Private Dancer

By Dahlia Rose

His country, his honor, and his men were always in the forefront of Major Ian Scott’s mind. But when an ambush sent shrapnel through his leg and left him unable to lead his platoon, his only thought was to get himself healed and back to unit he long called home. But then he met Lieutenant Tasha Lovell when he walked into her rehabilitation center. She captivated him with a seductive dance, and Ian’s breath caught in his throat. He knew she was the one who would help heal his body. He didn’t expect she would also heal his heart. Tasha saw the man under the uniform, but would the love they found stand up to the tests they were about to face?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dahlia Rose
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310651861

Dahlia Rose

Dahlia Rose is the best-selling author of contemporary, military and paranormal romance with a hint of Caribbean spice. She was born and raised on a Caribbean island and now currently lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her five kids, who she affectionately nicknamed “The Children of the Corn,” and her biggest supporter and longtime love. She has a love of erotica, dark fantasy, sci-fi, and the things that go bump in the night. With over six dozen books published Dahlia has become a reader favorite. Not only because of her writing but her vivacious attitude in talking to her fans online and at various events. Books and writing are her biggest passions, and she hopes to open your imagination to the unknown between the pages of her books. http://hearttoheartwithdahliarose.blogspot.com www.facebook.com/author.dahliarose www.twitter.com/dahliarose1029

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Dedication

To my own soldier and hero. Retired or not you still make me catch my breath when you stand at attention and you speak of your military career with pride. As I promised, I will love you until eternity ends and days beyond that. XOXO.

Chapter One

The war was supposed to be over. The military forces had pulled out of the major cities of Iraq, and government heads were calling Operation Iraqi Freedom a success. Then why the hell are we still running missions to find insurgents in the middle of the night? Major Ian Scott thought grimly as the convoy of Humvees rolled on through the silent, dark night. There were twelve of them to each vehicle, with a gunner riding topside, searching the night with the heavy fifty-caliber machine. Ian was the scope man and head of the operation. This was his thirty-fifth birthday, and he was spending it on his third tour and on a mission. This was his night instead of being home in Georgia drinking a beer and shooting pool with his buddies.

Happy birthday to me, he muttered grimly.

His eye was trained through the nightscope of his sniper rifle as he looked for anything that moved in the night that was not supposed to be there. He knew that there could be one or two of them lying in hiding, waiting for an army convoy to pass by. It was easy to take a shot and run into the desert, but if he saw them, Ian knew his gun was quicker than theirs, and being in command, he had to protect his men. He shot first and asked questions later. The insurgents were not above booby-trapping bodies or anything they found alongside the road. He sure as hell was not going to give them a chance to do anyone in his unit harm. He brought them here two times and got them home safely, and by God he was going to do it a third.

We’re outside the compound now, Major. A voice mixed in with static came across his radio.

Copy that, Ian said calmly into his headpiece. Units all stop. Gunners stand ready to fire. If you hear anything out of the ordinary, bring the noise.

Ian got an affirmative from the Humvees behind him. His driver had already stopped the lead vehicle he was in.

Okay, guys, lock and load with full armor. We’re going in hot, Ian commanded.

You expect a war, Major? You know there’s going to be, like, four AKs and a few goats in there, one of his men teased.

Ian grinned. All the same, boys, we go in tight. He lifted his gun to his shoulder and gave silent hand gestures, directing the men to the points for best access and surprise to the enemy. On me, on me, he commanded.

They moved with trained precision to the entrance of the compound. The door was made of old slats of wood and tightly woven palm frond. One could not see through the creases in the wood. Ian pushed the door open slowly, and he winced when it gave a small creak. He pushed it open with his body and held it against the wall while he motioned his men through. As they filed in, Ian used a rock to hold the door open and took point behind his men. He tapped one soldier on the shoulder, who took his place. Ian moved up through his men to the front door. He lifted his fingers for the countdown from three to one before he kicked in the door.

Get down, get down, get down! Ian shouted.

They flooded the room with light and made sure it was secure. When everyone called clear, he lowered his gun and looked around. No one was there, but a cache of firearms and small rockets were stacked in boxes and leaned up against the wall.

This sure isn’t four AKs, one of his men said and whistled softly. Hell, Major, this is all our stuff they’ve been stealing.

Ian looked around. There is a bunch of munitions here. Then why is no one around watching it?

Realization dawned on Ian quickly. Something wasn’t right. No one would leave this amount of small arms unprotected.

Move guys! Get out now! Move, move, move! Ian shouted.

He shoved his men out of the door one after the other. They didn’t question anything. As a major and a commander of their unit, they knew Ian’s instinct was dead-on. And he was right. By the time he had the last man out and he was running behind them, he heard the tiny beep as someone detonated a bomb set in the middle of the munitions. The explosion sent him flying out the door as the small building was ripped apart. The heat sent small rockets up like fireworks. Everyone kept their heads down and stayed low to the ground until the munitions were finished exploding. Everyone knew a bullet was just as dangerous going off in the middle of a fire as it was being shot of a gun. By the time silence reigned for a few minutes, his men got up slowly from the ground, faces covered with dirt and soot. They all were laughing shakily at the experience they had just had and were relieved they all survived it.

With adrenaline pumping, Ian went to stand and fell right back down to the sand. Ian looked down, confused, wondering why he couldn’t use his left leg, and saw the blood gushing from a wound. One of his men rushed up to him, concern on his face, and while two others held his leg firmly trying to staunch the flow of blood, they screamed for a medic and held him down.

I need to get up—I need to form a perimeter and get more guys from the FOB out here. This was a trap. Ian struggled beneath their crushing arms.

We got it, Major. Stay still!