Her Perfect Stranger (3 page)

Frank grinned. "You remember...the naked part." "Okay, that was not my fault." Mike rubbed his temples. "And when they pulled their guns to rob us, we didn't get hurt. Did you tell her that, I hope?" "We were safe only because they had a crush on you," Jimmy pointed out. "They still took our wallets and cash." "And our clothes," Frank added. "Don't forget they took our clothes and then our keys, and left us by the side of the road." "It started to rain," Jimmy recalled with a shiver. "Hard." "Yeah." Frank smiled in fond remembrance. "Good thing it wasn't winter." "The commander," Mike said weakly. "She found that story particularly fascinating, I suppose." "Oh, yeah." Everyone but Mike doubled over with laughter. Great. Just great. Mike hadn't even met the woman and he was probably on her shit list. "There she is now," Stephen said, pointing across the room. She had her back to them. All Mike could tell from the view was that she was rather petite. No other details, except she'd pulled her hair back in a severe bun that reminded him of Mrs. Stestlebaum, his strict, terrifying first-grade teacher. Commander Corrine Atkinson appeared to favor boxy business suits that didn't show nearly enough of the female body to suit him, and hid any curves she might or might not have. "Come on, I'll introduce you," Tom said. Mike drew in a deep breath, feeling resigned, but not sure why. So she dressed a little stiffly. So she liked to torture her scalp with unforgiving hairdos. It didn't mean she would be difficult to work for. He hoped. "Mike?" "Yeah," he said to Tom. "Coming." But he didn't move. Frank laughed and slapped him on the back. "It's just the boss, big guy, not the guillotine." But Mike knew that sometimes they could be one and the same. Together, moving as a team already, they strode forward to introduce him, the other men smiling, relaxed in a way that suddenly Mike couldn't have imitated to save his life. Strange, given how much he enjoyed smiling and being relaxed. He didn't understand it, at least not until he got within two feet of her and she turned to face him. CORRINE GOT THAT FUNNY tingle at the base of her skull, the one that warned her that something exciting—good or bad, she couldn't yet tell—was about to happen. The inkling was right on, she discovered, as she slowly turned and faced the group of men standing there smiling, all of whom she knew, some better than others. With the exception of the one in front. Her perfect stranger. The man with the wicked eyes and even more wicked hands, the one she imagined would headline her fantasies for years to come, was standing right there in front of her. Only now he wasn't in worn jeans and a clean T-shirt, sitting at the bar tapping his foot in tune with the music as a storm raged outside. Now he wasn't looking alone and sexy, and just a tad bit dangerous to her mental health. Now he was.. .oh, definitely still sexy and just a tad bit dangerous to her mental health—but no longer alone late at night. He was surrounded by her team, looking for all the world as if he belonged there, looking as if he'd been born there. "Commander Atkinson? This is Mike Wright," Tom said proudly. "In the flesh." Flesh. Oh, she knew his flesh. Intimately. And at just the thought, she blushed. Blushed. Unimaginable. She opened her mouth, maybe to deny this could really be happening, maybe just to let out an indignant squeak, but thankfully, he spoke first. "You're the commander?" He looked as sick as she did. "Commander Atkinson?" At least he was every bit as stunned as she. Which didn't help things, not one little bit, not when her perfect stranger was... Oh my God. On her team. He was a subordinate. He was going to have to take direct orders from her, and as she knew damned well, he wouldn't like it. He was strong and tough and his own man...and this couldn't be happening, this couldn't really be happening. She couldn't have accidentally slept with someone she was going to work closely with. God, more than closely, they were going to be practically glued at the hip for the next four months. This was some sort of cosmic joke. It had to be. A nightmare. For the first time in her life, she was truly speechless, with no idea of how to react. But she could see he did. In fact, he was already reaching out his hand, not to shake hers as a stranger would, but to hold it and squeeze gently, in that very familiar way he had, a way that would scream to anyone watching what they'd been to each other, only hours before. "You're—" "Mike. Mike Wright." He had a name. Fancy that. She jerked her hand away and carefully schooled her features into a cool passivity. "Nice to meet you." He wasn't only surprised at her civil tone and refusal to acknowledge that they knew each other, he looked shocked as wel. But she couldn't register that at the moment; all she could think was ...he was Mike Wright! Not her first choice for pilot, or even her