Gail waited for them. She served each one as Tanker wrapped a blanket over their shoulders. Unnoticed, his body was shivering with exhaustion.
He came last and stopped a foot from Gail.
Sly didn’t take the cup of soup she offered.
He just looked at her and knew he was really, really screwed.
He’d never been in love before. Often doubted he’d recognize the feeling if it ever happened.
Well, he’d been wrong.
He knew exactly what it felt like.
Love felt like looking into Chief Gail Miller’s eyes and watching the smile slowly bloom on her lovely face.
Chapter 12
It was two days before Gail slept. The demands on her galley jumped from eighteen hundred meals a day to thirty-six hundred. Six hundred people had been aboard that flight and all but three had been released from the med bay.
The ship hadn’t enough crew in any department for this level of occupation, especially not occupied by civilians who were far more likely to get into trouble as they grew bored and curious. The Flight Deck and command superstructure were closed to them for security reasons. For lack of anything better to do they gathered in the messes at the strangest hours of the day and night.
She ran two full shifts: they fed the Peleliu’s standard crew through the night, followed by three meals for the rescued plane passengers and flight crew through the day. Gail split her team in two and recruited anyone who could cook without hurting themselves.
The focus? Comfort food.
By limiting her own crew to work a maximum of four meal services a day out of the six, they were at least still functioning. But she had meal planning to do, unskilled but willing assistants to train and watch out for, supplies to pull, and a hundred other tasks.
She was sitting in her tiny Chief Steward’s office trying desperately to remember why she’d come in here in the first place when she became aware of someone watching her. A glance up and what little nervous energy had been sustaining her drained away.
Gail slumped down in her chair and looked up at Sly Stowell leaning against the door jamb.
“Hi, Chief.”
“Chief.” She couldn’t even manage the “Hi.” He looked so good leaning there as if lazy was a God-given right.
She remembered how he’d looked after the harrowing crossing of the stormy Gulf of Guinea. Rather, how he’d looked at her. The man had been weaving with strain and exhaustion, and wearing the goofiest smile she’d ever seen. She’d managed to set down his cup of chicken noodle soup before he’d folded her in his arms.
He didn’t kiss her. Sly had simply folded her against him and held on as if she were his only lifeline in a storm.
It had been different, so different. When Matheo did the same thing, she always felt comfortable, welcome, desired. In Sly’s arms she found all of those, and one more…that she still didn’t have the words for. Safe was as close as she could come, but it was too mild a word for so rich and nuanced a feeling. It was like describing Hubert Keller’s Beef Bourguignon as “stew.” There was no place else she’d ever been that felt quite that way.
“Hi, Chief.” Was she repeating herself? Might be. But he looked so delicious that…
“Okay, you’re done.”
“I’m what? No. I—”
“If you can tell me what you came in here for, you can stay.” He wore a grin knowing full well her mind was a blank.
Nothing on her desk looked familiar. Lists and lists that she recognized as her own handwriting but she could make no sense of. She tried desperately to focus her eyes, her thoughts, her emotions—no luck.
“So done,” he took her hand and tugged her to her feet.
When he did so, she realized it was a good thing he had because she couldn’t have done it on her own.
“Time for you to hit the rack.”
Rack time. That sounded good. Except she didn’t feel tired. Her mind was racing, it just no longer had a recipe to follow, so it was wandering aimlessly.
Tanker was at the prep table, overseeing a half dozen of the regular staff and a trio of home cooks who had showed both aptitude and energy despite their recent ordeal. There was something she had to say to him, but she had no idea what.
He looked at her, spoke…and she didn’t understand a single word.
Corridor.
Ladderway.
Another corridor.
Trisha and Dilya playing an intense game of Scrabble somewhere she couldn’t connect. Trisha’s bright laugh when she looked at Gail.
A door.
To her berth.
The only thing that connected the kaleidoscope of images was Sly’s hand guiding her. The only thing still grounding her on this planet was the feel of him, the rich smell of him—a fragrance she wondered if she could find a way to bottle and keep in her sock drawer for special days.
Looking down at her bunk.
Looking down at Sly sitting on her bunk as he removed her boots.
“Stay,” she whispered.
He looked up at her slowly. She could see the need, the desire flash hot across those deep, dark eyes, and then slip away like the closing of an oven door.
“You’re in no condition to—”
“Stay. Please.” She remembered the sunrise. The light sliding into the Well Deck, into the hovercraft as softly as he’d slid into her. She remembered how Sly had made her feel. Back then she’d barely known the man. Now, she knew him better.
Yesterday, no, three days ago, she’d seen him magnificent. For nine long hours, fighting every single wave of the increasing storm to create the smoothest, safest passage. Tirelessly giving everything he had to save his passengers, and he had. He’d given until he’d practically fainted in her arms, but still he’d been last off his craft, unwilling to leave sooner.
How could that man make her feel?
