Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Now Max was quickly gaining an importance in her life that wouldn't be easily dismissed. And that worried her.

Time to find out more about him. With any luck he would admit to something majorly piggish in his past, which would launch him into the realms of jerkdom and out of her mind.

Yeah, right. "Thanks for what you did earlier."

"No big deal." He kept his face forward, eyes narrowed and focused on the darkened expanse of island and sea in front of them. "I'm sure you would have finished off the snake on your own."

"I meant later. Checking on me." Darcy tore her gaze from him and stared out into the night. The hazy glow of spotlights illuminated a museum-quality B-52 on static display. "Thank God I didn't bring Crusty or one of the other guys back to my room. They would have razzed the hell out of me for years over finding you there."

Max's jaw flexed. "I knew you wouldn't ask them for help. That's why I stayed."

"Oh." Gulp. Already this guy had her number. So much for being an Alicia-style enigma.

Of course Alicia had told her on the phone earlier to cut herself some slack. A trip to Guam for Darcy had to be as tough as flying combat mission over Cantou from the cockpit of an F-15.

Yeah, right. She wasn't buying it then and wasn't buying it now. She felt compelled to offer Max an explanation for her meltdown so he wouldn't think she was a weak-kneed twit. "When I was a kid here on Guam, I was—" she paused to find a word that worked while still hiding the truth she wasn't ready to share, especially not tonight ''—I got lost in the jungle. I had some bad experiences with those Guam critters before my father, uh, found me a few days later on Lovers' Leap cliff."

Max's eyes shone with quiet empathy as if he somehow understood the rest without her even having to tell him. "That would be tough for a kid. Even for an adult."

"It was. Especially being stuck there with that creepy legend about two doomed lovers jumping to their death rather than let the girl be married off to some Spanish soldier. I mean, damn. Why didn't they both just paddle to another island? Fight back?''

Of course she'd been to Guam since the kidnapping yet hadn't strayed more than a few yards from base. Her leg throbbed. "Of course who am I to talk? I should probably just go confront my fears. Hike through those jungles and even up to the cliff. Conquer my mountain."

Max straightened. "You don't have to face those critters alone, you know. Call me. I'll take that hike with you, be an extra set of eyes to watch out for...more tree snakes."

Her heartbeat tripped over itself. Oh, man. She was in serious trouble.

Darcy looked away before his sea-green eyes had her plunging right into their sympathetic depths and into those strong arms. She stared out over the moon-speckled water to the dim glow from the island of Rhoda. No one in sight. Safe, for now.

Of course she could take care of herself—wouldn't rely on the protection of others ever again. Twelve years ago, she'd been snacking on a plate of roasted poi on the wide-open beach with a hundred partying Air Force warriors around her. Still she'd been snatched.

These days she preferred the metal-encased protection of her aircraft and her own defenses. "Thanks. I'll keep your offer in mind."

Alicia would be proud of her elusive answer. Too bad it had more to do with self-preservation than enticement.

"Don't you feel exposed out here?" Darcy picked at her sweaty T-shirt and tried not to think of how little she'd been wearing earlier.

"I can see anyone coming long before they get anywhere near me. No chance for one of life's ambushes."

Ah, a kindred spirit. "No snakes under your bed, huh?"

"I guess you could say that." Max folded his hands over his washboard stomach. "I like the wide-open space and the quiet. It's almost as good as being underwater."

She'd never considered that his diving could be a way to achieve ultimate solitude—which made his taking time to comfort her all the more special.

Special. A shiver of longing prickled. Dangerous when she was so vulnerable.

Silence settled, steamy, heavy. Needy. Darcy searched for something to fill the space between them so she wouldn't fall victim to the temptation to explore the muscles cutting his chest.

She pointed to the spotlit plane. "My dad flew that in when the other B-52 monument blew off the blocks during a hurricane." She kept her eyes fixed ahead. "I assume you know who my father is?"

Max blinked but didn't turn to her. "Hank Renshaw? General rumored to be next in line for Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? Yeah, I've heard of him."

"Who hasn't, right?" She forced a laugh. Her father's prestige and power had brought about the kidnapping. Not that she blamed him. Her old man blamed himself enough for fifty people. "When Dad pulled his stint here as the Squadron Commander, crewdogs painted over all the signs that carried his name and title. They replaced it with 'Uncle Hank: Best Damned Bomber Pilot in the United States Air Force.'"

Darcy stared out at the plane. She'd been certain her indomitable father would wing in to the rescue. He had. But it had taken so damned long. "Sometimes I wish I'd felt the calling to be an artist. Or a lawyer. Or a teacher. Something different from my old man." A job where the memories wouldn't dog her.

"But the genes run too strong."