The tags halted. "Huh?"
"Your attentive date touches are making me hot and I'm not referring to sweat."
"Hot?'' His hand fisted around her chain.
She needed space. Air would be nice, too. "Way hot. Ducking behind a dune sounds good right now, even though we both know that isn't what we should do." She couldn't keep the hint of question out of her tone.
He exhaled long and slow. Liquid fire raced through her veins, and she was too tipsy and too vulnerable to make a smart decision. This man's experience outstripped her in more than years.
She gripped his hand, slowly untwining it from her chain until they were linked by their fingers and an odd friendship that ruled out impulsive sex. "This has been great fun. But you have some baggage to get over, and I'm not any good at dealing with my own baggage, much less other people's. Please move your hand and let me up."
Without waiting for him to act, she started to rise, a painfully arousing process. Her skin held to his, bonded by the heat and light sheen of sweat, until she was free.
Except not totally. Even as she walked away, she carried the smell of him. Coconut oil, musk—man. Even in her inexperienced state she knew the scent well.
Max Keagan oozed sex.
She needed to control her world, and Max flipped her emotions until she found herself longing to take risks far scarier than plunging into combat. Never again did she want to experience the total loss of emotional control she'd felt during her kidnapping. So she'd always chosen safe relationships that she could manage.
The revelation startled her. No risk. No danger. No chance of being hurt.
She didn't like what that said about her lack of courage. Not at all. Yet, she couldn't stop herself from running tonight.
Darcy spun away to join the safety of her crewdog buds, who never shot sex-laden looks her way, making her question things about herself she wasn't ready to answer.
Max watched the gentle sway of Darcy's h*ps as she sprinted across the sand to the remains of the supper spread. She snagged a handful of chips and melded into the circle of flyers listening to the guitar-strumming lieutenant.
Where she belonged.
Her edginess crackled through the air. When had he become so in tune to this woman's moods? The notion rocked him. He didn't want this connection with her, but it was there all the same.
Darcy seemed content to let him sit on the outskirts as he preferred. Sure, she'd pushed for him to attend, but respected his boundaries. She might have military regimentation and team play down to an art form, but accepted their differences.
So, what would happen if he gave her that call once he wrapped up unfinished business in Guam? Hell, he'd see her twice a year at best.
He wasn't giving up his career and she wasn't budging on hers, either. And then there was that little matter of emotions. His were limited these days, and he knew better than to expect a miraculous personality conversion once he laid his past to rest. He'd always been a loner, even before Eva. Darcy's emotions flowed in abundance. She would grow dissatisfied with his "grumpiness." Fast.
But, man, it would be one helluva ride in the meantime. If only she wouldn't be hurt in the end.
Max could almost hear Darcy's snort of disdain. Egotistical as well as antisocial, huh, chump?
Sit tight. Keep distance and keep quiet.
The bonfire light blotted with a blocking body just before Crusty dropped down beside him, a bag of pretzels clutched in his hand.
"How's it going?" asked one of the least silent people Max had ever met.
"It's all there for you to read in the mandatory reports," Max answered absently, deciding he would keep his answers short and maybe the guy would move on.
He didn't want to discuss work. Not tonight. He wanted to stare at Darcy and tell himself there was a way he could bring her to his bed without bringing chaos to her life.
"You're making progress?"
"What?" Was the guy a mind reader?
"With your search,'' Crusty answered vaguely, his meaning clear all the same.
Oh. Hell. "If you call ruling out negatives progress."