A small sound, a breathless sigh, escaped Megan. Her fingers alternately opened and closed against his chest, the pounding of his heart beneath her palms, racing along in time with hers. His breath washed across her cheek and nose, moist velvet heightening her senses of him, of his tender assault. Unaccustomed to the whirling vortex of heat spiraling through her, dizzied and burning with a fire that raged hotly between her thighs, Megan tried to stop herself from falling down through it, and losing her last shred of coherency.
Slowly, Sam drew away from her wonderfully pliant, sweet lips that filled him with the ache of need. Her face was flushed, her lashes opening, revealing drowsy emerald eyes saturated with arousal and a need that matched his own. “You’re heady stuff,” he whispered thickly, unable to stop himself from tunneling his fingers through her beautiful red hair. His breathing was ragged, but so was hers. Managing a self-deprecating smile, Sam eased his hands away from her hair, holding her gently by the shoulders because she looked disoriented.
“You look deliciously exotic,” he said huskily. “Red hair and fire. What a combination you are, sweetheart….” Indeed, Megan’s hair was mussed, her mouth glistening and parted, giving her the appearance of a woman who had been well loved by her man. The urgent throb of his flesh ripened, demanded satiation, but he controlled his need for her. They had been so close to losing what little control had been left that Sam was shaken in the aftermath of their torrid kiss.
“I…” Megan’s voice was contralto, heavy with passion. It was so easy to fall into Sam’s hooded gaze and feel the returning fire leap along every nerve ending in her body. Just his look made her vibrate with a longing that left her aching to be fulfilled by him.
“Don’t talk,” Sam urged, keeping his hands on her shoulders. Megan was honestly disoriented.
Feeling cherished, as if she were some priceless, beautiful gift to Sam, Megan barely nodded her head. His hands moved from her shoulders, downward, gently caressing her arms and hands, as if to ground her back into the present. She closed her eyes, allowing his ministrations to do just that. The call of the birds, the hot wind against her face and the frantic beat of her heart were all that permeated her spinning senses for at least the next few minutes.
Finally, Megan opened her eyes. Sam’s hands remained around hers, as it to keep her stabilized. She studied those hands, remembering the wonderful feeling of them threading through her hair, gently kneading her scalp. Shakily, she released a breath of air. “Every time we kiss,” Megan confided huskily, “is like a new world for me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked her quietly.
With a small smile, Megan admitted, “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”
Sam wondered how many serious relationships Megan had had, and concluded not many. Her innocence shimmered through her honest response to him. It hadn’t been tainted by too many lovers who had “trained” her to respond. “Well, I’ve never experienced what I share with you, Red.” He watched surprise and then pleasure come to her lustrous eyes. “We’re kind of good together.” And good for one another.
Reality was settling around her shoulders once more, and Megan regretfully allowed the euphoria that had exploded and then built heatedly between them to dissipate. This was the second time she’d kissed Sam. This time, it had become even more dangerous, and Megan had come so close to throwing away all her caution just to be one with him. No, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t commit to him. He was a pilot—nothing but misery and unhappiness would occur even if they shared sexual compatibility. Sex was only one small ingredient of a good relationship, and that was something Megan had learned in college. Yes, she and Sam shared a molten chemistry between them.
But there was more than a bed to be shared, and Megan knew that. For her to sleep with someone signaled a total commitment to the partner, not just a one-night stand or a flip affair. Somehow, she had to control herself, control the urge to make love to Sam. God, but it was so easy, so natural between them. Megan got up, moving away from Sam.
“I—I think I should get home. Thanks for a lovely picnic, Sam. I enjoyed it.”
Back on automatic. He sat there, watching her draw up those walls to protect herself again. Okay, just stay patient. “You’re right.” Gathering up the articles and repacking them in the cardboard box, he walked over to the trash barrel and threw them away. Turning, he saw Megan standing uncertainly, her hands clasped in front of her, the wind ruffling her sundress, outlining her slender form. In that moment, Megan reminded him of a deer: defenseless, nervous and ready to take flight and run.