second, but those men had been taken from her by circumstance. When American-born and Russian-trained astronaut Mikhail Wright had been suggested for emergency secondary backup, she'd agreed, because his amazing talent and precise control were well known. Though she'd never met him, she'd thought he'd be perfect. Perfect. God, he was. He had been. And now she'd paythe price. "It was very good of you to leave Russia and your projects there to come join our team," she said evenly. "Thank you." He just stared at her. "Wel..." Her voice trailed off, because for just a moment she wasn't the commander, but Corrine the woman, the one who'd let a man in, and because of that had seen possibilities she couldn't imagine. The situation couldn't be worse. Wel, okay, actualy it could; everyone in the room could know she'd slept with him. That would be worse. If her team found out, she'd lose her tough, intense edge, at least in their eyes. AD her control would be taken away, and much of their respect, and that would be a fate worse than death be cause of how hard she'd worked to get where she was. Straightening both her spine and her resolve, Corrine forced a little smile, hoping he got her silent message and urgent plea. "You'l want to get started immediately. First we'll acquaint you with what we've been doing. You've got an all-day meeting with the mission specialists, whom I see you already know." Frank and Jimmy beamed. Mike never took his eyes off her, his big, leanly muscled body taut as wire. He said nothing. "Then tomorrow, at 0800 hours, we'll get started on our SIM," she said, referring to their simulation in a huge tank of water that projected the approximate weightlessness of the environment in space. She was already wondering how she could get out of that exercise herself. "After training together for a week, becoming a team, we'l leave for Johnson Space Center, where we'l stay for the remaining months before launch, training on a daily basis." He still just stared at her, his mouth grim, and in the depths of his fathomless eyes she saw things she didn't know how to respond to—surprise and shock, not to mention bitter disappointment at the way she'd handled this impossible situation. Finally, after a long, hard moment in which she sweated buckets inside her far too stuffy suit, he slowly nodded, every inch of him serious and businesslike in a way that made her want to cry. "See you then," he said, in a voice made of steel. Turning on his heel, he left the room, and Corrine could only watch him go. And wonder at the odd sense of loss she experienced. THE REST OF THE DAY was pure torture, and it was only day one. She had months left to go before she could be alone to lick her wounds and get over it. Get over what exactly, Corrine wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to allow herself to think about it, not yet. Not surprisingly, she ran into Mike twice more before the end of the day. Each time was more difficult than the last. The first was after his initial mission meeting. She happened to have the bad luck—which seemed to be following her around!—to be walking down the hallway as he came out of the conference room. His shirtsleeves were shoved up; his hair was ruffled as if he'd run his fingers through it often. But his gaze went right to hers, and it was hot. There were people everywhere, leaving her with no opportunity to do anything other than ask him about the meeting. He responded in kind, revealing nothing, for which she was grateful. But as she walked away, quaking inside with so many unnamed emotions, she felt his gaze on her, and continued to feel it long after he was out of sight. The second time she ran into him was in the middle of the night. The entire team was being housed on-site; each team member had a private bedroom, but they shared three community bathrooms. Unfortunately for Corrine, she always seemed to need a pit stop around midnight, and this night was no exception. She left the bathroom and walked down the darkened hallway, plowing into a solid chest. "Corrine." There was no other voice in the world that could make her knees wobble. No other voice that could evoke so many thoughts and emotions that she quivered in response. "We have to talk," he said. "Not here." Panic such as she'd never known welled up in her, because with this man she felt weak. Vulnerable. Not allowed. She couldn't talk to him about their "problem," not yet, not until she had a better grip on her emotions and could fully control herself. He would never again see her without that control. Memories flashed through her mind. She'd totaly lost it with him, let him do anything and everything. She'd been spread-eagled and open on the hotel bed, with him kneeling over her, using his fingers, his tongue, his entire body to make her cry out and beg. That he'd cried out and begged, too, didn't matter. His control wasn't at question here, hers was. "Talking won't help," she said. "It's done." "It