Free Operation Summer Storm by Karlene Blakemore-Mowle

was standing in the open doorway of a moving aircraft!.
    Tate put his arms around her and coaxed her stiff fingers from the side of the door frame. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you,” his deep voice promised as he shouted over the thundering noise around them into her ear.
    She felt his big body pressed tightly against her back. “You better not be doing this for some kind of cheap thrill buddy because, I swear, if we make it down there alive, you’ll live to regret every moment,” she shouted back at him.
    “Darlin’ there ain’t nothing cheap about the thrill I’m getting at the moment,” he assured her. “If we don’t make it,” he added with a deep drawl, “—just know I’ve died a happy man.”
    Summer’s un-lady like retort froze in her throat as they fell through the opened doorway into the abyss.
    Opening her mouth to scream, Summer found to her terror she couldn’t breathe. The cold air rushed with brutal force against her face. Somehow she managed to get her mouth to shut and lungs to function once more, but she couldn’t see a thing. Complete darkness surrounded her. For this small mercy she was eternally grateful, however a new set of fears soon surfaced to replace it.
    Tate tapped her shoulder and for a fraction of a second, she forgot what to do. Tentatively she tried moving her frozen limbs out—fighting against the enormous pressure pushing against them.
    How would he see the ground? Surely Tate would have some kind of gadget, to tell how far they were up. It was obvious he’d done this before and survived. Then before she knew it, thanks to the moonlight, she saw the ground rapidly approaching. Tate’s second tap made her pull her arms back in, crossing them in front of her tightly.
    Shutting her eyes at the last minute, Summer whispered a desperate prayer that the snapping of her limbs wouldn’t be too painful. Her feet touched the ground for the briefest of moments before she was again lifted and dragged like a rag doll across the rough terrain. Then mercifully it stopped. The silence of the eerie night around her was broken only by her harsh breathing as she lay on her back and tried to catch her breath. Above her the sky was a dark, an endless blanket of black. Still trying to come to terms with the fact that she’d just fallen from the sky—she’d completely forgotten about Tate until she felt him moving beneath her.
    “Thanks for breaking my fall,” she gasped, moving her limbs to see if anything had been broken.
    “Anytime,” Tate answered with a small grunt. “But if you don’t mind —I have to get up.” He rolled, tipping them both sideways so he could unfasten the buckles. Once they were released, Tate gathered up the parachute in his arms and bundled it together.
    He shrugged a large black lethal-looking gun from where he had strapped it to his back and Summer gaped. Up close, those things were terrifying and she tried to cover her shock with a joke. “So, it was a gun in your pocket after all.”
    Tate was busy scanning the terrain, but spared her a brief, wolf-like grin, “No it wasn’t,” he said, dropping his voice, and swooping to take her lips in a brief kiss that managed to send an electric shock all the way down to her toes. Giving her no time to react he grabbed her hand and started to run toward the shadowy figures of the other three men, who’d landed and were gathering the dropped equipment.
    Packs were distributed and shrugged on, guns and ammunition passed around and various assortments of military paraphernalia stored in every conceivable pocket, or flap the packs contained.
    Summer needed help putting on her backpack and even though she was sure only a minimum of essentials were in there, it was heavy. Still numb from Tate’s unexpected show of emotion, Summer eyed him curiously as he brushed past her, pausing only to inform her they were moving out.
    Okay, if that’s the way we’re going to play it, she thought. It was obvious the kiss