Goddess of the Sea (7 page)

The only other pilot she had a clear view of was sitting across the aisle from her and to her right. She glanced at him and caught him staring at her, and then was astounded to see a bright crimson blush rise into his well-defined cheeks.

Good Lord, she thought. Why is
he
blushing? The man looked like a gorgeous statue come to life. She quickly looked away, but the sound of his voice made her eyes snap back to his.

“Um, hello,” he said. His voice was deep, but he didn't boom it at her like so many military men seemed to think they needed to. His eyes traveled up to the knot on her forehead.

Great. No wonder he was blushing. He had obviously seen her bonk her head like a moron, and he was probably embarrassed for her.

“I did the same thing on the way in,” he said and pointed to his own head, where a faint pink splotch painted a raised bump in the middle of his forehead.

CC couldn't have been more surprised if he had sprouted wings and laid an egg.

“And I don't even have the excuse that I'd just woken up and was still groggy. Mine, Sergeant Canady, was the result of plain clumsiness.”

CC felt a genuine giggle bubble from her lips. The handsome pilot echoed her laugh.

“Please,” she said. “Call me CC.”

“Okay CC. I'm Sean.”

CC's grin sobered. “Don't you think I better call you Captain something?” It was fine for an officer to call an enlisted person by his or her first name, but the other way around was considered too familiar—and the air force sincerely frowned on too much familiarity between officers and sergeants. Even if the officers looked like living statues, CC thought regretfully.

But Sean's grin didn't fade. “Actually, no. Like the rest of these guys, I'm stationed at the Air National Guard Unit in Tulsa, Oklahoma.” He leaned forward and glanced around like they were sharing a secret. “We do things a little differently in the Guard. So just plain Sean is okay with me.”

CC didn't know what to say. Of course she knew there was an Air Guard Fighter Unit in Tulsa—her Comm Center had sent and received messages from them several times during the past three months. But she'd never met any of the pilots. Actually, the only fighter pilots she'd ever met had been stationed at her last duty assignment, Peterson AFB, Colorado. They had been arrogant and conceited and had not impressed CC or her girlfriends at all. She couldn't imagine any of them insisting she call them by their first names, at least not in daylight. Thankfully, she was saved from answering Sean by the appearance of the master sergeant who had herded her on to the plane.

“Okay gentlemen,” he said, glancing at CC and adding, “and ladies. We're fixin' to get underway. I shouldn't have to tell such a distinguished group to buckle up and stow your carry-ons, but I thought I'd better remind you since you're not used to riding in the back seats.” He chuckled at his lame joke as he made his way slowly through the cargo bay, checking the security of the pallets and the pilots. The pilots paid him about as much attention as did the pallets.

CC sighed as the numbing noise of the giant, rotating propellers started to vibrate through the plane. The sound made her realize that she had left her earplugs in her carry-on. CC unsnapped her seat belt and crouched down to pull her carry-on out from underneath the seat, and as she was feeling around in the side pocket her eyes traveled to the wall behind her seat. Her brow furrowed in confusion. That was odd; she hadn't noticed before that framing her seat were two thick, red stripes painted on the inside wall of the plane. Between these stripes were stenciled in bright red the words DANGER and PROPELLER, over and over.

“Sarg, you need to stow that and take your seat.” The master sergeant had made his way over to her.

CC grabbed her earplugs, shoved the bag back and regained her seat. But when the master sergeant tried to walk on down the bay, she called him back.

“Sergeant,” she almost had to yell to be heard over the propeller noise. “What do those red lines and words mean?” She pointed over her shoulder.

“That's marking where the propeller would come through the aircraft if we was to throw one.” He grinned, showing her a wealth of yellow teeth. “But that don't happen very often.” He laughed and moved on.

CC wasn't sure if she should cry or scream—but her body had suddenly frozen solid, so she found she was only able to sit there, ramrod straight and perfectly still.

