia with a large shiner to her left eye, one she knew her boss, Natalie, would hit the roof over.

Georgia pulled into her parking spot and sat with the engine idling, staring ahead into the window of the flower shop. Her eyes scanned the jargon below the business name ‘Petunia’s Flower Shop. If she was good enough for Porky, she’s good enough for you’. Georgia reread the words and stopped on the phrase ‘good enough’.

“That is something I will never be if I stay with you, Philip,” Georgia said aloud. She let out a heavy sigh, shut off her vehicle and swung her door open.

“Whoa!” said a masculine voice in alarm. Georgia looked up and saw she had almost knocked over a man. On closer inspection, she noticed he was a very attractive man and he was smiling down at her.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Georgia said. “Are you alright?” From behind the protection of her sunglasses, Georgia looked into the stranger’s eyes and felt a slight buzz shoot through her body. Her chest felt funny and then she realized it was the pounding of her heart.

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Love's Trust

Daphne threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. She could see her now ex-boyfriend, Mike, yelling at her, but the driving rain drowned out the possibility of hearing his scathing comments as it thundered down on the canvas roof of her Mercedes.

Daphne would have laughed at the comical nature of Mike’s actions if it hadn’t been for the last six months of crap she had taken from this man. Another relationship bites the dust, and along with it another chance at happily-ever-after ground out like a spent cigarette. The possibility of finding a man who would treat her with the respect, hell even the common courtesy she deserved, seemed non-existent. As the car reached the edge of the driveway, Daphne turned the wheel and took one last look at Mike, standing there in his boxer shorts, giving her the finger. She felt dead inside. She focused on the road ahead and drove away from the promise of love.

Daphne wondered how she had ended up here again, how she always ended up here. She’d worked hard and won scholarships to put herself through university, graduating from Harvard with a degree in journalism. Daphne was smart and successful, so why could she not seem to find a man who appreciated her instead of always belittling her efforts? She shook her head as she drove along Pine Street, very thankful now that she hadn’t given up her apartment downtown when Mike had told her to. That had caused yet another argument but Daphne was not about to let go of her rent controlled, fully furnished apartment a mere two blocks away from her job as a reporter for The Boston Globe. No man was going to dictate where she lived or what she did again. Ever.

Daphne pulled into her designated parking spot at the newspaper. She turned off the engine and dropped her head back against the leather seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glitter of the parking lot lamplight reflecting off her stall nameplate in the downpour. Her boss had tacked a metal replica of a purple heart to it to remind her how close she had come to losing it all on her last assignment.

Daphne had been a slave to reporting the military political injustices of the world for the past eight years. She loved her job, which included travel to many war-torn areas. She’d seen the devastation caused by years of bullets and brutality. Her most recent trip to Iraq was one she’d steeled herself for. This time, instead of simply observing, Daphne got the chance to become part of the troops, and live the life of the American soldier. The assignment was one of the most difficult she’d ever taken, and she’d found that studying up on a topic and actually living it were two different things. She’d seen the terror on the faces of small children when the MRAP vehicle she was in rumbled along the dirt roadway through their village. Daphne had witnessed the missing limbs and scarred flesh of the civilian Iraqi men, women and children as she walked the dirt roads looking for (Improvised Explosive Devices or IED’s) with her assigned platoon. She was shown pictures of the enlisted friends of her troop members who no longer walked alongside them, but would never be forgotten. She saw first-hand the pain and suffering caused by militant war-mongers and it sickened her.

In her three months in Iraq, Daphne had gotten to know the soldiers very well. She’d watched as four young, vibrant, enthusiastic recruits became despondent shells of their former selves dealing with their injuries and the pain of being knocked down so early in their military career. In their eyes, the stigma of failing their country was worse than the injuries. The minds of soldiers were directed to giving their all for their country, and being sent home alive but crippled left them with a feeling of inadequacy almost unbearable to behold.

Daphne also remembered Sergeant John Romero, a well-respected leader amongst the men and women in his platoon, and the man who saved her when their patrol had triggered an IED. John lost his leg getting Daphne to the safety of the following MRAP vehicle. Two soldiers lost their lives on a day that was supposed to be a routine sweep. It continued to haunt Daphne that the IED wasn’t found when Sergeant Romero walked over it with his bomb detector. She wanted to do a follow-up story delving into the equipment failure rates of the military, but decided against it. She didn’t want to cause John any further angst over an incident he blamed himself for. John was thorough in his job. He never made errors. The day the explosion took the lives of his platoon members, his friends, he shut down. Daphne had tried to get him help, tried to make him keep the appointment with the psychologist the Army set up for him, but he refused.

