Untamed Desire (8 page)

“How?” he prodded.

Storm closed her eyes, not sure she could tell him everything. But it came out in a rush of words. “He said I was only half a woman. That I had no feelings, only a little talent for flying and teaching.” There, it was out, and somehow, no matter what else might happen, she was glad to be rid of the awful burden.

“You? Unfeeling?” Jim smiled and shook his head. “I think your ex-husband might be a half a man, but you’re certainly all woman. In every way. Believe me.”

“Then why do you want me to quit Bradford’s?”

If she had struck him, he wouldn’t have looked more surprised. He released her hand abruptly.

“I’ve told you before,” he answered coldly. “I know a woman can’t handle the job. It’s been proven to me quite clearly, remember?”

“One incident doesn’t make it a generality, Jim. Oh, why can’t you understand that?”

His eyes grew dark. “When that one statistic is my wife, it becomes more than a generality. When you become involved, as well, it begins to haunt me all over again.”

“But I’m not Heather! Just because she crashed doesn’t mean I will!”

“You’re a risk-taker, dammit. And I care too much to lose you in the same hellish way.”

“I’m not going to crash, Jim. Please, don’t you understand that your fear is groundless?”

He rose in one fluid motion, taking money from his billfold and throwing it on the table. “I can see this conversation is going nowhere. It’s obvious your job is a hell of a lot more important to you than anything, or anyone, else. Enjoy the evening, Storm.” In a few long, angry strides, he was gone from the room.

Early the next day, Storm went through a final instruments check before shoving the throttles forward to take off from the Fairbanks airport. She listened absently to the chatter of her four passengers, her heart heavy with despair. She had slept poorly the night before, yearning to be in Jim’s arms instead of alone in her room. Why had she let herself argue with him? He hadn’t been at breakfast that morning, and his plane had already gone when they’d driven to the airport that afternoon.

After landing in Anchorage, she trudged woodenly into the office to finish her report. Stella looked up, smiling brightly. “Hi, honey. Goodness, you look peaked. What’s wrong? Are you coming down with a cold?”

“No,” Storm answered, sitting down dejectedly on a chair beside the desk.

Stella began digging furiously through a pile of telephone notes. “Ah, here it is. You had a long-distance call from the lower forty-eight while you were in Fairbanks.”

Storm read the slip of paper and turned pale. “Oh, God!”

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Stella demanded gently. “Should I have called you at your hotel last night?”

Storm rose to her feet, crumpling the note in her hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. “No. It’s not that important. Just—” she waved her hand limply “—just a problem. When’s my next flight, Stella?”

“Umm, not until tomorrow night.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Storm headed out into the chilly evening, toward her parked car. She unlocked it and dropped to the seat, staring blindly out the window. “Jack,” she whispered painfully. “Oh, Lord, why now and why him?” she breathed, pushing the key into the ignition.

Back in her apartment, she threw her purse on the couch and went directly to the telephone. She smiled bitterly. How easy it was to remember Jack’s phone number at the flight school. At the sound of his voice, her heart began to hammer painfully. Even now he aroused old fears and uncertainties.

“What do you want, Jack?” she demanded.

“Hey, is this my girl sounding like she doesn’t want to hear from me? You could at least sound somewhat cheerful, Storm.”

“I’m not your girl, Jack, and I don’t feel particularly cheerful. Now, what do you want?”

“Hey, okay, baby, calm down. I just wanted to keep in touch and see how you’re doing up there.”

“Come on, Jack, be straight with me,” Storm replied, becoming angry. “You never bothered to call me before. Why now? Isn’t the school going well?”

“You’re just as distrustful as ever, I see. Always looking for an angle.”

She managed a sharp, bitter laugh. “Always with you, Jack. I’m not the gullible woman you married and divorced.”

“You divorced me, baby. Just remember that. But look, I didn’t call just to chat. I talked a little with the secretary, and Bradford’s sounds like a fine company.”

