Explosive Alliance (Wingmen Warriors 9)

"He has his license—"

"For a Moped maybe."

Hooking his arm over the steering wheel with a relaxed air, at odds with the anticipation knotting his gut, he shot a smile her way that had won over far tougher cookies than Paige Haugen. And he did not need to think about just how soft this tough cookie was, or he could forget about appearing casual. "I'm stuck here for at least two weeks baby-sitting the busted C-17 while they wait for replacement parts, then for Mako to complete the repairs. That will leave me with more than enough time."

Her hitched breath pushed her full br**sts tighter against the pretty yellow fabric.

"Enough time for what?"

"Time for me to be your temporary pilot."

Chapter 4

"Whoa. Hold on just one minute. We already have a pilot, but thanks for the generous offer." Paige gripped the truck door in search of some control and steadiness. Bo Rokowsky couldn't actually be proposing he spend two weeks flying her around North Dakota?

"Calling that guy—" Bo stabbed a finger toward the blur of the plane fishtailing down the landing strip "—a pilot constitutes aviation blasphemy."

"Well, he's licensed." She paused, picking at the frayed knee of her jeans. She glanced back up at the fuzzy image of the plane, the whole yard hazy, thanks to her broken glasses, the world narrowing in focus to just her and this man. "And he's, uh, reasonably priced."

"Nah? Really? I never would have guessed."

"No need to be snarky." She slumped back into her seat amid a symphony of hello-barks from the dogs in the boarding kennels.

"Lady, I'm actually complimenting you, here, because I figure you had to be smart enough to know that—" he nodded toward the air-hack again "—isn't worth top dollar."

"And you are?" She couldn't resist jabbing defensively.

"You bet your fine ass I am."

Damn his arrogance and—

Fine ass ?

Hers?

Heat tingled along her skin, then cooled. He must have some agenda here for dishing outrageous compliments. She'd barely understood why he would want to spend an afternoon with her. But two weeks? That went beyond logical. Something was up, and she hated that she didn't know what. There had been enough secrets over the past years.

She studied him through narrowed eyes until he frowned.

"What?"

"I can't figure you out."

"Quit trying. It's been my experience that women spend a lot of time searching for something in a guy when the obvious answer was right there in front of her face."

Great. She was darn near blind.

"How about clueing me in to the obvious, then?" Not that she intended to take him up on his absurdly generous—and suspicious—offer. However, it would be reassuring to know why he'd made it.

He stared out over the runway as if gathering fuel for his argument. God, he really was too handsome—strong cheekbones and jaw set in a classic face that belonged on some Renaissance statue. And how ironic was it that her crummy vision even gave him a sort of halo effect?

"Well, Captain? What's your reason for this altruistic offer to help a couple of strangers in North Dakota?"

He shifted in the seat to face her, square jaw set. "I feel bad about what happened to you because of your husband. I'm here and I want to help you if I can, add in the fact that I really like to fly and now have a couple of weeks off. Let me tell you, time off's a rarity in the military these days, with everything that's been going on overseas."

His flexing hands over the steering wheel drew her attention from his face. The sinking sun cast a rosy hue along the scars until they appeared angry and fresh instead of faded with time. Those hands held a story, and somehow she sensed it would make him more human—more intriguing—than even those slightly crooked teeth.

"If you need to unwind, why not go to Mt. Rushmore? Or you could check out the.