by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
Her slim bare arms glided through the air in another fly-talk motion. He remembered well the days of shooting down his wristwatch with his other hand while spending every second on the ground reliving all the missions in the air.
These days, he only relived one mission.
Damn but he needed another beer. He shifted his attention away from the tap and over to Wagner at the swings. “Hey, I read your quick look on your last flight mission. That was some excellent work, my friend. Great after-action evaluation. Not everyone has as much detail in their quick looks.”
“Thank you, sir. I like to get out everything I remember as fast as I can, spill it all out of my head while it’s fresh before I go on to the next one. A tip I picked up from Josie. That woman has attention to detail down to a fine art. Nothing but the best is going to come from this test.”
Protectiveness pulsed from Wagner. For a moment Diego wondered if maybe…but he believed Josie. To her, Wagner was a friend. And a damned fine source of information about a certain Buttercup currently executing a flat spin with her left hand. “Aren’t you two TPS classmates?”
“Yep. That we were.” He shoved the airplane-shaped swing, his drowsy little girl drooping sideways in the contained cockpit seat.
“What’s her story? Anybody make a run at her?”
Diego knew he wasn’t a great prize, and he figured if a woman could put up with his faults he could put up with hers. But he absolutely would not share. Finding his wife with another man had damn near exploded his head, even though he’d known their relationship was on the skids after the accident. When he wasn’t her officer-and-a-gentleman flyboy anymore.
“A run at her?” Wagner’s brow creased.
“You know the…boy-girl thing. While you were in test-pilot school, did some guy with a Harley run over her Pomeranian or something? Because sometimes she sure acts like it might have been me.”
And other times not, like back in the simulator when she was more than open to a lip-lock with him.
Wagner’s brow smoothed, his eyes turning speculative. He gave the swing with the sleeping toddler a final push and joined Diego at the deck railing.
The younger man leaned toward the tap and refilled his mug, foam rising, the barley scent moistening the dry desert air. “Don’t feel special. She treats most men like that.”
“And the ones she doesn’t treat that way?”
“Are a lot less dusty. Usually shave more often than holidays and funerals. The type to roll around on the floor with kids rather than roll around on the hood of a car with a bar bimbo. No offense.”
“None taken.” Diego studied the lounging flyer through narrowed eyes. The pilot’s plaid shorts, polo shirt and deck shoes screamed straight-laced all-American. Wagner even had a spatula sticking out of his back pocket. “So you’re saying she goes for guys more like you.”
Wagner extended his arms with good-natured arrogance. “Can you blame her? Check me out. Am I a catch or what?”
Diego laughed along, then took a drag off his mug. “So? Did you and she ever hook up, before the wife?”
“Dude, I’ve been married since I was twenty.” His eyes skated over to the pregnant woman waddling toward Josie with a bag of chips. Wagner’s gaze held and warmed on his wife.
Or on Josie?
“So does that mean no?”
Wagner’s humor evaporated faster than water on parched ground. Apparently Captain All-American had a temper. “In my world, that definitely means no. I love my wife. We’ve got a kid to bring up and another on the way in three months.”
Diego raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies, Wagner. I’m an ill-mannered son of a bitch who just insulted the man supplying my beer.”
Wagner’s anger dissipated as quickly as it flared. “I’ll accept the apology, for me and for Josie, too. You’re just lucky you made that comment to me and not her. She’d have gutted you. Even if I weren’t totally gone on my wife, Josie’s sense of rights and wrongs are clear-cut.”
“Sounds like you know her pretty well.”
“She’s a damn good friend. She put in a positive word for me for this job so my wife could be near family with the second kid on the way. Josie remembers who her friends are.”
“And it doesn’t put a burr up your ass to be working for someone your own age?”
Wagner set his mug on the railing slowly as if working through a ten-count calming. “Hey, I know you’ve gotta ask these questions because it’s your job. But you’ve read her file. She earned what she got. And that file doesn’t tell you the most important part. She never stabbed anyone in the back to get there.”
“Are you trying to sell me on her?” The guy didn’t seem to realize how hooked he already was. Diego hefted his mug to his mouth again.
“I just think she gets a bad rap sometimes from people who are jealous of her connections.”
Diego paused mid-swallow. “Connections?”
“Her grandfather, the old CIA director.”
Pieces came together in his head. “Joseph Lockworth.”
How had he missed the name? Even though the guy had retired years ago, the link should have clicked. And did any of this have something to do with a smalltime program coming under congressional oversight? His dormant instincts itched.
Wagner drained his beer, swiping the foam from his upper lip. “Then there’s all that mess with her mother’s career and breakdown. Hell, Josie feels like she’s got a thing or two to prove. She works herself into the ground. She doesn’t take much time for play. None, actually.”
The younger man leaned to refill his mug, silence echoing until his words permeated. The guy was giving him advice about Josie easily when Diego had expected to pry it free.
Well, hell. The dude was giving his consent in a pseudo-brother kind of way. Diego thumbed the moisture on his mug. He would lock up his sisters rather than let any of them near an ass like him.
