Her Perfect Stranger (4 page)

out a disparaging sound. Oh, Mike. Why couldn't she forget? What was it about what they'd shared in the dark, dark of the night with no music and no candles, no romantic devices, nothing but the two of them turning to each other? They'd needed nothing but each other, and that scared her. Hell, it terrified her. "There can't be a this," she whispered. "Oh, there's a this." His finger continued its path over her collarbone to her shoulder, nudging the edge of the tank off it. Stepping even closer, he clipped his head and nipped at the skin he'd exposed, while his fingers continued their seductive assault on her senses. Thunk. The back of her head hit the wall as she lost the ability to hold it up. "Mike—" "How can you ignore me?" He dipped his head so that she could feel his breath on her skin. "After what we shared?" "It was.. .just... sex," she panted as he dragged that clever mouth back up her throat now, feasting as he went, his fingers toying with the edging of her top, and the curve of her breast. "Yeah. Sex. Great sex." He waited until she cleared her glassy gaze and looked at him. "I made you come, remember?" His hips slid to hers. "Over and over, until you were screaming." She was going to scream now. "Stop." Since she wanted to mean it, she put a hand to his chest. "I want you to forget all that. If we're going to make this work, you have to forget." "Corrine—" "Forget, Mike." And while she still had the strength, she wrenched away. But instead of going back to bed, she went into the bathroom and cranked on the shower. Cold. As she stripped and stepped beneath the icy spray, she could swear she heard Mike's soft, mocking laughter. 6 THE MEETING WAS NOT going well. Corrine knew this, and she tried to get a handle on things— things being mostly her own emotions. But with Mike sitting there so calm and put together at the conference table, it was all but impossible. She could feel his eyes on her, searching and intense. And though it had to be only an illusion, she thought she could smell him, all clean, sexy male. She certainly could feel him, and he wasn't even touching her. She'd dreamed about that, his touching her. He did it far too often. Always in such a way as to seem innocent, of course. A brush of an arm here. A thigh there. Here a touch, there a touch, everywhere a touch. She was losing it. "Facts are facts," she said into the tense silence. "We've been asked to conduct these experiments, and we will." "But we can complain about it, at least. They're not NASA based, or even university experiments," Frank said. They'd been having this bickering session for an hour. "It's a bunch of elementary students from Missouri, and they want to test seeds. I think we can all agree that, with the unknown time factor involved in repairing the already installed solar panels, combined with constructing the new ones, we have better things to be worrying about than kids with seeds." Both Jimmy and Stephen nodded. Corrine looked at Mike. He returned the look, his expression closed, and said nothing. "I hear what you're saying," she said, a bit unsettled by how that simple exchange could rattle her wits. "But these kids—middle school, not elementary—won a national contest in D.C. It was a publicity stunt, designed to bring the public's attention back to the space shuttle and the International Space Station in a positive way." That she personally agreed with her team—that they had far better uses for their very limited time in space—didn't matter. Her hands were tied. She had no choice. "We have to do this. The president promised we would." "Commander, surely he could—" She shook her head at Jimmy, hating that she couldn't find her cool, purposeful calm with Mike sitting there watching her. This should be easy, persuading her team to do whatever she wanted them to do. She shouldn't feel their bitter disappointment in her inability to change the unchangeable. "The president personally asked NASA for this favor, and we agreed." "Yes, but when we agreed," Stephen pointed out, clearly annoyed, "it was before we knew about the additional time problems we were going to face, both in transport and on the station." As the payload specialist, he had viable concerns regarding the time constraints. Corrine knew this, which didn't make her tough stance any easier. The International Space Station, or ISS, had had its share of problems, the current and biggest being the defective solar panels already in place. Since astronauts were housed on the ISS on a permanent basis, repairing the problem was crucial. No one wanted to spend critical hours every day of their ten-day flight baby-sitting the students' projects, which included exposing seeds, hair, bread, hamburger and even bubble gum to the weightless environment of space to see if they were affected by the change in pressure, altitude or anything else. "We still hadn't figured out how to add the required replacement parts to our payload without