A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
A Soldier’s Seduction
Copyright © 2008 by EM Brown
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-173-9
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
To My Husband
Chapter One
Eying herself in the mirror to see that all the elements of her police outfit were in place, from the silver badge to the black cap, Pauline San Martin told herself that even though she was dressed for a striptease, even though she had received a pink slip before she had started her new job, and even though her boyfriend had dumped her just three weeks ago, life could be worse. Of course, for someone who had her health, a roof over her head – at least for now—and most of her life still ahead of her, life could be a lot worse.
“It can always be worse,” her roommate Crystal had whined. “But just because I should be grateful that I’m not dying of starvation in some impoverished Third World country doesn’t mean I should be happy about our situation. I could really use a new pair of Uggs for the winter.”
Pauline looked down at her black over-the-knee boots that accompanied her faux leather mini-skirt and fur-lined handcuffs. Unlike the rest of her outfit, which was purchased at a second-hand costume shop, the boots were her own clothing and made of genuine leather. They were perhaps the most expensive wardrobe item she owned, and unless her job prospects changed, she was going to have to make this pair last a long time.
She looked hot. Not supermodel-hot, for she wasn’t one of those women who weighed a hundred and ten pounds despite their six foot height and size D boobs. With her almond eyes and long lashes, she was decent-looking, but was not a knockout. She had a trim but not skinny figure, a little wide in the hips, tall for someone who was part Filipina, shoulders that never required shoulder pads, and long hair that seemed neither brown nor black but a nondescript middling color that Crystal said only needed some highlights to make interesting. But if Brad could see her now, maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to dump her.
Or maybe he would. His new girlfriend was a blond bombshell with legs that went on forever. And she drove a sleek silver BMW convertible. There was no way Pauline, with her little Toyota Tercel, could compete with that.
And though she and Brad had only been dating for two months, she had had the feeling that Miss Blond Bombshell hadn’t been a recent find. So it was just as well that Brad had dumped her rather than continue to two-time her.
“You’ve got to stop dating those bad boy types,” Crystal had told her. “Women like to think they’re that special someone who can turn a bad boy good, but the truth is a bad boy is always a bad boy.”
“It’s worse than that. I was dating him for his motorcycle,” Pauline had quipped.
And it was partly true. Brad had a very nice bike. When he had pulled up on his Harley with his I-know-I-can-get-you-in-bed-with-just-my-smile smirk, looking like James Dean or Marlon Brando, she had fallen for him, and knew it wasn’t going to take more than two or three dates to go from first base to home.
“How did I let you talk me into this?” Crystal groaned, pulling uncomfortably at her short nurse’s outfit.
She was standing with Pauline in the women’s room of the Visitor Center at the Brandywine Battlefield Historic Site in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, just an hour’s drive from Philadelphia.
“You realize if anyone finds out we did this, we’re never going to get jobs as teachers. They won’t let us near kids,” Crystal added.
“This is easy money,” Pauline reminded her, turning around to see that her own mini-skirt barely covered her butt cheeks and the black thong underneath. “And the landlord told me if we’re late on our rent for the third time, we’re out of there.”
“You’d think that someone with our backgrounds—our educations and all the goddamn loans we took out to get where we are—you’d think we wouldn’t have to resort to this kind of work.”
“It’s a striptease, Crystal, not prostitution.”
“And why are we doing this here? This is such a funky place.”
“You’ve never been here? I think it’s a really cool place. It’s beautiful and loaded with history.”
“Why don’t these guys go to a club?” Crystal persisted.
Pauline dabbed at her lipstick – the only make-up she tended to wear. “Because it’s a surprise party for the groom-to-be.”
“What if there are kids and families around? We could get caught for indecent exposure.”
“The park will be closed.”
“What about our bouncer?”
“He’s doing the reenactment, too. I’ll go first. You can be the surprise second act. And remember my stage name is Miss Lipps. Pauline just doesn’t cut it.”
When she was a girl, she had always given herself imaginary names. Names that were a lot more romantic and feminine than Pauline. She wished she could have been born a Charlotte, Marianne, or Brianna. But her father had wanted to name his firstborn after his father, and so Pauline it was.
“All right,” Crystal grumbled. “I’m just gonna do my hair and I’ll meet you outside.”
Pauline wanted to tell her friend that the men wouldn’t be looking at her hair, but she decided not to say anything. Putting on a trench coat that made her feel like a bank robber, she headed back out into the lobby of the Visitor Center.
She thought about what Crystal had said and had to agree that she never thought she would come to this. She had gotten herself through college, worked for Teach for America, gotten a master’s degree in education, and tonight she was going to be a stripper. Someone hadn’t gotten the memo about how her career was supposed to turn out. She was supposed to be a high school history teacher – although she would have been happy teaching almost anything, history was where her heart lay.
