Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

"Only a moron is going to be totally okay with it."

The sanest response he could have given. Rena could all but see him step that much closer to his plane again.

"But I'm less okay with quitting. I owe a debt."

"The time left on your Air Force obligation can be spent in another job."

"That's not what I meant." He pushed to his feet, restless pacing resuming. "I was brought up by people who gave everything for other people, for me. I need to do something to repay that. I figured out pretty damn fast I wasn't meant for the priesthood." He tossed her a roguish wink that almost lit the dark shadows from his eyes.

Bo scooped a crystal paperweight off the corner of her desk, tossing it one-handed in the air. "And I'm too selfish in a lot of ways to go for the self-sacrificing gig. I like my toys. But I have to give something back. My Air Force commission allows me to settle the debt with the fringe benefits of some kick-ass toys."

He gave the weight a final pitch, snagged it midair, then replaced it on her desk. "I'm not as good as the people who brought me up. And I'm not some genius who can cure cancer." He placed his scarred hands on the edge of her desk. "But once I left the home, I discovered that these hands that were so good at playing music also had a talent for loving a woman and flying an airplane. These hands are who I am. I won't let anyone take that away from me."

He pinned her with his eyes, direct, no shutters or walls blocking her from seeing the man's burning drive to crawl back into that plane.

Then he spun away, hands on his hips, shoulders heaving. "Screw this. I've had enough. Isn't the government's nickel spent out for today yet?"

She could have continued for hours exploring the Cro-Magnon implications of what he'd revealed. But that wasn't her job. Instincts told her that while this young man might well have hang-ups, they had no bearing on his fitness to fly.

And about how his hands had been broken? What had happened that day? He'd definitely closed up for the afternoon, but she'd made the break in getting through to him. They would move on to that in the next session.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder, did men really think their entire worth could be summed up with their job and sex? Did her husband think that? With J.T.'s walls so high, she didn't know how she would ever find the answer.

And at the moment, with Bo's recounting of the capture still clanging horribly in her ears, she doubted her ability to keep her own defenses in place around J.T. while finding the answer. Even a hint of encouragement from her reticent husband and she would fall into their old patterns of comforting him the only way he ever allowed.

Naked. With hot, sweaty sex.

Chapter 8

Streetlights flickering on dotted the n**ed horizon.

Perfect. J.T. shifted gears on the truck, whizzing past their exit. Rena frowned, but stayed silent, the low tunes of the oldies station drifting from the radio.

He'd managed to kill enough time on base to make their drive home dip closer toward sunset. Excellent for his plans. Now they cruised along over the swampy tidewaters, bridges a constant for the waterlogged region. Twenty minutes later, he pulled off onto a two-lane rural road.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked from beside him. Her window down, she tugged the two long black sticks from her bundled hair and let it ripple in the wind.

Now he really wanted that drive.

Hopefully she wouldn't nix his idea before it even took flight. "I figured you've been cooped up in the house for so long, you could probably use time outside. I thought we'd take a ride before we head back to the house."

He could talk to her at home, but not without the risk of interruption. There were also too many doors to slam. A sun-set was romantic, right? Would she agree? His period of romancing her had been so damn short, he wasn't sure what she preferred. They'd spent most of their dating days in the back of her car.

This time he would keep his hands on the wheel and his flight suit zipped.

"Take a drive?"

"Sure. Why not?" Then he would conveniently detour somewhere scenic, overlooking the water where they could talk, away from interrupting teenagers. Already moss-draped oak trees alongside the road grew thicker, more private.

He reached behind the seat and pulled out a Coke.

Rena stared at it as if he held a snake. "You brought a Coke?"

"Uh…" He dropped it between them and reached back again to select a— "Diet Coke?"

He winced. Way to go, Romeo—insinuate she needs Diet when you're already on shaky cheapskate ground romancing her with a one-dollar sixteen-ouncer.

But she would know he was up to something if he started crawling up to her window with a fistful of daisies. A drive and a Coke seemed a safer, nonobvious way to start working his way back into her good graces.