crushing the original load," Jimmy said. "Much less allow time for the repairs Stephen has to perform." He lifted a troubled gaze to both Corrine and Mike, who as commander and pilot, together would run the ship. "We're running out of time." "Not to mention, maneuvering into the tight area of the ISS is going to take a miracle," Frank added. "Are you prepared for that? Prepared to tell the other countries in this mess with us that we couldn't figure it all out because we were too busy handling amateur science experiments?" "You don't understand the pressure NASA is under to have the public on side in this huge tax expense," Corrine said evenly. "The microgravity of space has become an important tool for developing new and sophisticated materials." She purposely didn't look at Mike, so she could let her famed iciness fill her voice. She was in charge here and had the final say, whether they liked it or not. "And the public is losing interest." "Good," Stephen said, and both Jimmy and Frank laughed. "Not good," Corrine corrected. "We need a total of forty-three flights to build the ISS. That's quite a bit of taxpayer money." "We're already committed as a nation," Stephen said. "It's too late for them to decide they don't want in. I'm with Frank and Jimmy. Dump the experiments." "Stephen," Mike said softly. "This isn't a democracy." Corrine took a deep breath but didn't look at Mike. He was siding with her, apparently. Because he agreed, or because she'd slept with him? She hated that she questioned it. "We're not ditching the experiments." Stephen's jaw tightened. Jimmy looked irritated, too, but asked calmly, "Can we agree to shelve them if we have a problem up there?" "We'l make that decision when and if the time comes," Corrine said. ''Well, let's work on the timetable then," Stephen said, still grumbling. In a low mutter he added, "And make sure nothing conflicts, especially a PMS schedule. Geez." The rest of the men appeared to fight for control of their facial expressions, and lost. Jimmy and Frank grinned. Mike wisely looked down at his clamped hands. But Corrine was infuriated, anyway. Why was it if a woman had a strong opinion, or needed to get her group under control, she came off as a moody bitch? But when a man did so, he was merely acting within his rights as a male in charge? The unfairness wasn't new to Corrine, but for some reason, today it hit hard. She chalked it up to a lack of sleep, not the unquenched heat Mike had kindled within her body last night, and used her don't-mess-with-me expression to stare down the men. Jimmy and Frank were unhappy, to say the least. Stephen looked equally so. "I think this stinks," he said. "For the record." "It doesn't matter what you think," Mike said evenly. Fair or not, at his defense of her, Corrine felt smoke come out of her ears. She didn't want any heroics here, she wanted... she wanted—Oh hell. She wanted him, damn it! "Obviously we need a break," she said, standing. "Now's a good a time as any." Mike was the last to the door, and she stopped him. "I want to talk to you." "Do you?" "I don't need defending." She knew she sounded stiff and ungrateful, but as she was both at the moment, she couldn't help it. "Especially in front of my team. Not now, not ever." "It's my team, too," he said softly. Too softly. "And I won't let anyone talk to you like that. Not now, not ever," he said, mocking her words, while somehow utterly meaning what he'd said. If she'd had more sleep, she would have seen it coming and deflected it. But as it was, she'd been sidetracked by all that heat in his gaze, so that when he cupped her cheek and stroked her jaw with his big, warm and oddly tender hand, all she could do was stand there and tremble like a damn virgin. "Corrine." "No," she whispered. "You don't even know what I was going to say." "I don't want to know." "I'm going to tell you anyway." "Please, don't." "Please." His lips curved. "The only time I've ever heard you say that word was when I was buried inside you and—" "Mike!" His eyes darkened. "And that, too. The way you say my name. Makes me hard, Corrine." "I'll be sure never to say it again," she said through her teeth. "I want you." He shook his head, clearly baffled. "God, I still want you." She crossed her arms, desperately striving for normalcy, which was impossible with this man. He set her body humming without even trying. "We were talking about what happened in this room a few minutes ago. About the fact that you came to my defense when I didn't need it." "No, you were talking about that. I wanted to talk about something entirely different. Or not talk." His eyes flared with an unmistakable desire. "Not talk is okay, too." This was far worse than she could have believed, because how could all this...this heat still be between them? They'd had each other, more than once! It should be over. Done. And where had her anger gone? How was it that whenever she so much as looked at him, she lost every thought in her