Picking up his jacket, he guided her back to his Corvette. “You know there’s a mandatory Christmas dance over at the O Club coming up. Colonel Yale told me I’d better show up or else. I don’t have a date, and I’d like to escort you to it.” He knew if he told her the real reason why he wanted her with him, she’d bolt. So, Sam lied, reasoning that it was a white lie—one that wouldn’t hurt anyone and help his cause. “My fitness report comes up for review in late December. I figure if I show up, play the game, make the small talk, that the colonel will give me favorable marks. How about it? As a friend, will you help me out?”
Megan slid into the black leather seat, strapped on the seat belt and thought about Sam’s request. When he got in, starting the growling car, she said, “I don’t know. I hate going over to the O Club. Father used to practically live over there. Every time he had a fight with Mother, that’s where he’d go until it closed. And then, he’d go home with a groupie and come home early the next morning.”
Guiding the Corvette out from beneath the shade, Sam said, “A lot of guys spend time over there.” He reached over, briefly touching her hand. “It won’t be like that this time, I promise you.” Grinning, he added, “Hell, it’ll give you a chance to dress up and show off that gorgeous body of yours. I’m not such a bad dancer, and judging from the way you carry yourself, I’ll bet you’re pretty good on the dance floor, too.”
With a laugh, Megan couldn’t resist his teasing. “You’re right on both accounts. I do love to dress up, and there’s nothing more in this world I love to do than dance. And,” she added thoughtfully, “it’s part of facing my past, isn’t it?”
“It could be,” Sam responded.
The idea felt good to Megan. Sooner or later, she had to revisit these old haunts, reacquaint herself with the painful memories once again, so that she could face them, walk through them and finally release them. “I might not be a very good date, Sam. All the old emotions it will drag up might make me moody….”
With a grin, he said, “I’ll take my chances, Red.”
Megan matched his smile. “Okay, I’ll go with you—as a friend, all right?”
“You’ve got a deal,” Sam agreed fervently.
Megan settled into the cockpitlike seat, thinking that the Corvette looked exactly like the instrumentation found in a fighter jet. “Thanks for being there, Sam.”
Sam felt a twinge of pain again in his heart for her. Megan had grown up so alone, a shy little introvert who never reached out to ask for help or support for herself. He’d provided her an unexpected opportunity to face her past, and he felt good about being there to support her. Gripping her hand, pressing a quick kiss to the top of it, he promised, “I’ll be there for you, good mood or bad. Friends help one another out.”
A wonderful warmth flowed through Megan. The tenor of Sam’s voice gave her the first real hope she’d had since arriving at Edwards. “It’s nice to have a friend,” she admitted softly.
Tension flowed out of Sam. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” As long as he emphasized their friendship, Megan was trusting him—just a little bit. With time, perhaps the career pilot image would disappear from her eyes, and she’d relate to him, Sam Holt. Never had he wanted anything more.
10
Where was that bastard, Holt? Jack almost bit out the words in Design where everyone was gathered for the daily 7:00 a.m. meeting. Holt was late. Why? He sat at his desk and
pretended to study a manual while his mind clicked off possibilities. Last night, Melody swore that there was something between him and that little redheaded school teacher, Megan Roberts. That was confirmed this morning by a crew chief who mentioned seeing Holt with her at Shady Lane yesterday evening.
Good, he had more shit on his archrival. That explained why Holt sided with the teacher when Scotty was attacked by that little brat, Patty Merrill. Jack lifted his head and zeroed in on Merrill, who was in a conference with Major Porter. They’d be flying shortly. He was about to begin needling Merrill when the door opened.
“Hey, boys and girls,” Holt announced, swinging through the entrance and lifting up two bakery boxes, “it’s doughnut time!”
Stang heard the fifteen people, both civilian and military, cheer and then break into applause. Dammit, Holt was late because he’d stopped at a bakery in Lancaster. Every once in a while, Holt would spring for doughnuts for those in Design. Reluctantly, Jack admitted he’d been upstaged—again. Why hadn’t he thought of this nice little touch? Melody was going to have to help him remember this kind of gesture to put him in good stead with these people. Maybe he ought to make a note on his event calendar so he wouldn’t forget.
