Hotshot

by Jo Leigh

  She left without another word, leaving the door open behind her, and he listened to the sound of her heels disappear.

  IT WAS TWO HOURS AFTER the lunch she should have taken, and Sara hadn’t begun her search for Luke’s replacement. She’d finished her status reports, revised two budgets, gone over the slide show with Sergeant Tritter and teleconferenced with her boss, Colonel Graves, and the public affairs liaison from the University of California, Los Angeles.

  She would check in at the conference room, make sure everyone was playing nicely, then she’d have an hour or so to make some calls.

  It troubled her that she was leaning toward letting Luke stay. The thing was, he’d sworn on his wings. If he’d said anything else, even sworn on his mother’s life, she’d have doubted him, but his wings were everything to Luke. He was a born pilot, designed as perfectly for the desert war as his precious F-15 was.

  Now that she’d settled from the initial shock of his appearance, she had to admit he was a perfect fit. He might not have done any formal recruitment, but she’d seen his power when he got on the subject of flying the fast movers. He’d known how to keep an audience interested, whether they were a haphazard group of students in his dorm, or a gaggle of fawning women poolside. The man could mesmerize, without hyperbole, anyone—and he managed to do it without sugarcoating.

  She could only imagine how much more strength his message would have now that his knowledge was practical instead of theoretical.

  The door to the conference room was shut and when she slipped inside it was dark except for the brilliant images on the screen and the spotlight on the speaker. They’d be using much more sophisticated equipment to display their media when they were on the tour, but for the rehearsals, this was fine. Timing was critical. Images, sound and speech were all important weapons in the recruitment arsenal.

  She’d put together a program designed to inspire, not just the mind but the spirit. Honor, duty, camaraderie, responsibility, all of them were targeted. They had to be, because she had been adamant from the start that these talks be truthful. The air force wanted the best and the brightest, and it was her job to reach that audience.

  Captain Terri Van Linn had the podium, and she had almost as much charisma as Luke. The looks, the smile, the job. Well, not quite. Van Linn was an investigator for the OSI, the air force equivalent of the navy’s now-famous NCIS. The woman was a brazen redhead, small in stature, large in appeal. Men fell all over themselves with Van Linn, and when she was onstage, they listened. Van Linn knew it too. Which was fine with Sara. The more men who paid attention, the better the recruitment numbers.

  Sara moved to the table as quietly as possible. The only available seat was next to Luke. She considered standing at the back, but that would look bad. Great, how was this supposed to work out when she could barely sit next to him? Biting the bullet, she took the seat. He spared her a glance, his attention fixed on Van Linn. Her talk was nearing its end, which was good, as Sara wanted an update on today’s rehearsals.

  Of course, since there was no way Luke could have come up with any kind of a speech, now would be a good time to throw him behind the podium to field questions.

  Her other speakers were all there: George Tritter, the photographer; Danny Franks, the electronic system security specialist, better known as a hacker; Captain Rick Hanover, combat rescue operator and Captain Nora Pearson, a drone operator who used computer tech to guide unmanned aircraft into battle.

  They’d each been subjected to the gauntlet of hostile questions from their fellows, and they’d all, eventually, passed with flying colors. Luke was in an unenviable position—he was an unknown quantity replacing a valuable and well-liked officer who had been particularly qualified for the job. The questions would be brutal. It should be interesting.

  Captain Van Linn finished to the applause of her fellows, then the room lights went on. Hanover had turned toward the podium when Sara stopped him. “I’d like Captain Carnes to take the stage.”

  Luke didn’t hesitate. It didn’t seem to matter that he had no idea what she’d ask him to do, or that he’d had so little prep time. He got behind the podium, appearing completely at ease.

  “I’m finishing my master’s in computer science,” she said, throwing him into the deep end of the pond without preamble. “Why should I join the air force when I can get a job that pays seven times as much right out of the gate?”