head? And how in the hel was she going to keep it to herself? "So many worries," he said quietly, holding her face while he forced her to look into his eyes. "Share them with me." "Yeah, right," she managed to answer weakly, pushing away his hands. "I can't." "Won't you mean." He watched her pace the room. "Why are you doing this? Why are you this warm, soft, passionate woman with me, and yet with your team you're so..." She whirled on him. "So what?" "Hard," he said bluntly. "You're hard, Corrine." That hurt, and she had to swallow before she could talk. "If I have to explain it to you, you'll never understand." "Try." She looked into his earnest face and for some odd reason felt her throat tighten. "Mike. Not here." By some mercy, footsteps came down the hal. "Later then," he agreed. "But, Corrine? There will be a later." AT LEAST THE AFTERNOON session went more smoothly, though the damage had been done. Corrine was as uptight as she could possibly be. Everyone else seemed willing to move on from the morning's scene, however, so she put all her remaining tension behind a cool smile and a hard determination. After all, she had work to do and a mission to whip into shape. The solar array wings they'd be carting into space had to be treated with kid gloves, both while packing and transporting, and then while constructing and assembling on the space station. Each of the mission members, Corrine, Mike, Stephen, Frank and Jimmy, had a specific job, and each job was critical, requiring months and months of planning, and then months and months more of actual, hands-on practice. For instance, while attaching the very large solar array wings, each of which, when fully deployed, would stretch two hundred forty feet from wingtip to wingtip, Corrine first had to maneuver the shuttle into position so that they could open the payload bay and work in there. That alone — shifting a space shuttle in the available window at the ISS—would be an amazing feat. Stephen and Mike would operate the robotic arm. Frank and Jimmy, both of whom had extensive technical training, would do the actual repair. Three space walks were required, and each time, the robotic arm would be used as a movable platform for an astronaut to lie on. That astronaut, Jimmy in this case, would be strapped in, with Corrine directing Mike and Stephen into maneuvering Jimmy where he needed to go. The integrated equipment assembly measured sixteen by sixteen by sixteen feet, and weighed twelve thousand pounds. It required very precise teamwork, all done in a weightless atmosphere, hovering between the tight corridor of the space shuttle and the ISS, while wearing a bulky, hundred-pound spacesuit. Mind-boggling, when she allowed herself to think about it. She and the others would literally have their lives in each other's hands. Practice. Definitely practice. As pilot, Mike spent much of the day right by her side. They weren't alone, not even for a second. Though every inch of skin was literaly hidden from view—everything but their eyes, through the viewing lens on their mask— she was so aware of him that every time he so much as drew in a deep breath, she knew it. If he looked at her, she felt it. And when he accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—brushed up against her, her senses went into overdrive. She didn't like it. She ignored it. She did so by remaining cool and in control, refusing to be baited or sidetracked. Once, when the rest of the team was on the other side of the large mechanism they were using to hoist the huge pieces of equipment, Mike planted himself in front of her, purposely looking directly into her mask as his gloved hands slipped to her hips and gently but deliberately squeezed. They were separated by layers and layers, and yet she felt his fingers as if they were skin to skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, her heart picked up speed. And she actually ached. Ached. When she forced her eyes open, she expected triumph to flare in his own deep, dark-brown gaze, but all she saw was his own response, which mirrored hers. After that, it got harder and harder to ignore him. As a result, maybe she worked them all a little harder than she might have, but she told herself she was a perfectionist and simply expected the best out of them. That they were delivering that best went a long way toward easing the knowledge that the rest ofthe team didn't especially like her. But they respected her, and had the same work ethic she did, so that would have to be good enough. Besides, she was used to not being liked. Not many understood her drive, her need to succeed. At times, she didn't understand it herself. Her parents supported her; her friends supported her. All her life she'd been loved and cherished. It wasn't a lack in any of those things that drove her but a simple, overriding hunger for success. And she would have it. MIKE WAITED IN THE DARK, in the halway, silent
