Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

He wanted to watch her, tried to fight off his own release. A losing battle. The sky opened up and he fell in, no plane, no chute, just a free-falling surrender.

Cupping the back of Kathleen's head, he anchored her to his chest while his aftershocks rippled through him. Or were they hers? Who knew? … since they both shook, sagging against one another, breathing a monumental task for what could have been minutes or hours.

Kathleen nuzzled beneath his chin with one last purr of contentment. "You were right."

Fingers combing through her hair, he let each strand slither free while he watched the shifting reds. "About what?"

"About us working this out of our systems. I absolutely do not feel like fighting with you right now."

His hand stopped midstroke. Work each other out of their systems? Damned with his own words.

What did he expect? This was Kathleen, after all. He suffered no delusions that she had some great desire to enter into a relationship with him.

Except, somewhere along the way, she'd become his friend, and his every instinct screamed he'd just messed that up. All he would have to show for their friendship was a blown-up car and a night of no-strings sex.

No-strings sex with the hottest, most intriguing woman he'd ever met.

A woman who made it clear she didn't need a damned thing from him.

An hour later Kathleen buried her face in Tanner's neck, knowing too well their pocket of time together in the airplane would have to end soon.

She should peel herself off him and go. But she couldn't find the will to leave. Not yet. Being with Tanner had been … everything. Both times. Her way, followed by his.

Now she sprawled over him, chest to chest, hearts still thudding at a rate that would blast alarms on any EKG machine. Except her heart rate raced from more than great sex.

Okay, awesome sex.

Her pulse answered with an extra surge. Maybe she could hang out awhile longer.

Kathleen listened to Tanner's heartbeat, nuzzled her cheek against the bristly hair sprinkling his chest and twirled his dog tags around her fingers. A small pewter medal peeked between the dog tags.

"What's this?"

He looked down at her hands, lifted her wrist to press a lingering kiss before replacing her palm on his chest. "A St. Joseph's medal."

Kathleen twirled a finger through the sworls of hair trailing down his stomach. "Oh, yeah. Your lucky charm. Where did it come from?"

"Tara bought it for me … that last Christmas."

Her finger slowed before resuming. "Why St. Joseph?"

"As kids, we dubbed Joseph our patron saint since we didn't have a dad. We figured maybe he would rustle us up a stepfather."

Tears stung her eyes, the sharing turning too intimate as he offered pieces of himself, a gesture she wouldn't be able to reciprocate. She'd always stunk at sharing. What did she have to give him, anyway? Not much came to mind. So she opted to just listen, stroking his chest over where his medal rested.

"Silly, now that I look back, because we didn't really need anything. We had a great family even without a father. The whole no-dad thing was a big part of why Mom pushed us into sports. I had father-figure coaches coming out of my ears."

His mom must have chosen those role models well, because no doubt Tanner would make a great parent someday. Fun, dedicated, a little pushy, but accepting and quick to forgive. No child of his would ever hide out in a tree because she'd disappointed her parents again.

He dropped a kiss on top of her head. "What about you? Your family? You've mentioned sisters."

Restlessly she wriggled to sit up, buttoning her blouse. "Three of them. Two older. One younger. All perfect."

"Come on, O'Connell. Talk." Tanner stilled her hands, then tunneled up the back of her shirt, urging her to his chest.

Strong fingers massaged muscles she hadn't realized were kinked, melting her against him. "We're just the typical upper-middle-class family. Dad's a doctor. Mom's an interior designer."

"And your sisters?"