"Yeah, right. Thanks."
She resented like hell the nervous twitters buzzing through her. "It's just strange seeing you like this, I mean not in a flight suit."
Tanner ran a finger along his shirt collar. "Gotta admit, I prefer the bag myself. But this is safer."
"Safer? Ah, a businessman disguise. I guess I never thought about it in that much detail."
"Too many deployments for me not to think about it. I can't do much about the haircut, but I make changes where I can." His palm fell to rest over her fingers that still gripped his jacket.
Heat crawled up Kathleen's face. Oh, God. Had she really left her hand there all that time? "Thanks for worrying. But I'll be fine."
He didn't move.
"I don't need a baby-sitter." She yanked her hand from beneath his, her wrist still tingling from a touch no longer there.
Tanner eyed a passing couple in trench coats. Muscles rippled with tension beneath his coat until the couple passed—a baby gurgling and waving from the man's backpack kiddie seat. Kathleen sagged against the wall with relief, then stiffened.
Damn! Now he had her doing it.
Protectiveness was all well and good, but this guy was becoming downright smothering. Or was that because his large body closed off the rest of the world from view until she only saw miles of chest and eyes so blue they could hypnotize?
Snap out of it! she chastised herself. "Just because I don't obsess doesn't mean I'm clueless about airport security overseas. It's not like I'm wearing my uniform."
He snapped. "You might as well be."
She snapped back. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
"Those blue pants and shirt look almost identical to a uniform. Your hair's even tucked up according to military regs."
"Since when did you join the fashion police?"
"Cute, O'Connell. Real cute—" He hauled in a breath and held his hands up into a T. "Time out. Let's not draw attention to ourselves by fighting."
Of course he was right, but his comment about her clothes still stung. What had Lt. Col. Dawson been thinking with his crazy plan?
Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Dimple.
Dimple?
Tanner stared down at her with a half smile dimpling one cheek. "Come on."
"Huh?"
Tanner's smile spread until the second dimple tucked into his other cheek. "We're going to get you a disguise." Kathleen followed, not that she had a choice since he wouldn't let go of her hand. His playful grin had further rocked her balance. Sure Tanner joked with everyone else around the squadron, but he saved his irritation for her.
Not now. He turned that boyish charm on her, full power, as he dragged her toward the crowded gift shop. "Let's start with the military bag. It's got to go."
"But I can't—"
"Trust me. Hmmm." He flicked through a rack of dangling tourist tote bags with expert shopping hands. No visual skimming the surface of the display for this man. "You need a big one. Got a color preference?"
Kathleen eyed the door, then resigned herself to the inevitable. "Why ask me? I'm a fashion fugitive, remember? Color coding is beyond me."
"No preference." He unhooked a fuchsia bag, logo blaring—I Did Germany Bavarian Style. His eyes glinted with mischief. "Since you don't care, how about this one? Ah, so pink isn't your color after all?"
A reluctant smile played with her lips. Her sisters had dragged her out like this before, but shopping hadn't seemed half as entertaining with them. "Not my first choice, no."
Although it had definite possibilities as a Christmas gift for her mom.