Across the aisle Sean had overheard the whole exchange. He grimaced to himself as he watched the little sergeant's face turn a ghostly shade of white, which only made her big amber eyes look more fawn-like and appealing. She was such a small, young thing. She'd already looked a little scared when she'd bumped her head and stumbled into the plane, and now she looked practically terrified. Something inside of him lurched insistently.

“CC,” he called to her.

She didn't respond.

“CC,” he repeated, noting the glazed look in her eyes when they finally met his. “Would you trade seats with me? I hate flying on this side of the plane.” He thought for a second, then added. “It's one of those weird pilot superstitions.” He shrugged helplessly, like he was ashamed to admit it.

“Trade seats with you?” she asked as if she hadn't heard him correctly.

“Yep. I'd sure appreciate it.” He beamed his best nice-guy smile at her.

“I suppose so,” she said slowly. “If you really want to.”

“I really want to,” he said.

“Okay then.”

He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his flight bag from under the seat. Before she could get her own carry-on, he crossed the ten feet or so that separated them.

“I'll get that for you,” he said, taking the bag from her.

CC looked up at him. This close he was even more gorgeous. And just how tall was he? His muscular body seemed to stretch on forever. His short, military cut hair was a medium shade of blond, shot with glistening streaks that looked like they had been dipped in the sun. Actually, his whole body, or at least what could be seen peeking out of his flight suit, looked like he had been blessed by the god of the sun. Unlike so many blonds, he wasn't washed-out looking. Instead he was an irresistible shade of golden tan. His face was made of strong, square lines, and his lips . . . CC felt herself staring and she jerked her gaze from those amazing lips to his soft, brown eyes, which were smiling down at her.

“Thank you,” she managed to stammer.

“Not a problem. Actually, you're doing me a favor.” He took her elbow and guided her to his seat.

“Always the gentleman, ain't ya, Apollo.” The master sergeant scoffed as he passed back by the two of them. “Just get her in that seat, then get yourself into yours. We're ready to get the hell outta here.”

CC hurried to sit down, then she sent a questioning glance up at Sean.

“Apollo?” she asked.

“That's my call sign.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Believe me, it wasn't my idea.”

“Oh,” was all CC could make her mouth say. It might not have been his idea, but it was certainly appropriate. The man oozed Greek god.

“Don't forget to fasten your seat belt,” he said before turning to cross to his new seat.

CC's eyes had a will of their own, and they definitely enjoyed Apollo's rear view. He was one spectacularly handsome man. Of course, when he turned around and took his seat, she made sure she was very busy checking her seat belt, trying to find a comfortable place in the webbing, doing anything but gawking at him. And anyway, why was she getting all moon-eyed over him? Men who looked like that, especially fighter pilot men who looked like that, weren't interested in little, ordinary-looking staff sergeants. Unless maybe they had some kind of kid sister complex. That was probably it, she told herself. He probably had a younger sister at home and that was why he was paying attention to her.

The propeller noise grew to a deafening level, and CC put in her earplugs. Then the C-130 lurched forward. It moved slowly at first, but soon picked up speed as it made its way down the flight line to their designated runway. CC felt her palms begin to moisten and her stomach knot. She closed her eyes and repeated over and over to herself:
military flights rarely crash; military flights rarely crash; military flights rarely crash
.

Too soon they were poised at the end of the runway, propellers gyrating at a crazed speed, plane quivering with the need to take off. Or, CC thought desperately, with the need to smack itself into the ground and engulf them in a ball of flame right
after
takeoff. She felt the brakes release, and the C-130 began its acceleration down the runway. CC's eyes popped open. She didn't want to die with her eyes closed.

A movement caught her panicked gaze and drew her eyes across the aisle to Sean. His long body was sprawled comfortably in its new location. He was giving her a thumb's-up sign, and he looked relaxed and calm. Sean grinned boyishly at her and mouthed the words, “Not a problem.” Then he gave her a flirty wink.

Well! CC felt a rush of pleasure. She certainly didn't think he'd give a little sister a wink like that. And the way he continued to smile and stare at her . . . it just didn't look like the way a man looked at a woman he was only interested in because she reminded him of a little sister. Stunned, CC realized the butterflies in her stomach had nothing to do with her fear of flying.

