She hugged his waist for balance and tried not to envision what was happening outside. The best thing she could do for him was stay calm. He didn’t need some screaming, clingy liability distracting him.
Time passed in a blur of growling engines, honking horns, screeching brakes. Finally—she had no idea how much later—the car jerked to a stop. Only then did Ginger realize she’d squeezed her eyes closed during the breakneck chase. Now that the danger seemed to have passed for the moment, her senses went on hyperaware. Her arms were wrapped around the hard muscle of Hank’s waist. The fresh smell of his soap mixed with an arousing hint of tangy sweat, no doubt from the run, the adrenaline.
His hand moved along the small of her back. “Ginger? Are you all right?”
“Just catching my breath.” She considered herself a strong woman, but she really wasn’t ready to open her eyes or sit up just yet. “Do we need to run again?”
“No. I think we’ve ditched everyone for now.”
“Okay.” She nodded her head against the coarse fabric of his pants leg.
This had to be the strangest conversation of her life, lying with her head in her friend General Hank Renshaw’s lap. She attributed some of it to the flashback of losing her husband, something she expected she would never fully get over.
Of course it wasn’t every day people shot at her.
They’d also shot at Hank, this amazing man who’d stood by her for years, and she owed it to him to be strong because their hides weren’t out of the sling yet. Digging deep, she smoothed her frayed nerves and opened her eyes. Only to blink, once, twice, and still find the overwhelming evidence clearly in front of her in Hank’s lap. She wasn’t alone in becoming aware of feelings other than friendship.
Hank was very impressively affected by their physically compromising position.
Well damn. Here he was, fifty-five years old, and he felt about fifteen around this woman. There wasn’t much he could do about this second awkward-as-hell moment as he sat with a sexy lady parked in a car in the deserted woods. Not much he could do…
Except laugh.
He gripped Ginger by the waist and plopped her upright before he did something foolish—like act on the attraction aching through him. “Ginger, I’ve already told you once today that you’re hot. Doesn’t mean I respect you any less. We can talk about it more later if you’re of a mind to, but right now,” he paused and pulled out his cell phone, “we need to find someone we can trust.”
“All right.” She blinked fast, chewing on her bottom lip, which made him think of that moment her hands had lingered on his shoulders. “And thank you. For the ‘hot’ comment.”
“You’re welcome.”
She frowned. “Where are we?”
“Near a place I know.” He’d had a good dinner here just up this mountain road. “I’ve been to Germany more times than I can count and made some trips up this way over the Bavarian border. This was all I could pull out of my memory when those guys were chasing us.”
“I think it’s extraordinary you could remember anything about the area given everywhere you’ve traveled.”
“Piloting, travel, navigation—it’s what I do for a living. Or rather what I did before these stars on my shoulders pulled me out of the cockpit and sent me off to deal with mostly political BS.”
It had been a lot easier in the days when he’d only had to worry about his own butt on the line. He and his crew, out on a mission. Not a civilian to protect.
Tonight, the stakes were high with Ginger’s life in danger for some reason he’d yet to determine.
He didn’t have much in his arsenal—a Mercedes, a 9 mm, and the two weapons he’d scooped off the dead guy. Along with his own cell phone and his BlackBerry. And of course his standard stash of currency and an alternative ID he carried with him when he traveled overseas.
“Hey, Ginger, before I start driving again and risk stopping somewhere for gas, you need to take off your shirt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your shirt. Or suit coat or whatever you call it. I’m not up on women’s fashion. We have to get rid of that listening device in case someone has activated it. I want to be careful who I speak to.”
“Yes, right. I should have thought of that myself.” She shrugged out of her large overcoat, then worked her fingers down the gold buttons on the red suit coat, inch by inch revealing the satin camisole again.
He might not be up on women’s clothing, but somehow the names for women’s lingerie stayed in his mind just fine.
Hank swallowed hard.
He’d noticed her looks before, but never had them gut-slam him like this. That, combined with his deep respect for her and a long-standing friendship, made for a heady combination. Out of respect—and a need to keep his sanity—he looked away at the snowy landscape of pine trees and bare limbs.
Didn’t help. His eyes saw tall trees laden with pillows of snow, but his mind filled in the blanks of the rustling going on beside him. Ginger sliding her hand down the front of her camisole as she worked free the listening device.