Storm relaxed slightly, although she was still on her guard. “Yes, it’s a good place to work.”

“A lot of students have been asking where you are.”

Another part of Storm grew weak. Her students, her young, fledgling pilots who had grown up under her calm voice and steadying hand on the flying yoke.

“I miss them,” she admitted. “The teaching, I mean,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“They miss you, too,” Jack chorused enthusiastically. “Would you believe a number of them have gone to another flight school because you weren’t here to teach them? Isn’t that something?”

Storm thought she detected an edge to his suave, smooth voice. How like Jack to hedge on the fact that the school wasn’t doing well financially. She pressed her full lips together. “I thought you hired—”she almost choked on the name of Jack’s mistress “—Mary.”

“Oh, her.”

Storm grimaced. Mary. Actually, she reasoned, she should have thanked the woman pilot for releasing her from Jack’s grasp. Bright, blond Mary had been nineteen years old and looking for a father figure. And Jack had made the mistake of flaunting her in front of Storm.

“Yes,” Storm mouthed. “Her. What happened? Did your dream instructor take off for bluer skies?”

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, and immediately Storm regretted her barbed words. “Jack, I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be, baby. Hey, look, I made a mistake, a real bad mistake, by giving you up.”

Her heart plummeted with despair. “No,” she said, “you didn’t make a mistake, Jack. It was better for both of us.”

“Look, we need to talk,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Face-to-face. I’ll fly up, and we’ll have a nice chat. Storm, there are some things I need to tell you. Time has given me a new perspective. Now I think I’ve got the facts straight.”

Storm shook her head. “No, Jack. It’s over. Four years was long enough—too long. We got married for all the wrong reasons.”

“You loved me. I know you did.”

Storm’s throat felt tight with the pain of almost-forgotten memories. “Yes, yes, that was true once.”

She’d been twenty-seven when she’d first met Jack, and already she’d devoted her life to flying, pouring all of her love into the aircraft she flew and the students she taught. She’d scarcely responded to the frequent male attention she received—hardly even noticed it—until handsome, impeccably groomed Jack Reynolds began to pursue her. How madly she’d fallen in love with his quick-talking, easygoing manner! He’d swept her off her feet. And when it seemed they could build a life together, devoted to flying, her happiness had been complete.

But all that had happened long ago—in another life, it seemed to Storm. Jack had hurt her deeply, and now, finally, she was her own person. Finally she’d learned to love again. Even if Jim never returned her love, it had healed her, made her whole.

The note of urgency in Jack’s voice jolted Storm out of her reverie. “Storm, we’ve got to talk! Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there. Please!”

“I—I don’t know, Jack.” Her determination began to crumble. Then Jim’s face rose suddenly before her, and her love for him gave her the strength she needed. “It’s impossible, Jack. I’m too busy right now. We’re in the middle of hunting season, and I’m flying two trips daily.”

“I see. You have someone else.” “No,” she murmured, “I don’t have someone else.”

“What’s the matter? Did you fall in love with someone who isn’t available?”

Storm recoiled at the sudden hatred in Jack’s voice. The old Jack was back, the Jack she had lived with for four hellish years. Her blue eyes narrowed with resolution. “My life, at this point, is none of your business,” she said stiffly.

“Sure it is,” he returned amicably. “I still love you, baby.”

“I doubt you know what love is, Jack,” she retorted, and hung up. She stood without moving, drawing in a long, shuddering breath. No, she would not waste any more tears on Jack. He was part of her past, not her present, and certainly not her future. She had her own life to live.

ICY WINDS ON
the first day of November promised a bitterly cold winter, which was only a few weeks away. Storm stood looking out of a window at Bradford Outfitters, watching the clouds scudding by overhead. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling depressed. Ever since Jack’s fateful phone call, nothing seemed to be going right. Her flying schedule had become even heavier, and she was never teamed up with Jim, always with someone else. It had been over three weeks since she had last seen him.