and tense and listening for Corrine's standard midnight run to the bathroom. It was stupid, even pathetic, especially when he had no idea what he wanted to say or do. Actualy, that was one big, fat lie. He knew exactly what he wanted to do to her, and it involved no clothes, a bed and lots of moaning. What was this crazy need he had for her? It made no sense. Especially when she'd made it clear she wanted to forget she'd ever known him. He should want to forget her, too, given what a tough, no-nonsense commander she was. But he couldn't forget. And so he waited. She didn't disappoint. Just past midnight, she came out of her room, wearing her men's boxers and tank top. Shrinking back into the shadows, he watched her as she walked with her frank, here-I-come gait until she disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back out, yawning broadly, he grabbed her. She nearly screamed, but quickly controlled herself. And while he admired her control on the job, he didn't want her in control now, he wanted her hot and bothered and unsettled, which happened to be the only time he got to see the woman he suspected was the real Corrine Atkinson. She fought him, but he used his superior strength to haul her closer until they were chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and all the delicious spots in the middle were meshed together. Ah, just what the doctor ordered. "What are you doing?" she whispered fiercely. Hell if he knew. "How about this?" And he captured her mouth with his. Immediately she went utterly, completely stil, and he knew he had her. If she'd fought him, he'd have let her go instantly. If she'd given him any sign that this wasn't where she wanted to be, he'd have stepped back and gone to bed. He might have been hard as steel and frustrated beyond belief, but he would have gone. She didn't give him that sign, but she didn't kiss him back, either. He wanted so much more, wanted to see her eyes slumberous and sexy with the same hunger he felt, wanted her body humming and needy for his, wanted her to look at him the way she had in his hotel room, the look that told him he was the only one who could possibly do it for her in that moment. He thought maybe he wanted even more, but that idea unsettled him, so he concentrated on the physical craving instead. Her mouth was warm and tasted exactly as he remembered. Gentling his hold, he smoothed his hands up and down her back while nibbling at her lips, teasing as he sought the entrance she would have to willingly give him. It wasn't until he said her name softly, cupping her face so that he could look deep into her eyes, that she let out a quiet hum and slid her arms around his neck. "Mike." He let out a rough groan when she tilted her head, searching for a deeper connection. And he gave it to her. Within two seconds that connection was not only deeper but scorchingly hot. Corrine had one hand fisted in his hair, holding him tight as if she thought he might back away. Fat chance. Her other hand slid around his waist, her fingers slipping beneath his T-shirt to the base of his spine before stroking up his bare back. A simple touch, even an innocent one, but it set him on fire. His hands were busy, too, dancing down her arms to her hips, sliding beneath her shirt to glide along bare, warm skin he couldn't get enough of. Their kiss was long, wet, deep and noisy, but just as he brought his hands around to cup her breasts, one of the bedroom doors behind them opened. Corrine froze and he felt her honor. Silently swearing at the loss of her hot body and their privacy, he put a finger to her lips and quickly backed her into the bathroom. Like two teenagers they stood stock-stil in the dark room, listening. Nothing. "My God," she whispered. "I can't believe I— That you— That we—" "Nearly ate each other up?" "Don't say it." She sounded disgusted, and it made him mad at her all over again. Why, he wondered, did he care about this woman? Why did he care that his teammates were grumbling about her cool and controlled demeanor, that they didn't see the real Corrine as he did? Why did he care that beyond the facade she showed the world, she had the deepest, most soul-wrenching eyes he'd ever seen? "We nearly...again." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, and her abject misery fueled his growing temper. "You can only have sex with me as a stranger? Is that it?" "We were not having sex!" "So when you were writhing and panting in my arms only a minute ago, tearing at my shirt, whimpering for more, pawing at me, demandingmore... what was that?" She tried to stare him down, but he didn't stare down easily. