Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Max cut his eyes toward Crusty. Was the guy hung up on Darcy after all? But Crusty wasn't ogling Darcy. He stared out over the ocean with glazed eyes that seemed to be taking him to another place. Another time.

Hell. Max pitched aside his empty water bottle. Less than a month with Darcy Renshaw trying to socialize him and he was turning into some freaking Sigmund Freud.

Baker swiped a hand over his face, his eyes clear again. "Guys like us don't lead the kind of life that lends itself well to relationships. Too many 'can't tell you where I'm going babe or when I'll be back' moments. Too many secrets."

Memories crashed over him in a tidal wave. He'd lived that nightmare with Eva. She'd wanted them both to get out of the CIA, start a more sedate family life. Had even walked more than once. Not that he blamed her. Even when he was around, he was only half there. Distant on a good day. Distant and hungry for the next mission on a bad day.

He and Eva had weathered more than a few bad days. After his near miss in South America, she'd insisted for a month he back off and take lower risk assignments. Every time she'd traced that scar on his shoulder, she'd cried. If only he'd listened to her and changed the course of their lives, her cover might have never been blown. She might still be alive.

Screw social skills. He didn't want to talk to anyone tonight, anyway. "Get to the point, Baker."

Crusty crumpled the empty pretzel bag. "She's leaving soon. As much as you may think she's clear on the friendship issue, I know her better. As a real friend. And I can tell you, pal, she doesn't look at me the same way she's looking at you."

Max started to disagree, but just his damned luck Darcy chose that second to glance over at him. Her smile faltered. Her fingers crept up to twine around the chain on her dog tags. Did she know how those dog tags of hers turned him on? He wanted to tug her forward with them and...

"Cut her loose." Crusty interrupted Max's thoughts with harsh reality. "Unless you're genuinely interested in her. Then we'll throw you a keg party and give you an honorary call sign. Something like 'Spike' for your hair or 'Fin' for your job. Hell, we can even get you a batch of your own coconut bra pictures." Seriousness stained Crusty's eyes, all the more powerful for its rarity. "Just be careful with her, man. She's got history. She may be friends with the lot of us, but she doesn't let life get deep too often."

Even across the stretch of beach, Max could see those shadows lurking in her eyes. Had they been there from the start and he'd missed them because he didn't know her well enough then? Darcy's file chronicled her kidnapping—with conspicuous holes, thanks to her father's influence, no doubt. She seemed to have moved past it. But of course, what the hell did he know about reading people's emotions?>She glanced at Bo Rokowsky strumming his guitar. She couldn"t help but wonder why she wasn't in the least attracted to Bo. His dark-haired perfection drew women. His sense of humor held them. He never lacked for anything to say. Problem was that Bo, a man her own age, suddenly seemed too immature.

Yeah. Thanks bunches, Dr. Maxwell Keagan. "You're doing a great job keeping the clueless Romeos and matchmaking Cupids at bay."

"Glad to help." His finger slipped along the silver chain.

The dog tags clinked. Slid. Up. Down. Up again until her br**sts beaded in longing for the firmer caress of a warm, broad palm instead of cold metal. "Problem is, you're doing too good a job."

The tags halted. "Huh?"

"Your attentive date touches are making me hot and I'm not referring to sweat."

"Hot?'' His hand fisted around her chain.

She needed space. Air would be nice, too. "Way hot. Ducking behind a dune sounds good right now, even though we both know that isn't what we should do." She couldn't keep the hint of question out of her tone.

He exhaled long and slow. Liquid fire raced through her veins, and she was too tipsy and too vulnerable to make a smart decision. This man's experience outstripped her in more than years.

She gripped his hand, slowly untwining it from her chain until they were linked by their fingers and an odd friendship that ruled out impulsive sex. "This has been great fun. But you have some baggage to get over, and I'm not any good at dealing with my own baggage, much less other people's. Please move your hand and let me up."

Without waiting for him to act, she started to rise, a painfully arousing process. Her skin held to his, bonded by the heat and light sheen of sweat, until she was free.

Except not totally. Even as she walked away, she carried the smell of him. Coconut oil, musk—man. Even in her inexperienced state she knew the scent well.

Max Keagan oozed sex.

She needed to control her world, and Max flipped her emotions until she found herself longing to take risks far scarier than plunging into combat. Never again did she want to experience the total loss of emotional control she'd felt during her kidnapping. So she'd always chosen safe relationships that she could manage.

The revelation startled her. No risk. No danger. No chance of being hurt.

She didn't like what that said about her lack of courage. Not at all. Yet, she couldn't stop herself from running tonight.

Darcy spun away to join the safety of her crewdog buds, who never shot sex-laden looks her way, making her question things about herself she wasn't ready to answer.

Max watched the gentle sway of Darcy's h*ps as she sprinted across the sand to the remains of the supper spread. She snagged a handful of chips and melded into the circle of flyers listening to the guitar-strumming lieutenant.

Where she belonged.

Her edginess crackled through the air. When had he become so in tune to this woman's moods? The notion rocked him. He didn't want this connection with her, but it was there all the same.

Darcy seemed content to let him sit on the outskirts as he preferred. Sure, she'd pushed for him to attend, but respected his boundaries. She might have military regimentation and team play down to an art form, but accepted their differences.