doesn't have to be." What was he implying? That he wanted her again? How was that possible, now that he knew who she was? Didn't matter. She didn't want it to happen again. She wanted to move on, as if she'd never allowed her weakness, her loneliness, her momentary lapse of sanity to occur. "It's over, Mike." Saying his name helped. Her perfect stranger had a name and an identity to go along with that long, hard, warm body she'd worshipped all night long. "Just like that?" he asked. "Fast as it started?" "Yes." "Harsh, don't you think?" "That's life." She forced herself to remain coolwhen she had the most insane urge to ask for a hug. "Goodbye, Mike." "You can't say goodbye to me. I'm on your team." "I'm not saying goodbye to you as my teammate." He shook his head and looked at her in a way that made her want to weep. "And I'm not sayinggoodbye to you as my lover—" She set her finger on his lips, barely able to speak. "Don't say it," she begged. "Don't say anything." He took her hand from his mouth and gently, so gently it brought up the tears she'd been fighting down, kissed her knuckles. "I won't," he said. "Only because I don't have to. We're not finished yet. And I think you know it." Then he was gone. 5 AFTER THEIR middle of the night run-in, Mike slept poorly, haunted by visions of his new commander and her cool, cool eyes and even cooler voice. Damn it, where had al that iciness come from? And why had she refused to acknowledge him and their night together, if only between them? Try as he might to make sense of it, he couldn't. He understood the obvious. She was ashamed of what they'd shared. But why did that hurt? As for how he felt, he was having a hard time reconciling the woman he'd held all night in his arms—the woman who'd showed him such passion and hunger—with the cool cucumber he'd been introduced to today. Giving up on sleep, he got out of bed before dawn, still feeling insulted and angry, whether that was rational or not. With hours to spare before he had to be on site, he paced his room. Damn it, he'd wanted this opportunity, had worked for it for years. He wouldn't let her ruin it. He knew how he was going to spend the day— hel, probably the next week. He'd be in the water tank. It would be tedious, time consuming and restricting; they'd be in full scuba gear. He couldn't wait, but first he had to get rid of some of this restless energy. He could hit the weight room or take a swim, but as he'd be spending every waking moment in the water for the foreseeable future, he decided to run. Mike had left his room and was walking down the hal when Jimmy's head appeared outside his own door. Looking rumpled and tired, Jimmy took one look at Mike's running gear before he groaned. "Perfect. You're going to make us all look bad for the—" he glanced right, then left, then lowered his voice to a conspirator's whisper "—Ice Queen." "Who?" Frank stuck his head out another door, a fierce frown on his face. When he saw Mike and Jimmy, he grinned sleepily. "Hey, just like old times. You're going running? Wait for me—" "No," Jimmy said quickly, but Frank had already disappeared back into his room. Jimmy sighed. "Damn it, now I'l have to come, too, just to keep the two of you in line." "Wait," Mike said. "About this Ice Queen thing—" But Jimmy had already shut the door in Mike's face. He'd wanted to be alone, to burn off this undeniable, restless energy and to think, but he was destined for company now. Maybe that was for the better. Maybe he could stop thinking and just try to enjoy. Frank and Jimmy were both dressed and ready to run within two minutes, and just as all three men started down the hallway together, yet another door opened. Dressed in loose running shorts, a baggy tank top and aviator sunglasses that completely blocked her eyes from view, the commander herself emerged. She saw Jimmy and Frank first, both of whom happened to be standing in front of Mike, and she smiled. "Hey, guys. Up for some company?" Then Mike stepped out from behind them. For lack of a better greeting, he lifted his hand and wagged his fingers at her. Her expression froze. "Hello," she said flatly. Hello. That was al she could manage. Not I'm sorry I'm ignoring you. Not I didn't mean to deal you the biggest shock of your life. Not Wow, just the other night you made me come half a dozen times. Can you do it again? Instead she looked through him, as if only thirty hours ago he hadn't had her every which way but Sunday. Frank hitched his head toward Mike. "We dragged his lazy butt out of bed, Commander. We're forcing him to run this morning so he can be in as good a shape as you." Jimmy jumped right in. "He didn't want to come, ma'am. You should have heard al the new words he taught us, even though we asked him nicely." Mike watched as good humor warred with wariness on Corrine's face. He still couldn't get used to knowing her real name, but it suited her. Just as the team suited her. Evidently, they'd