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she strove for a way to make this okay in her little dream world, where they didn't have this shocking need for each other. "All we did just now was kiss," she said finally, nodding her head as if she could live with that particular fantasy. Time to pop her little bubble. "Honey," he said with a disbelieving laugh, "ifthat was just a kiss, I'll eat my shorts." "It was!" "How is it then that you were two seconds from coming, and I'd barely even touched your breasts?" He didn't need light to see the hot flush of anger on her face. "You're impossible!" she spat. "I really hate that!" "And you're ashamed of what we did. I hate that." They stared at each other, but there was nothing left to say. 7 THE NEXT DAY WAS SPENT in one meeting after another again, and by the end of it, Corrine was mentally drained. It wasn't the work; she loved that. It was Mike. She couldn't forget how he'd looked when he told her he thought she was ashamed of what they'd done. She'd let him believe it, and in doing so, had hurt him. See? This was what happened when one acted irresponsibly. And having sex with a stranger in his hotel room definitely constituted an irresponsible act. But it was the oddest thing... she couldn't truly bring herself to regret what they'd done. Not one moment of it. She sure as hel wasn't ashamed, either. Which meant, for honesty's sake, she had to set the record straight. Then and only then could she get on with life and put her ful concentrationinto this mission. It took a while until she was free of the bureaucracy and red tape she had to dance through all day in her meetings with NASA officials, scientists from no less than five other countries, and a representative for the students' experiments, but finaly she went in search of Mike. Her intentionwas to straighten this out, which in no way explained why her body was humming at just the thought of seeing him again. Nope, she attributed that to hunger. She couldn't find him. She couldn't find any ofher team. As a last resort, she hunted down Ed, one of the administrative assistants. "They're out to dinner," he said. "They?" "Your team." Was that pity in his eyes? It was hard to tel, as he vanished as soon as he'd answered, remindingher that most of the assistants lived in terror of her. For no real reason, she told herself. Yes, she was usually in a hurry. And maybe sometimes she could be...well, abrupt. It wasn't anything personal, though. But her team going off without her, now that, she was pretty certain, was personal. No biggie. She didn't want to eat with them, anyway. Much. Besides, she had work to do. She stayed late to prove it, but she knew damn well a small part of her was wondering if any of them would come back after dinner to see how she was doing. Ah, geez. Pathetic. She hated that she'd been reduced to thinking such nonsense. Get over it and move on. THAT NIGHT SHE LAY AWAKE, staring at the ceiling. The mission was far from her mind, which was otherwise occupied by a tall, leanly muscled, beautiful man who, when he smiled could talk her into jumping off a cliff. Maybe he'd be waiting to pounce on her in the hallway, she thought at midnight, leaping to her feet, her heart racing in anticipation. But as she made her way to the bathroom, as slowly and loudly as she dared, no one grabbed her. Not then, and not when she came out. She was alone, truly alone, just as she'd always wanted to be. BEFORE HE KNEW IT, their week at Marshall Space Flight Center was over. Mike and the rest of the team were leaving for Houston and the Johnson Space Center, where they would remain in training until mission launch at Kennedy Space Center, Florida. There was much left to be done. At Johnson Space Center, each of them would be run through their paces. Over and over again. Loading. Unloading. Constructing. Repairing. Reconstructing. Takeoff. Landing. Going through each possible scenario, and just when they thought they were close to done, they'd be ordered to do it again. NASA took it all very seriously. Having had painful, painful failures in the past, mistakes that had cost billions, not to mention the taxpayers faith, they didn't care to repeat any of those mistakes. Mike understood this all too well, and still he loved his job. He loved everything except the fact he was working for a woman he wanted to kiss stupid, and he couldn't quite get that out of his head. He planned to travel to Houston the way he'd traveled to Huntsville, piloting himself in his honey of a plane, which he'd rebuilt himself. Frank had also flown himself into Marshal, so he flew himself out. But Stephen and Jimmy jumped at Mike's offer to come along with him. And to his shock, so did Corrine. She appeared on the tarmac, her bag on her shoulder. "You have room for one more?" "Absolutely." At the sudden, awkward silence, Mike glanced at Stephen and Jimmy, both of whom shrugged noncommittally. Their faces had been wiped clear of the laughter they'd just been sharing over some obscene joke, but even they were professional enough not to quibble if their commander wanted to horn in on their ride. With Stephen and Jimmy preoccupied admiring Mike's work on the Lear, Corrine moved close. "I wanted to talk to you." "You've said that before." Mike lifted a brow. "And haven't really meant it." Shifting from one foot to the other, she let out a half laugh, and he realized with some shock that she was nervous. Corrine never looked nervous, and his curiosity twitched. She seemed so put together in her business suit, revealing none of her lush curves and warm softness. He remembered both so well that her armor didn't matter, and his curiosity wasn't the only thing that twitched. Damn her anyway, for standing there killing him, for being so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. 