But it wasn’t the question Kara was asking.
He rested a hand on the controls. Slowly whirled the cyclic around, odd without the power-assisted back pressures to give him a feel for the flight. It was loose, felt disconnected without the feedback.
“Sometimes you get on a horse because you refuse to give up.”
“Was that what you did?” Her voice was so soft, he almost looked over at her, but he couldn’t. There was too much he didn’t want to see, too much he didn’t want to show.
“No.” It wasn’t. He’d… “Other times you get back in the saddle because you have no choice.”
He could still hear them. Mariko Hosokawa had the most beautiful singing voice. It was she who had started the tradition of music in flight, one Justin did not participate in until he’d healed and once again sat in the right-hand seat. They hadn’t been lovers, but now he wished they had been. The mutual heat had been there, but she’d been on his crew and was therefore inviolable. He missed the whole crew, but she’d left a hole in his heart.
“I owe a debt,” he managed with his eyes closed, his hands still light on the controls as if he were flying them to safety before the suicide bomber could blow his crew and his aircraft off the face of the planet.
There was the softest of sounds beside him and then a fingertip traced along the back of his left shoulder. Despite the T-shirt he wore, Kara traced the worst of his scars where the seatback had not wholly protected him from the initial blast.
He couldn’t speak.
Justin thought of himself as a brave man, but he didn’t dare try to speak.
Not with what his heart was feeling for Kara in that moment.
Like blessed water, her warm fingers traced the scar as if offering a benediction.
* * *
They didn’t go to dinner.
Instead, they sat and held hands above the central radio console that divided their seats, Justin’s clasp alternated between a desperate hold as old memories took him and a clasp so soft that Kara wanted to cry over the conflicts inside the man.
The morning light drove away the stars and filled the sky outside beyond the fantail of the Peleliu with a thousand shades of orange, then blue.
When Kara led Justin from the helicopter, he still hadn’t spoken.
They exited the hangar deck, now silent with everyone at their meal or their duty stations. Passing the officers’ mess, neither of them turned aside.
Instead, she led him back to her quarters where they had parted so poorly in the middle of the previous night.
With the door secure behind them, Kara finally turned to look up at Justin. His blue eyes watched her, almost numb.
What could she say to this man? Kara had lost aircraft before, in addition to the sacrifice of the ScanEagle at Ramon Airbase. Each had entailed a pile of paperwork, an investigation, and then she’d been cleared and issued another bird. Justin had lost his crew and nearly his life as well.
For the first time she understood all of those pilots who said she wasn’t a real one. Yes, she had the technical skills and the stresses were immense…from her little white box with its big comfortable chair.
But she didn’t—
She wasn’t—
Kara didn’t know how to go forward from here, but the look in Justin’s eyes told her that it was up to her. The poor man was barely functioning.
So she took his hand, that big, powerful hand that could make her feel so much, and rested it with his palm against her heart.
Together, they stood in silence and listened to her heartbeat—she in her ears, he in his fingertips. They stood without moving until his eyes began to once more show hints of the man who was so alive he took her breath away.
To solve one thing, she’d now created another she didn’t know how to handle. Kara Moretti was great at seducing handsome operatic tenors until they were near to going mad. She didn’t know what to do with the incredible intimacy that was building moment by moment between her and this man. If he started to cry or something, she knew of no way to handle it.
“You forgot your hat.” Which had to be about the dumbest thing on the planet to say at a moment like this.
Justin looked upward at where the brim should be. “Seem to have. That’ll make it right hard to take it off before I kiss this lady.” He returned his attention to her face.
Kara knew from experience she could have her pick of men; that was her body’s doing. Of course she’d usually piss them off pretty damn early in the game and they’d be gone, but she could have her pick.
This didn’t feel like that at all. Whatever Justin’s initial reaction when they first met, he was no longer looking at her the way most men did. She glanced away from the unbearable intensity of Justin’s gaze, but couldn’t bring herself to break the connection of his palm over her heart.
Using the broad width of his hand, he slowly turned her and pulled her in until she was leaned back against his chest. His arm now clamped her in place.
“I have an awful need, Kara,” he whispered into her ear. “You’ll be wanting to tell me now if the answer is no.”
Kara knew they were about to cross some line. It would be only their second time together, but “affair” was on the verge of being thrown out the nearest porthole.
She couldn’t say no.
* * *
Justin waited with his nose buried in her hair, his hand across her chest now pinning her back against him. He couldn’t get close enough; it was impossible to get close enough to this woman.
Her pulse accelerated beneath his palm. He felt her rapid breathing where her shoulders pressed against his chest.
She slid both hands up onto his forearm that crossed in front of her, that pinned her, but he couldn’t seem to let go. She gripped his arm tightly with both hands and he readied himself for her to peel his arm off and regain her freedom. It would hurt like a bandage ripped off a fresh wound, but if that’s what she wanted…
Kara went very still, holding on to his arm and leaning back against him.
