Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

Kneeling, she lined her heels up in double rows to empty space for his boots and gym shoes.

The phone jangled from beside the bed.

A call? This late?

She eased to her feet and rushed to scoop the cordless phone from beside a pot of minimums. "Hello?"

"Hi, is Rena there?" her husband's deep voice rumbled through the line.

Huh? Had he hit his head harder than she'd thought? Maybe she should have insisted the flight surgeon take another look at him. "J.T.? Are you all right?"

"I'm totally all right. In fact, I've been more than all right since I saw you at that air show."

Okay, now she was really getting worried. "J.T., where are you?"

"Turn around."

She spun—to find him lounging against the hall door, cell phone at his ear. One black leather hoot pressed to the wall, his knee bent. His flight suit stretched across mile-wide shoulders. "I was hoping you'd remember me, because since the second I saw you, I've been hoping like hell you'd go out with me. So, I decided to give you a call, see if you're free this Friday for a date with a local flyboy."

God, as much as she drooled over those shoulders of his, he really took her breath away when he smiled. Damned if she didn't feel eighteen again.

Phone pressed to her ear, she smiled back at him, flicked her hair over her shoulder, played along. "I might be free, if the right flyboy asked."

"Well, babe, I'm asking." He angled away from the door frame, ambled closer, his big, muscled body drawing nearer, filling her eyes and her heart. "And I intend to keep right on asking until I can convince you to go out with me."

He stopped inches away.

She clicked off her phone but kept it cradled against her neck, soaking up the silly romantic gesture a little while longer. "You are so crazy sometimes."

"Not often." He set his phone on the end table. "And only for you, babe. Only for you."

He reached for her phone, as well, and placed it beside his before lifting her hand, kissing her palm.

Definitely eighteen again, but with a forty-year-old's wisdom on how to do things better this go-round. "I want you to come home. For good."

"That's where I want to be." He folded her hand against his chest, against his heart thumping along at a pace as fast as hers. "Not just because you're pregnant, but because I can't stand the thought of living the rest of my life without you beside me."

She gathered the beautiful words up into her heart with surety and happiness, because, by God, J.T. never lied.

He stared down at their linked fingers and rather than pushing him to talk, she knew now to wait. He would come around to filling the silence if she simply gave him the chance.

"I spoke with the flight surgeon when she checked out the lump on my head."

Her racing heart stopped. "You're okay?"

"Totally fine." The twinkle in his eyes jump-started her heart again. "Although you'll have to keep me awake all night."

She sagged closer, her h*ps rocking against his. "I think that can be arranged."

"Thank God." His forehead fell to rest against hers. His chest expanded with two hefty sighs before he continued, "About my discussion with the flight surgeon. I asked her to recommend a marriage counselor."

Rena's throat went as tight as her chest. She'd been prepared to wait, work, hope, pray that things would work the way that she wanted. But to have him make the huge step on his own… Oh God, she loved this man.

Steady gray eyes stared down at her with no doubts to cloud their beautiful-sky appeal. "Up the stakes as high as you want. I'm not walking again."

Sometimes hormones were a wonderful thing. Letting all those happy tears well up and flow free, Rena flung her arms around his neck. "Oh God, J.T., I love you."

J.T. felt her words rocket right into him, straight for his heart—where she belonged. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest—also where she belonged. "I know, babe. And I don't ever intend to take that for granted again."