Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Anger radiated from her in waves as dark as the soot smudging her cheek. "They tried to crash my plane, Max. Some son of a bitch screwed with my airplane."

A rage as intense as hers ignited in him. This crew could have died. Darcy could have died.

He couldn't change Darcy's occupation. Or what might happen tomorrow. But he could damn well make sure the son of a bitch responsible for that smudge on her face and shadows in her eyes paid.

Darcy hauled her weary body from the front seat of the rental car outside the VOQ. Bronco, Crusty and Tag piled out, as well. Nobody had the energy left for even a good-night, instead heading straight for their rooms.

Scratching a hand along the neck of her flight suit, she made her way down the open walkway and tried not to think about how much she could use a night on the roof deck with Max. Now that life had slowed, the flight rolled through her mind. She'd half expected the crew wouldn't believe her calculations and would razz her about wanting to return to Guam because of Max. But they hadn't. They'd accepted her call in the air without question.

Accepted her.

Was this something new? Or had she simply missed it before because she couldn't look past the chip on her shoulder larger than her father's stars? Definitely things to consider. Later. Once she shucked her flight suit, showered off the layers of grime and slept for twelve hours. Longer.

Never long enough to forget how good it had felt relaxing back into the comfort of Max's hands on her shoulders. He always knew when she needed him. She—a woman who prided herself on never needing anyone.

And there he was.

She shouldn't be surprised. Max leaned against the wall in the shadows outside her room, thumbing through a copy of the base newspaper while he waited.

She wasn't fooled by his relaxed pose at all.

Muscles rippled with tension along his bared arms. His diver-down tattoo flexed and twitched as if protesting the restraint of Max holding back. Ready to pounce.

He flicked to the next page of the base paper without looking up. "Wanna head up to the deck or go inside?"

"You assume I need you now like after the snake attack and back in the hospital."

He would be right, not that she intended to admit it.

Max closed the paper, folded it in half and tucked it under his arm with precision. "Maybe I need to see you."

Well, hell. The guy sure knew how to sap the air out of a girl's anger. Darcy jammed her key into the lock. "Okay. You've been a good friend. You've seen me, checked up on me. I'm really fine. Or as fine as can be expected when I've almost died twice in a week."

And she hadn't even flown combat. Talk about a crash course in survival. She swung open her door and strode inside. His determined footsteps tracked her into the darkened room.

Darcy flipped the light switch and pivoted on her boot heel. "Good manners dictate you wait to be invited in."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll take it under advisement."

"The new Max is even grumpier than the other one."

He didn't budge. "So I've been told. Thanks again for the etiquette lesson."

His broad chest offered comfort, calling to her with a power more intense than an embossed invitation. Especially with an empty bed only five feet away.

She needed space. Now. Maybe if she ignored him he would leave.

Darcy plopped down in a chair and started untying her boots. She thumped one, then the other onto the floor, and still Max loomed by the door. Would the guy ever get the message?

Standing, she hooked her hands on her hips. "Leave, please, so I can get some sleep."

He took a lazy step nearer to her. To the bed. "Do you really want me to go?"

"Yes." No.

"All right, then." He absorbed her with the slow ride of his eyes one last time before he turned to grip the knob.

"Max!" Damn. She bit her lip.