Eyes to Die For

By KevaD

Explosives expert Dorn Wheeler’s security assignment to Amman, Jordan wasn’t expected to be anything beyond routine. That is until Haneen, a temptress who seems to think defying death is the ultimate aphrodisiac, enters his life. Dorn is soon entranced by the woman’s mystery and seductive spirit, and his thoughts fill with the fantasy of her body melding with his in the desert moonlight. What he doesn’t know is that the exotic eyes he wants to swim in may well be the planned death of him. Or that the one thing he can’t walk away from, a bomb like no one has seen before, hasn’t just been built, but is waiting for him...and ticking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: Aug 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781613333587

Book preview

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Eyes to Die For

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by KevaD

ISBN: 978-1-61333-358-7

Cover art by Mina Carter

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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Also by KevaD

Kantu’s Heart

Eyes to Die For

A Grimsley Journal Entry

by

KevaD

~Dedication~

To the U.S. Army 3rd Ord Det (EOD) and the brave men I am proud to have served with.

Prologue

Excerpt from the personal journal of Allen L. Grimsley, Lt. Col. U.S. Army Retired

Entry Date 16 June 1978:

Chapters in a life can open and close when least expected, or even in the most unlikely of places. Specialist Five Dorn Wheeler’s addendum began in a locked hallway with two windows affording a less–than-stellar view of Via Giorgio Cayley’s exit ramp on the west side of Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci airport. Exotic eyes accentuating a face as lovely and intriguing as the mysteries of the Orient appeared within a quadrangle of uniformed Jordanian security guards shielding the woman whose words would preface the final pages of what we had believed Dorn’s biography to be. Her milk chocolate lips first spoke the life altering phrase.

You are going to Amman? Yes?

Then she moved her graceful hand to the grip of the pistol holstered on her waist.

In hindsight, the correct answer would have been no. Unfortunately, Dorn had never been very proficient at pop quizzes.

Chapter One

The woman clad in a sand tan uniform turned her back to Dorn and strode away, her shoes clacking a steady beat on the rectangular hall’s tile floor. He eyed the firmness of her ass, the cheeks caressing the material sliding over the round mounds. The Jordanian guards took a position at the shoulder of each of the four members of the 3rd Ordnance Detachment—Explosive Ordinance Disposal/EOD—based out of Augsburg, Germany.

What do you think they want? Second Lieutenant Grimsley whispered.

Dorn exhaled a frustrated sigh. Grimsley, fresh out of school with the original sheen still on his brass lieutenant’s bars, had the makings for a solid commander, but he had yet to tap into his self-confidence vault. My guess would be to go with them. He raised a brow and took a step. Shall we?

On a military base, rank mattered. Out here, where a sneeze atop a package bomb could blow a man’s guts all over the walls, skill took charge. Dorn hadn’t served in Nam, yet even those vets who’d been in the shit gave up their barstools for him. In the world of munitions and explosives, there was good, best, and Dorn.

Grimsley straightened to his full height of six gangly feet, adjusting his navy blue shoulder bag over his mint green polyester leisure suit jacket. Follow me, he proclaimed in what he apparently believed to be a tone of leadership, though it sounded more like a teen jerking his way through puberty.

Dorn grinned in the direction of Sergeant First Class Schreiber, a six-three beanpole, and Staff Sergeant Lowery, clad in their gray travel suits. To Schreiber’s baseball bat physique, Lowery’s plump short body was the ball.

Bat and Ball rolled their eyes in response and trudged after the LT. The guardsmen matched the soldiers’ strides step for step. At the end of the hall, the woman held the door open, one hand still on her pistol grip.

The rise and fall of small breasts held tight and near flat under the uniform blouse captured Dorn’s interest. Her shoulders were square, probably from extreme exercise. Long sleeves hid any hint of muscle tone, but her neck…. He sucked a breath. She had a thoroughbred throat, sleek and firm with satin skin two shades darker than a sun worshiper’s. A razor sharp jaw line curved to an angular chin. High cheekbones supported eyes held within a slanted suggestion of the ancient Orient under thick brows from which a slender nose sloped to a droop above her upper lip. Ebony hair had been drawn to a back bun. A garrison cap crowned the hourglass vision.

He couldn’t term her classically