“Hell no. I’m not accepting money from you.”
“I can afford it.” True. His pay grade more than covered his needs. Plus, thanks to an investment he’d made in his little brother, Logan’s, company, he had a healthy and ever-growing savings.
“I can’t afford it,” she shot back and slapped her palm against her chest. “I can’t let you subsidize me financially because you have a misplaced sense of guilt. My integrity can’t afford it.” She broke off and drew in deep breath. “Look, I’m not destitute. I have a few hundred bucks. Hopefully that will last me if I stay somewhere cheap and if my recruiter comes through quick with a new assignment.”
“That’s too many ifs. I can’t do that.” He didn’t care if he sounded like a controlling asshole. The idea of letting her walk out his door without a decent plan burned a hole through his gut. He told himself the guilt would eat at him like acid, but a small voice in the back of his brain insisted the burn came from something more than guilt. Duty, in a twisted way—a moral obligation to alleviate a situation he’d helped to create. Fuck it, she needed a safe place to stay, and he could provide it.
“Stay here.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain fully vetted them, and as soon as he uttered the invitation his better judgment objected. First rule of combat—don’t engage without an exit strategy. Where is your exit strategy? The simple, obvious answer stared back at him. He didn’t need one, because Chloe lived her life like one big exit strategy. She didn’t have a home, didn’t want a home, and wasn’t looking for anything except a place to perch until she migrated to her next assignment. He’d reached the point in his life where staying put sounded better than migrating, but she’d run from anything remotely resembling conventional stability.
“No. I couldn’t.”
See? “You could. I’ve got two bedrooms, if that’s your issue. You’re welcome to the one I use as my office. Stay until your agency finds you another job.”
“That could take weeks.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged to convey a lack of concern with the time line. She obviously liked to keep her roots shallow and her interactions casual. He had to make her see this fit those goals.
Those smoke-and-mirror eyes of hers stared into his for a long time. “God,” she covered her face with her hands, briefly, “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. Are you sure you want to invite a disaster like me into your life?”
No. He was anything but sure. He’d finally gotten a post he could settle into for a while—assuming he could keep his shit together, get back on flight status, and avoid a court-martial in the meantime. Simple enough goals, yet since meeting Chloe he’d put every single one of them in jeopardy. Her impulsive nature, no matter how sexy and charming, created problems for a man trying to stay on the straight and narrow. But that didn’t give him an excuse to turn his back on her. “Chloe, I’ve piloted supplies to red cross stations in areas struck by floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes. I’ve dropped aid packages at refugee camps. I’ve flown in and out of war zones. I’ve seen disaster close up, and I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you throw my way.”
The comment must have put things into context for her, because she gave him a weak smile. “You think?”
Again, he wasn’t so sure, but he nodded with a confidence he didn’t feel and returned her smile. “I guarantee. Stay as long as you need to. No strings attached.” Laughable ad
dition, considering a minute ago they’d been one thin layer of latex away from balling each other blind, but, technically, they were not lovers and he didn’t want her to think his hospitality hinged on them changing that status.
She gnawed her lip and her eyes darted to the right as she considered his words. He followed her line of vision until his gaze hit a photo on the dresser. A snapshot of his first day on the job at Camp Pendleton, showing him in front of a chopper, shaking hands with his CO—his ultraconservative, by-the-book, CO, who did not believe in officers under his command using the government’s Basic Allowance for Housing to facilitate cohabitation outside the sanctity of marriage.
He cringed, thinking how quickly this new cohabitation development would travel from Mrs. Waverly, to his CO’s wife, to his CO, and how quickly his cleared-to-fly paperwork would get the downward shuffle on his CO’s desk. Quickly, and possibly permanently, if Sempler decided to report him for yesterday’s indiscretion. Unless… “Make that, no strings except one.”
Chapter Seven
Chloe blinked at the empty air where Michael had been mere seconds ago. He’d just offered her the answer to her prayers—a safe, free, no-strings-attached place to stay—and then bolted off the bed like his nonexistent pants were on fire.
He strode across the room and dug something out of the top drawer of the dresser. She admired the play of muscles under bronze skin, and the view of his top-drawer ass.
What the hell was he looking for? He’d mentioned something about strings and started rifling through a drawer. Did he plan to literally…tie her up? He walked back to the bed before she could decide whether the thought excited her or freaked her out. Then she let go of the quandary, because the sight of him closing in, wearing an intense expression, his dog tags, and nothing else, effectively scrambled her brain. He knelt by the side of the bed and propped his closed fist on her knee.
“Let me rephrase,” he said, flashing a smile that tried to convince her he was harmless.
She wasn’t fooled. He knew how to unlock handcuffs with a hairpin in under three minutes. He knew how to unlock her orgasm one-handed in under a minute. He was so not harmless.
“There is one tiny string attached.” He looked up at her from beneath his dark, unfairly thick lashes. Then he opened his fist to reveal a small, black velvet box. A flick of his fingers snapped the lid back and a diamond solitaire she estimated somewhere north of a carat twinkled at her.
Her hand flew to her heart at the same time her gaze flew to his. “That’s a tiny string?”
The smile tugging his lips broadened, but he still didn’t look harmless. “My CO disapproves of cohabitating. He’s got the final authority over my return to the cockpit, so I’d rather not do anything he disapproves of. I think if we”—he broke off and looked at her with those deep, dark, mesmerizing eyes—went the engagement route, it might mitigate any potential negative consequences.”
“You want us to pretend—”
“Appearances only,” he inserted quickly. “I doubt we’ll have to out-and-out lie to anyone, but Mrs. Waverly is eagle-eyed and she’s also my CO’s wife’s best friend. We’ll just put my grandmother’s ring on your finger, move you in, and then, when you get your new assignment, I’ll take the ring back and we’ll go our separate ways. If anyone asks what happened, I’ll say things just didn’t work out.”
No. No. Hell to the No. Just the thought of putting the ring on her finger made her palms sweat. “I can’t. Me staying here is a bad idea if it puts your career at risk and forces you to lie.”
He looked down at the ring and then back up at her, and his pensive expression made her realize he was debating telling her something. She had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like it.
“I didn’t want to mention this, because it’s my problem, not yours, but I could end up in serious trouble for what happened yesterday at the clinic. The Corps frowns on its members committing acts of indecency or indecorum. If Sempler lodges a complaint, my CO will have to address it.”