Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

Her bland expression didn't fool him for a minute. The slight tremble of her hands told him so much, an understated sign that screamed a clear message coming from this restrained woman.

He'd won. She'd admitted she remembered, and it had dogged her as much as it did him. Now they should be able to jettison all the sparks arcing between them.

Except he still wanted her. A woman who played by the rules scorned rule breakers like him and wouldn't pass up the chance to ground his butt permanently if he misstepped.

Maybe Kathleen had the right idea. Reviewing pages of maintenance reports was a hell of a lot less frustrating than acknowledging those memory missiles lobbing between them.

Yet his gut told him otherwise, and flyers learned to follow their instincts. If he and Kathleen didn't figure out a way to face the attraction and move on, it would keep tracking them, waiting until their defenses were lowered.

Then it would blast them both right out of the sky.

The Fasten Seat Belts light switched off with a ding. Kathleen slid the folders into her I Love Germany bag and readied to disembark. Ready? She was beyond ready to end the transcontinental journey and Tanner's persistent questions about their good old Academy days.

Eleven hours total in the air, broken by a three-hour layover in New York, had wasted her resistance, and they still had a ninety-minute drive to Edwards ahead of them. Their flight from New York to California had been packed. They no longer had the neutral zone of an extra seat between them.

Exhausted and more than a little irritable, she'd spent the past four hours with her body molded from shoulder to ankle against Tanner. Masculine heat and musk saturated right into her. His every muscle-rippling move, and he shifted way too often for her comfort level, left her swallowing a case of sodas from the drink cart.

Not that it helped moisten her dry mouth. She didn't bother deluding herself that it had anything to do with cabin pressure.

He moved in his seat again, stuffing the doll-size pillow behind his head before his snores resumed. Poor guy. That tiny airline seat had to have made a mess of his back. At least he'd finally acknowledged his mortal status a few hours ago and downed a couple of muscle relaxers.

Kathleen studied the big lug sprawled asleep in his seat, his broad chest clearly outlined even under the drape of an airline throw blanket. The man had a great body, always had. She would have to be blind not to notice. And she would be crazy to do anything about it—other than occasionally admire the view.

One muscled leg extended out in the aisle, with the other knee wedged against the seat in front of him. Figures he's a sprawler.

Probably a bed hog, too.

Whoa, girl! Those kind of thoughts could just hike right on back into her subconscious, because she had no intention of exploring them further. She had a case to solve and a promotion to secure. No way would she let another hotshot flyboy interfere with her career.

Especially one with such damned distracting dimples.

Kathleen started to reach for his shoulder and he shifted, flinging his arm across her lap. His hand rested, palm up, searing her leg through her cotton slacks.

She forced her breathing to regulate.

Just a normal hand, five fingers and his Academy ring. Except that hand flew planes with the same finesse he'd used to scramble her brains back in the airport with a few caresses to her head.

What would those callused fingers feel like exploring her bare skin? Her heart rate kicked up a notch.

Scooting her leg from under his hand, Kathleen gently nudged his foot with hers. "Rise and shine, hotshot. We're here."

He jackknifed upright, eyes wide as he woke without hesitation. At the sharp movement he paled, and a curse slipped free with enough force to make her wince.

"Are you okay?"

"Take off your stethoscope, Doc. I'm fine. Just slept crooked and moved too fast." He shoved aside the pillow and blanket and stood, stretching. His arms arced over his head in a muscle-rippling reach.

She tore her attention from his chest.

Couldn't she display a little sympathy without him turning defensive? Given the thrust of his jaw, apparently not. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He hefted his bag from the overhead storage.

"Fair enough. I'll put away the MD." Kathleen shoved aside her hurt feelings and shrugged her bag onto her shoulder.

She wedged into the crowded aisle behind Tanner as he turned sideways to fit through the narrow passageway. Did his slow swagger hide genuine pain? He needed bed rest, not an eleven-hour flight in a cramped airline seat.

Had he been home in Charleston, one of his girlfriends would have been pampering him, plying him with eggnog and TLC. Who was he seeing now? Tiffani, Brandi or some other woman with a name ending in an I with a heart over it.