"Most folks who don't get along just play nice and stay clear of each other. That doesn't seem to work for us, and it's because of that chemistry. When it gets to be too much, we snap. The tension's gotta go somewhere. We fight to blow off steam."
Tanner rested his hands on the door beside hers, not touching. How small her hands looked next to his on the canvas of a teal door. One slight move and his hand could eclipse hers in callused heat.
She struggled not to yank her hands away and step back. His head angled right. Mist clung to his hair. Droplets sprinkled his skin just begging for her to taste away. If he leaned two more inches, if she arched up on her toes, their mouths would meet.
Of their own volition, her lips parted. "We fight because we want each other?"
Was that husky voice really hers?
"Yes, ma'am, we do."
The breath from his words kissed her mouth as surely as if he'd placed his lips there. The heat lingered, excited. "And?"
"Now, as I read it, you don't want to do anything about the attraction."
Was there a hint of a question in his voice? Did she want there to be? And if she even insinuated as much, she could easily find out she was mistaken. She'd misjudged her husband's intentions more than once.
What was she thinking? The last thing she needed was to crawl in bed with Tanner Bennett. She forced her voice not to quiver. "Of course I don't want to pursue it."
He winced as if he'd pinched a nerve all over again. "Well, you can't be any clearer than that."
Her fingers itched to cover his. "Tanner—"
"No. It's okay." He ambled back, his arms extended as he held the car door. "I agree, and I don't expect you to feed my ego. We just need to clear this up. I tried to talk about it back on the plane, but, well, subtle's never been my strong suit."
His hand shot up to forestall her automatic retort. She bit back her tank-being-more-subtle comment and waved for him to continue.
"We have to get along for the next few weeks. We can't rip each other's head off whenever hormones kick in. If we're fighting all the time, we'll never figure out what went wrong with that plane."
Her mind churned through his words. Fighting all the time equaled turned on all the time.
He was turned on by her all the time? She definitely didn't need to know that. "All right. Truce."
"We'll start fresh."
She nodded. "Sounds good."
"No more snapping and firing up our hormones."
"Right."
His arms crossed over his chest. "I'll start by apologizing for whatever I did to make you pout."
Starch crept right back into her spine. "I don't pout."
"O'Connell, that counts as a snap." A dimple creased one cheek. "Breaking the rules already."
"Who says you get to decide all the rules, Captain Hotshot Pilot? I'm the rule expert. Remember?" His smile deepened, damn him, and she stomped her foot. "And I do not pout!"
Creases fanned from his eyes as a suspicious light twinkled. "Turning you on that much, am I?"
She almost shot into the car and drove off without the conceited lug. Then the twinkle turned so outrageously mischievous, her anger drained away. "You're teasing me."
He shrugged, but she recognized the playful Tanner from the airport, the lighthearted Tanner who made everyone smile. He was treating her like one of the guys.
Well, not exactly the way he would treat the guys, but he was joking with her in his own infuriating way.
A smile tugged at her cheeks, laughter tickling her mouth and finally bubbling free.