Yet already a plan had formed in his mind. He wasn’t the kind of guy a woman like Josie Lockworth brought home to Daddy, but he sure-shooting knew exactly what kind of play she would appreciate. “Thanks for the advice.”
“You’re welcome.” Wagner straightened. His easygoing face made a quick shift into a hard mix of protective brother and warrior. “Just treat her right or you’re a dead man.”
What a to-die-for night.
Stepping onto Craig’s front porch, Josie inhaled perfect night air at the end of the longest evening she could ever remember. But overall, productive. Lifestyle Balancing Act 101, going good so far.
She scanned the cars lining the street, searching for a looming Harley while shrugging into her leather flight jacket. The party had been awesome—except for being hours too long while Diego’s eyes followed her wherever she walked.
Finally she could leave without seeming rude. Funny how she’d never minded staying to clean up in the past rather than return to her condo. Tonight, she couldn’t whip those dishes into the dishwasher fast enough. Only the sight of a poor pregnant woman’s swollen feet had kept her there, out of guilt.
Then Diego had offered up his thanks to the host and hostess, tossing Josie one last heated look before striding out the front door. She’d been no less than ten steps behind him.
So where was he?
A car cruised down the street, headlights sweeping the area to reveal…Diego leaning against the front quarter panel of her Mustang. Waiting.
For her.
She took her time descending the steps, enjoying the anticipation, the thrill, the challenge this man posed. She thumbed the unlock button on her key chain. “So you like my V-eight engine?”
“I just might at that.” Boots crossed at the ankles, he smoothed a hand along the hood like a tender lover. “The question is, did you buy it for the looks or the horsepower?”
“I’m not about the looks, Morel.”
“Damn lucky for me.” That wicked grin of his brought vivid reminders of his promise of a kiss to make her forget everythi
ng else. “Wanna compare engines?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Climb into your car and follow me.” Without waiting for an answer, he shoved away from her Mustang and headed for his Harley.
More surprises. Already she tingled in anticipation.
Revving the bike, he waited for her again until she turned the key and lowered the car top for an open-air ride. He peeled away from the curb, taillights glowing in the night, through base housing, out the front gate. She kept him in the crossed beams of her headlights, his broad back in leather offering a perfect pacing target.
For twenty minutes, maybe thirty, even forty, she lost track and just followed. The wind in her hair aired out stresses she hadn’t realized existed. Deeper and deeper into the desert they drove. Smooth paved roads gave way to pocked asphalt, then graded dirt ways.
He pulled off onto the dusty shoulder, pointing his bike toward a dried-up lake bed. She stopped alongside. “What’s the plan now?”
His gaze flicked to the wide-open lake bed, then back to her. His bike gave another growl. “Ready to see whose engine’s better?”
A challenge.
Oh, yeah.
Ultimately, in a long race, no car could match a motorcycle, but maybe in this short stretch, if she lunged out a second ahead of him…Either way, it would be fun to let the engine loose.
She smiled back, her hand sliding surreptitiously to the gearshift. Without blinking, their eyes held. Tension snapped while engines idled in wait for the signal to—
Go!
In lightning synchronicity, she released the clutch and nailed the gas. The Mustang sprang forward onto the hard-packed desert. Sand spewed from her tires in a puff behind her, barely visible in her rearview mirror.
She tore her eyes from the reflection. Diego wasn’t there anyway. She could feel him, hear him keeping up beside. His single beam and her double striped ahead, providing minimal warning of rocks and potholes.
Forty. Sixty. Ninety miles per hour.
God, this was dangerous as hell and so damned incredible. She hadn’t felt like this since horseback-riding lessons as a kid, tearing across the countryside with the wind in her hair, power unleashed to eat up the ground. Diego called to a side of her she’d been suppressing since her mother’s breakdown nearly twenty years ago.
She wanted to believe what he’d said about learning to trust her instincts as well as facts. She needed to think this sudden impulsive yearning to open up and feel would somehow lead her to answers about all those questions about the past. That she wasn’t just being selfish. Reckless. Plain stupid.
Her hands tightened around the wheel. Her heart raced faster than her car. Adrenaline sheeted through her veins like the wind tearing at her hair from the open-air ride.
Topless.
She grinned just remembering his audacity. Then her body tightened in response. The screaming gusts whipped inside her jacket in brazen caresses that left her hungering for the touch of a man, of this man riding alongside her. Equal, without giving ground. A man who, even if she inched ahead, wouldn’t diminish but would instead applaud her.
And challenge her all over again.
The stretch of flat land grew shorter, the gentle roll of dunes and rock drawing closer. Closer still, marking an end too soon. She sped past the border of the dried-up lake bed. Nailed her brakes. Spun out in a cloud of sand and dust and stimulation.
The dust settled around her. An image of Diego straddling his Harley emerged from the night-lit cloud.
Who had won?
She wasn’t sure.
For the first time she could ever remember, she didn’t care.
The time had arrived to stop or go forward with Diego Morel. The part of her that never backed down from a challenge insisted she face him. The wise bookworm told her that if she left the car, he would kiss her. Maybe more.
And she would like it.