And there was no way she was going back to live with her mom and dad in Connecticut, even though she knew many of her generation had. All three of her brothers were living on their own, making it work. She didn’t want to be the only one who had to crawl back to mom and dad.
Past the cash register and the gift shop, the small museum within the Center had a collection of items dating back to the American Revolution: uniforms, weapons, and even jewelry. Pauline studied a silver pocketwatch with the name Bradford engraved upon the inside cover. The note next to the watch read ‘Property of British General Stephen Bradford, fell at the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse, 1778.’
The Visitor Center was closing soon, so Pauline decided to take a walk outside. Less crowded than many other parks, there was serenity among its rolling hills and lush trees. Pauline would have liked to see the reenactment of what was one of the largest single day battles in the American war for independence. The Battle of Brandywine actually occurred 232 years ago almost to the day on September 11, 1777. As she walked up one of the hills, she tried to imagine whose footsteps might have tread where she now walked. George Washington? Alexander Hamilton? And what would it have felt like to be…
Before she could finish her thought, she tripped over the roots of a tree and tumbled headfirst down the hill. The world went black.
Chapter Two
Through the darkness, the steady beating of her heart seemed to amplify the throbbing ache in her head. Pauline opened one eye. The hill hadn’t been that steep, yet she felt as if she had fallen from the rooftop of the Visitor Center. With a groan, she pushed herself onto her knees and waited for the world to stop whirling. She examined herself. No broken bones. No torn clothing. Just a few scratches on her arms and thighs and a general soreness throughout her body. She brushed the dirt from her leather skirt.
The striptease!
Scrambling to her feet, Pauline glanced at her watch. 5:33 PM. She was only a few minutes late. Crystal was probably wondering where she was. Trying to shake off the fog around her head, Pauline headed in the direction of the reenactment site where the men were supposed to be waiting. Oddly, it seemed darker than she remembered. Darker than it should be for 5:33 PM.
Coming upon a clearing, she saw a group of men in red uniforms sitting on the ground about a campfire. Pauline looked for Crystal. Was she still in the Visitor Center? Did she chicken out? Well, it didn’t matter. Taking a deep breath, Pauline shed her coat and pushed aside the shrubbery. If she was going to do this, she might as well make it good and hope that these guys were good tippers.
“So I’ve been told someone here has been a bad, bad boy,” Pauline said as she stepped up to the men, swirling a pair of fake handcuffs about her finger.
A few reached immediately for their weapons while others stared at her with a strange, almost dazed, look of surprise.
“Which one of you bad boys is Evan Armstrong, the groom-to-be?” Pauline asked as she bent at the waist to look into their faces, allowing them a deep look at her cleavage. “I’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”
No one spoke. They simply stared. Damn. She should have asked the bouncer what the groom looked like. Maybe he was shy. But you’d think his buddies who arranged the striptease would point him out.
“All right, maybe I’ll have to interrogate all of you boys,” Pauline improvised as she moved into the center of their semi-circle. She expected a lot of hoopla around her announcement, but these guys seemed….tired. Maybe they were all shy and just needed to be warmed up?
“First, let me introduce you to my partners,” she said and ripped open her shirt. The Velcro came apart easily. No wardrobe malfunction here.
The eyes of the men grew wide in shock, as if they had never seen a woman in a bra before. Pauline half wondered if they were Amish, they looked so stricken. She let her shirt slide off her arms and ran her fingers over the tops of her breasts, which were enhanced by her black padded push-up bra. She had even applied a lotion that made her breasts gleam in the light of the fire.
“You boys like my partners?” Pauline asked with a coy smile, cupping her breasts higher with her hands and blowing each orb a kiss.
A few mouths dropped open. Was she going too fast? Should she be pacing herself more? Pauline glanced through the trees for Crystal, but her roommate was nowhere in sight.
“It will have to be amputated,” the doctor said grimly, “or the infection will spread.”
Captain Kerry Bradford stared at the ashen face of the soldier lying on the makeshift operating table in the Old Kent Meeting House where the wounded from the battle five days ago had been brought. Grapeshot had mangled the soldier’s leg into a bloody mess of burnt flesh. Having served nearly a decade in the service of His Majesty’s Army, Bradford thought he would be accustomed to the gruesomeness of battle, and he could tolerate almost anything in the thick of battle, but away from the smoke and gunfire, he found it harder to stomach the pain his men had to endure.
“He appears to have taken the fire at close range,” the doctor noted.