  Luke didn’t even blink. “You shouldn’t. If it’s only about the money, the armed services are the last place you should go. You have to know what it is you want out of life. Accumulating wealth is a viable goal. In my experience, however, money isn’t the best foundation for real satisfaction.

  “To join the service, particularly the air force, you’d have to want a lot more than a big bank account. A master’s degree in computer science can lead to all kinds of challenges in this branch of the military. You could end up at NASA working on cutting-edge technology for manned space flight. Or designing the next generation of unmanned aircraft or underwater vehicles.”

  Sara let out a resigned sigh. He was just as sharp as she’d feared. In under a minute, he already understood the challenge, answered frankly, and hit the bull’s-eye. She sat back as he continued to list several other computer-related fields that would entice a tech-minded college student, and by the time he was finished, she noticed that every person in the room was leaning forward, actively listening, reeled in like spring trout.

  The questions came at him rapid-fire after that, the group fully engaged in tripping Luke up. Even when he didn’t know the answer, the sly bastard used his ignorance to his advantage. Sara didn’t participate again, but she watched and learned. The first hint of trouble came a couple of minutes later, when she noticed her heart rate had accelerated.

  She, too, was leaning forward, and instead of actually hearing the questions and Luke’s answers, she’d been thinking about the past. About the day she’d become aware that Luke was something special.

  It had been her first day as a senior in high school, in a political science class. She’d transferred from Chula Vista, and she hadn’t met many people on campus. Didn’t know the teachers yet. He’d sat two rows in front of her, to her left.

  Luke had disagreed with something the teacher said, and the two of them had gotten into it as if they were the only people in the overcrowded classroom. Luke had the confidence of someone years older, and his arguments had been sound. The teacher, she thought his name was Linus, had been engaged, not threatened, and when he’d made valid points, Luke had acquiesced charmingly. Effortlessly.

  She had sat very much as she was sitting now, leaning on her elbows, caught up in his words, his presence. She’d felt things that day, in the pit of her stomach. Adrenaline. Intensity. Attraction.

  She hated that he could make her feel like this, given all she’d been through, but his appeal was undeniable. All she had to do was glance around the room. This wasn’t a true test though, and she’d have to fix that. Soon. Especially because she couldn’t trust her own objectivity, not yet.

  She stood, realized a beat too late that Luke was still talking. To cover, she pulled out her cell and flipped it open, then made her exit as quickly as possible.

  Her step slowed in the hallway. Whatever else was true about her, she placed the service and her responsibilities before anything else in her life. She hadn’t joined the air force for the college tuition or for her résumé. Having Luke on this tour was going to test her. But it wouldn’t break her.

  The past was just that, and she was tougher than her memories. She would make it work for her, instead of against her. This was an opportunity to wipe the slate clean once and for all. For too many years, she’d held on to something that had never been real. It was time to let it go. Long overdue. By the end of the tour, Luke would be safely in the box of idle remembrances, along with her Air Force Barbie and her first trip to Disneyland. If she survived.

  3

  INSTEAD OF A RU
N, Luke decided to start the day in the motel’s exercise room. He’d checked it out the night before, after he’d survived what he expected was the first of many tests. Then he’d called in a pizza and holed up, reading brochures and manuals.

  He’d woken early again this morning, fixed himself a cup of weak-ass coffee in the tiny complimentary pot, and made it to the weight room without seeing anyone. There were a couple of treadmills, a mounted TV that worked, two stationary bikes and Sara.

  Her back was to him, and she wore earbuds connected to an MP3 player pinned to her waist. As she ran her easy pace, her ponytail swung from side to side, and it was as if he’d been transported to the gym at Berkeley. He’d stood behind her then, not often, but when he could, to watch, to admire.