gelled as a group during their time together. Their camaraderie bode wel for the mission. It didn't bode well for him. For one, he hated being the outsider. He didn't mind the work entailed to catch up; in fact he would thrive on the chalenge of it. But damn it, he wanted her to like him, not look at him as if he were some sort of deviant. He didn't understand how she could go from soft, laughing and ful of heat to hard as nails, unsmiling and totally controlled. Oh, and then there was the kicker—she was his commander. He'd seen her naked, sprawled out beneath him and whimpering for more, and she was his damn boss. "Let's go," he said as lightly as he could. "Let's see who keeps up with who. And just so you know," he added to Frank and Jimmy, "I plan onoutrunning both of you." His friends simply exchanged knowing smiles. Which only doubled Mike's determination. They started off at a quick pace. Not that Mike couldn't easily maintain it, but he remembered Jimmy and Frank as not being the most disciplined of men. Curiously enough, they were disciplined now. Corrine stayed with them, silent and determined, and he wondered how long she could hold her own. Wondered, too, how she would give in. Would she gracefully drop back, or kill herself trying to keep up? He told himself he didn't care. Either way, it would give him great pleasure to see her sweat. At the twenty-minute mark no one had even slowed, but Mike was starting to sweat. Jimmy and Frank, too, especially since they'd kept up a steady stream of banter all along about the exploits they'd shared with Mike in Russia. "You should have seen the crowd after we landed in '97," Frank said to Corrine, who might or might not have been listening, as she never slowed her pace or glanced over. "The Russian women couldn't get enough of Mike. He's a huge celebrity. They yel and cry for him as if he were Mel Gibson." Jimmy snorted. "Yeah, tough job we had, fighting them off for him. And then there was that one who sneaked into his shower in the hotel room. Remember, Frank? Remember how he screamed like a pansy?" "She scared the hell out of me," Mike said in his own defense, sending a sheepish glance at Corrine. She didn't so much as crack a smile. "Oh, you poor baby," Jimmy said, now gasping for air. "Hey, can you still get a different woman every night if you want?" "Uh..." Another glance at Corrine assured him she was listening, after al; her face had definitely gone a shade redder. What he didn't know was whether she was exhibiting embarrassment or anger. "I never had a different woman every night." "Right. You took Sundays off." Definitely anger, Mike decided, as Corrine's face darkened even more. Frank and Jimmy took great delight in his growing discomfort, but they had no way of knowing they were innocently revealing parts of him he absolutely, positively didn't want exposed in front of this woman. Apparently he hadn't yet made the switch from Corrine's lover to her teammate. He was going to have to do that sooner or later. At the forty-minute mark, he started huffing, but refused to show it, distracting himself by watching the commander's tush swing gently to and fro with each stride. The clothes she wore were a crime, he decided. She had an incredible body, lush and curvy in al the good spots, tough as nails in others. He knew this, as he'd personally kissed and sucked and stroked every single inch of her. But both yesterday in her stern suit, and now in the loose jogging clothes, she hid it al. That alone was going to kill him, if not the pace. And then suddenly, mercifuly, both Frank and Jimmy slowed to a walk, waving them on Mike glanced at Corrine, more than ready to let her concede defeat, because there was no mistake to be made here, this was some sort of pissing contest, and he intended to win. She never even glanced at him, just stared straight ahead, her legs and arms pumping for al she was worth. And she'd hardly broken a sweat. "Tired?" he asked as casualy as he could while sucking serious wind. "Because we could slow down." "Feel free," she said, and actually picked up speed, starting to leave him in her dust. Holy shit, was al he could think, kicking into as high a gear as she had. She was going to kil him. "Please don't continue for my sake." She actually had the nerve(to toss that over her shoulder in an even, controlled voice that only fueled his frustration. He could hardly breathe, much less answer. "I'm fine," he said through his teeth. "Suit yourself." They went another mile in silence while he stewed over the fact that at the hotel he'd suggested she rest while climbing a damn flight of stairs. After a while, she shot him a glance. "Oh for God's sake, Mike. Stop, would you?" "No." "You're just being stubborn." True, but damned if he was going to admit it. "What if I ordered you to stop?" "You can't do that." "Why not?" She shoved up her glasses to rest on top of her head, and her clear, midnight blue eyes stared right at him. That