For Senior Chief Hank O’Mara no woman could compare with the sea until he met Lieutenant Bethany Morton.  Only the sea could draw two passionate people of such opposite backgrounds together, and only US Navy regulations could keep them apart.  Because fraternization between Officer and enlisted is forbidden, both Beth and Hank do their utmost to resist the passion and love growing between them.  However, love proves stronger than either the sea or the USN. If they are to be together, Hank must sacrifice his career and Beth will risk the destruction of her professional dreams.

Read an Excerpt from Off Limits

That’s not a batter; that’s a walking wet-dream. Through the grid of his catcher’s mask, Senior Chief Gunner’s Mate Hank—The Wall—O’Mara watched the opposing team’s last minute roster addition approach the plate. Usually, he liked his women on the long, lean side. Small women made him feel awkward in his solid six-foot-four-inch frame.

For this woman, he’d put up with feeling awkward. She had all the right pieces in all the right places—curves, bumps, satin-skin, ocean deep green eyes and dewy, pink, kiss-me-naked lips. He licked his own lips at the thought and gave a low, soundless whistle.

Down boy. He crouched, holding his mitt at half-mast. The last inning of the command fast-pitch softball championship is no time to get distracted. From the look of the batter, we’ve got no worries. So calm down and concentrate. You can put your moves on her after she strikes out.

As she settled in at the plate, Hank couldn’t help but appreciate the compact lines of the woman. He ran his eyes boldly up her trim ankles and sleek calves, past slender thighs, and round hips to a tiny waist. All encased in skin-hugging denim. Above that waist, the gentle swell of her breasts arrested his inventory. Bigger than a mouthful, smaller than a handful, they gave a pleasant distortion to the hot pink letters, L-T.-S-L-U-G-G-E-R, scrawled across her black T-shirt. Resisting the urge to discover the exact color, shape, texture and taste of those twin mounds caused Hank no small amount of pain.

Uh oh. The meaning of that lushly stretched phrase finally registered. Lt. Slugger. Why does the wet dream have to be an officer wet dream?

Off duty, off base, he didn’t mind an occasional outing with a female sailor, even one with bars on her collar, but he drew the line at climbing into bed with one. Sleeping with officers was just plain stupid, and Hank wasn’t stupid. What a shame that God created Lt. Slugger with beds in mind.

She shifted, and her breasts swayed. Mesmerized, Hank licked his lips again. Somebody coughed. Still Hank stared. I bet she’s soft. Real soft.

Another cough, louder this time, followed by, “Hey Wall. Play ball, will ya.”

Hank repressed a flush. The Chaplain, who always played umpire, could give Job lessons. So if Chaplin Mike was losing patience, then Hank had better get himself under control.

Shaking his head, Hank and raised his mitt. “Uh, yeah, sure thing Ump.” As he lifted his gaze, he caught speculation in the Lieutenant’s misty green eyes. He looked away and focused on flashing signals to the pitcher.

Hank motioned for a straight pitch. With a batter this small, the worst they’d have to sweat about was a line drive. Even the rookie right fielder could handle that, especially with the rocket he had for an arm.

But Hank figured he didn’t have to fret on the rookie. The Lieutenant couldn’t possibly have much power in her slim shoulders. Even if she hit the ball, those shapely legs weren’t long enough to carry her very far, very fast. She’d be out before she got to first base.

He balanced on the balls of his feet and nodded to the pitcher. The guy wound up and let go with a straight slow ball that crossed the middle of the zone. The Lt. swung and fanned air. The ball smacked into Hank’s mitt.

He grinned and raised his gaze to hers. Her eyes filled with a sea of cool assessment. He lofted the ball toward the pitcher and cocked an eyebrow. “Too fast, Ma’am?”

She blinked, quirked one corner of her mouth and settled into position again, giving a sexy little wiggle to her hips. Hank felt his jaw go slack. She turned her head back to him. The action rubbed pale, silky curls across her nape, just where Hank imagined placing a tiny bite. “Not me, Chief. How about you?”

“Uh, no Ma’am.” His grin broadened, and he aimed a quick glance at her hips. “You’ve got a nice swing, real smooth and easy.”

She smiled and once more blinked spiky black lashes at him. Her voice came at him low and inside. “Why thank you, Chief.”

His heart skipped.

The ump shouted, “Play ball!”