John and Daphne were close, as close as the Army allowed without a reprimand. They drank many bottles of water together and shared a lifetime of memories in those months. Daphne was impressed by this quiet leader of men, who gave his all for his country and his platoon. He was the type of man you never forgot. Honorable. Courageous. Worthy.

Shortly after her return, Daphne wrote an award-winning article about her time in Iraq. It was an in-depth piece compiled from hours of interviews Daphne had conducted with the soldiers while they were in the field. It was her way of trying to help them heal. Once the piece was done, Daphne lost touch with the four wounded soldiers she flew back with after the accident, as well as with John. He’d told her that he needed to get away, needed to make sense of things. Daphne let him go, but her heart broke the day they said goodbye.

Still sitting in the car, Daphne closed her eyes and thought about one of the first nights she and John were on duty together. It was shortly after she had been trained to use the M9 9mm pistol. There was no way Daphne was going to be the weak link in this platoon. If she was going to live the life of a soldier, she needed to be trained as a soldier. Given the time constraints, she worked harder than she ever had at anything in her life. She was not going to let her platoon down. It paid off, she was a damn good shot with her weapon, even Lieutenant Jekholf was impressed.

John led Daphne around the perimeter of the camp, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. John had stopped to speak with one of his platoon members who had a few questions about the next days mission. Daphne thought she spotted movement behind one of the buildings. She did not want to interrupt them if it was nothing so, armed with her M9 and ready to shoot, Daphne walked in the direction of the possible intruder. She knew she was a decent shot and she momentarily got a little excited about the possibility of showing off her newfound talent. Daphne was close to rounding the corner of the building when common sense kicked in. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The thought of coming face to face with the enemy scared the hell out of her. Sweat trickled down her back. She needed to pull it together and fast.

There was no way she was going to allow herself to lose it here. If mere kids could handle the stress of this type of situation, so could she. Daphne rounded the corner and could hear some rustling coming from a small shack that held sandbags. Before she could take aim, she was pressed roughly against the wall of the building and told to be quiet. Daphne’s heart was racing before, now it damn near exploded in fear. Her mouth was scared shut. She recognized the voice to be John’s and prayed that her stupid decision to go off alone wasn’t going to get them killed. John’s movements were quick and efficient. His gun was drawn and pointed as he silently made his way across open ground, and stood to the side of the doorway.

John nudged the door open further, using the tip of one boot to keep his hands free and on his weapon. Lighting was minimal in this area. Daphne felt her pupils dilating to compensate, almost willing herself to see something before it was too late. The shape was fast as it shot out past John’s boot. Daphne held a scream in her throat as she pulled her weapon to cover him. John took aim and shot. In less than a second, the form lay limp on the ground. Men and women came running from all directions with their weapons drawn.

Daphne was shaking and unable to move. Her hands trembled from the tight grasp on her weapon still aimed in the direction of the lifeless body. She stared at her platoon members now gathered around it, hearing a few of them laugh. She watched as someone patted John on the back before turning away and walking back to the camp. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were laughing. Someone was dead, and they were laughing. Daphne felt the heat as it rose within her. Her anger forced her shaking limbs to close the distance between her and the rest of her team.

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Callie's Fate

Callie parked her car across the street from her house. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she didn’t feel them. She was numb. Angry. Done. She had to hand it to him. Donald’s taste in women had improved since the first time she’d caught him cheating. The blonde, in her six-inch, cherry-red heels, clicked merrily across the driveway to her car. The Mustang was noticeably the same shade of slut as her shoes and was parked contemptuously in Callie’s spot. She scowled as the tart shimmied herself into the car. Her mini skirt was wrinkled and tight. She probably didn’t even take it off.

Callie had just arrived home from a five-day pharmaceutical conference where she’d been working twelve-hour days promoting one of her company’s new drugs. Exhausted, she’d caught the red-eye to make it back on time. Today was their fourteenth wedding anniversary, and she wanted to surprise her husband with a day of wine tours and food samplings she’d booked online while she was away. This was the second time the surprise had been on her.

When he’d done it the first time, she couldn’t believe the man she’d entrusted her heart to would hurt her in such a deceitful manner. She’d married him because he was safe. He definitely was not the partying type. He never stayed out late with the boys, and he’d always come home right after work. He was, well... boring. He was the one man she’d thought she didn’t have to worry about. Although they didn’t share the same interests—she loved the outdoors, running and biking and he was happy in front of the television drinking a few beers—she loved him and he loved her. Or at least he told her he did.