he could remember when they were cloudy and opaque with lust really ticked him off. "You can't order me to do anything," he said. Or rather, gasped. "We're not working at the moment." Her jaw tightened, but she didn't break stride. "I should have known. You're going to be a male chauvinist pig about this." "What?" "You can't work for a woman, right?" "Ha!" he gasped, but then had to go quiet to concentrate on getting oxygen to his poor body. "I can work for a woman. And—" And he was fresh out of air. "I'm...not...a...pig." "Male chauvinist pig." Okay, now she was trying to rile him, but before he could accuse her of that, she slowed, then finally stopped. Ignoring him, she went about a series of stretches to cool down, while Mike just concentrated on staying conscious. He found himself watching her as she spread her legs, then bent over, her palms flat on the ground. For just a moment, her shorts tightened across her tight, curvy butt and his hands actually itched to touch. How was it that he hadn't noticed what incredible shape she was in? He couldn't believe it, but she was actually in better shape than he was, and he was pretty damn fit. "Look," she said, suddenly straightening and looking him right in the eye, somehow managing to stare down her nose at him at the same time, even though she was nearly a foot shorter than he. "I can see you're going to have problems working under me, but get over it. You're our third and last choice. There is no one else. I won't compromise the mission." He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted, so he brilliantly stood there like an idiot. "Your reputation precedes you," she continued, blowing a strand of hair out of her face that dared defy its confines. "Both in and out of the space shuttle. I'm well aware of your profile, but I didn't expect to have problems so soon." He blinked and straightened, breathing trouble and screaming muscles forgotten. "Excuse me? Problems?" She just looked at him. "Are you referring to the fact that we've been naked together?" he asked bluntly. That chin of hers thrust even higher into the air, and she pointed at him. "And I want you to stop that." "Stop what, exactly?" "Referring to... you know." "Being naked?" he asked, feeling wicked and angry, which didn't make a very good combination. "Or having sex?" She whirled and walked away. Because she was moving along at a good clip, and because he couldn't walk without whimpering, he let her go. But they still weren't finished, not by a long shot. THE TEAM SPENT THE DAY in the water simulator, working some of the experiments they'd be taking up with them. Although heavy equipment was weightless in space, it still wasn't easy to move around. Corrine knew the general public had no idea how strong an astronaut had to be. To relocate a large mass, which described all of their equipment, you had to apply a large force, taking care to exert it precisely or the object would twist and turn uncontrollably. An equally large, well-directed, controlled force was required to stop any motion. In other words, brute strength. Even something as simple as trying to screw a bolt into a piece of equipment required finesse. That sort of maneuver couldn't be done while floating in the cabin. Anchors were needed, or footholds, in order to apply force, which required special techniques, special tools, special processes, and often the coordinated efforts of a teammate. Everything, even the easiest of tasks, had to be practiced over and over and over again. One of the biggest challenges they faced was that a true space environment couldn't be simulated exactly on earth. Hence the "SIMs" in large bodies of water, with astronauts in scuba gear. It was the closest they could come to the real experience, even with today's vast technological advances. Corrine climbed into bed that night, thinking things had gone well. That is, if she discounted the dark, questioning looks she'd gotten at every turn from her pilot, Mike Wright. She still couldn't believe her rotten luck. How was it that she couldn't even manage to have an anonymous affair? If Mike had his way, it wouldn't be anonymous at all! She couldn't have that, absolutely could not let the others on the team know what she'd done with him in a moment of selfish weakness. And what she'd done was still interrupting her sleep. She couldn't close her eyes without feeling his body brush hers, without remembering how he tasted, or the incredibly sexy sounds he made when he— She flopped over in bed yet again and stared at the ceiling, but an almost unbearable sense of loneliness came over her. Why now? This was the life she'd wilingly chosen. She'd known it would be a dog-eat-dog world, that she'd be forgoing any indulgence of her femininity to make it. She'd known that, had even craved it—she who'd never quite mastered being...well, a woman. So what was this sudden longing to be just that, to let someone in, to be vulnerable, soft? Giving. Even