“No.” She walked off without giving him a chance to spew any other crazy ideas. Screw them and the Hummer they rode in on. If she didn’t want to go to the ball, she wouldn’t go to the ball. And a date? Where the hell did they find someone who would be remotely interested in going out with her? Nobody wanted to take a gimp to the ball. The man they picked had to be a total toad or have some other major issue she didn’t have the patience to deal with.

She slammed the office door and threw herself into her chair. “Cinderella.” She snorted and shook her head. “Right.” She pulled the tickets from her pocket, lit them on fire, and tossed them in the metal trash can. Probably not the best idea, as she could set off the smoke detectors, but the longer she held them, the more dangerous they became. For a second she’d almost given in when Gunny said Lissa would kick his ass. Probably because she would. Lissa was tough. Had to be after being a Marine’s wife for close to twenty years. Still, it was none of their business. If she didn’t want a party, they had no business telling her she had to go. “Not today—not tomorrow—not ever.”

She glanced down at an envelope on her desk. What’s this? She tore it open and a photo dropped out, along with two more tickets. Her gaze locked onto the image and her breath caught in her throat. Okay, so not a total toad. Dark eyes stared back from the black and white image. Impossible to tell the color, but she’d bet they were close to a black version of whatever hue they held. They were the eyes of a man who commanded a crowd and could back an attacker down with a well-placed stare. Sexy and perceptive and she’d also bet her stripes he didn’t miss much. He had a square jaw that bespoke strength and dark hair he kept in a flat top—just like she loved. Broad shoulders, an easygoing smile you didn’t see often in a military man’s photo. Neat, not a slob—detailed—dangerous. And last but not least, he had a freaking dimple—so charming and bad boy, her panties got wet staring at it. In bold red ink on the front of the photo, Gunny had scrawled four words. This is your date.

He was…she couldn’t pull her gaze off the picture, for lack of a better description, yummy. She flipped the photo over to read the back. Retired Navy SEAL. No name—no indication of where he lived or worked. Her heart thumped against her ribs and if she wasn’t mistaken, her belly did somersaults. Okay, so maybe she could do the date thing. She tapped the photo on the desk and felt eyes on her. She knew whose, had been around him too long not to know when he was there. They’d all conspired against her, but she had to admit they had good taste. If anything got her juices flowing, it was a dangerous military man. Who said she had to dance, anyway? She could sit there all night, stare at him, and die a happy woman.

“Okay, Gunny, you win. Eighteen hundred hours.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “I must be insane.”

“I knew you’d see things my way, First Sergeant,” he said from the open door, before he smirked, turned, and walked away.