Renegade

by Catherine Mann

  Although she had to admit, she was starting to get a feel for the “helpless” thing as her eyes wandered over Mason’s shoulders encased in his flight suit. The magnetic pull of the man was going to be hard to resist when they were, in a sense, quarantined together all over again.

  The microwave dinged and he pulled out two blue ceramic mugs. “You assured me the dog is well-trained. I hope you weren’t lying.”

  “Rottweilers get a bad rap because they look so scary people have used them as guard dogs—some have even abused their strength and used them as attack dogs.” She stroked her canine protector’s silky ears. “But they can be very loyal friends. They’re also very smart and trainable in the right hands.”

  Mason opened a dark wood cabinet, appearing totally at ease in the kitchen, a charming dichotomy as testosterone oozed from his flight suit-clad body. “I assume Uncle Phil had the right hands?”

  “He worked with him from the time he was a puppy. I named him Boo because of how his brown and black markings make a little mask.”

  “I’m sure a badass like him appreciates the cutesy name.” He stirred one mug, then the other.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She hooked her arm around the dog’s neck and nuzzled his shiny fur, sneaking a peek at Mason’s lean legs showcased in the long lines of his flight suit. “From what your boss said earlier, it sounds like you’re not flying until they have some answers on the serial killer.”

  He set both mugs on a teakwood tray. “That’s my decision, too. I can’t leave you here to face this alone, not when it’s my fault the guy’s tracking you in the first place.” He plucked a rose from the welcome vase and placed it on the tray alongside their drinks. “If I thought staying away from you would help . . .”

  She couldn’t resist being tugged by his need to keep her safe, even how he seemed to blame himself. She couldn’t let him shoulder it all, even putting himself at risk.

  “I understand your need to protect, but don’t forget to watch your back.” The dog lifted his head as if sensing the tension in her voice, and she forced herself to relax. “If this guy is targeting you through these people, it won’t be long before he comes after you. Psychopaths like this can’t ever fully satisfy that twisted hunger inside themselves. That’s why the violence and the frequency ramps up. Eventually he will turn his attention to you.”

  “You’re a ray of sunshine.” He padded toward her, his feet in socks making only soft thuds on the carpet, and placed the tray of mugs on the coffee table in front of her. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

  He passed her a mug, their fingers brushing.

  She inhaled the steam to steady her pulse, smelling tea and raspberry, then tasting. Perfect. “This is awesome. It’s just what I needed.”

  “I thought you might like it.” He sat beside her, reaching past her to rub the dog’s nose, his arm warm against her leg.

  “How did you know?” She blew into the mug and sipped.

  “You have a teacup collection.”

  How sweetly observant of him, especially in the middle of such chaos during the break-in at her place. Although he didn’t have to sound so surprised. What had he expected? A gun collection? “I may be a cop, but I’m still a woman.”

  He slid his arm across the back of the overstuffed sofa. “Believe me, I noticed.”

  There hadn’t been a second to breathe since the break-in, much less think about where the kiss they’d shared might be going. Already the attraction simmered to life again, and right now, in this pocket of time, she had the luxury of seeing where she wanted it to go. She just needed some kind of sign.

  She traced the rim of the mug, the heat steaming from inside nothing compared to the temperature spreading through her at his simple touch. “I never intended to start a collection, but I got a cup and saucer from my grandmother. It looked so lonely all by itself, so I bought one that seemed to go with it, and then another.” She shrugged, which only served to rub her shoulder against his hand. “The next thing I knew, I had to buy a curio cabinet to display them.”

  “Keeping that cup is an awesome way to remember her.”

  “I like to think so. My grandmother didn’t own much. She was a single mom back in the days when there wasn’t much in the way of support and understanding. She was widowed young with three kids and precious little money, but she took care of what she had, cherishing that one lovely teacup and drinking her tea out of it every afternoon to keep the tradition of her own English grandmother alive.” The heat of the mug between her hands warmed her as did the memory. “She put out biscuits instead of scones, but it was an event nonetheless.”

  She blinked back sentimental tears. The whole roller-coaster day was pitching her emotions left and right without relief. “Okay, enough about me. Tell me something about yourself.”

  His green eyes turned somber. “I was married.” Married? But even more important . . . “Was?”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “You’d damn well better not be married, given the way you kissed me.” Her attempt at humor went flat. Some things were too serious to joke about. There wasn’t anything funny about finding out if he was still carrying around baggage from his ex, not to mention that this completely shifted the way she’d viewed him as a no-commitment bachelor. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “We were married at eighteen, split up by twenty-one.”

  “That’s young.” For him to commit so early went against every playboy image of him she’d imagined. “Really young.” And what about his ex-wife? What kind of woman was she? Curiosity bit deep and hard.

  “That’s what my parents said. They didn’t approve.” His mouth went tight, his voice hard. “We told them to shove it, so they laid down an ultimatum. If we got married, we were cut off. So I left home and enlisted in the air force.”

  Things he’d said came together in her mind. “That’s what you meant earlier when you were talking about growing up rich.”

