Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

A slow smile lit that glow to blinding levels. "I think there's a compliment in there somewhere."

"I guess so. Wish I'd actually thought to give it. But honestly, I'm just amazed that I could have been so clueless."

"We see what we want to see."

"Putting that psych degree to work?"

"Maybe. Or maybe just one of those side benefits to getting older."

Older. Odd how he could feel so old some days but she still seemed the same woman he'd married.

Only with better curves.

He reached for her hand. "Are you scared?"

Well, hell, that was downright sensitive, and damned if she didn't let him hold her hand. Maybe the Bard was rubbing off on him after all.

"Does it bother me having a baby this late in life? A little. With my job, I know the increased risks with age."

"And that worries you."

"I probably worry less than I did at eighteen. Maybe because I feel more … at peace about motherhood."

"So your fears are…?"

Being alone. He read it all over her face. He worked his thumb over her wrist. Who'd have thought he'd get such a rush out of holding his wife's hand and neither of them was even naked.

"I'm just being emotional. Hormones and all that. The timing's not the best, but I'm going to have a baby."

"We're going to have a baby." He squeezed her hand. "We. This is my child, too, so we're in this for another eighteen. At least. Remember that."

He tried to read her again and found … more of that fear. Of him? He deserved a lot of things, but not that.

The back door rattled with a key. Rena jerked her hand away, momentary connection snapped. Chris swung the door open.

Frustration brewed in him. "Where have you been?"

"Talking with a friend." Chris snagged the bowl of chili from the table, found a fresh spoon and started shoveling. "Time kinda slipped away. Sorry."

Rena's hand fell to her son's arm to stop him midbite. "We worry. Call next time."

"Sure," he answered evasively before dropping the bowl in the sink. Fishing a candy bar out of his pocket, he tore open the wrapper and tossed broken pieces into his mouth.

Warning bells clanged like an alert klaxon. The kid had plenty to be edgy about, but was there more?

He had two weeks to find out. Two weeks of nonstop one-on-one time with his wary wife, where he would be helping her with her every intimate need while refraining from giving her the most intimate of touches.

If J.T. didn't touch her, really touch her soon, she would burst into flames. Or scream. Or do something equally embarrassing that would leave her husband frowning pensively, then helping while giving her a wide berth as he'd done for the past week and a half.

True to his word, he'd been around whenever she needed him, all his flights conveniently scheduled at night after she fell asleep and Chris was already home. But even though J.T. slept part of the day, his presence still filled the house, reminding her of the good times, until she feared coming down with a convenient case of amnesia when it came to remembering all that drove them apart.

At least they were out of their too-close quarters, their home having become a sauna of need. Instead, spring heat baked the roof of the truck, lunch-hour traffic spewing exhaust on the highway leading toward the base. Nausea tickled, but at least it distracted her from her achy foot. Achy, but no longer throbbing and sans stitches.

A cargo plane roared low overhead on its approach for landing. She fidgeted along the bench seat, anxious to finish up the drive, get back to work, even for an hour or two. J.T. wasn't happy about it, but she couldn't juggle this particular patient to another counselor. And the afternoon would also offer J.T. the chance to fit in a training class at the squadron while he waited.

Could he tempt her from clear across base? Seeing him so hot and hunky in his flight suit didn't help.

He'd been doing a mighty fine job of tempting her the past few days even in his favorite Hawaiian shirts and jean shorts. So attentive. So blasted perfect. He carried her up the stairs. Down the stairs. To the shower. Sat beside her on the sofa, shared popcorn, watched chick flicks with her, brought tissues when she cried over the endings because her own life sucked so bad. And never, never once did he make a move on her.