She’d pushed back against Momma putting her in beauty pageants in high school. She’d pushed back against sitting in the back row in pre-calculus and chemistry. She’d pushed back against advisors who’d laughed when she’d wanted to switch majors and study physics.
And she’d never stopped pushing.
Because there was always one more person telling her she couldn’t do it.
Ever since her daddy died.
Now, she was the one standing in her own way.
She was the one afraid to fly.
She was the one who had overreacted to not winning a pumpkin-chucking contest.
She was the one who kept pushing people away.
All the way to the vet, she couldn’t stop thinking about Lance. She was hardly looking for husband number two, but she wasn’t planning on being celibate the rest of her life either.
Seeing Miss Higgs was a good distraction. The poor kitty was moving slowly, but she hadn’t had any more episodes, and her blood work was as good as it got for an elderly cat. Given her age, the vet saw no reason to keep her any longer, so Kaci brought her home.
Where she found Lance waiting in the hallway.
“We’re kissing,” he said.
Miss Higgs let out a pitiful meow.
And Kaci’s inner vixen jumped up and did a happy butt-wiggle. She swallowed down her instinctive says you and instead unlocked the door.
Inside the apartment, Lance went straight to the TV with his game system. Kaci cuddled Miss Higgs and scratched her under the chin, alternately making sure her cat was okay and watching him maneuver wires and cords with long, nimble fingers. Too soon, her screen flickered with the familiar cockpit view.
Her stomach dropped.
Lance shoved a controller at her. Her grip tightened on Miss Higgs.
His dark features were set in granite. Not a flicker of a smile, not a hint of amusement.
“Happy to see you too,” she muttered.
Because she was.
He tossed his own controller on the couch and yanked his shirt off. His long biceps bulged, his sun-kissed shoulders took up half the width of the room, and the light dusting of dark hair over his solid pecs made her mouth go dry.
Her eyes flared wide and every muscle in her body clenched.
Miss Higgs yowled and crawled off her lap.
Lance plopped down beside her, all taut muscle, tan skin, and testosterone. “Say another word and I’m taking my pants off.”
Dear sweet baby Jesus, she could already see his erection outlined in his jeans.
Had she done that to him?
And if so, when?
He hit two buttons, and light flickered in her peripheral vision.
“Pay attention,” he ordered.
She blinked and forced herself to look at the screen. The woman’s voice cleared them for takeoff.
“Push your throttle up,” he said.
Her thumbs fumbled with the knob she remembered from yesterday, and the plane picked up speed.
“By the way, if you crash, you have to take something off.”
“Don’t come in here thinking you can—”
He reached for the button on his jeans.
Kaci snapped her mouth shut.
And a smug, satisfied smile crossed his lips.
It should’ve been ugly. Taunting. Demeaning.
Instead, she felt an intrigued pull deep in her core.
He was playing strip airplane with her.
And dang if it didn’t give her a rush heady enough to make her forget why she was pretending to fly in a video game.
She glanced at the screen.
Back at Lance.
And back to the screen.
The runway disappeared. Blue sky and fluffy clouds appeared out the front of the cockpit.
She studied her controller. Which button had he said was the aileron?
No matter.
She hit four or five buttons in a row, some short, some long, then pushed down on the throttle.
The view on the TV wobbled, the ground came into view, and everything on-screen exploded into an orange mess.
“Oops,” she said.
Lance tilted his head toward her.
Miss Higgs harrumphed and demanded to be let off the couch.
Kaci obliged the cat, then flicked a button on her blouse. Another button. A third.
She should probably call Tara and tell her not to hurry home.
His eyes went darker than midnight. His crotch visibly moved and his biceps bulged, but the rest of him held perfectly still.
She popped the last button and let her blouse hang open, her pink lace bra peeking through the gap. “Go on and be a gentleman and help me get this thing off.”
His lips tightened. When he reached up with both hands, his fingers brushed her neck and shoulders with featherlight touches. Goose bumps skittered over her skin. Cool air swirled around her back and belly.
And when Lance had her shirt off, he picked his controller back up, hit two more buttons, and once again they were cleared for takeoff.
She could’ve pointed out that she’d spoken and he hadn’t taken his pants off, but the thrill of anticipation was more exhilarating than chucking pumpkins.
“Go on,” Lance said. “Take off.”
She bit her lip to keep from asking what he wanted her to take off, and instead pushed up on the throttle knob.
The plane rolled down the runway, then went airborne.
Unlike yesterday, a storm didn’t appear in the corner of the screen, and they were flying over land instead of water. Lance pointed to a button on her controller. “Raise your landing gear.”
She hit the button and heard a click.
He pointed to a second set of buttons, his bare arm brushing hers. His hair had a clean shampoo scent, but the rest of him was all sexy, earthy male.
“Left rudder, right rudder.” He indicated the top buttons next. “Left aileron, right aileron. We’re coming up on wind shear. You’re gonna need these.”
Before she could ask how he knew, the view on the TV screen shifted violently.