  “I said my family was well off. Not me. I live on a tech sergeant’s paycheck.”

  “None of your parents’ money comes to you?”

  “I didn’t earn it, so why the hell would I want it?” He said it so simply, a man with a strong work ethic and sense of honor.

  “I’m impressed.” And she was. Truly.

  A one-sided smile tugged at his mouth with a wry—but appealing—self-awareness. “Before you give me too much credit, back when I decided to leave, I sure did want to keep the sports car. But, well, ultimatums rarely work well with eighteen-year-olds.”

  He downplayed it all, but she could fill in the blanks well enough. He’d made a difficult choice when his parents tried to manipulate him with money.

  “Why did they object to your fiancée?” She couldn’t help being curious and a little jealous of this woman who’d snagged Mason’s heart.

  “They wanted me to go to medical school.”

  “Ah, now I get your fascination with otoscopes back when we were quarantined at the hospital.”

  “You’re observant. And yes, Dad was teaching me the names of medical equipment along with my colors and shapes.” His brief smile faded. “They thought she was after their money, but Kim didn’t give a damn about money. She did care about spending more than a week out of every month with her husband. At least she left before we could start a family. She said she wanted kids who would recognize their father as more than a telephone daddy.”

  “How sad for all of you.” She hitched her feet up onto the sofa and hugged her knees. She could understand both of their sides, and that made things a helluva lot tougher than if she could have just labeled this Kim a bitch. And a total bitch would have been easier for Mason to get over.

  Damn. Jealousy had deeper fangs than curiosity.

  He wove a strand of her hair between his fingers, tickling the end along her neck, the light touch mirroring the surprising way he gave her space, never pushy in the brash player fashion she’d expected. Her nerves tingled in response, lea
ving her hungry for more.

  “On the plus side,” Mason said, “I never would have thought to join the military otherwise, and I would have missed out big time. This is what I’m called to do.”

  His focus, his drive impressed her. This, she understood, and in that moment she felt connected with him in a way other than the undeniable sexual pull.

  She rested her chin on her knees, flexing her toes in her sock feet and hugging her knees tighter in counterpressure against the ache building in her breasts. “Have you ever regretted not going to college?”

  “You’re making assumptions in thinking only officers have a degree. I paid for college myself and completed the coursework through an online program. I was on the road too much to enroll in as a resident student.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming.” Her hand fell to rest on his leg, instinctively reaching out in her apology. Their eyes met. She carefully slid her hand away. “What did you study?”

  “Restaurant management,” he answered. He grinned at her obvious surprise. “It seemed a good way of combining my cooking obsession with something potentially marketable if this air force gig doesn’t play out.”

  Now, that really surprised her. “I know you choose unusual foods, but why the passion for cooking?”

  He stared into his own mug for a pensive moment. “I grew up with a first-rate chef and ate at the best of restaurants. When I left home, my budget couldn’t support those kinds of tastes, but I missed the food.” He lifted his mug in a toast. “So I figured out how to take care of my own palate.”

  His no-whining, fix-his-own-problems approach appealed to her, definitely different from what she would have expected from him. “My frugal grandmother most definitely would have approved.”

  “High praise indeed.”

  Another thought niggled at her. “Are you planning to get out of the service?”

  “Not in the next twenty years or so, if I can help it. But things happen. People get hurt.”

  His face went so dark she searched for something, anything to say to steer the conversation back to lighter territory. “Restaurant management, huh?” She leaned forward to set her mug back on the tray and picked up the rose. “I thought all you fliers were some kind of engineers or math majors.”

  “You would be surprised. We’re a mighty diverse group. I knew a guy who majored in opera.”

  “Then why not be an opera singer?” She swirled the flower through the air with a theatrical flourish.

  “The call to serve is louder.”

  “What called you to protect and serve?”

  “Initially it was all about the need to support my new wife at eighteen years old. Then I deployed overseas to help out with earthquake relief.” His fingers slid from her hair to cup her neck, massaging gently, seductively.

  She struggled to focus on his words, but his fingers melted her knotted muscles. The flower dangled between her suddenly weak fingers.

  “Growing up, I prided myself on being down-to-earth in spite of all my parents’ money. I considered myself quite enlightened for thumbing my nose at it all to join up. But until I saw firsthand how totally stripped bare a person could be of everything in a fluke of nature . . . I was on a cargo plane delivering fresh water and food, just the basics, but I knew. I’d found my calling.”

  She leaned into him. “How does that work with what you do now?”

  “I’m figuring out more efficient ways to help and protect.” He smiled wickedly. “And I have to confess, the toys totally rock.”

  “That plane your boss talked about, the one that can travel around the world in a few hours, sounds amazing.”

  His fingers slowed, and his eyes took on a faraway look. “You have no idea.”

  “Hey,” she tapped him on the chest with the rose, “I’m sorry you’re not flying with your crew because of me.”

  His gaze came back to her, hooked, and held. “I’m where I want to be.”