Sam grinned over at Curt and Port and murmured a greeting to them as he opened the boxes. Immediately, everyone converged on him and the table where he’d spread out the offerings.
“Come on, pig-out time!” Holt called, laughing. Last night he’d slept for the first time without any nightmares. And Sam knew it was because of his growing closeness to Megan. This morning he’d awakened happier than he could ever recall. Wanting to share his happiness, Sam decided that doughnuts were always in vogue with the crew at Design. He saw Port give him a rolled-eyeballs look.
“Ahh, come on Port, you can have one.”
“Holt, those are fat city for my hips! No way.”
Sam picked up a cheese-filled Danish, took it over to her desk and held it provocatively under her nose. “Here, this is for you. I asked for a low-cal Danish, Port. The guy finally found one.” He held it out in her direction. “Honest, it’s fewer calories. It’s filled with soybean meal disguised with an almond flavoring added. Come on, be a good sport.”
“Better watch it,” Jack interrupted, standing in line to get his doughnut, “the hand that feeds you might bite you, Major.”
Lauren frowned. “Captain, as usual, you’re wrong,” and she claimed the Danish from Holt. “Sam, this better be low-cal or I’m going to get even with you.”
Grinning, Sam stepped aside, watching Stang. The officer was taut this morning. Yes, something was up. Sam could sense it around Stang. “I’ll live in dire straits until you weigh yourself tomorrow morning on your scale and see you haven’t gained an ounce on that dynamite frame of yours.”
Laughter bubbled up from Lauren, and she tasted the dish. “Ohhh, God, this is good, Holt. I hate you, but I love you. Thanks…”
“Hey,” Jack whispered over at Holt, “I thought you’d like to know Melody’s lodging a complaint with the assistant principal over Ms. Roberts’s poor conduct yesterday afternoon.”
Holt’s jaw snapped shut. He glared up at Stang. A warning went off deep inside him. Jamison was gunning for Megan anyway. This could get her fired. Jack was watching him closely for any kind of reaction, trying to gauge just how much Megan meant to him. If he let on, she could be in worse trouble, because Melody would make it tougher on her over at the school. Sam knew from experience that the Stangs, once they decided upon a sacrificial victim, wouldn’t let up until that person was effectively destroyed. And he didn’t want Megan run off Edwards because of constant, unrelieved pressure put on by the couple. Dammit, anyway!
“That’s her problem,” he lied smoothly, “not mine.”
“Yeah?” Jack gloated, watching for a possible flare of anger from the pilot. Holt’s eyes were opaque, unreadable.
“Yeah. Hey, listen, we’ve got a flight coming up in forty minutes. I’ve got paperwork to do before that.”
Rising, Stang smiled. “Roger.” He walked back to his desk and filed away Holt’s reactions. He made a few notes on the pad he kept under lock and key in his desk drawer, which he’d share with Melody tonight at their usual tac-and-strat session. Sitting down, he glanced at his watch. In exactly ten minutes, Melody would make her grand entrance to Brad Jamison’s office and put the final nails in Megan Roberts’s coffin. If she refused to stop making out reports on Scotty, then there were other ways to get her fired.
Melody made sure her lavender suit was perfectly arranged over her hips before entering the school. She wore amethyst earrings and a simple, but elegant, Cartier gold watch on her right wrist. The children were already in class, the tile halls quiet as she made her way toward the principal’s office.
Smiling to herself, she wanted to be a fly on the wall when Megan Roberts was hauled in on the carpet and fired. The woman was really a poor excuse for a teacher in her estimation. She held the lavender leather purse a little more tightly, the matching leather heels complementing her expensive six-hundred-dollar suit.
Brad Jamison, dressed in a dark blue pinstripe suit, was consulting with his secretaries when she entered. She watched his eyes widen considerably when she stepped into the office. Good, her image had the desired effect on him. Melody completely disregarded the three women staring at her.
“Good morning, Mr. Jamison.” She held out her hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Stang. I’m glad you could come. Step into my office?”
