Grayson's Surrender (Wingmen Warriors 1)

Meanwhile she was stuck in a webbed military seat surrounded by her co-workers, Gray's co-workers and her memories. Thank heaven in a few minutes she would have more than enough to think about assessing and loading the children.

Were her memories of Sentavo's lush, mountainous landscape accurate, or confused with other childhood "nose pressed to the car window" recollections of a different Eastern European city? Her gypsy childhood trailing her artist parents had left her with a blur of memories from cities all over the world. And a fierce need for roots that had increased with her thirtieth birthday.

A light tap gave the only indication they'd landed, followed by the drag and whine of the engines slowing the aircraft until they taxied to a stop. She gathered her backpack and trailed the others down the load ramp, her stomach flipping another loop-de-loop. Because of the mission, not the man. Right?

Liar.

Old buses littered the tarmac, parked alongside the hangar and shaded by maple and pine bowers. The hangar loomed, nothing more than a rusting warehouse with an oversize door. The children would be waiting inside, her reason for being here, and she couldn't forget that for a minute. Lori strode forward.

Dappled sunlight threaded through the dense trees, patterning lacey shadows on the pitifully thin and cracked asphalt. They'd landed on that? She shivered in spite of the near eighty-degree summer weather.

"Lori."

From behind her, Gray's voice encircled Lori like a warm blanket, like his solid, strong arms. She put two more steps between her and those hot tones before turning to face him. "Smooth flight, Major. I'm impressed."

"Thanks. Lancelot and Bronco put her down, though. The commander and I just relieved them for a few hours over the Atlantic while they snagged a nap." His eyes searched her face as if he might finally say something else, something substantial, then he held fast to his standard behavior for the day and smiled lightly.

Nothing deep.

And absolutely no touching.

"Regardless of who flew when, we're here and those children have waited long enough for a home, for families," Even with a set of affluent parents, she'd waited her whole life for a home, and the ache had sometimes seemed to consume her. God, what must those children, with such greater concerns and fears, be feeling?

Gray scratched a hand along his bristly jaw. "I'll need your help inside."

"Mine?"

"If you don't mind," he said, the best wicked grin back in place.

Ah, a gauntlet. "You're a bad boy, Grayson Clark."

"You're only just figuring that out?"

She ignored his question and parried with her own. "You want me to assist you for the next four hours while you check out these kids?"

"Why not? You and I can work together, probably better than I can with the others in your office, since we know each other. No sweat."

He met her with a challenging stare, as if daring her. To do what? To prove something by showing herself and everyone else they could work together, no sweat, like he'd said? Was he trying to convince himself, as well?

The mere thought scared her all the way to her hiking boots. "No sweat?"

"Of course not. We can focus on the job. I'll be getting the heavy-duty cases, greater injuries and traumatized kids. I can use your help. Put that social work degree of yours to good use. You're the boss after all. Shouldn't you take on the tougher ones?"

The kids. War orphans. How could she refuse? And he no doubt knew her well enough to realize she couldn't. "You're a bad boy, and you don't play fair."

He shrugged. "So tell my mom."

"A little late for that." Lori sucked in air like water. Her gaze shifted from Gray's handsome face to the landscape behind him—the rounded mountain peaks, the smattering of quaint stucco cottages. Beautiful, except half of the buildings were missing sides or bore gaping holes in their clay roofing. How many of those children in the hangar had lived here? Had they played with parents and siblings in the yard? Watched planes fly overhead?

Witnessed the devastation.

She'd seen more than her fair share of poverty and destruction in the world, following her parents from country to country. And it never failed to fist in her stomach, compacting within her a need to act, fix, change things.

Lori pointed to the hangar. "Let's get these children checked out and loaded up."

"Yes, ma'am." Gray charged after her, weaving through the crowd of military and relief workers.

Lori strode the last few feet to the shelter that housed seventy-two scared kids. Did Gray have to walk so close behind her? Too easily she could inhale that mixture of bay rum aftershave and just him tinged with sweat, a scent too reminiscent of summer afternoons spent making love, sleeping entangled, making love again.