Back then she’d had an overwhelming sense of failure and guilt, thinking his affair was somehow her fault. Her job took her away quite a bit and when she was home, she worked such long hours they rarely had time for a quickie, let alone what he would call “substantial” sex.

She stared at the car backing out of her driveway. She didn’t have those same feelings of guilt, heartache and complete devastation as before. Only anger and emptiness remained. After eighteen months of counseling and thousands down the drain, this was what they’d accomplished? Well, not again. No more lies. No more wasted money. This time she was done for good.

Her first instinct was to throw open the front door and wipe that smirk off his face with a baseball bat, screaming every obscenity she could think of. She wanted to cause him extreme pain. It’s our stupid anniversary!

As much as physically beating him appealed to her, she needed to hit him harder, in a way that made complete recovery impossible. No, violence wasn’t the answer. Her next move needed to be one that would hurt him as much as he’d killed their marriage. She needed professional help. It was time to consult with the people who knew him best––The Law Offices of Divorce-A-Cheating-Ass.

Callie started her car and gunned it down the street. She expertly cut off Donald’s newest ride, eliciting quite a resentful honk from her, which she quite happily returned with the full length of her middle finger. She sped down the street and away from her beloved home.

The Starbucks parking lot was almost empty as she maneuvered her shiny, silver Chrysler 200 into a lonely spot. She popped her trunk and got out. She always bloated on long flights and her black suede platform heels were beginning to pinch. She tugged at the ruffled skirt she typically wore on business trips, which was now cutting into her waist. She was about to grab her jeans and sneakers from her suitcase to change into, when she heard the vocal admiration of a passing, very well-built, fetching, young male cyclist. She decided against comfort and tossed the items back in. Damn right, I’m sexy.

At thirty-seven, Callie still had a great figure. She wasn’t statuesque, but her legs were muscular, giving the illusion of length. Her waist was narrow. So was her chest, but nothing a Victoria’s Secret push-up couldn’t cure—and she wore it well. Her blonde hair was long and straight, fanning out across her shoulders to mid-back. However, her eyes were what gave Callie her power. The large cobalt orbs could stop men at twenty paces. A flutter of the eyelashes followed by an intent gaze could get her anything she wanted. She used her power well; it had gained many large contracts for her company.

She pulled out her laptop bag and closed her trunk. It was going to take a lot of research to find the perfect attorney who would represent her in the courtroom. Donald wasn’t going to get away with it this time. The son-of-a-bitch!

She found a table and took out her laptop, then stood in line to order while she waited for it to boot up. Now, what type of coffee does a day like today require? When it was her turn to order, Callie spoke with no emotion. “May I please have an I-just-caught-my-loser-of-a-husband-cheating-with-a-whore-and-I’m-going-to-take-him-to-the-cleaners grande, skinny, extra-hot, caramel macchiato?”

The barista stared at her for a brief moment before replying “Of course, and how about we just go ahead and make that a venti at no extra charge?”

The wink she gave Callie was one of a woman familiar with her kind of day, and Callie knew she’d chosen her sanctuary well.

Coffee in hand, she sat down in front of her laptop and sighed. She shook her head as she searched through the myriad of divorce attorneys. How did she get here again? How did she not see this coming?

Tramp-happy Donald was currently between jobs, as he liked to tell anyone who cared to ask. A plumber by trade, they’d met when the pipe in her en suite bathroom burst one Sunday afternoon. She’d called the first company listed in the yellow pages and paid an arm and a leg for the repair, but thoroughly enjoyed the view as she waited for it to be fixed. Donald’s well-rounded, firm, plumber-butt definitely drew her away from her laptop, and she was thrilled when he’d asked for her number. However, his idea of a stellar evening included darts and drinks at his favorite pub, which was where he took her on their first date. And the next five. She’d always dreamed she would find a man who was kind, loving and, of course, fabulously sexy. Instead, she’d found Donald. He drew her in with winks and compliments. He held mystical powers when it came to bullshit, which he opened up like a clogged drain when he was with her. They used to talk a lot back then. She was attracted to his easy-going confidence. She was comfortable in his company and satisfied in his bed. Now, Callie realized he’d played her. She was merely his meal ticket with the option of sex.

Callie had never had a long-term, serious relationship before she met Donald. Her drive to climb the proverbial ladder had kept her from having time to socialize outside of work. Somehow, this man had wrenched his way into her heart. She’d allowed him into her life, her home... and now she was paying for him to plumb someone else’s pipes.

“Idiot,” she said.

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Love and Liberty

Chapter 1

“Did you want to show up at the briefing, perhaps add anything at all, Captain Parsons?” Dana’s tone dripped with sarcasm as the platoon captain picked at a hole in his binder. Her mouth hung open in utter disbelief at Parson’s disrespect throughout her short, but critical session.