  Desire, need, and a deep, deep ache threaded through her with tenacious roots. She couldn’t fight any longer. She wanted Mason. He wanted her.

  She and Mason had a window of time here—and too many hours on their hands. And if this were all Jill had with Mason, she wouldn’t overlook the gift of this man in her life tonight.

  She knew a damn good way to pass those hours.

  Jill stood, twirling the rose between her fingers. “This is where you want to be? That’s interesting, because I’m thinking there’s an even better place where we could be together.”

  His pupils widened. “And where would that be?” She tore a petal off the rose, dropped it at his feet, and backed away. She tossed a second petal to the floor, inching farther away. “Follow me and find out.”

  THIRTEEN

  Mason stared at the rose petal on his foot, the next on the carpet, another falling from Jill’s fingertips as she backed deeper into their temporary lodgings on base. He indulged in a slow gaze up the luscious body of the woman plucking the next tempting marker for the trail leading him to her.

  As if he needed a map.

  Her ankle boots had him aching to take them off and stroke the sensitive arches of her feet she’d kept so well hidden. Just seeing those boots turned him inside out thinking about her heavier work boots. There was something infinitely sexy about a lady with lush curves who could kick serious ass.

  He appreciated the way she could take care of herself while never sacrificing her femininity. She may have confessed some of her childhood vulnerabilities to him, but she’d most definitely grown into a strong and confident woman.

  He enjoyed the view, without question. But he’d shared some heavy stuff with her, too. No one else here knew about his failed marriage, beyond those who were privy to a peek at his security file. Yet, for some reason, he’d told Jill things he’d never shared with friends he’d gone to war with.

  She’d triggered something inside him he wasn’t sure he understood yet. He didn’t know whether she was feeling the same thing, but there was no mistaking the desire in her eyes or the determination.

  Okay, then. He knelt to pick up the flower petals she’d dropped. “Lead, and I will most definitely follow you.”

  And when they got there, her form-skimming jeans were going to be history.

  She backed up a step and let another petal flutter from her fingertips. He advanced. She tore another and another, moving closer to the master bedroom dimly lit by the lamps on both nightstands. The king-sized bed sprawled invitingly behind her. Honest to God, he couldn’t see much else other than her as he walked past each fragrant marker.

  Mason shut the bedroom door, leaving the dog keeping watch by the only entrance, and closing himself into the master suite of the base quarters with Jill. She continued her tempting trail past the TV armoire they most definitely would not be using. Her knees bumped the back of the tightly made bed.

  Her legs folded, and she dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress. She pitched all that remained of the tiny bud over her shoulder. The expanse of paisley comforter spread behind her, lamps on low, with a small welcome basket of nighttime snacks—for later.

  Much later.

  He stopped, standing between her knees. “I didn’t expect this with you.”

  “You don’t have to dredge up a load of romantic bs for me.” She leaned back on her elbows. “I don’t want that from you.”

  He gathered up a handful of petals and sprinkled them along her chest, down her stomach, and lower into her lap. “Are you questioning my sincerity?”

  She flicked her hair back. “No, I think you’re just trying to give me what you think I want or need.”

  Her words hurt, damn it. “If you believe I’m such a bullshit artist, why do you want to sleep with me?”

  “I want this—you—very much.” She sat up and crossed her legs. She rasped her fingernail up his flight suit zipper, flicking the tab at the top up and down provocatively. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “I can’t t
ell for sure if we’re even in the same library, because you confuse the hell out of me.” He threaded his fingers through the sensuous glide of her hair.

  She tucked her cheek against his palm, her lashes fluttering closed for a second. “I don’t want you to see me as one of those idiot women who turns all giggly when you walk by.”

  “Giggly is the last word I would ever use to describe you.” He combed his fingers through her shoulder-length of hair, hands falling to rest on her shoulders.

  “That’s meant as a compliment, in case you were wondering.”

  “I was, actually.” Her chest rose and fell faster, her pupils dilating. “Wondering, I mean.”

  “Good. Then maybe we’re both at least in the same novel if not on the same page yet.”

  Her gaze fell to his mouth.

  He retrieved the stem from the bed and trailed the small remaining bud along her lips. “Maybe I should be worried about your expectations of me. Are you here for some kind of super sex? Because if so, I’m afraid this reputation you seem to think I have may leave you sorely disappointed. I’m a regular man who’s not into acrobatics or kink.”

  “What are you into?”

  He was more interested in her preference. Although he sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with turning off the lights, because he was enjoying the hell out of the warm glow from the lamp on low by the bed, showcasing Jill’s curves as well as the flare of desire in her eyes. He intended to use those expressive eyes to gauge just what sent her higher.

  “Right now,” he teased the rose along her cheek, releasing more of the floral perfume, “I’m big time into you.”

  “Now that was totally the right thing to say.” She took the flower from him and pitched it away.

  He cupped her face and kissed her long and deep and exploring, sitting beside her on the rough tapestry comforter. He reached behind her and swept the spread away until it trailed the floor, leaving crisp sheets and fluffy pillows.