Temperatures dropped in the night, but not nearly enough to cool her overheated flesh. She almost hoped he would leave her no choice, that he would swing his Harley in front of her car in some bold move. She would have to stay. She could laugh and even snap at him a little.
Instead, he swept off his helmet but stayed on the motorcycle. In spite of his “promise” of a kiss to wipe away whatever sympathetic look she’d slipped up to toss his way, he would still leave the final choice to her.
Desert winds were never gentle, especially not now as the unrelenting currents streaked Diego’s dark hair behind him. Leather and muscle. Her warrior spirit recognized his. Elemental. Raw.
Arousing.
A wise woman would throw her car into reverse and haul back across that dried-up lake bed faster than the first race. There were so many reasons she shouldn’t get involved with any man—this man—right now, if ever. But the old Josie stirred within her, daring, double daring and most persuasively reminding Josephine of an empty condo with nothing but pictures and Beanie Babies for company.
She reached for her gearshift. Her fingers curled around the stick and held. Diego’s eyes flickered with disappointment, a maelstrom of emotion from this stark man.
Decision made, Josie turned off the car.
Chapter 8
Josie threw open the door of her car, enjoying the slow smile that slid over Diego’s face. There was no mistaking his sexual intent.
Standing, she steadied her legs and determination. With the thrill of their night ride still buzzing through her like the wine she never drank, she craved more.
More than just a drink and shooting the breeze.
She leaned against her door while he walked toward her. The wind roared almost as loud as the pounding of her heart in her ears. She was a woman of calculated, safe risks in the air and on the ground. There was nothing safe about the man stalking toward her.
He stopped in front of her, inches away. A touch away.
Her hands fisted against the car behind her. “Thank you for an incredible ride.”
“You’re welcome.” He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, drawing the black button-down taut across his chest as he stroked her with his eyes if not his hands. His mouth. “I hope you’ll find the one to come as incredible.”
She shivered, her breasts tingling, tightening from far more than the chill of a November desert night. “Mighty confident there, aren’t you, Cruiser?”
He stared down at her for one long blink, neither advancing nor backing away. “Do I have reason not to be?”
She let her hands slip from behind her back, fall to rest on his shirt and toy with the top button. “I’d say things are looking good for you at the moment, but you could always work to tip the odds in your favor.”
“Worried I’ll say something asinine and ruin the mood?” He planted both hands beside her on the car in a touchless embrace.
“It’s always a possibility.”
“Guess that will just keep us both on edge.” He angled closer until their torsos met, hip to hip.
“Edgy’s good.” Unable to stop a subtle rock of her hips against his, she gazed into the molten heat of eyes gleaming in the dark.
“Good?”
“Better than good.” Her words trailed off in a whisper.
“Damn straight.” He skimmed his mouth over hers, gentle brushes at odds with the rasp of his late-day beard.
Once. Twice. Again, until finally she slid her hands up and around the back of his neck, into hair surprisingly soft. “You’re far more patient than I am.”
Josie arched up on her toes as she urged his head down. His open mouth met hers, hot and hungry. He explored her mouth, along her teeth, inviting her into him.
Yes.
“Touch me,” she demanded.
His hands answered her. He cradled her head in one broad palm while his fingers stroked back the shoulder of her jacket before skimming along her side to her hip.
He growled into her mouth and guided her closer against…oh, my…he really did want her. Now. At least as much as she wa
nted him.
She was nearing thirty, damn it, and at the moment, she couldn’t imagine living another day celibate. She wasn’t a virgin, but her experiences had been few and far between—only two actually, one in college, one after she’d finished the intense pilot training.
Each time had been carefully thought out after knowing both men for months. The relationships had been satisfying. But nothing that made her want to throw away caution for the risk of more.
Diego Morel was a huge risk in so many ways, one she had to have. She could handle it. He’d proved over the past couple of weeks that he could do his job well. And she trusted her own paperwork trail to protect her.
Oh, God, was she really analyzing data in the middle of the hottest kiss ever? She seriously needed to get a life. “Your place or mine? It’s about as far a drive in either direction. Maybe we could race again?”
“What about here?”
“Here? Now?” The now part was definitely appealing.
“Why not here?”
Her inexperience was showing at a time when she wanted to dazzle this beyond-dazzling man. “It’s not that I need a closed bedroom door.”
His head dropped back. He dragged in air. “Damn. I’m sorry. Not thinking. You deserve better than rolling around on the hood of a car.”
“That image sounds pretty good to me. But—”
“No need to justify.” He tipped his head forward to stare into her eyes again, his smile almost managing to lighten the tense cut of his jaw. “We’ll find a bed with sheets to mess up.”
“Honestly, it’s just…”
“What?” He smoothed back a strand of her wind-snarled hair, tangled from his hands, as well.
“That whole camera swoop of Bridges’s SUV kinda gives me the creeps.”
He tensed, scanned the air. “Anyone flying tonight?”
“Not that I know of.”
“A moot point since we have a date with sheets.” He tugged her jacket back onto her shoulders. “Yours are probably prettier than mine. We’ll enjoy the hell out of another race back. More anticipation.”
