"So? Husbands and wives can't work together? Sure I'm not supposed to fly over on your plane since we're married. Not that anyone knows to call you on it. But I'll ride on one of the other jets, anyway."
He stepped closer until his dominant Greek nose almost touched the pert tip of hers. "I don't want you there."
Pain flashed for a whole second—a damned tidal wave of emotion from Monica—before she doused the spark. Well, fine. He hurt, too. Not that it stopped him from wanting to wipe away her worry.
"I can understand that, Jack, but you know how damned scared I've been for my sister these past months."
Ah, shit. If she went soft on him, he was toast. His easygoing pop may not have taught him much, but his father had been rock-firm on one point. A man never hurt a woman. "I'm doing my best to end that fear for you."
"I know. But I don't understand why you kept this nugget of hope from me. You've never been a petty man."
She shamed him, but damn it, he had reasons— good ones. Like security. And not raising her hopes for them to fall.
He wouldn't fail. "If it had been as simple as just telling you, then hell, yeah, I'd have let you know. Except you would have insisted on a slot from the start—just like you're doing now." The truth pushed through, good thing since nothing else gained him ground. "Shit, Mon, after what went down between us in Vegas... I can't spend the next week dancing around land mines." He stepped closer. "You know how it is whenever we're in the same room."
She stilled. The air conditioner hummed in the silence between them, need riding the breeze and dulling the edges of pain until the pull between them increased. Swelled. Demanded attention. He could have her. He knew it. The defensiveness in her eyes broadcast she knew it, too.
He couldn't allow himself to take that step forward, a move that would hurt her, both of them, even more. "Don't push this. Plans are in place. Don't. Push."
"I have to. You'll figure out how to work with me around the same way I'll manage to work with you every day after the divorce is final." Her hand fell to his arm, hotter than the flaming immunization site. "Jack, for three and a half months I've tried not to think about what could be happening to Sydney. But still, possibilities smoke through my brain in this toxic black cloud." Her fingers tightened. "You know what these people are capable of. We all know what Ammar al-Khayr is capable of."
Vulnerability from the strongest woman he knew leveled his defenses faster than a SCUD missile. That her younger sister had to be there at all blasted everything else inside him to dust. He studied the floor, his bare feet, anything but Monica's eyes.
"I know you'll get her out of that hellhole, Jack."
Her faith rang clear. She might doubt him in other arenas, but not here at least. Of course he couldn't fault her for questioning him in the relationship department. Pop's advice didn't stop him from screwing up more than once. Which put him right back between that rock and hard place, wanting more time, while not wanting to hurt her again.
"Monica, you've said you trust me to get her. So we should put this on hold—"
"Please let me be there when you pull her out. Not some stranger. At the very least, she'll need a basic physical. She'll have to give an accounting of what..." Her voice cracked.
He swallowed, or tried to anyway, a tough-as-hell proposition with all Monica's pain clogging the air.
"Please, Jack, don't make her talk to a stranger."
Finally he sucked in air, only to find Monica's pain rode the gulp and seared his insides.
"Damn it, Jack, I'll do anything to be there when they bring my sister in." She gripped his arm. "Anything."
Anything.
His eyes snapped up to hers. The word sizzled between them with a promise of a mind-bending, all-day release from a long three and a half months apart.
Anything. Anywhere. Anytime. His squadron motto mocked from the patch on his flight suit sleeve.
How many times had she whispered those words in his ear?
He could tell she damned well remembered, too. Her emerald-green eyes glinted, pupils widening. With heat. Passion. Just like they did when he filled her. Deeper.
No way could he move forward, fling her on the bed and take her up on the offer. He might get fuzzy on relationship nuances, but this one was pretty damned clear. It would be wrong to take her.
However, if she made a genuine move in his direction? Exhaustion fell away faster than paratroopers from a cargo deck.
Monica blinked, protective shields shuttering her eyes again. "You can put that thought right out of your head, Jack Korba. I don't care what the patch on your flight suit says." She threw down her gauntlet, giving no quarter, her determination leveling him and firing him up all at once. "Nothing, nowhere, no time are you getting me back in your bed."
Chapter 3
Whoops.