And then she nodded once, as if her answer was too big for a mere word to encompass it.
Something inside of Justin snapped. Such a simple gesture, like the single rattle of a surprised snake building toward a stampede of the full herd. Such a little beginning.
Yet she was choosing trust.
To trust him of all stupid things.
To trust the man who had killed his entire crew by acting as if he was in a friendly country, which they supposedly had been.
There was something in him that needed to take, that needed to conquer, to prove that he was somehow still alive when so much inside him was dead.
Still Kara Moretti waited in his arms.
There were some things a man of honor couldn’t betray. The trust of his former crew that he would not give up the mission. The trust of Kara that whatever he needed, she was able and willing to give.
The feelings shifted inside him. The emotions were no less intense, no more kind, but they shifted. Like a crack in a wall that he dug into with both hands and tried to pull wide.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her in so tightly that she probably could barely breathe, and yet he couldn’t ease up.
Another deep breath, another powerful round of Kara’s heady scent of soap and woman. He kept his face buried in her glory of hair until there was no other world.
He had thought to take her with his hands. To keep her pinned against him with the arm that she hung on to and use her with the other until she cried for release. Begged him to stop. Felt some small piece of what tore at his soul cry from her lips so that he wasn’t quite so desperately alone at that deepest layer he showed to no one.
Yet Kara trusted him.
He did keep her tight against his chest with the arm she hung on to.
But with the other, he slowly coaxed her body to life. Relished the fullness of her breasts against his palm. When he slid his hand down inside her waistband it wasn’t to drive, but to entice. He asked her body to lift for him.
To lift with him.
When she lay her head back against his shoulder and shivered with the power building in her, he could only watch and marvel as he led her upward. The long line of her neck pulsing as she swallowed hard. Not in fear. Not in terror. But in gathering strength for the climbing moment that would soon swamp her.
When her fingers dug into his arm, when she finally released with a low moan that shook her whole frame, galvanizing her with its release and then making her near boneless in the aftermath, Justin could only ride with her.
His pulse had climbed with hers, his heart pounding against where her back still pressed against him. His breathing grew short and fast. They were in more perfect sync than any horse and rider; they rode upward together.
And when she released, when her soft cry was muffled where she’d turned her face into his neck, he could feel that crack inside of himself let go.
A shell of pain, the solidest armor ever created, that had encased him for five years now fell away as little more than brittle dust. Kara hadn’t slid past his defenses, nor had she demolished them. Being with her had made them as irrelevant as if they’d never been.
Justin now stood on the other side of a threshold, having flown across some chasm so wide he hadn’t even known there was another side to shoot for.
His knees gone, he settled back onto Kara’s bunk and pulled her into his lap as the last of the shudders ran along her trim frame and generous curves.
She nudged his arm upward enough for her to curl into him without letting go of it. Rested her ear on his chest as if she were nestling against his heart.
Which, he supposed, was true.
How little he knew of this woman.
And how much she had changed him in this moment.
He didn’t know what else to do but hold her. And that was something he would gladly do for the rest of his days.
The rest of his days…
The fact that it was a crazy thought didn’t make it any less true.
* * *
Kara hadn’t known what to expect.
Justin had been so hurt, but she didn’t fear him. His power, had he been any other man, would have been terrifying in his present state of mind. So, she had done her best to brace herself for whatever he had planned or needed, but had still been wholly unprepared for such fun.
She curled against his chest unable to believe the gift he had just given her. The most incredible sexual experience ever, while still fully clothed no less.
But it had all been about her.
Well, fair was fair.
She took one more deep breath that felt as if it cleansed her down to her toes and pushed herself up out of his arms and looked at him.
Something was going on behind those deep blues of his, and being a guy, he wasn’t going to say a thing about it of course.
She had an answer for that and slid from his arms, surprised at how reluctant she was to do so. Once clear of him, the effect didn’t diminish. She wanted to climb right back in there.
Instead she offered him her sexiest smirk, which was pretty easy considering how loose and liquid her insides felt at the moment.
“You”—she pointed a finger at his chest—“no touchee. You do, this girl stops.”
And then she began to peel in front of him. She took her time, felt like a Grand Avenue stripper, but she was okay with that for this audience of one…especially when she saw Justin’s eyes go dark with need and his hands clench. She’d never done anything like this before, and probably never would again, but she really wanted to give him a special treat as he’d just given her.
When she began to undress him and he tried to help, she slapped his hands aside and forced him to be passive. To let it happen to him, just as he had done for her.
She touched and teased until he was wholly in her control. To achieve that with such a man was a pretty heady tonic. She’d never understood the whole rodeo, race car, ride-a-stallion thing that guys were so into. She did now, in this moment.
As Justin lay on her bunk, quivering at her slightest touch, moaning in a dark and dangerous tone when she ran a finger or her lips over him, she knew what that power must feel like to a man.