Bradford felt the muscle along his jaw tighten. “Yes. A company of the rebels had run up a white flag. We went out to receive it, and they opened fire upon us.”
“How cowardly!”
“I lost two of my men.” Bradford looked at the doctor. “I have no wish to lose a third.”
The solider on the table groaned. Bradford eyed the cutting instrument held by the doctor’s assistant.
“Some brandy first for my man,” Bradford directed.
The doctor hesitated. “As you know, Captain, brandy is reserved for officers.”
Bradford stared down the surgeon. “I said some brandy, doctor.”
The doctor hesitated, then gestured for one of his assistants.
“Captain Bradford!”
It was Jeremy Townsend, with a number of other young men who had been pressed into triage on the day of the battle.
“Will you tell us again of how you won the day?” one of the lads asked.
Bradford looked down at the boy – probably no more than six and ten years of age – and recalled a time when he himself had been as eager and excited to learn about battles. Now at nearly thirty, the Captain felt old. Perhaps because the battle had been a grueling one. Perhaps because they had marched seventeen miles to reach Brandywine. Perhaps it was because he felt this revolution, as the colonists termed it, had merely started, and the end was not yet in sight.
Accustomed to being the center of attention, especially among young men impressed by his carriage and his regimentals, Bradford indulged them and told them of how Sir William Howe, commander-in-chief of His Majesty’s Army, had split the army in two. General Kynphausen had taken a force of five thousand men and engaged the rebel army at Chadds Ford. It was a risky move on the part of Sir Howe, but the American commander-in-chief was fooled into thinking Kynhpausen comprised the whole of the British army. The rebel army became disoriented as the British forces fired upon them from the front and the rear.
“Ah, did the rebels flee then?”
“Quite briskly, but at about thirty minutes past seven, we were attacked by troops of Washington, who had circled round north and west of Dilworth Crossroads, and even presented a cavalry charge to our surprise, but they could not hold against our troops and fled in some panic toward Chester.”
“Will you give chase? Will you march to Philadelphia? What will happen next?” came the litany of questions.
“Another day,” Bradford said. The armies had already attempted to reprise the battle yesterday. The British had divided themselves into three columns, and it had appeared that Washington had caught himself on soft ground. But the skies had opened up and a deluge of rain put an end to the battle.
“You best be off, lads, for it is nearly curfew,” Bradford advised the boys. “If you tarry longer, you will have to stay the night.”
The young men seemed slightly disappointed but did as they were told.
“Captain Bradford! Captain Bradford!”
Bradford turned to see his lieutenant, James Willoughby, running up to him. The young man’s boyish face was flushed.
“Captain, there is something most strange occurring in our encampment,” Lieutenant Willoughby said.
Something was wrong. Bradford could sense it from the heightened pitch in his lieutenant’s voice.
“What is it?”
“It be – it be a woman – I think.”
Bradford raised a brow. “You think?”
“An Injun. Half mad, I believe.”
“Is she threatening our troops?”
“I – I don’t know.”
Bradford was tempted to tell the lieutenant that surely the young officer could handle the matter himself, but something was obviously amiss for Willoughby was a sensible man – or had been till now.
“Very well, I will attend to this.” He followed Willoughby to where his troops had made camp. “Is this woman armed?”
“I think not, but she makes threats and accusations in a strange tongue, using mostly English words – I gather. I find it difficult to comprehend all that she speaks.”
As I do with all that you currently speak, Bradford could not help but think to himself. They walked past the other regiment of light dragoons to their own company.
“There,” directed Lieutenant Willoughby. “There be the Injun.”
Bradford looked past the trees and the throng of men gathered to where there was, indeed, the silhouette of a woman. A naked woman. Or nearly naked. She had on an odd corset – one that barely covered her bosom and left her midsection bare, a short skirt, and boots that must have belonged to a man, though they seemed to mold and encase her legs as if they had been made for a woman. Bradford had seen the native women of the Americas, but none dressed as wantonly as this one.
Nor moved as wantonly. This woman was caressing herself in the most hedonistic manner. He watched as she rolled her hips in a shockingly suggestive way. Her hands went down her backside, and she patted one buttock with a teasing smile. Then she bent down slowly, sliding her hands down her boots, until – dear God – one could view the bottom of her arse peeking from beneath her skirt. She was on her knees, crawling about like a cat, pushing her bosom into the face of a soldier. Now lying on her back, one leg stretched to the sky, a hand trailing the inside of her thigh.
“Dear bodkins,” he heard Willoughby murmur.
Bradford felt warm – and it wasn’t due to the summer heat that lingered in the air even after the sun went down.