Ray Leeper quietly entered the room and nodded shyly in Storm’s direction. She managed a small smile in response and returned to her own frustrated thoughts. A terrible loneliness had come over her and she closed her eyes against the pain. Was Jim avoiding her on purpose? Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of him, either entering a plane or walking with a group of hunters toward the closest bar. Despite the fact that she’d been working without a day off for several weeks, she was actually thankful for the work, which kept her from remembering the exquisite way Jim had made love to her. She sighed softly and walked over to the coffeepot to pour herself another cup.

Ray looked up from his flight plan. “Did you hear the latest?” he asked.

Storm sat down and stared gloomily over at him. “No. Don’t tell me we have a million more hunters who want to come up in the next two weeks.”

“Naw. It’s about Danziger.”

Storm groaned. “Don’t tell me he took another unscheduled day off.”

“Worse than that. Dan fired him for drinking while flying. I guess he was helping the hunters from Camp One consume the fifth of whiskey they’d brought along.”

“How did Danziger take it?”

Ray shook his sandy hand. “Not very well. If it hadn’t been for Jim, Dan might have ended up in the hospital.”

Storm inhaled sharply and stared hard at the pilot. “What?!”

“Yeah. It happened late last night. Didn’t you notice that some of the chairs in the main office are missing?”

“Yes, but I thought they were out getting cleaned or something.”

“Repaired, Storm.”

“Is Jim all right?”

“He’s got some swollen knuckles this morning. Danziger has a broken jaw.” Ray grinned, his green eyes twinkling. “It was a good fight. You should have been here.”

Distress crossed Storm’s features. “Why didn’t somebody say something sooner?! I’ve been here half an hour already.”

“Sorry. I thought you knew.”

Storm paced the length of the room, suddenly restless. “Is Jim home now?” she asked.

“Yeah. The boss told him to take the day off. It gets like this every year, Storm. Men’s tempers begin to fray at the edges from overwork. Danziger was probably just trying to ease the strain by taking a nip or two. And,” Ray added drily, studying the weather report, “Jim hasn’t exactly been easy to live with, either. In fact, he’s been like a bull elk in rutting season the last three weeks. Irritable and temperamental as all get out. Have you noticed?”

She shook her head and retraced her footsteps. “No,” she answered vaguely. “I haven’t seen much of him. I’ve been too busy with my own flight schedule.”

“Isn’t that the truth. Well, it’s going to be worse, now that Danziger has been let go.”

Rafe Danziger had always worried her, Storm thought darkly. Ever since first meeting him, she hadn’t trusted the hulking, black-eyed pilot. Some sort of indefinable treachery seemed to lurk in his eyes. Whether by accident or choice, Jim had never assigned her to fly with him. Privately, she’d been relieved.

Now, looking at her watch, she realized she had an hour before her first flight. Making a sudden decision, she yanked her coat off the rack and grabbed her purse.

“Ray, tell Stella I’ll be back in time for my flight,” she called.

Ray looked up, surprised. “Yeah, sure, Storm…”

Storm’s heart was thumping madly as she pushed the doorbell at the posh condominium. When no one answered immediately, she chewed her lip nervously and pressed the bell again. Suddenly the door flew open and Jim glared down at her. His eyes widened in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded tersely.

Storm glanced down at his bandaged right hand. “I—Ray told me what happened.” She swallowed hard, but met his stare without flinching. Her anger was growing. “I just wanted to see how you were,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”

Jim remained silent. It was obvious to Storm he didn’t want to see her. Pulling her coat more tightly around her body, she spun around and began to walk away. She would never impose herself on him.

“Wait,” he called.

She halted in midstride and flung a questioning look at him over her shoulder.

“Get inside. It’s too damn cold out here to stand around talking.” “But I thought—”

“That’s the trouble with you,” he interrupted. “You think too much. Now, are you going to stand out there all day or get in here?”

Storm paused momentarily, then entered his apartment without another word. The tension between them was almost unbearable as she reluctantly shed her coat and handed it to him. Jim gave her a long look and then hung the coat up in the hall closet.