“Gail, I—”
“I may be exhausted, but I’m not stupid. I know what I’m asking.”
He studied her closely.
“Stay.”
# # #
Sly finished undressing Gail and got her down under the covers.
He burned with a desperate need for this woman. Over the last two days, once he’d slept sixteen hours straight, he’d checked in on her as often as possible. She had created stews, pastas, Southern-fried chicken, even goddamn brownies like one of those fairy godmothers in Cinderella until the whole ship was permeated with glorious smells of home.
On top of that she’d saved people, saved lives.
Someone save him from taking advantage of her in her present state.
But where she should be passed out, she had instead moved to the far side of the narrow bunk and folded down a corner of the sheet to welcome him. Her long slender arm and bare shoulder promised what else lay hidden so near by.
Rather than closing her eyes, she was watching him, steadily, rationally, without the disoriented madness of exhaustion that she’d exhibited on the way here.
What was a man supposed to do?
Sly knew a gentleman would turn and leave. But he wasn’t. He was a man who had looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and seen her looking back at him with such joy that he hardly recognized himself.
Slowly—feeling as if he were floating just above the ocean on a cushion of air but ever so stable and solid—he undressed, turned out the light, and slid in beside her.
She smelled of every recipe she’d made these last days. Not stale spices and flavors, but a rich warmth that satisfied yet teased, a lush taste to her kiss that spoke of zest for life and joy.
He tasted, sampled, and eventually, devoured.
Soft moans rippled down her length. Hands guided, strong fingers held on, dug in as he sent her soaring until her body skittered like a hovercraft, then crashed like a storm. Waves rushed over her so intensely that he could feel them against his lips, his hands, his body.
He kept her aloft, not letting her settle, not even when she begged him to end i
t.
Would they have another time together? Or would she go to the carrier?
He didn’t know.
Would he ever find another woman like her?
That was an easy and emphatic “No.”
Could he make her feel even a tenth the joy he felt just watching her do the simple task of feeding scared and battered civilians?
He did his level best.
When he finally gave in to her pleading, found some protection, and drove into her, the results were galvanic. She bucked and clung and groaned until on a final wave that shattered them both, she slammed into peace as abruptly as if entering the Well Deck coming out of the storm.
For a moment he was afraid he’d hurt her or worse, so violent had been the change from storm-tossed lover to peace.
Then she did the craziest thing.
He was still buried deep inside her. Her arms were looped around his neck but no longer holding on.
She shifted just enough the her lips were near his ear.
“Thanks, Chief.”
It was the barest whisper before she was asleep in his arms.
Sly shifted and held her a long time while she slept on his shoulder.
Love didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling for this woman.
He twisted just enough to kiss her on top of the head and whispered to her before he too fell asleep.
“You’re welcome, Chief.”
Chapter 13
Gail woke alone, uncertain if she remembered what she thought she remembered. She’d been so out of it that it was possible she’d imagined the whole thing. Two things convinced her that it had really happened.
One, her body felt so glorious that mere sleep didn’t begin to explain it.
Two, the note atop her neatly folded clothes: Good morning, Chief. No smiley face. No goofy little heart. Just a hundred percent pure Sly Stowell.
She showered, with no real idea what time it was, and headed for the galley.
Which Tanker promptly threw her out of.
She found herself standing out in the Officer’s Mess holding a tray with blueberry waffles, a fruit compote, and a mug of coffee; feeling horribly disoriented.
Someone waved at her. Trisha.
Gail wandered over and settled at the table occupied by the rest of the SOAR women.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning, Trisha.”
“Boy, you let someone stay awake for three straight days and look what happens to them. A perfectly respectable Chief Steward sleeps right through five meal services.” Trisha’s wink on “respectable” was broad, knowing, and…friendly.
“Did they do okay?”
“Are you serious, girl?” Lola scoffed. “They wouldn’t dare not live up to your standard. I checked in on them once or twice. They worship the ground you cook on and would never let you down.”
There was some deeper message there. Something past Lola’s merry tone.
Team. She’d wanted to build her galley into a Navy team. There was so much more that she wanted to do, but that much she’d already done.
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Gail couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. Maybe she was still fuzzy from sleep, but she didn’t think that was it.
The various women looked at her as if she wasn’t making sense.
Except for Lola. She nodded as if she knew exactly what Gail was talking about.
Which was good because she didn’t.
“Building a team, even like this motley crew,” the affection for her fellow fliers was clear in her voice, “that takes something special. Emily Beale gave me a vision. No… She gave me the ability to see a vision that was already mine. That’s what you bring to your team, the best thing that you can bring. A vision and a belief that it is worth achieving.”
There was a sudden silence along the table. Connie nodded, as did Dilya. Kee offered a non-committal shrug which Gail had learned meant she probably agreed.
Trisha leaned her head on her commander’s shoulder and gave her a one-armed hug. “We love you too, boss.”
Lola made a fist and bumped the side of it lightly on top of Trisha’s bright red hair.
