Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (5 page)

Okay, no tears.

But her second option of retreating from his VOQ room and away from that bed equated to wholesale surrender. He would follow her every step, anyway. Which left only one choice. Hold her ground and face him down.

For Sydney.

Sydney, in many ways her child as well as her sister. She'd brought her up more than any of the string of live-in lovers her father had paraded through their lives in hopes of giving his girls a replacement mama.

Those women may have bought frilly dresses and styled pretty pigtails. But Monica had read Sydney
Charlotte's Web
and explained about periods. Nothing would keep her from being there for Sydney now.

Not even the risk of having her heart broken by this man. Again.

Monica stepped closer. Her boots tucked between Jack's bare feet with a hint of intimacy. "I would do it, you know."

"What?" His fists clenched against his thighs, but he didn't touch her.

He didn't have to.

"I would have sex with you again if that's the price to be there for my sister. But it wouldn't be in a bed.

And it wouldn't be making love." As much as her body screamed for release, her eyes stung at the loss of the tenderness he brought, as well. "Besides, we both know you won't go that route and use me." A truth that made her want him all the more. "We may be an atomic mix in the relationship department, but you're a good man, Jack."

"Shit."

"You don't scare me."

"Then you're not as smart as you think." He crowded her with his bulk and fresh-washed scent. "Do you realize how close I am to snapping? Just being in this room together has me thinking about finding you waiting for me six months ago when I landed in Germany. And five months ago when we got stranded in the Azores with a busted plane and two full days in a VOQ with nothing to do but order delivery food and make use of the bed, the floor, the shower."

She swayed, three and a half months of being without him chipping away at her with the reminder that they would never make more memories in the shower. On the floor. The bed.

He cupped her shoulders, steadied her while rocking her control. "You remember, too."

"Of course I do." That and more. Not that she planned to throw those images out there in a tangle of arms and legs and so much want.

How could she not remember with his scent and hands all over her? Knew she would continue to remember, ache even after his hands and scent slid away. His breath fanned over her, his mouth right there for the taking. Recalling his kisses, anticipating more, was almost as arousing as having them.

She allowed herself the bittersweet pleasure—the risk—of touching him, cupping his face. "My going along to Rubistan is the right thing. Make it work, Jack."

His bristly jaw flexed under her palm. Stubborn, stubborn man.

Her hands fell away. She forced herself to think of how much she'd hurt him by not being the kind of woman he needed although she wanted more than anything to languish in the memory of smiles they'd shared. "Okay, you want to play the tough guy role? Fine. I've been hanging with the big boys long enough to play just as rough." She backed up but not down. "I'm going to Rubistan. No matter what. If I have to take leave and fly on a civilian airline, I'll make my way over there to my sister."

She hadn't hauled herself out of Red Branch, Texas, by giving up every time someone told her she set her objectives too high. Maybe she was a little like her mama after all, just with different, more practical goals.

Reaching past Jack and doing her damnedest to keep her breasts from brushing the implacable hulk of man in front of her, she hefted her duffel off the end of the bed.

Jack tore her bag from her hands and pitched it on the floor. "Damn it, Monica, you're going to get yourself killed flying off half-cocked."

Something in his tone tugged at her more than his words. Right or wrong in his assumptions on her ability to protect herself, he really was concerned about her. "I understand you're worried about my being there. I worry about you, too."

He mumbled, "You have a damned odd way of showing it."

She deserved that. Even at her angriest, she realized he'd been hurt, too. If only she'd held firm to her refusal when he'd first asked her out, followed her gut that told her fireworks could blow up in a girl's hand sometimes. But he'd been persistent and charming and so full of determination she'd thought maybe...just maybe she could have practicality
and
dreams. "You drive me insane, Jack, no question. But you still get to me, too."

His eyes rose, slowly, brown heating to black. "Are you trying to talk
me
into
your
bed?"

Probably. She shook her head. "Sorry, and I really do mean that, but no. I'm trying to make a point. We might be history, but we also
have
history. And because of that, yes, there's still a lingering... attraction.

