by Jo Leigh
She’d just finished a tour of the sims set up in the basketball court at the University of San Diego and was heading up the back stairs of the auditorium stage. The presentation was about to start, which meant it was time to give her mini pep talk. At the entrance, where the curtains kept the speakers hidden, Sara slowed. Terri Van Linn was speaking, and something about the tone of her voice made Sara pause to listen while keeping out of sight.
“Did she even mention it to anyone?”
Silence.
“I didn’t think so,” Van Linn said, sounding accusatory and bitter. “I only heard about it because a friend of mine called to ask why I wasn’t on the show. Why none of us were.”
Sara glanced behind the edge of the door. The team, minus Luke, had gathered on the other side, waiting for the crowd to settle.
“I’m sure the captain had her reasons,” Hanover said. “What does it matter?”
“It matters,” Van Linn said, “because they have a history.”
“So what?” Danny Franks sounded tense, but he always got nervous before he got on stage. “And how the hell do you know?”
“I know a lot of things.”
Van Linn’s head turned, and Sara ducked back.
“Why don’t you just tell her you’d like to be on the next television show?” Nora Pearson’s voice seemed calm, reasonable. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to include you.”
“You really don’t care that Carnes is taking over? For God’s sake, it’s like he’s a fucking movie star.” Van Linn was pacing as she talked, and Sara pressed herself closer to the wall. “I didn’t sign up to be one of the Pips to his Gladys Knight.”
Hanover laughed. “If it pisses you off, say something. Personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“You don’t give a rat’s ass about anything, Hanover,” Van Linn said. “And don’t think I don’t know about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sara coughed loudly before she entered. “It’s almost show time,” she said, making her voice as normal as she could. “Everybody ready?”
Silence again. Her gaze shifted from person to person, and when she finally looked at Van Linn, there was a smile on the OSI’s face. All traces of vitriol gone. “Everybody’s here but Captain Carnes.”
“Nope, I’m here.” He came around the door, handsome and dashing. No wonder people got jealous. “Just had to make a late pit stop. Sorry.”
Hanover hit him on the back. Interestingly, Pearson put her body in between Luke and Van Linn. Sara thought about telling them all about San Diego Today, but kept her mouth shut. She’d anticipated some tension between Van Linn and Luke, but something private, definitely not a blatant attempt to draw the rest of the team into her personal grudge. And evidently, Van Linn had no qualms about inferring that Sara was playing favorites. How the hell did she know about their past? Sara didn’t like that one bit.
She’d have to think this through carefully. The tour had barely begun, and while the team had ignored Van Linn on this round, Sara couldn’t count on them doing the same down the line.
“Good luck, everyone,” she said. “Keep doing exactly what you’ve been doing. You’re terrific.”
“Thanks,” Tritter said, as he lifted his camera. “We’ll have to be extra terrific with this crowd. There are protesters out there, so be prepared.”
“Where?” Sara asked.
“Outside the front entrance last time I checked,” he said. “Standing on the grass in a clump. There weren’t many.”
“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do about keeping them outside.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Luke said. “We’ll be fine.”
She smiled, and for an instant she wondered if the smile was warranted. Her gaze returned to Van Linn, and sure enough, the woman was watching. Sara didn’t change her expression one iota as she faced the group. “I’m not worried at all,” she said. Then she left the stage. Protesters, she could handle. A diva in the mix, especially an investigator with a vendetta against Luke, could be a problem.
LUKE GOT OUT OF THE MINIBUS first, wanting more than anything on earth to be in his room. The protesters had made things interesting, which had helped him, personally. It had kept him on task, made him sharp. The team had dealt with the situation well, and he’d be shocked if a good number of the students in the audience didn’t take the next step with a recruiter.
Everything had been fine, in fact, until later. Until he’d seen Sara. She’d put on a great act, but he knew her too well to believe it. Something had her worried, and he hoped like hell it wasn’t that business at the TV studio. He shouldn’t have kissed her, he knew that. But she’d seemed to understand. Maybe he gave her too much credit.
Nope. He’d have known hours ago if she’d been upset. It was something else. The protesters? Why, though? She’d expected them. He had; they all had. Protests were inevitable. It was a messy war. Sara was too savvy to let protesters, especially such well-behaved protesters, get to her, and yet, he’d seen the way she held herself. O’Malley had noticed it, too, although the two men hadn’t spoken about it.
He nodded to Pearson’s “Good night,” but kept on walking. He wanted out of his flight suit. Strange after wanting to live in the damn thing for so many years. It used to make him feel invincible.
He took out his keycard, but even as the little dot on the lock turned green, he paused. Sara wouldn’t be back yet. When Luke had left, she’d been in the middle of an interview for the San Diego Union Tribune.
He dipped his card again, and went inside, but instead of heading to the shower he went to his dresser and got out his swim trunks. He could stand to burn off some energy. He was tired, but he was also restless and he needed to sleep. If he didn’t burn it off, he’d dream, and while his dreams of late had mostly been decent, some had woken him up in the early hours, sweating, shaken. It had been a year since the crash, but there was no expiration date on memories.