loving. With Mike. Wow, that thought came from nowhere and extinguished any amount of sleepiness she might have mustered. She flipped over again, but the damage had been done, Mike was back in her mind. And all she could think of was how he'd looked coming out of the water simulator earlier, when he'd stripped out of his cumbersome gear down to nothing but a pair of wet, clingy swimming trunks. Sleek, wet and muscular, that had been Mike, standing there on deck. She'd taken one look at him and had lost every thought in her head. He'd known it, too, damn him; she could stil see the slow, baby-here-I-amsmile he'd sent her. This had to stop. She'd had him once and that should be enough. It should be over. But it wasn't. She couldn't even look at him without having that stupid, adolescent, weak-kneed reaction, and it was really making her furious. She'd read his personnel files, shamelessly soaking up his private information. He had four brothers, al in the military. His father, too, was a military man. His mother, a Russian, had died when Mike had been only four, so it was no wonder he was so incredibly masculine. He'd grown up in a house full of Y chromosomes, and then had gone into an industry overloaded with testosterone. That was a problem, she decided, rolling over to punch her pillow. Because while Mike definitely knew how to treat a woman—he had, after all, made her purr more than once—he had no idea how to do anything other than pamper a female, much less work for one. To work beneath her command was going to be utterly foreign to him, and with both of them needing their control... well, it wasn't going to go smoothly, this mission, she could see that. What she couldn't see, exactly, was what to do about it. She wasn't herself around him. She had a hard time sticking to that cool, icy facade she favored, mostly because he saw right through her. She hated that. With a sigh, she heaved herself out of bed for her usual middle of the night run to the bathroom. It was annoying, but then again, if she'd just sleep the night through like normal people, instead of obsessing, she wouldn't have to go at all, would she? The hall was silent, both when she crept into the bathroom and when she came out two minutes later. Which was why she nearly screamed when she ran into a solid rock wal of a chest. Even as those big, warm hands came up to steady her, she knew. "Mike," she said in a breathless whisper, blinking through the dark. "Fancy meeting you here." "You have a weak bladder, too?" "I don't have a weak anything." "Everyone has a weak something." "What I have," he said softly, reaching up to tug on her ponytail, "is a weakness for long dark hair flowing wild and free, and dark-blue eyes melting with desire when they look at me, instead of two icicles." "I'm going back to bed." "Not until we talk." "It's late." He flicked the light on his watch. "Actualy, it's early. I've been listening for you, Corrine. We need to get this over with." "Maybe you'd rather try to beat me at my morning run again." He scowled. "So I underestimated you." "You thought me nothing more than a fragile doll." "This isn't what I wanted to talk about." "I bet. Look, Mike, this is never going to work. Surely you can see that. You have a problem with me being the commander of this mission." "What I have a problem with is you pretendingyou don't know me. You pretending we didn't sleep together, that we didn't make love—" She slapped his hand over his mouth and whipped her head to the right, then to the left, making sure no one could hear them. "Damn it,"she breathed. "Could you stop talking about it? Why do we have to keep talking about it?" Grabbing her hands away from his mouth, he held them at her sides, slowly backing her up against the wall until she had the cool plaster at her back and his hot, hot body at her front. She hadn't given much thought to her pajamas—men's flannel shorts and a loose tank top. As they were her favorites, they'd been washed to a thin softness. Thin enough to feel every inchof him, and her body seemed to recognize how much she'd enjoyed those inches, because she closed her eyes in order to better concentrate on the sensations. "Corrine," he whispered, his voice low and rough now, as if he, too, couldn't help himself. "I don't understand you. Help me understand. Why can't we just...be? Why do we have to ignore this?" Why? He had to ask why? There were a milionreasons, starting with the fact that they had to work together professionally, with no personal hangups between them. The mission depended on it. NASA counted on it. Bilions of tax dolars were at stake. There could be nothing dragging them down emotionally. "There is no 'this,'" she said with a finality she didn't feel. He ran a finger over her jaw, down her throat to the base of her neck, where her pulse had taken off. "Liar," he chided softly as her nipples beaded and thrust against the material of her shirt. "Mike." "Yeah." She let