Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Her chest rose and fell, faster, heavier, until her br**sts brushed him. Tightened. Bringing an answering tightening in him, an arousal she couldn't miss, pressed so closely to him. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, but she stayed silent.

He understood her hesitation. He'd pushed her away so many times, hurt her pride once too often. She wouldn't ask. Now to lay it all out there and hope she didn't opt for revenge. A risk well worth taking for a chance to be with her.

He didn't know where they were going. Or how the hell they would manage the aftermath. But he was certain of one thing.

No more holding back.

"Darcy," he whispered against her hair.

"Yeah, Max?" She didn't move or even look at him. But she didn't pull away, either.

"I want you. I wish I could find prettier words for you than that, but you already know I'm not the most communicative guy on the planet. You deserve to hear how damned incredible you are. Except the more I talk, the more I'm finding there aren't any words that come close to doing you justice." He eased back to stare deep into her eyes and repeated, "You deserve to know."

Max cupped her face in his hands, determined to show her a much better way to communicate with their mouths than talking.

Chapter 13

Who needed talk?

Darcy flung her arms around Max's neck and backed toward the bed, her lips parting to accept the warm sweep of his tongue. Answer him with the touch of her own.>"Do you really believe that, Darcy?"

Her shoulders trembled under his grip, and he wanted to get her the hell out of here where he could hold her. Finally she turned to face him. Soot streaked along one tanned cheek.

It had been that close. The bastard responsible was that desperate.

His hold tightened on her shoulders as if he could keep her grounded and safe through his sheer force of will. A temporary measure. Even though he damned well knew this accident was linked to his case, she still faced similar hazards daily—an unsettling notion he hadn't considered before.

He understood the call to service and the risks involved for her. But had never thought beyond the island. Beyond this case.

Now he had to consider more, didn't have a choice anymore around this woman. Even if he said goodbye to her tomorrow or the day after, he would always wonder and worry. And if, God forbid, something happened to her, it would level him.

He wanted the old days back when he could sit against a wall like Crusty and thumb through paperwork until the world returned to order again. Instead he could only think of the woman in front of him and the fact that he'd almost lost her. Could well lose her in ways that had nothing to do with his profession.

He forced his breathing to slow and reminded himself she was alive. Alive and pissed.

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.