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left.
    He wanted her, she could tell. But discipline was winning over desire.

    L UC RUSHED TO HIS TRUCK , his muscles practically quivering from the effort to restrain himself from showing Miss Claire Cook how nice that big bed could be. He leaned his forehead against the frame of his red truck. He was totally crazy in the head, to think going out alone into the field with this woman was a good idea.
    Hell, he was totally nuts to have turned her down. Sweet Mam’zelle Claire had practically thrown herself at him, condoms at the ready, and what had he done?
    Turned her down. Turned down a sweet-smelling, shiny-haired, pretty lady with full, plump breasts and dark, shadowy nipples that had poked out like his cock when he touched her.
    He cursed again. If only he’d had even a few days to go out, have a couple beers, meet some good-looking chicks who were interested in checking out his battle scars in close, personal detail. Maybe the top of his head wouldn’t be about to blow off.
    The guys on his team with girlfriends or wives didn’t have this problem. They’d all disappeared into their bedrooms and didn’t come up for air for at least a week.
    But no girlfriend or wife for Luc. He’d seen too many relationships wrecked by Special Forces deployments, seen too many of his teammates dumped via e-mail or satellite phone. Green Berets weren’t supposed to cry but he’d seen his teammates break down. Living in some cave ten thousand miles away from everyone you loved gave a “Dear John” knife in the back an extra-deep twist.
    Luc wasn’t so smug in his current situation, though. He rubbed his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. He needed to get himself under control or else he’d be making his way through the swamp with his pecker pointing the way.

    “W HERE ARE WE GOING?” Claire was shouting since Luc had slipped in a CD of loud rock music. It was probably a good thing she couldn’t understand more than a third of the lyrics. The green dashboard lights showed Luc’s hard, set expression as he tapped his truck’s steering wheel in time to the beat.
    “South.”
    “Oh.” They had left the main road several miles ago and were passing small towns, their lights darkened for the night. “I should call somebody to let them know our plans.” She would need to use his phone, since hers had sported a tracking device, as well.
    Luc lowered the stereo volume slightly. “You left two voice mails and a note for your father. I think he’ll be okay. Pissed off, but okay.”
    “Yes, I know.” Claire twisted her fingers as she looked around the truck’s interior. She’d practically needed a ladder to climb into it, but the interior was almost as luxurious as her dad’s Euro luxury car—soft leather seats, totally digital controls, a smooth ride. Only her father’s German car didn’t have a gun rack in the back window.
    “Where are your guns?” she asked.
    “Why you want to know? You gonna shoot me?”
    “No, of course not.” She was aghast.
    “You might by the time we’re done.” He grinned. “I have a sidearm, a rifle and a shotgun in my bags. All properly unloaded and broken down, of course.” He shot her a look. “You know how to use any of those?”
    “Uh, some target shooting. Oh, and my dad took me skeet shooting once but I wasn’t very good at it. The reporters kept distracting me.”
    “Election year, huh?”
    “Every year is election year when you’re a U.S. Representative.” How many times had Claire and her mother been trotted out at a campaign event? “If it’s not an actual voting year, it’s a fund-raising year. My mother did most of the events until I got out of high school, and then she took a job teaching anthropology at the local college and I volunteered to do more.”
    “Wasn’t your job to do his work for him, Claire.”
    “Public events always look better with family members.” That was what her father had said.
    “Especially if the family members are photogenic