When the plane lifted off a few seconds later, CC thought that she might have just experienced the most graceful, effortless takeoff in the history of the United States Air Force.

Actually, once the plane became airborne, CC's nervous stomach had completely disappeared. It was like the whole flight seemed to be charmed. They climbed to their cruising altitude so smoothly that CC found herself totally relaxing against the soft webbing, and she was surprised to feel her eyelids growing heavy. Struggling to stay awake, she glanced at Sean. He was reading a book, but the moment her eyes touched him he looked up. He studied her for a second, then an astounding thing happened. CC could hardly believe it when he mouthed the words, “Sleep—I'll keep watch.” Then he gave her that flirtatious wink again.

CC felt a little thrill travel down her spine. He was going to stay awake and keep watch. Over her. And that wink said he wasn't thinking of her as a kid sister. CC's eyelids fluttered shut as her sleepy mind whispered that Sean's presence was certainly going to make the deployment more interesting.

Sean watched her as she fell asleep, a contented smile curving her sexy lips. He rubbed a hand over his brow and smiled quizzically at himself. What was it about that girl? Ever since he'd caught sight of her curled up in the waiting area sound asleep, he couldn't stop looking at her or thinking about her. It was totally unlike him. Women usually threw themselves at him because of how he looked, and while he didn't complain about that, he certainly didn't have to seek them out, or change seats with them because they looked scared, or reassure them because they were afraid of—of all things—flying. He rubbed his brow again and tried to force his attention to the novel in his hands, but instead of black words on white paper, he kept seeing amber eyes framed by thick, sandy-colored lashes.

 
 
CC dreamed that she was swaying gently in a hammock that hung between two giant palm trees on the shore of a crystalline ocean. Warm tropical breezes tickled her skin and kept the hammock moving hypnotically back and forth. Then, the wind shifted and icy gusts started blowing toward land over the white-capped waves. They reached her hammock, and it started to shake and pitch and . . .

CC's eyes flew open. She was instantly awake. It was no dream. The C-130 was shaking violently, like it was in the jaws of a giant animal. She swallowed a scream and her eyes immediately found Sean. His face was flat and expressionless, but CC could sense the tension that he was trying to mask. She began fumbling with the safety latch of her seat belt, her only thought that she needed to be next to him.

“No!” He shook his head.

She tore the earplugs from her ears.

“Don't get up. It's too dangerous.” He shouted against the horribly sick sound of the engines.

“What's happening?!” she yelled.

Before he could answer, the shaking increased dramatically. CC couldn't believe the plane was still in one piece; it felt like it had to be shaking itself apart. Then everything happened very quickly. Over the noise of the engines came the shriek of a metallic scream. While CC watched in horror, a deadly blur sliced through the skin of the plane just a few feet to her right and arrowed its way directly across the aisle. Like an invisible missile, the broken propeller blade splintered and struck Sean before tearing through the skin on his side of the plane. Time suspended as the left side of Sean's head exploded in a spray of crimson and he slumped silently forward.

CC's scream was swallowed by the deafening sound of the plane decompressing, and she grasped on to the webbing, desperately trying to find an anchor in a world gone mad. Everything that wasn't strapped down went flying through the plane in a maelstrom of noise. CC couldn't get a clear sight of Sean—there was too much debris in the air between them. But she could see the widening trail of blood and fluids that blanketed the area around his seat.

His
seat? It should have been her seat. CC felt a sob catch in the back of her throat.

Gradually, the debris settled, but the shaking was still violent, and the roar of the air rushing through the gaping holes in the sides of the airplane was deafening. With an amazing effort, the young captain who was sitting to Sean's right unbuckled his seat belt and crawled to his friend's still body. The captain had a square white piece of cloth in his hand, and as he wrapped it around Sean's head, CC realized that it must be the pillowcase off his pillow. With precise motions he unlatched the folded seat next to Sean. He loosened Sean's seat belt enough so that he could swivel his legs around and lay his torso horizontally along the seats. Then he managed to secure another belt around Sean's chest.