The woman stood back on her feet and with a flash of the hands, ripped her skirt off to reveal…
Bradford pushed aside the men to reach her.
“Desist!”
Finally, the men were getting into it, Pauline thought with relief. She noticed their faces were animated and some wore broad grins. She had thought them a tough crowd, and the eerie silence that had initially greeted her had shaken her confidence. But as she made her way through her routine and saw the lust growing in their eyes, she found herself reveling a little in all the attention. Perhaps she had a natural talent for stripping?
The men had definitely been tired – tired from the reenactment and tired from being baked under the sun while wearing their uniforms and battle gear. It was amazing how realistic everyone was. Almost all had the stubble of a beard coming in as if they hadn’t shaved in the morning. Some even had battle wounds. But the men had finally come alive, hollering and cheering her on. The only part that bothered Pauline was that no one was tipping yet.
And Crystal was still nowhere in sight. How long did she plan on waiting?
“Desist!”
Pauline stood, a little stunned at her own audacity in ripping off the skirt. Now she stood before dozens – had the crowd grown in size? – with only her bra, thong, and boots. There was bound to be some tipping now. She waved her skirt above head and threw it at a soldier in front of her.
“Desist!”
The stern voice cut through the ribaldry, and the next thing she knew, a man in a scarlet uniform had grabbed her by the arm and was dragging her out of the circle of soldiers.
“Hey, let go!” Pauline exclaimed. “I’m not done yet.”
“You most certainly are, madam,” he replied and thrust her into a tent.
Pauline stumbled away from him. Was he the director of the park? His costume seemed more ornate than the others. She noticed his coat had exquisite gold epaulets and brass buttons. He also sported a gorget at the throat, a purple sash across the waist, and a sword encased in a gold tipped sheath. He didn’t look like a park director. If it weren’t for the frown on his face, she would have said he looked quite attractive. Surprisingly, he didn’t look effeminate in his get-up with his powdered hair rolled above his ears and his smartly tied cravat billowing beneath his neck. He looked…regal.
“Look, I’m just doing my job,” she told him as she rubbed her arm where he had grabbed her.
His cornflower blue eyes narrowed. “What job?”
“A little pre-nup entertainment. Evan’s friends set it up.”
“Evan? Who is Evan?”
“Don’t you know?” Pauline returned, perturbed by his tone. And why did he persist in speaking with an English accent?
“Evan Armstrong.”
“Madam, I know no Evan Armstrong. Put this on.”
Pauline stared at the coat that the man had taken off. Was he serious?
“That’s all right,” dismissed Pauline. She wanted to finish her job so that she could get paid.
“Madam, it was not a request.”
The guy was serious. He wasn’t even looking at her directly but kept his eyes averted to the side. Wow. He must be the most prudish guy on the planet, Pauline thought to herself. His unease was contagious. She would have felt more comfortable completely naked in front of the dozen or so men outside than half naked inside the tent with this guy.
Pauline took the coat from him and put it on. The man looked painfully relieved. She wondered if she was going to be in trouble. Maybe Evan’s friends hadn’t received proper authorization for their surprise party. Would this stick-in-the-mud report her to the police?
“Look,” said Pauline, “I just want to get paid, then me and my friend will be out of here.”
He eyed her solemnly. “You have a cohort?”
“Yeah, we were supposed to do this together, but I’m not sure where’s she’s at right now. I should probably go look for her. Something might have happened to her.”
She moved to exit the tent, but he blocked her way. She suddenly wondered why the bouncer wasn’t here with her. Perhaps he had not been part of the crowd? Was he with Crystal?
“You may search for your friend later,” he told her, “but I must impress upon you, madam, that such a display as you have conducted is not allowed in my company.”
Pauline stared at him. “Huh?”
“I would that you confine your appeals to where the other women of your trade have made camp.”
“Are you joking?”
He was joking. Playing the part of a British officer. Why he was pulling her chain, Pauline wasn’t sure.
“I trust I have made myself clear?” he asked. “You seem to have some knowledge of the English language.”
Pauline laughed. “Okay, this is kind of weird, but I get you. You’re very good. The accent is top-notch. You must be a method actor?”
The man stared at her as if gibberish had fallen from her lips. “Madam, this is no jest.”
“Did Crystal put you up to this? Am I on some like candid camera show?” Pauline looked about her for some telltale sign that some ruse was being perpetrated upon her, but the tent was sparse with only a cot, a table, and chair.
“What—of what do you speak?” he asked.
“You’re kinda cute with that English accent,” teased Pauline, sauntering a little closer to him. It wasn’t like her to be this forward with a guy, but if he was going to persist in this ridiculous playact, she would play her part. “You want a private performance? Cost you twenty bucks.”