She knew well enough, when the platoon Captain dissed the intelligence officer, the enlisted usually followed. Thankfully, she’d already proven to these guys she knew what the hell she was talking about. She’d also shown she didn’t take crap from anyone, including Captain Parsons.

The eyes of the platoon were on Parsons as they waited for his explosion. When the eruption didn’t occur, a few voices began whispering around the tables. Dana heard them question whether or not Parsons was mentally ready to take on another mission so soon. Less than a week prior, his convoy underwent intense sniper attack. Luckily he’d gotten all his chicks back to the henhouse safely that night.

“Captain?” Dana raised her voice a few octaves to get his attention, yet not show any disrespect in front of his troops. His impatient finger-tapping ceased. // “I do, Captain Jenkins,” he replied. “Thank you for your briefing.”

Dana sank down into her chair. Incredulous, she stared at Jack as he rose abruptly and addressed his platoon, “Listen up, everyone. Captain Jenkins has informed us of known current enemy activity in the area we will be traveling through at 18:30 hours. We know the hot spots. I want all of you to make sure your gear is ready. And I want everyone paying attention on this one. That is all.”

Ignoring Dana, he dismissed his troops and shoved the booklet of papers for the mission into the standard blue folder he always carried. He turned his back on Dana as he made a hasty retreat from the room.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Jack’s actions during her briefing irritated her, but his benign addition to her already extremely thorough rundown of the evening’s convoy pissed her off. He’d fidgeted the entire time, as though it had been a chore to sit through her presentation. She saw a couple of his men throw questioning looks at each other as they watched their Captain, but none of them said a word to him when they left.

Dana packed up her overhead sheets, her books of recorded enemy activity, and her stats on recent enemy actions and threw them back into the plastic bin. The smacking of the binders echoed across the room as they hit their target. It took a lot for Dana to lose her cool. She’d worked hard getting current and accurate stats for this mission on very short notice. A little appreciation wouldn’t have gone amiss.

She maintained control of her emotions in every situation except one—disrespect. She put in long hours to ensure the people in need received every angle of enemy activity known by the United States Army Intelligence (S2) division before they went out on a mission. Information was her job, and she was the best in her field.

Dana scoffed and shook her head. “Ass,” she mumbled.

Her pen rolled off the table, displacing a fine powder of dust into the air. It seemed all you had to do in this country was wave your arm and the dust flew. It stuck to your skin and covered every inch of bare flesh. She bit back a sneeze and bent to retrieve it. Two lonely, hand-written sheets of paper lay under Jack’s chair. Peeved as she was, she knew he needed them. She snatched them up and tossed them on top of her bin.

One of the pieces had doodles on it, and her curiosity got the best of her. She placed the papers on the table for closer inspection. The mission and its members were listed, along with the number and type of vehicles to be used. Arrows were drawn from each soldier to his associated vehicle, all scribbled in red ink, which was an oddity for Jack. His notes were always meticulously scribed, ensuring no mistakes. This was almost unintelligible. The second sheet bore nothing but doodles of birds. Okay, Jack. What the hell is going on? She placed the papers back in the bin and carried her box of information and anger out the door, passing a few members of the platoon.

“Anyone see where Captain Parsons went?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“I think he went back to his room, Captain Jenkins,” replied one of them.

“Thanks,” she said.

Dana turned and marched to the barracks. Her determined stride increased in ferocity with each step. She held the bin on her hip with one hand as she pounded on the door with the other. No one banged on the Captain’s door. It was a sure-fire way to land yourself in PT (physical training); hell, but Dana didn’t care. The harsh squeak of the door as it swung open matched the anger in Parson’s voice.

“Get in here,” he snapped.

Dana glared at him, but entered the room. She slammed the bin down on a small desk that faced the door. “What the hell is...” Dana didn’t get a chance to finish her grilling of Parsons.

Jack backed her up against the now-closed door and roughly pressed his mouth to her lips. He kissed her with a hunger so intense she could feel him shake. Need displaced her anger. She wrapped her arms around his wide back and ran her hands across the taut muscles. Her knees buckled as her mind melted in their passion. This was the only time Dana allowed herself to let go, to let her guard down, to be free. Jack held her fast with one arm. The other popped the buttons of her shirt, cupped her small, firm breasts and squeezed. His tongue darted into her mouth. Dana found his belt, released the clasp, unbuttoned his pants and reached inside. She wrapped her fingers around his rock-hard length. He bit her lip in response. His eyes clouded with lust as a deep moan filled her mouth.
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