'Talk away then," he said with far more lightness than he felt. "Okay, good. Thanks." She set down her bag. "You've been avoiding me." Yes, he had. Self-preservation. But damned if he was going to tell her that. Mike Wright avoided no one. "How is that possible? We've been working side by side for over a week now." A breeze blew over them, but Corrine had her hair tightly back and beaten into submission. Not a strand moved, not as it had that night they'd been together, when her mane of hair had flowed over his hot flesh, teasing him with its silky scent. "Yes, we worked together," she agreed. "But we haven't..." It was wrong to pretend he had no idea what she was trying to say—wrong, but ever so satisfying. "Yes?" he coaxed. "We haven't...?" She let out a huff of breath. "You know. Talked. Or..." Even more satisfying was her blush. "Are you referring to our hot, wet, long kisses? Or the hot, wet fun we had in my hotel room?" Her eyes darkened. Her mouth turned grim. "It was a mistake to bring this up. I'm sorry." She went to step past him and into the plane, but he stopped her. "It was wrong," he said in a harsh whisper. "Because you don't really want to talk about it. You want to forget it ever happened. You're ashamed—" "No." She put a hand to his chest, deflating his sudden anger with just one touch. "I'm not ashamed. That's what I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry I let you think it." For a moment, she actually let him see inside her, past the aloofness and into the woman he'd held so closely that night. It gave him a funny ache in his chest. "Why do you do that?" he whispered, unable to help himself from stroking her arm. "Why do you let them think of you as the Ice Queen? I know you're not." Her eyes widened; her mouth opened, then carefully shut. "What?" His stomach fell. "Nothing." God, she didn't know what they called her. "Nothing at all." "What?" she finally said again, very, very softly. "What did you say they call me?" His fault, that devastating, stricken look in her eyes, and though she managed to hide it with amazing speed and grace, he couldn't have felt worse. "Corrine—" "Never mind." She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin high. "No need for me to be insulted when it's the truth." "Wait..." "No, let's not. We have a meeting this afternoon and need to hustle." "Yes, but—" "You going to fly this baby or what?" she snapped, stepping aboard. She nodded curtly to the others, without an outward sign that she'd just been brought to her knees. "Final inspection complete?" she asked Mike when he slid into the pilot's seat. "Done. Corrine—" "Don't." Sitting there next to him in the cockpit, as if she belonged there, she proceeded to grab his clipboard and start the preflight check. He grabbed it back. "I've got it." She picked up his headphones and would have put them on, but in his plane, he was in charge. He took those from her as well. "Route?" She ran her hands over the controls. "I know how to get us there." He brushed her fingers away from the instrument panel She shot him a look of annoyance. "Then do it." He ignored the tone of that remark, because he understood she was hurt. But with her obnoxious, controlling attitude, he was damn close to forgetting how lush and warm and giving she could be. He didn't like it. In fact, he downright hated that aloofness, and decided to destroy it. He waited until they were in the air and Corrine was fully relaxed, lost in her own little world. Perfect. She was reading an aviation magazine, deeply engrossed, when he reached over and put his hand on her thigh. She nearly leaped out of her skin. Oh yeah, he thought, wisely keeping his grin to himself, his good humor restored. He'd gone at this thing all wrong. Letting her build up her defenses wasn't the answer; driving her crazy was, and apparently he could do that with just a touch. "Could you hand me a tissue?" he asked, gesturing toward the small box next to her right hip. Before he removed his hand from her thigh, he stroked her, just once. She fumbled and dropped the tissue, then jerked when she finally handed it to him and their fingers touched. He smiled, and her gaze went to his mouth. Bingo, he thought, pleased with himself. Very pleased. For the rest of the flight he touched her whenever possible, when no one else would see. He even managed to suck on her earlobe for one delicious second. She nearly leaped out of her skin then, too, but she didn't say a word. Just glared at him while the flush on