She reached out to touch his chest, but he gripped her wrist. Pauline looked up at him, and her breath caught as she realized how close she was to him. Uncomfortably close. Yet electrifying. She could feel every one of his fingers wrapped about her. As she gazed into his eyes – they seemed to be comprised of hundreds of grayish-blue crystals – she felt an overwhelming desire to be kissed by him. His frown gave way to an intense stare, his grip relaxing ever so faintly. He seemed to lean in toward her, making the breath catch in her throat.
And just as suddenly he pulled away. “Lieutenant Willoughby!”
A younger man, also in officer uniform, appeared. This one had clear blue eyes set in baby boy features.
“Captain Bradford?” the Lieutenant greeted.
“Please escort Miss—Miss—“
“Lipps.”
“—Miss Lipps to where the women have made camp,” the Captain instructed.
He handed Pauline to the other man. The Captain was unsettled, she could tell, but why? He was the strangest fellow she had ever met. She wanted to say something to the man but could not find the words, so she followed ‘Lieutenant Willoughby’ out of the tent. Maybe now she would finally get paid.
Bradford watched the strange woman and Lieutenant Willoughby exit the tent. Only in taverns with drunken whores had he ever come across a woman so brazen or disconcerting. He could not shake the odd feeling that had passed between them when she had attempted to touch his chest. As if he knew her, or had known her.
But that was impossible. He would have remembered her. She was tall for an Indian – tall for any woman. Her body was dark and strong like that of an Indian woman, and yet there was something unique and rare in her features that was unlike the other natives he had seen. She was a little broad, as if she had been well nourished for most of her life, and appeared much healthier than the other strumpets who followed the British army. Her English wanted refinement, and he could not place her accent. It was neither Welsh, nor Scottish, nor even Irish.
The woman was not wise. Her wanton behavior before an entire company of men invited trouble. She was fortunate not to have been molested or harmed. He would have assigned her recklessness to gin, but aside from her brashness and odd speech, she did not appear inebriated. Where had she come from? Was her bawdy act one that she performed at country fairs? His fellow officers, many of whom made no mystery of which strumpets they favored, would surely have mentioned her had they seen her before.
Miss Lipps. That was the name she had given him. An odd name for an odd woman.
Visions of her bare buttocks flashed in his mind, and Bradford felt his face color though he was entirely alone in his tent. Her arse had a nice curvature to it. A little more plump than those he had occasion to see on women. And it was not her naked form that he found wanton but the manner in which she moved, the way her hands caressed her body. He felt the blood coursing in his groin. Where had she learned to move like that?
He shook his head. He had other matters to attend than to wonder about the strange woman, but he had the feeling that he had not seen the last of her.
Chapter Three
Clutching her police outfit to her chest, Pauline barreled through the bushes and past the trees. She had given Lieutenant Willoughby the slip while a woman playing a prostitute had distracted him with a proposition. When had prostitutes become part of the reenactment? The women had looked so real – many of them scrawny, petite and haggard. Something weird was going on, Pauline determined as she made her way back to the Visitor Center. She wondered if Crystal had bumped into people and got waylaid as well.
By the position of the moon in the sky, Pauline could tell that it was later than she had expected. She glanced at her watch. 5:33. That wasn’t right, though she had just gotten a new watch battery last week. It was then she realized she was still wearing the Captain’s coat and had forgotten her own trench coat somewhere. She’d have to sort the coats out later. Right now she just wanted to make her way back to the Visitor Center and parking lot. Her cell was in her car, and she could try to call Crystal. She almost felt like calling the police. These people were a little spooky.
Had she taken a wrong turn? Where had the Visitor Center gone? Climbing up the knoll she thought she had fallen down, Pauline looked about and saw only a clearing with…
Bodies? Dozens of them. Lying on the ground like logs after a forest clearing.
A shiver like the touch of a ghostly hand went up her spine. Shaking it off, Pauline stumbled down the knoll and approached the closest one.
“Hello?” she asked. It was probably a dummy, but why did she feel like something was about to jump out at her?
She stepped gingerly towards the body. Maybe this was a full scale reenactment of the battle? The body faced away from her. In the light of the moon, she could tell it wore the uniform of a soldier. She nudged it with her foot. Nudged it harder. Then walked warily to the front of it.
She stifled a scream. Hair clung to its face with what appeared to be blood. The mouth hung open as if in the middle of an agonizing groan. Part of the face looked as if it had been blasted off, the white of the jawbone protruding through the flesh.
Backing away, she fell over another body. She didn’t want to see its face, but she had to. This one at least had its features intact, but the eyes were open, staring lifelessly up at the stars.