The pool, which was closed for the night, was empty. He climbed over the fence and dropped quietly onto the grass. After tossing his towel, he dove in.
The first dozen laps were useless. He could still think, still breathe. So he pushed harder, swam faster, barely coming up to snatch air before his face was in the water again. Over and over, his legs pumping, his hands pulling him, counting the strokes before the turn, then doing it again and again until everything burned. His muscles, his lungs.
He stopped as a stitch hit him hard on the left. He made it to the shallow end where he could stand, his fist digging into the pain. It took a while to settle, to feel the burn become an exhausted ache. Finally, when he got out of the pool, he figured he was safe. No dreams tonight, just nothing. Which was all he wanted.
He dripped his way down the hall, tugging at the small towel he’d put around his neck. As he turned the corner by the elevator, O’Malley nearly walked straight into him. They both halted, inches apart, before the master sergeant stepped aside.
“Did you talk to Sara?” Luke said, surprising himself as much as O’Malley.
“About what?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Something’s eating at her.”
O’Malley shifted. “No. She finished the interview before I could get to her.”
“Huh.”
“If you’re so concerned, go talk to her.”
Luke shook his head.
“If you don’t, that means I’ll have to. I’m not in a sympathetic mood,” O’Malley said, then grunted.
Luke doubted O’Malley would be anything less than sympathetic when it came to Sara, but he nodded. He’d go to her. They’d crossed a barrier today, and he thought he might be welcome. As a friend, at least.
Luke continued down the hall as he pondered his opening salvo. Screw it. He didn’t need anything but the truth that he was worried about her. If she told him to get lost, so be it.
Sara opened her door a crack. Her eyes widened at him, then narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
> “Can I come in?”
She glanced behind her, and for a moment Luke thought she wasn’t alone, but she was, as he saw when she stepped aside to let him in.
“What’s this about, Solo?”
He’d never hated his call sign, but he did now. It was how she’d said it. No particular nuance. Nothing. She shut the door behind him, but he stalled. She wasn’t in uniform. Very much not in uniform.
She circled around him, pulling her really short, really shiny kimono robe tight. It was a deep red—scarlet. Underneath, her nightgown was the same color, and even through the two layers of silky material, he could make out her nipples. Erect and familiar and off-limits. “Well?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“You seemed worried. Tonight, I mean.”
“What?”
He shrugged as if he wasn’t getting hard underneath his wet trunks. Why the hell hadn’t he changed before he came here? “I wanted to make sure you were okay, but I can see now’s not a good time, so—” He turned toward the door.
“Why did you think I was worried?”
He stopped. “I know you.”
Behind him, she sighed. He closed his eyes tightly, because he knew that sound, too. He’d been right. She was anxious, and he cursed himself. He’d let his guard down, let her see how damaged he really was, and she’d—
“Van Linn.”
That made him spin back to face her. “What?
A flush had come to Sara’s cheeks. “I overheard something. She was upset because I didn’t tell the team about the TV show.”
“Why would she care?”
“Ostensibly because she wasn’t invited, although I don’t think that’s the real reason. What bothers me is that she was doing her best to get everyone else upset about it, too.”
“It didn’t occur to her that the decision hadn’t been yours?”
Sara blinked at him. “How did you know?”
“If it had been, you’d have brought anyone but me.” Wow. He’d hit that bull’s eye. Her flush deepened, but Sara was Sara, and she didn’t look away.
“You’re wrong. I would have sent you with someone else.”
“Same difference.”
She snorted, delicately. “Not really.”
“Well, I kind of figured Van Linn wasn’t finished.”
Sara nodded as she went to the little round table and sat on a squat motel chair. “I thought the trouble would stay between the two of you. I didn’t consider a larger canvas.”
“It all comes down to feeling slighted,” he said. “By me, by not getting on TV. But the team is sharp as hell. They’re gonna see right through her. It’s not as if she’s the first officer who thinks they’ve gotten the short stick.”
“She’s OSI, Luke, and she has access to a lot of things. Like personnel records. As much as I hate to admit it, she can make trouble. She already knows about our past.”
He didn’t think, he just sat down in the other ugly chair. “Results are all that matters. The mission is being accomplished. I’d be willing to bet good money that the recruitment numbers are up considerably in San Diego.”
She nodded, glancing at him, then away. “They are.”
“See? No problem.”
“It’s not that simple. You know the schedule. It’s brutal. I don’t want dissension in the ranks to screw things up.”
“It’s the air force. There’s always dissension in the ranks.”
Her smile was welcome, even though it wasn’t real yet. “True. But I have to be careful. I can’t afford to show favoritism.” “You haven’t.”
“Not intentionally, no,” she said. “But you being singled out to appear on camera is going to happen again. You’re a fighter pilot, you’re gorgeous, and you’re a natural charmer. It’s only logical.”
He pushed aside the compliments even as they settled warmly in his chest.
Sara shook her head. “Van Linn’s used to being the belle of the ball. She’s almost as good as you on that stage.”
“And when it’s appropriate, I’m sure you’ll put her to good use.”
“I’m not entirely certain I can be unbiased,” Sara said, studying the texture of the table.