  Sara was tall, five-nine to his six feet, and most of her was long, gorgeous legs. Firm, shapely, he’d loved looking at them, often wished he could ask her to wear more skirts, shorter skirts, but he’d known she wouldn’t have appreciated the suggestion. She had acquiesced though to some of his wishes, far more daring, and Luke had learned early to pick his battles. No, the win in the clothing department had belonged to lingerie, incredibly skimpy lingerie.

  So he’d taken his pleasure checking out her legs in the school gym, at the pool, on the hiking trails. He knew the feel of her skin after a run, that slight sheen of sweat that clung to her.

  Sometimes she’d worn tank shirts, snug ones, and he’d loved that, despite the sports bras. He’d never complained about those either.

  Her arms were toned, now even more than in senior year. She’d been a hell of an athlete, had taken her body seriously, but not as seriously as he had. He’d mapped her like his private island, combing over every inch. Learned her secrets, made discoveries that had surprised them both. How she trembled when he licked the contours of her hip bone, blew his warm breath over the wet stripe.

  Christ, he was doing it again. Letting himself get carried away. It was inappropriate, and he’d better get himself in check before he ruined everything.

  Grateful for his jockstrap, he closed the door behind him with enough force that she’d hear his entry. She didn’t turn, but her posture changed.

  He went to the second treadmill, keeping his attention where it belonged. He knew the unit, so he programmed a run that would work him hard, but nothing brutal. He hadn’t brought his iPod, which he realized was a tactical error, but he could watch the news without bothering Sara too much.

  He flipped the channel to a twenty-four-hour cable show, then started his workout. He hadn’t looked at her once. It didn’t take him long, however, to realize he could see her reflection in the television monitor even through the news footage. He could see her clearly. It also became obvious that Sara had been able to watch him as he’d stood behind her, checking out her ass. She’d seen him open and close the door. Adjust himself.

  Great. He’d probably given her yet another reason to kick his ass to the curb.

  SARA KEPT ON RUNNING. She’d been at it for forty minutes, and was almost certain that her increased heart rate was from the exercise, not from the little show Luke had put on behind her. Idiot. He hadn’t even bothered to check out the rest of the room. His gaze had settled on her southern half, and with two minor exceptions, stayed there.

  She should have jumped off the treadmill immediately, but the screen had gone dark, and his reflection had been vivid enough to see the look on his face.

  Something had kept her running even as her thoughts stuttered. There was no way to be sure, but she could have sworn he’d looked… She barely knew what to call it. A mixture of hunger and sadness? Wistful with a dose of “I’d still hit that”?

  She was confused, not just about his expression, but about her reaction. It wasn’t funny anymore. The first time she’d seen him, she’d been shocked, angry, and yet she’d felt the old pull. They’d been together for five years. They’d made love so often she’d asked her doctor if something was wrong with them. After she’d been assured it was perfectly normal to do it two or three times a day, they’d dedicated themselves to reaching a new personal best.

  Dammit, thoughts like those were why having Luke around was dangerous. It was her responsibility to stop, this instant. She was almost thirty years old, for God’s sake, in control of her life and her body.

  She bit down on her lower lip and focused on her breathing, on lengthening her stride. She would not look. She wouldn’t. Not at him, not at his reflection.

  But she did. She looked at the TV, a glance, that was all, and he was looking at her. Her right foot hit the edge of the treadmill, just enough to throw her off.

  Luke caught her stumbling backwards. She hit the hardness of his chest instead of the floor. His right hand gripped her upper arm, his left spanned her hip. He wasn’t pulling her flush against him; he didn’t have to.

  Every sense she had went into overdrive. He smelled of soap and the pillow in her dorm room. His breath on the sweat of her neck was hot as a Santa Ana wind. His cock pressed into the side of her butt, not fully hard yet, but on its way.

  She didn’t have her feet under her yet. Luke took a step back, distancing himself, stabilizing her. It helped. Not enough, though. Little fires sparked through her body in all the wrong places. Her lips parted without her permission as he turned her around to face him.