“I can’t stay long,” she blurted out. “I’ve got a flight in forty minutes.”

Jim stalked down the hall. “I was making some hot chocolate,” he called back. “Do you want some?”

Storm followed him into the living room, taking note of the hardwood floor and stone fireplace. A bearskin rug lay in front of a roaring fire. The kitchen was to her right, and she followed Jim into it.

“Yes, hot chocolate sounds good,” she said. “Better than coffee, at least.”

“Better than what Danziger drank,” Jim muttered, digging awkwardly into a low cabinet with his left hand.

His frustration was obvious, and Storm leaned against the stove, forcing herself not to help him, certain he would resent such assistance. He finally found the pan he wanted, and put it on the stove as she moved aside.

“Been keeping busy?” he asked, his tone still sharp.

“You ought to know.”

“What’s the matter? Can’t you take it?” he taunted, reaching into the refrigerator for milk.

“Does it look like I can’t handle it?” she flung back.

Jim studied her, his eyes lingering on her lush curves.

Storm colored fiercely under his gaze, growing angrier by the second. “You are positively miserable to be around,” she commented hotly.

Jim carefully poured milk into a measuring cup. “I wonder why,” he replied cryptically.

“I wouldn’t know. Even easygoing Ray accused you of being like a bull elk in rutting season.”

Jim smiled sourly. “He did?”

“Yes, and I can’t say he’s far off the mark.”

“Do me a favor and put two teaspoons of cocoa into the pan, will you?”

Storm did as he requested, then returned his interested glance. He leaned over and added a pinch of salt, his nearness making her senses spin. She backed away a step, then watched in silence as he added sugar and began to stir the mixture with his left hand.

“Would you like me to stir it for you?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Just get two mugs down from the cabinet behind you. The marshmallows are on the counter.”

When the hot chocolate was ready, Storm poured it into two mugs and carried them into the living room. She handed one to Jim, then sat down tensely in an overstuffed chair, the cup warm in her hands. Jim sat opposite her on the couch, seemingly pleased with his efforts. The fire crackled pleasantly as they cautiously sipped the liquid.

“It’s good,” Storm commented to break the silence.

“If you follow the recipe, it’s bound to come out right,” Jim replied drily.

Storm’s blue eyes flared with anger at his tone. “Meaning what?” she challenged sharply.

Jim’s eyebrows rose. “Meaning nothing. Should it mean anything?”

“Obviously it does or you wouldn’t have put such an edge on the words. I suppose I don’t fit into your recipe of life, is that it? A woman pilot at Bradford’s is not good, and all I’ve done is make your life miserable, right?”

Jim’s face was suffused with anger. “You’re jumping to conclusions again. As usual,” he accused her. He put down his mug and strode angrily to the fireplace, standing with his back to it. “You’re so damn one-sided that you don’t realize there are other possibilities in life. You’re like a horse with blinders on. All you can live, eat and breathe is flying.”

Storm set her own mug down abruptly and leaped to her feet, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger. “That isn’t true!” she cried. “I love flying, but it’s not my whole life.”

Jim shot her a twisted smile. “I’m even surprised you came over to see how I was. The fact that you took precious time away from your flying is a real compliment to me.”

Storm squared her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “You’re unspeakably rude. I’d never treat a guest in my house like you’re treating me.” She whirled away, almost running to the foyer, where she jerked her coat off the hanger.

She was wrestling with her coat and reaching for the doorknob when she was spun around and pinned against the wall. A cry of surprise escaped her throat as she felt the bruising force of Jim’s mouth and his tight embrace. She struggled fiercely at first, but was unable to free herself. Then, as if he realized he was hurting her, his mouth grew more gentle and his tongue slipped into her lips, making her knees tremble dangerously. She clung to him. Gradually, skillfully, his mouth claimed her unmoving lips, making them soft and pliable, responsive to his will. Storm moaned, hungry for the feel of him. Her arms slid around his neck, and she returned his passion with equal fervor.