It was ab-so-lutely, goddamn glorious.
True to the rules, he didn’t touch her as she sheathed him and then took him inside her. But his powerful hands nearly shredded her blanket and sheets as they looked for something to hold on to.
She rode him, and rode him hard, until they were both sweaty and the strain overpowered them. His explosion rocketed through her and gave her the most amazing ride imaginable.
The rushing waves robbed her of enough air to laugh, but wasn’t it just a hoot that she was using the cowboy’s own lingo.
Chapter 13
Justin did his best to appear normal in public, but how was a man supposed to do that when he had Captain Kara Moretti embedded in his nervous system?
He’d fly a night mission into Libya—
They’d been doing that a lot for the last few weeks. The Peleliu had been called west from Israel as yet another faction shattered the delicate balance of the post-Gaddafi power vacuum.
—and he’d feel himself smiling as Kara guided him from her perch in the sky. He could feel her six miles above, inside her ground control station a hundred kilometers offshore, and way deep in his system.
Last night he’d slipped the Calamity Jane into the backstreets of Tripoli out near Tajoura, well beyond the Second Ring Road. It was far enough from the U.S. embassy not to draw attention from any of the various militias. Michael and a small team of Delta operators had rolled out the back of Justin’s Chinook in a slightly battered blue Hyundai Elantra sedan. The ambassador, semipermanently exiled to neighboring Tunisia, needed an assessment of the security of certain assets in the abandoned U.S. embassy that Justin didn’t want to know about.
Tonight he’d gathered the Delta team back up just as quietly from the middle of Asfah Road southwest of the city. No flying pickup this time; he’d landed right in front of the car, which had then driven aboard. Carmen had it positioned and strapped down in less than ten seconds using the adjustable harness that he and Connie Davis had designed. They were aloft fast and clean.
And Justin had flown back to the Peleliu counting the minutes until he could once again be in Kara’s arms. What had begun as a desperate need was now an insatiable one.
He had thought about calling his parents to tell them that he’d found “the one.” It would probably shock them no end. His lady friends since the bomber had been few and far between—and never lasted long.
But he wasn’t ready to admit that, not even to himself.
How could a bossy, funny, outspoken Italian beauty from—the good Lord help him—Brooklyn be “the one”? He was in so much trouble.
Her greeting once they were all secure back aboard had been predictable and fantastic.
“Y’all sure are good at the tactical strike,” he whispered into her hair when he could breathe again. Sex had been hard, fast, and with an imaginative twist that had nearly made him go blind.
“Why, thank you, Captain Cowboy.” Kara climbed out of the bed and started dressing by the small light they always left on so that they could see each other. Closest they were going to get to candlelight aboard ship.
Or firelight.
He could sure imagine this golden-skinned beauty lit by a campfire and a Texas-sized sky of stars.
The curves, and nerves, of her body were something Justin had become finely attuned to. But like an unbroken wild horse, there was something going on inside, close below the surface but out of sight.
It puzzled him, though he’d figure it out when it was time. She looked almost as good in her Army gear as she did out of it. He liked the juxtaposition of competent soldier and sensual woman.
“Don’t sleep through dinner.” She leaned down to give him a kiss that rapidly had him thinking about things other than food, despite what they’d just done. “Jeez,” she remarked and grinned down at him while she straightened the bra and T-shirt he’d messed up some. “And I thought I was the one-track hound of this team.”
Then she was gone.
With the way she’d left his body buzzing, sleep was no longer an option, so he stood up and dressed. Taking his time, though he was sure they were fooling no one, he wandered into the chow line about ten minutes behind Kara.
She was nowhere to be seen. He double-checked the room, even if he couldn’t imagine how he could miss her despite the crowd.
The stewards had put on a spaghetti feed and it was causing mayhem. Rangers were taking a bowl of spaghetti that would feed, well, an entire Brooklyn Italian family, and then covering it in sections with different sauces like a battle map marking areas of control. They were cycling back into the line for more, pushing ahead of him when he blocked the path to more sausage marinara or pesto meatballs.
The smells were deliriously good, but that didn’t explain where Kara had gone. None of the SOAR women were present. Maybe they had decided to have a sunrise picnic somewhere.
He actually had the ladle for the sausage marinara dipped into the serving bucket when he caught a whiff of something. It was so clear that he realized it was the first aroma he’d been aware of other than Kara in a fair while. It didn’t take long to locate the source.
A bacon-and-ground-sirloin tomato sauce. He breathed it in again and ignored the Ranger jostling him to get more garlic bread.
There. In a quiet corner of the steam table was a small tureen of Texas-style spaghetti sauce. Right down to the Worcestershire and chili powder. He ladled it onto his pasta, added a fistful of the sharp cheddar from the handy bowl that no one else had touched, and topped it with a sprinkling of scallions.
Then he went over and dropped his tray across from Bill and Michael.
By Break of Day (The Night Stalkers) Page 13