She shrieked.
“Left aileron, right rudder,” he said.
She hit a string of buttons, but she had no idea if they were the right ones. Her heart leapt into her throat, and the plane pitched forward. Miss Higgs yowled. Ground rushed toward the cockpit windows. “OhmysweetbabyJesus, we’re gonna die!”
She tossed the controller and covered her face with her hands.
Maybe with two fingers spread so she could watch.
In case he was serious about taking off more clothes if she kept talking.
He snorted a disgusted, manly grunt of irritation, and moved his fingers over his own controller. The tendons in his neck were strung taut, that muscle visibly clenched in his jaw, and he radiated controlled, powerful focus.
She spread her fingers wider and glanced at the screen.
The horizon came back into view at the top of the screen, a strip of blue over the massive green forests on the ground. Slowly but surely, Lance righted the plane.
And he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
She couldn’t say the same.
“Pick up your damn controller and fly,” he said.
Her hands mindlessly followed his orders, fumbling for the controller until she had her thumb back on the throttle, blinking at the various knobs and buttons and trying to remember which ones were rudders and ailerons and the tail.
“More thrust,” he ordered.
Her thumb pressed upward.
“Good. Now ease off—that’s enough—and hold it there.”
He tossed his controller aside. She forced air into her nose while he stood and unhooked the button on his jeans.
Her nipples went painfully hard.
In one swift motion, he had his pants down at his ankles. He sat on her couch in his black boxer briefs and tugged the jeans the rest of the way off, tossed them onto her coffee table, then lounged back. His legs we
re long, lean, sculpted perfection, and his white gym socks added an odd, almost cozy sexiness to him. She had an inexplicable desire to lick his kneecaps.
But what truly had her heart sputtering was the thick bulge in his boxer briefs.
If he could use that joystick half as well as he righted video game airplanes…
“Left rudder,” he said. “You’re veering off course.”
Was he kidding?
She couldn’t have operated a door handle, much less control a video game airplane.
And he hadn’t yet picked his controller back up.
“Pay attention to the screen.” He was still using that I am a pilot god voice, but this time, instead of her body instantly snapping to attention and taking orders, her rebellious streak roared back to life.
She let her gaze linger over his body. The sinewy muscles in his forearms. The flat copper nipples on his hard pecs. His stubble. His treasure trail. His erection.
“No reward until you land the bird,” he said.
“Oh, sugar, you sure you want to do that?”
He reached down and whipped off one sock.
She dropped her controller on the floor, stood, and slowly popped her button and slid down her zipper.
Miss Higgs crawled into her cat bed with a sigh and turned her back on them.
Kaci arched her back, tucked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans, and took her time pushing them down first one hip, then the other.
Lance’s eyes went coal black. His boxer briefs visibly strained, and his biceps bunched again.
She stepped out of her jeans.
His lips parted.
Apparently he liked her matching pink lace boy shorts.
“Your plane’s crashing.” His voice was low and husky, his eyes on her.
And a remarkable thing happened.
Kaci didn’t panic at his words. She didn’t go light-headed. She didn’t hyperventilate.
Instead, she straddled him on the couch, put her hands to his face, and hovered with her lips a whisper from his. “We’re doing this.”
“Damn well better be good.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
He snorted again. “You’re not making the rules on my time, Dr. Boudreaux.”
She’d let him believe that.
For now.
Because much as she enjoyed a good debate with Lance, she liked his lips on her more.
She licked his lower lip.
His eyes slid shut. He gripped her hair, thrust his hips against hers, and claimed her mouth.
She forgot everything except her desperate, driving need for release.
He pushed her onto her back, kissing her, stroking her, igniting every nerve ending she possessed, from her roots to her toes. Her skin was too tight, her muscles clenched too hard, her burning desire too big.
She was going to explode.
She shoved at his boxer briefs until she’d freed his erection and held him, hot and silky and heavy. He yanked on her panties. Something ripped and cool air rushed around her most sensitive parts. Her breasts ached in her bra, but it was a good ache. A needy ache. An I’m ready ache. Lance’s hot body and his wicked-talented mouth and hands swirled in one big, chaotic jumble of feelings over her body, in her brain, burrowing into her heart and soul.
“I need—” she started.
“No talking.”
She caught a flash of silver. He guided her hands, still holding his cock, and she helped him roll on a condom.
And then finally—finally—he pushed at her entrance and slid into her, filling her, stroking her, thrusting into her. Her feet dug into the cushions and she lifted her hips to take him in deeper, fuller, closer. She couldn’t tell if that was his ragged breathing or hers, and she didn’t care. That sweet wave was building deep inside her, bigger, stronger, closer—
The world exploded around her, and suddenly she was falling, sparks erupting behind her eyes, her body pulsing out of control in the most intense climax she’d ever felt.
He moaned, and she felt him coming inside her, his shaft pulsing against her inner walls.
He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, his chest heaving against hers, his breath hot on her skin.
She couldn’t speak.