“Of course,” Lola turned back to Gail, “that’s one of the problems of building a team. Then you have to put up with them.”
“Psychosis is a two-way street,” Trisha acknowledged around a fresh mouthful of waffle. “We get to give back as good as we get.”
Give back as good as we get?
Gail had certainly gotten, and not just from her crew. There was a certain Chief Stowell that she had to track down for he had certainly given to her. He’d given her patience, and strength, and…
She could feel the blood drain from her face.
“Quite something when it finally catches up with you?”
“What?”
Lola was leaning her elbow on the table with her chin in her hand. The rest of the table were talking about Emily Beale. Lola simply quirked up an eyebrow and smiled at her.
Gail couldn’t catch her breath.
Sly hadn’t just given her good feelings. He’d given her…
“Uh huh. I know that look. Seen it in the mirror. It’s quite something,” Lola reached out to pat Gail’s hand in comfort. “Don’t let it scare you. It will make sense eventually.”
She certainly hoped so, because at the moment, it most certainly didn’t.
Chief Petty Officer Sly Stowell had given her his love.
And as the good Lord on high knew, she didn’t have a clue what to do with it.
# # #
Tanker let her back into her own galley for lunch and dinner, had to because she’d ordered him to go and get some sleep. But by the time it was the end of her normal day, he threw her back out before the plane’s passengers came sniffing around for their own breakfast.
So, at loose ends, she’d tracked down Sly. It hadn’t been hard. Within minutes of the end of dinner service, he just happened to be standing in the corridor outside the galley chatting with Nika, though neither of them would normally have an excuse to be on this deck.
Nika departed with an eye roll and a grin.
Without a word, she led Sly back to her cabin. This time, the taking care of each other’s needs was wholly mutual.
She wanted to give back as good as she’d gotten…but love? That was a word she wasn’t in the least ready to wrestle with. So she wrestled with his body instead and received no complaints.
When they were both sated beyond the ability to do anything more than curl up together, she lay in her favorite position; her head on his shoulder, her palm spread over the center of his chest where she could feel both the powerful muscles and the beating of his heart against her palm.
“Carrier group is clear of the storm. We should be meeting up with them tomorrow. Plan is to trans-ship all of the passengers. The carrier will deliver them to Dakar to catch a ride home.”
“That’s good. We simply aren’t staffed for this big a crew.”
He slid his hand up and down her back, sending warm tingles through her that made her sigh with contentment.
“You could transfer with them.”
The heat of a moment before turned to a chill.
Gail clicked on a small reading light and propped herself up on one elbow to look down at Sly.
He looked away, but not as if he was uncomfortable. Instead he let his eyes follow his hand as it traced a line of fire down her neck, along the curve of her collarbone, and finally down to trace the curve of her breast. The lightness of his touch, the contrast of so much gentleness from such strong, calloused hands, sent shivers shooting through her. Shivers of heat battling the cold that had clamped about her heart at his words.
“Did you really just say that?”
“You still haven’t decided, have you?”
She…hadn’t. “Darn it! You aren’t supposed to be able to see inside me like that.”
“Obvious male opportunity to tell you how much I en
joy being inside you.” He brushed a kiss over her lips.
“Instead you’re just going to just keep fondling my breast like that so that I can’t think?”
“No, Chief. Instead, I’m going to do this so that you can’t think.” He replaced his hand with his mouth and slid his hand down between her legs.
As her mind blanked, she knew at least one part of the answer. She’d never again be able to go back to Matheo. There simply wasn’t another lover like Sly Stowell.
# # #
Gail sat in her office and contemplated her latest inventory. She’d finished a resupply request and was wondering if she’d missed anything. The Peleliu’s stores had just served double meals for four straight days, it was foolish not to restock with the freshest supplies she could requisition while the carrier group and her supply ships were in the area.
She checked the calendar. December 23rd. Tomorrow was Christmas dinner and she’d done absolutely no planning for the biggest shipboard meal of the year.
The days had slid by. She’d been aboard three weeks, it felt like three days.
Except it didn’t.
She’d made friends here. Lola and Trisha had become less scary. Gail would wager that the others would as well with time.
She had come to know her ship and her crew. Leaving them would be awfully hard.
And then there was…
Gail looked up and there he was, once more leaning against her doorway as if it was exactly where he belonged.
And then there was Sly Stowell.
Impossibly, as simply as that, she knew her answer to so many questions.
She kicked out a bottom desk drawer and propped her feet up on it as she studied his face. It was a face she knew so well already. One that she looked forward to getting to know far better in the future.
“If I’m going to stay on this ship…”
Sly went very still.
“…and stay with you…”
It appeared he’d stopped breathing. She was half tempted to pause and see if he turned blue. But she resisted.
“…there is one major issue we’re going to have to resolve.”
“What’s that?” his voice was tight, little more than a brief rumble.
Christmas at Steel Beach Page 12