Smiling warmly, she came around the end of the counter. “Of course.”
Flushing, he gestured toward the open door to his office. “Of course! Come in. And might I say, you’re stunning looking in that suit.”
Smiling demurely, Melody nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Jamison.” She followed him into the spacious office. He shut the door and came around to his side of the desk.
Melody dropped all pretense once she knew they were out of sight and earshot of the secretaries. “We want Megan Roberts fired, Brad. That ridiculous scene at the O Club yesterday afternoon involving Scotty is the last straw.”
With a nod, Brad pulled a file from his drawer. “To make it worse, she’s filed another report on your son, Melody.” He handed her the file, watching her eyes narrow as she read it.
She threw it on his desk. “I thought the last check would cover problems like this,” she said tightly. “I’m sure you’re aware that Jack is chief test pilot on the Agile Eagle project over at Ops. If Roberts talks about this to other teachers, it could get around. We can’t afford to have General Dalton or Colonel Yale get ahold of this information. It would hurt Jack’s chance for an early promotion to major.”
Brad nodded. “I’ve warned her, even threatened her, but she won’t back off.”
“What does it boil down to? What has to be done to get rid of her?”
“I have to prove she’s inept.” Making a frustrated sound, he got up. “I have to lodge a protest with the union, which I’ve done. We have to have reason to fire her, Melody.”
“You’ve got plenty of them! She’s picking on Scotty, singling him out! The poor boy is a nervous wreck when he gets home. Both Jack and I will swear to that. He spends half his day in the nursing room instead of the classroom. What kind of an education is he getting?” Melody gripped the purse, emotion leaking through her carefully modulated voice. “I won’t have that, Brad. I simply won’t tolerate it.”
Scratching his head, Brad gave her an oblique look. “I’m doing what I can.”
“Jack wants her gone. The sooner, the better.”
“Are you aware that Megan is the daughter of Colonel Steven Roberts, the famous test pilot?”
Melody was unable to stifle her reaction. “What?” Oh, my God! The implications were there—Megan Roberts had a lot more clout than she’d suspected. In fact, Melody had completely underestimated Megan’s power base.
Clearing his throat, Brad went on. “Firing her is going to
be a ticklish matter. She has power on this base if she wants to use it. Frankly, I don’t want a call from General Dalton over this. I’ll need at least twice as much as the last check to ramrod this through.”
Melody understood. “You’ll get it. I’ll put it into the mail today.” Inwardly she seethed, angry at her lack of investigation on Megan. She was a far more dangerous adversary than Melody first thought. Megan Roberts was the daughter of Colonel Roberts, one of the most famous test pilots since Edwards had come into existence! Taking a deep breath, Melody hurried out to her Mercedes-Benz, barely able to wait and speak with Jack tonight.
Megan sat very still as Brad Jamison shut the door with an ominous finality. The plastic chair made her back sweaty, and she longed for a cooling shower. The shirt-dress she wore was damp beneath the armpits. She prayed Jamison didn’t notice. Her school day was over when she received a call to come up to the head office. What was up? Was Jamison going to chew her out for the way she handled the Halloween fight between Patty and Scotty?
Jamison sat down and steepled his hands. “I think it’s only fair to tell you that I’ve notified your union that I want you fired.”
Megan sat up, her eyes going wide. “Fired?”
Working hard to curb a smile of satisfaction, he snapped, “That’s right.”
Trying to control her breathing, Megan asked, “Why?” It had to be the outdoor education proposal.
“Your inability to control the children in your class. Putting out weekly reports on Scotty Stang has gone too far. You’re singling out the child, making him an example. The parents are very upset, and I happen to agree with them—the problem isn’t with Scotty, it’s with the ability, or lack of it, of the teacher.”
Megan glared at him. “That child is hyperactive! And I’m not making him an example. I refuse to have him disrupt the rest of my class.”
With a shrug, Jamison muttered, “So, take it up with your union. I’ve filed for your firing.”
Inwardly, Megan quivered in fury. “I’ll fight you, Jamison. I’ll do whatever necessary to vindicate myself in this matter.”
Night Flight Page 15