“If anything, you’ll put the others first. Like I said. I know you. You’re good at this.”
Her gaze shifted to the wall, but his was on her chest. Her nipples. Shit. They were so there. He looked up, hoping Sara wouldn’t notice his distraction. He would not stare, not again.
“I’m good because the team is good,” she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t made any weird sounds or blushed bright red.
“The team is fantastic,” Sara continued. “I want to keep it that way.”
He should probably say something now, but he was having a lot of trouble thinking. “I can talk to her, if you think it’ll help.”
That made her laugh, and it wasn’t with him, which was almost as embarrassing as the wood that was now painfully obvious in his trunks. “No, thanks.”
He shrugged. “You could sic O’Malley on her.”
Bingo. Her smile hit her eyes. “That would be mean.”
“I know.”
She shook her head. “As fun as that sounds, morale is my pervue.”
He put his hand over hers. In his defense, it was a very small table. God, he was a putz. “You’re going to do the right thing,” he said, hoping the rasp in his voice didn’t give him away.
Her gaze was on their hands, and he couldn’t read her at all. Who was he kidding? When it came to the two of them, he was lost.
Her head lifted. There were still smile lines fanning slightly at the edges of her eyes. No anger. In fact… Oh, man.
Her pupils were huge. He used to know what to do in this situation, especially with Sara. But the rules were different here. He’d just gotten used to them being friends, then that kiss had happened, but it was all too soon. He hadn’t apologized yet. And she’d just finished telling him she was worried about playing favorites.
Still, his cock got harder and want blossomed in his chest.
Sara’s lips parted on an “Oh.” It was less than a word, more than a breath.
He stood to leave, because he had to. Because even the new boundaries had blurred. But Sara stood, too, and they were next to each other, inches apart.
Her eyes were filled with everything they shouldn’t want. If he looked to his left, just moved his gaze an inch or two, he would see the door, the right thing to do next. But her “Oh,” still echoed down his body, and any resolve he’d once had was paper-thin.
Sara leaned forward in a world gone slow.
Luke blinked and when he could see again her lips had parted
He broke.
SARA FOUND HERSELF pushed against the wall next to her bed, not clear how she’d gotten there. Very clear that Luke had pressed his full weight against her, pinned her. As if she’d try to move, as if she’d try to run off when his taste… Dear God…
She gripped Luke’s hair with one hand, pulling until the angle felt right. Luke made a small satisfied sound in the back of his throat as he sucked on her tongue, then nipped her bottom lip.
“This is insane,” she said, her voice ragged, tearing her mouth away for a second, barely enough time to breathe before his mouth took hers again. Luke’s kiss was greedy, demanding, but Sara felt greedy, too.
Her hand went to his bare chest, and she couldn’t stop the comparisons even though her thoughts were as ragged as her breathing. Her fingers knew the places that were smooth, right there, just below his shoulder, but if she moved down closer to his arm, he would flinch not because he was ticklish there, but he was ticklish half an inch to the left. She couldn’t help it, she tested him with just enough pressure, her fingers skimming over the muscle, and there was the flinch, the hitch in his breath.
He pulled back, all of him, her mouth left open with an unfinished kiss, her fingers still tingling with the feel of his cringe, to tug open her kimono, to bend and capture the t
ip of her nipple between his teeth. The satin nightie rubbed against the sensitive nub he pressed with his tongue. Even with her eyes closed, especially with her eyes closed, she could see the round wet circle he made, and she held him there, glad his hair was longer now. When he groaned she could feel the vibration through the material and into the places he used to know so well.
He stopped again and went to his knees. Their eyes met and he held her gaze as he touched the sides of her panties and drew them down until they pooled on her feet.
Luke didn’t even blink as he lifted the hem of her nightie, watching her, breathing so hard he trembled with each inhale.
With what looked like pain he lowered his head, then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her warm skin. His forehead came to rest against her belly, and she felt the incremental slowing of his shuddering breath as he calmed himself; waves of warmth made her own pulse quicken as she petted his hair.
Her head hit the back wall when his fingers skimmed her inner thighs, asking her with a gentle touch to part. One foot rose, slipping out of her panties, and she stepped down again. Far enough that she felt his breath inside her.
Then, it was more than breath. Tongue, teasing with gentle licks and tiny pokes. Thumbs spreading her open. He’d loved the taste of her. He’d told her so and made her blush, made her fidget, made her come to terms with the truth of it. She’d had no idea it had ever been an issue; she’d thought it was somehow a favor, not a treat.
He’d shown her how very wrong she’d been.
When he found her clit, she had to grasp his hair with her other hand. She tried not to do anything but hold on, but God, what he did, how he knew. She moaned as her head rocked to the side, and before it was even possible, she could feel her orgasm start to build.
He felt it, too. He always had, and he never made her wait, never teased her along, because he also knew that he could make her come again. And again.
He braced her thigh with his arm when her knees wobbled, but he didn’t let up, not for a second, and she had to be quiet, she couldn’t cry out. Then his fingers pushed inside her, two fingers, deep and hard and fast, and she bit down on the fleshy part of her palm as she completely came apart.