Even some feelings. But that history also means you know I'm dead serious about going to Rubistan. Won't you worry less knowing I'm under the military's protective umbrella?"

She'd won. She could see it in his eyes—angry but resigned. Scrubbing his hands over his face, into his hair, he dropped to the foot of the bed.

He really was exhausted, sore from shots and weary in his heart over her sister, too. Over the end of their relationship, as well?

Out of the blue a memory filtered through the anger and pain, of the times he'd rubbed her feet after a long surgery. How could she have forgotten that?

His hands slid from his face to clasp loosely between his knees while he studied the patternless carpet. "I'll start the paperwork this morning. You'll have orders in hand by close of business."

Victory mingled with a chilly twist of loss as she stared at his weary broad shoulders that, because of her, wouldn't be resting anytime soon. "Jack, thank—"

Slowly he looked up, eyes hard, unrelenting. "Don't thank me. I have conditions."

Uh-oh. He wouldn't actually ask her to sleep with him after all? Dread and, damn it, arousal pulsed through her.

"You don't leave my side while we're there."

"I'm not sharing quarters—"

"Fine."

Man, he gave that part up easily. She punted aside ridiculous disappointment. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Whenever I'm on the ground and awake, you're right there with me. And no Lone Ranger crap riding in to save your sister solo. You're only there as a part of the medical team to assess the hostages and tend any wounded afterward. We have medics for the battlefield."

Her toes curled in her boots. His conditions chafed since they wouldn't have applied to anyone else, but this was his show. He made the rules. "Okay. Anything else?"

Jack stood, took one step, another, until he stopped chest to chest with her in the small room. A single deep breath would press her aching breasts to him. What had she just committed herself to?

"Jack?" She pushed his name free, not sure if she was asking or begging.

"That's it, Monica." His mouth pulled up at the corners in a slow smile that creased his eyes without reaching them. "Now get the hell out of my room, because we both know it wouldn't take much effort for me to talk you into this bed after all."

Inching away to grab her bag, she didn't even consider answering. No need since, damn his sexy smile and tender sweet foot massages, he spoke the total truth.

"Crew, feet wet," Jack called through his headset. "Crossing out of U.S. airspace."

The Atlantic rippled below and ahead of him, the mission under way with Monica on the roster and flying in the plane behind him. Her voice filled the radio waves as she spoke with one of the other planes in formation. Filled his ears. His mind.

They hadn't been alone together in the thirty-six hours following their confrontation. Not that it made any difference since she'd blasted back into his life.

Multiple voices drifted through the headset, calls from his crew, from other planes in formation. Just his luck, he had the radio toggled up to Monica's frequency. While she wasn't a pilot, as a flight surgeon she could ride up front in the jump seat, complete with helmet and headset, had in fact flown with him often in the past.

Before he made the dumb-ass, drunken mistake of marrying her.

Now she flew with Joker's crew. Talked. Her sandpaper drawl riding radio waves. Exchanging crew dog camaraderie and laughing at something Joker said. Irritation—ah, hell, who was he kidding—jealousy chewed his hide. Joker, for crying out loud, the least funny man on earth, his call sign a sarcastic commentary on his somber mood.

Already she was a great big distraction and they hadn't set foot in Rubistan.

Jack scanned the altimeter, adjusted his airspeed to compensate for a headwind as clouds dusted his windscreen. At least he'd salvaged something from the conversation with Monica. Hell, yeah, he preferred to keep her away from Rubistan, but he didn't doubt for a minute she would go with or without him.

So he was stuck with her.

He'd wanted more time after their impulsive quickie wedding to see where things went, but not this way.

Monica had insisted staying married would make a further mockery of what should be sacred vows. Well, she had him there.

Problem was, he hadn't wanted something more than a one-night stand with a woman in a damned long time. He found the idea of wanting Monica again—and again—difficult to cut loose.

No question she packed a hefty dose of brains under that silky head of hair. However, she underestimated his patience and persistence. He intended to use this time to the fullest to settle things once and for all.