  Sara met his gaze and realized they weren’t far enough apart. Not by a mile. His pupils had taken over his eyes, his breathing was even quicker than a moment ago. Rolling forward to the balls of her feet didn’t improve her balance at all.

  Luke made a sound. Not a word, more of a click at the back of his throat. That’s when she realized they weren’t touching. Wait, no, his breath, she could still feel it whisper by her ear. But the persistence of memory tightened the skin of her arm where he’d gripped her, warmed his handprint on her hip.

  Did he still taste the same? No matter what he’d eaten or had to drink, underneath she had always found Luke. Weirdly, the flavor that came to her most often in her dreams and right this second, was his flavor after a sip of beer. It shouldn’t have been appealing, she barely liked beer herself, but God…it had turned her on. Would it now? Would she melt against him if he took a swig of Dos XX and pulled her into a kiss?

  His fingers brushed the skin of her arm, not the same place, and the shiver rippled up and down and deep inside. He was off balance too, leaning, breathing. Her eyes fluttered as her head tilted slightly to her left.

  A crash, shattering glass, lots of it, from the outside corridor broke the spell, propelled her back a step, then two and three. She came back to the man he was now, not the boy he’d once been. She didn’t know this man, didn’t want to.

  “I’m good,” she said, turning her face so he wouldn’t see the heat redden her cheeks.

  “Right,” he said, then he cleared his throat. As she passed him, she glanced down meaning to avoid his gaze. What she saw was the evidence that no matter what, there was still something happening between them. Something hard and hot, and she’d have to be so much more careful.

  Pros:

  He’s a charismatic speaker.

  He’ll be perfect in any media setting.

  He’ll be the most successful recruiter on the tour.

  He’ll make me look good professionally.

  He’s here, now.

  Cons:

  He’s Luke.

  SARA PUT DOWN HER PEN and took a sip of her watery soda. She’d meant to bring a real glass, but she hadn’t and now she was stuck with the thin plastic thing that came with the room and the ice from the hallway. It was early, there were restaurants and bars within easy walking distance, but she didn’t want to run into Luke.

  She’d seen him during the course of the day: after her shower, after she’d put on her uniform. It had been fine. But she wasn’t stupid. For whatever reason, and for the life of her the only one she could come up with was masochism, she still felt drawn to Luke physically. It would be foolish in the extreme to ignore
the incomprehensible fact. But it was also a fact that she’d had no luck at all finding a replacement. Not that she’d killed herself looking, and what did that say about her? She’d have to turn to retired pilots tomorrow if she couldn’t come to a satisfactory decision tonight. Her boss did not want a retired pilot on the tour.

  She skipped a few lines on her yellow legal pad and started a new list.

  Code of Personal Conduct:

  Never go out of my way either to avoid or seek him out.

  Don’t laugh at his jokes unless someone else does first.

  Don’t be alone with him. Unless it’s job related. Maybe.

  Don’t drive with him.

  Don’t dine with him.

  Don’t

  She pulled the paper off the pad and crumpled it into a ball. Screw this. Screw this whole thing. Luke Carnes wasn’t an infectious disease, although now that she thought about it, he was a lot like malaria. He kept recurring, even when she thought she’d been fully cured. What she needed was to be immunized. Numbed to any reaction at all.

  The point was, she was giving him way too much power over her thoughts and actions. Everything nonprofessional that could happen between them had happened. Past tense. It meant nothing now. So she’d been hurt. Well, boo-friggin’-hoo. People got their hearts broken every day. Only the weak stayed broken.

  If Luke were right for the job, he’d stay. He was part of her team, she would treat him as such. It was incredibly simple, and all she’d required was a little time to adjust and now things were in their proper perspective. The stumble in the gym had been a wake-up call, nothing more.

  After tossing her note in the trash, she made sure her uniform was presentable, then applied fresh lipstick. In her briefcase she found the public relations newsletter she’d been meaning to read, and she grabbed it along with her purse. It was after eight, and she was hungry.