Because that wave inside her had carried beyond the basics of coupling. It made her chest squeeze, her heart spin as though it were locked in a centrifuge, and put a big ol’ lump at the base of her throat. Her stomach rolled. Her eyes stung.
Never had she felt so powerful yet so helpless.
Because this hadn’t just been sex.
That hadn’t been a normal orgasm.
It had been more.
She’d wanted sex with Lance to take the edge off. To work out this weird attraction. The tension.
Instead, she wanted more.
More talking. More understanding. More accepting.
More Lance.
And she wanted more without fighting. Without orders. Without pretense.
But as far as she could tell, the pretenses were exactly what he liked about her.
* * *
Lance’s eyes were so crossed he was honestly concerned he wouldn’t be able to fly for a week. His sated limbs were heavy, and he had his nose buried in the sweet smell of satisfied woman.
Firecracker was an understatement.
And that was before she’d gotten all the way out of her clothes.
The woman rose to every challenge and left him struggling to keep up.
She took a shuddery breath beneath him. He struggled to lift his head, which felt like an anvil on his neck. About as useful too.
“Are you—” he started, but before he could finish, Kaci grunted and rolled.
While he was still on top of her.
His limp arms refused his commands to move. His body shifted. She gave him one last shove, and he tumbled off the couch and landed ass-first on the carpet. “What the hell?”
The last thing he saw was her wiping her nose on her way to grab her cat and shut both of them into her bedroom.
He gaped at the plain wood door.
On the screen, the plane was still burning.
Maybe ordering her out of her clothes had been an asshole move.
But Kaci Boudreaux didn’t take orders unless she wanted to. She’d crashed the plane on purpose.
Twice.
She’d wanted to play along.
So what the hell was her problem? She’d gotten off just as much as he had.
Unless she’d been faking.
Would she…?
No, he decided. Not Kaci.
She’d much rather give him shit for not getting her off than fake her way through it for the sake of his ego.
And she’d initiated the kissing.
She’d wanted this.
Hadn’t she? Had he missed some signal? Some sign?
He rose to his feet and tugged his underwear back up. “Kaci?” he called through her bedroom door.
She didn’t answer.
He knocked. “Kaci?” he called again.
“Thanks for a nice time, sugar,” came the response, albeit more strained than her normal flippant sass. “Turns out I got something to do, so we’ll have to take care of your rings some other time. I’ll call you later.”
“Still owe you twenty minutes of flight prep for our hour today.”
“We’ll call it good enough.”
The hell they would.
He twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. “Kaci—”
“Don’t worry about locking the door on your way out. It’s automatic.”
Leaving would be smart. This thing with her wasn’t about a relationship. It was about mutual sexual attraction. Her emotional state over their grown-up decisions wasn’t his responsibility.
But he liked her. As a friend. She amused the hell out of him, and he had a lot of respect for what she’d obviously accomplished professionally.
Plus, he knew if he walked out her door, he wou
ldn’t be coming back.
Did he care if she got on her plane to Germany? Sure, he cared.
But one woman had already screwed him up enough for his commander to worry over him. With Lance leaving for a deployment in a month?
No way in hell could he keep coming back for a woman who wouldn’t even look at him after sex. She was either in this friendship, or he was done.
He yanked on his clothes and stalked to the door. And when it shut, he let it slam good and hard.
She wanted to make a statement?
He’d damn well make one too.
Chapter 12
Kaci’s windows rattled when the door slammed.
She suppressed a shiver and nuzzled Miss Higgs’s head while she choked out the teary gasp she’d been holding in.
There was a nice guy, a patient guy, a decent guy who had bent over backward to spend time with her and help her get over her fear of flying.
He’d tolerated everything she’d thrown at him, and then told her he understood.
He’d come back time and again.
And now he’d given her an earth-shattering orgasm, and she couldn’t stop crying.
Kaci Boudreaux did not cry.
Crying was a sign of weakness. And she wasn’t weak, dammit.
But she also wasn’t used to feeling.
And she didn’t know what to do with all of the feelings coursing through her body.
The elation. The satisfaction. The comfort. The intimacy. The vulnerability. The joy.
There was too much emotion for her to handle.
She settled Miss Higgs on the bed, then stepped into the bathroom for a good, long shower. By the time she was out and dressed, she almost felt Kaci-ish again.
Not exactly normal, but not drowning in emotions either.
Miss Higgs was sleeping peacefully on the quilt. Tara had texted—she was heading back from her parents’ place and would be home sometime after dinner.
Kaci left the bedroom, intent on finding a sandwich in the kitchen.
Instead, her heart went into overdrive, adrenaline crashed through her veins, and she yelped. “How in the Sam Hill did you get back in here?”
Lance tossed his phone aside, but he didn’t rise from his perch on the couch. “Never left.”
Her eyes flew to the door, then back to him. “You fake-left.”
“You for real ran away.”
“I…” She trailed off. Because “I can’t handle my feelings for you” wasn’t something she could admit to him.
Her Rebel Heart Page 13