He stifled a laugh. Great. He couldn't win her over with roses, restaurants and European settings at his disposal. How the hell did he expect to rekindle sputtering feelings in the middle of the desert with mess hall chow and humpbacked camels for ambience?

"How's your 'wife,' man?" Rodeo piped in from the copilot's seat on private interphone.

Jack's hand clenched around the stick. Damned lucky he didn't shoot them off course and more than lucky they were on the secured interphone so Monica couldn't hear them. Just in time, he remembered his buddy was only referring to the maid's reference. "You're a riot."

"Come on, Cobra. Details. I'm going through a dry spell. Your love life's all that's carrying me through."

"Then you're in hurting shape, my man."

"Ah-hh." Rodeo nodded, reaching into his flight bag, pulling out a shrink-wrapped deli package. "You're doing that honorable no-kiss-and-tell thing." He unwrapped the plastic from around his lunch, exposing a corner of a pita bulging with sprouts.

Sprouts? Pita? The guy liked gourmet, but in bulky, meaty helpings. "Nothing to tell. When did you start eating rabbit food?"

"Since Lilly at the Rio's cigar bar offered to make me some at her place." Grinning, he tore off a corner.

"Going through a dry spell, my ass."

Rodeo smirked.

"Lilly? Way to go hanging on to her name."

"Wrote it on my hand," he answered between bites.

Jack snorted, grateful for the shift into safer conversational territory.

Sun glinted off the windscreen, puffy clouds stroking the sky without a hint of murky threats. Perfect weather and atmosphere for flying. No challenge. Boring. He flicked on autopilot.

Rodeo chewed through half his pita. "Coulda knocked me flat when I saw Hyatt walk into the briefing room."

Damn. The guy had a radar lock on the subject. Jack shadowed the moving stick with his hand and stayed silent.

"I thought for sure that woman waiting for you would be someone else. I mean, hell, whatever happened in Vegas a few months ago seemed to end it. Could detonate bombs with the looks you two throw at each other the few times you actually stay in the same room together."

"Okay, okay. I get the picture." She couldn't stand the sight of him. Like he needed a reminder of that.

Much more of this and he would be ready to surrender and sign the divorce papers now.

Jack's gaze drifted to the multifunction display. The formation of planes blipped a reminder of how he'd failed to keep her in the States. Good thing that while he could hear her voice on the open frequency, she couldn't hear the private interphone discussion. Even so, time to redirect Rodeo's mental radar. "Like who?"

"Who what?"

"Who did you think was waiting for me?"

Adjusting the five-point harness belting him to the seat, Rodeo settled in for his recounting. "Well, at first I decided she was probably military, because of where we were. Then I remembered how that stripper from Barcelona worked her way into your room last year."

"That was your room."

"Oh, yeah. What about the British kindergarten teacher, uh, what was her name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Yeah, her. Damn, you're good with names. Anyhow,
she
sure as shit wasn't waiting for me."

Jack couldn't even remember what she looked like anymore since Monica's full lips and green eyes congested his mind. "Haven't seen her in eleven months."

"Well, if Doc's back in the picture and tossing around that 'wife' word—" Rodeo swiped a stray sprout off his flight suit ''—guess somebody should tell the Elizabeths waiting around air shows looking for a flyboy that you're off the circuit for good. I'll have to hang with Joker, and hell, he's no fun. If he ever smiled, his face would crack."

Yet Joker seemed a damned laugh a minute talking to Monica.

Jack shrugged through tension kinks. Damn it, making her laugh was his role. Even if his humor was MIA these days. "You can hold off on corralling Joker to be your designated driver. Monica and I are not back together."

God, if she sniffed out the least hint he planned to use this time to get under her skin for a second chance, she'd run like hell. Figured when he finally opted to drop back into the world of serious relationships, he picked the most skittish woman in the free world.

"Ah, so the two of you just hung out and chatted about old times in that room all by yourselves with a big ole bed."

Sadly, yes. "She wanted on this flight for obvious reasons regarding her sister. Was pissed at me for not including her." Understatement. "End of story."