Finally Jim pushed her away from him, his eyes blazing, his breath coming hard and fast. “Maybe that will make you stop and think about something except flying for a second,” he growled thickly.

How she made it out the door and to her car, Storm never knew. She gave Jim a scathing look and began walking blindly. Once seated, she crumpled against the steering wheel, touching her lips with trembling fingers. She was weak and shaky, but not with fear—with desire. Untamed desire ignited so fiercely by Jim that it left her quivering with need.

Closing her eyes, Storm took several deep breaths, trying desperately to calm down. She had to fly a plane in less than half an hour, and had better be clearheaded. One sentence echoed painfully over and over in her mind. Jack had said it. Now Jim was saying it. “All you can live, eat and breathe is flying.”

A new anguish seared her heart as she drove away from the condominium complex toward the highway. Tears splashed silently onto her lap, the road a gray blur. Both men couldn’t be wrong. Jim’s accusation hurt more than Jack’s ever had. But why did he think nothing but flying had any meaning for her? Why?

She had no answer, and shored up her broken defenses as best she could.

As she swung into the parking lot at Bradford’s, she saw the group of hunters she was supposed to transport already waiting for her at the door of the plane.

“Damn you, Jim Talbot,” she whispered hoarsely, climbing out of the car.

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Storm returned to Anchorage. Normally at this time only the “on-call” pilot was in the office, but as Storm cut the engines, she saw Jim moving swiftly from the office toward her plane. Annoyed, she climbed to the back of the plane and unlatched the hatch door, allowing him to enter.

“Why are you so late?” he demanded, glaring at her.

She frowned. “The starboard engine overheated on the return flight. The oil pressure dropped, and I practically had to fly home on one engine.”

Jim held out his hand to help her down. “But Charlie just checked this plane. It was in excellent condition when you left this morning.”

Storm’s senses spun at the scent of his freshly showered body, and she tried to assemble her fragmented thoughts. He was clearly upset, but she wasn’t sure with whom.

“All I know,” she explained, “is that when I made a sweep of the indicators, the needle plunged.”

Jim didn’t seem satisfied and walked to the cooling engine to run his hand along the surface. “Look at this.” Storm sighed deeply and trudged over to where he stood. A thick coating of oil formed black streaks on the white exterior. “Definitely an oil leak,” Storm confirmed.

Jim shook his head, more angry than before. “Why didn’t you radio in about the situation?”

“Because as long as I held the engine to the minimum RPMs, I didn’t have to feather it. And as long as I don’t have to turn off an engine, I don’t consider the situation an emergency.”

He took her arm firmly, escorting her back to the office. “Next time, Storm, call it in. I don’t give a damn how small an emergency you think it is. I don’t want you taking any chances. Understand?”

Storm pulled away, fighting the almost overwhelming need to be close to him. “Is that standard policy or a special request because I’m a woman pilot?” she demanded.

His gray eyes darkened. “I was worried about you, Storm. And don’t look at me as if you don’t believe me.”

She managed a cutting smile and walked toward the office. “After our encounter this afternoon, can you blame me? We mix like oil and water.”

“Lately we have,” he agreed softly, “but it wasn’t always like that.”

Storm colored fiercely at the unbidden memories that came to mind, but she said nothing as she entered the office. There she turned and faced him. A curious light shone in his eyes, and immediately her anger dissipated.

“I can’t take this, Jim,” she cried out. “I hate quarreling. My marriage was one big fight, and I’m still raw from it. Please, can’t we talk civilly to each other?”

“I’m sorry, Storm,” Jim said, relenting. “I’m still mad about Danziger—and I was worried sick when you didn’t come in on time.”

Storm was shaken by the concern in his voice. She lifted her chin defiantly and looked straight into his unreadable eyes. “I suppose you’re going to blame me for the gauge reading,” she began tentatively.

“No,” he returned evenly.

She watched the play of emotions on his face. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I’m tired and crabby. I didn’t mean to provoke you.”