Crash and Burn (2 page)

“I am. I’m back on the flight schedule
starting tomorrow.”

He raised a brow. “That’s fast.”

Of course, Laura Jo had always had a need for
speed. There’d been no slowing her down ten years ago, and she’d
given him no reason to believe she’d changed. Not that way. She’d
probably still be going zero to one hundred when she was ninety,
hell on wheels with a walker. He only wished he’d be the one by her
side to see it.

She hesitated. “I wanted to thank you.”

Now it was his turn to shrug. “No
problem.”

She held up two long-necks. “I promised to
buy you a beer.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” Dane was a big
man and the USMC T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders made
him seem even larger. He topped out a couple inches over six feet.
His face was all hard lines and cheekbones, strong like the man
himself and without an inch of give. He looked like a big, tough
bastard—and he was, in a firefight. With his hair buzzed regulation
short now, with no hint of the curl she’d known those dark strands
held, he was formidable away from the fire as well.

Around her, though, he’d always been a sweet
bear of a man.

He smiled now and her stomach did an
unprogrammed dip as recognition and heat lit up his baby browns.
Yeah, Dane had always been so fucking nice. The nicest guy she
knew, despite his successes on the playing field and off. He simply
didn’t fail. Ever. Maybe that was part of his charm. Give him a
problem and he’d keep at it until he had it solved. In high school,
those problems had been football plays and calculus. She’d never
told him about what went on at home—they’d barely talked, just
hello and goodbye when they bumped into each other at school—but
she’d always wondered if he’d known about the hitting.

Dane watched and he connected the dots.

That made him dangerous.

To most people, he’d simply been the football
quarterback and the good guy. He was the someone you counted on to
be there, Mr. Dependable himself. He was good-looking and amiable,
with talented hands that always, always caught the ball. Sure, some
people thought he was slow, because he liked to watch and wait.
She’d always known, though, that he’d catch her when she fell. Not
if, but when, because that had been her life.

Maybe it was because she’d been born to fly.
Maybe it was because her home life left something to be desired,
plus her stepdad’s sexual advances were getting harder and harder
to fend off. Hell, she’d spent summer jumping off roofs.
Bungee-jumping over the river. Fast cars. Anything and everything
for that rush of air and momentary weightlessness. She’d been
smart, but she’d been pure trouble according to her teachers.

Those teachers hadn’t been wrong.

“Are we enemies?” She moved in on him, not
waiting for his answer.

Being here was a mistake, but when he’d
pulled her out of that cockpit and started his determined run
across the runway, something had changed inside her. She’d seen him
from a distance over the last two years, manning his truck or
hanging with the other soldiers, but there had been an uncrossable
distance between them that had nothing to do with three hundred
yards of blacktop or military regulations.

He smiled. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

He hadn’t moved, but his stillness was
expectant. She let herself drink in that big, hard body. Maybe it
was the whole near death thing, but she looked at Dane and wanted
to reach out and hang on to him.

“Good,” she said, meaning it.

God, Dane’s smile hadn’t changed with the
years. That slow quirk of his lips was just as devastating now as
it had been in high school. He’d always been slow to anger, quick
to see the humor in any situation. His amused patience had been as
unfamiliar as it was seductive. He hadn’t wanted her to be anyone
other than who she was—and that had put him in a minority of
one.

“So how about that beer?” He held out a hand
and she caught a glimpse of a small tattoo inked on the inside of
the wrist, a one-inch-by-one-inch act of rebellion she hadn’t
expected from him. The rest of him, however, was precisely what
she’d expected. He wore coveralls, not cammies, because he was
CF&R. Sit on the flightline guys—that was how the other Marines
saw the CF&R boys. All sit-on-your-ass and no action. Laura Jo
knew better. You couldn’t put a price on someone who’d wait
patiently until you needed him to save your own ass and would then
spring into action, no questions asked. Dane was a hero.

Her hero.

Popping the top on a Bud, she handed him a
bottle and opened the other for herself. She’d already checked the
duty roster, so she knew for a fact that he was off-duty. Even if
he’d been willing to drink on the job—and there was no way her Dane
would—she wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize the career he’d
worked so hard for. The world definitely needed more heroes like
him and, God knew, the next time she took off, she wanted to know
he was waiting at the end of the flightline for her. Just in case
shit happened like it always did.

He patted the seat next to him. “Pull up a
chair, lieutenant.”

The sexy rumble of his voice still warmed her
up inside. That hadn’t changed, either. She sat down next to him,
his lazy sprawl meaning they were thigh to thigh and side to side.
His free arm curved casually around her shoulder, his fingers
draped along her bare collarbone.

He tapped his bottle against hers.
“Cheers.”

“It’s good to see you.” She put the bottle to
her mouth, but the boys in the canteen could have swapped out water
for hops for all she noticed the taste. Instead, the strong column
of his throat as he pulled on the beer drew all her attention.
Their chemistry was still there and that should probably worry her
more than it did. They were two people with very different careers
and backgrounds. Right now, though, she just wanted to enjoy a cold
one and Dane.

“Yeah.” He lowered the bottle and it was his
turn to watch her. “Tell me again why we didn’t see each other
after high school?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. What could
she say? She’d run hard and fast after that last night of summer.
She’d gone to the bonfire the senior class always hosted on the
final night of the school year, the night before they walked and
picked up their diplomas. She’d been a woman on a mission, certain
he’d be there—and that she’d do her best to get him alone because
she’d wanted to give away her virginity on her own terms.
She’d
chosen
him
because she’d needed to make the
choice before the shitstorm of trouble at home took away that
option. The sex, the intimate connection between them—that had been
an unexpected bonus. She’d never planned on seeing him again,
though, and she certainly hadn’t thought he’d want more.

He’d been a fucking teenage boy. Glorious and
hard-bodied. Rough and sweet, with just a hint of tender concern
that would have seduced her even if she hadn’t planned on making
him her first. He’d wanted her and she’d loved his desperation to
get inside her body. She’d run because there’d been every
possibility she could love him.

“Never mind,” he said, when she let the
silence stretch on. And leaned over and kissed her.

God, she’d missed him. His hand slid up over
her neck and tightened gently on her nape, pulling her face in to
his. His lips were firm and certain. When he traced the closed seam
of her mouth before sweeping inside, she tasted the sweet beer
hops, mint—and something indescribably male and
Dane
. No one
tasted like him. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, just ran his
fingers up and down the sensitive skin where her braid met her
neck.

The thunder of a jet plane taking off just
beyond the hangar walls broke the spell and she pulled back. Most
of the jets on practice runs touched down two hundred feet from the
hangar before lifting back off. The afterburner had the hangar
shaking, the windows rattling in their frames. Kissing Dane was
like sitting on an enormous, rock-filled washing machine that had
suddenly switched on.

The problem was, she didn’t know how much of
the shock was from the jets—and how much was from the man.

Dane Roberts.

“That’s why,” she said.

“Because I kissed you?” He blinked. “I could
not
kiss you,” he suggested.

“Because I want you to kiss me.” She put the
truth out there. “I look at you and I want my hands on you. All
over you.
You
should be running from
me
and that’s
the truth.”

Hell, yeah.

He was
so
on board with that plan.
Dane forced himself not to pull Laura Jo right back into a clinch,
because this had to be more than a quick kiss. He knew some of the
guys had a reputation for being up for anything, including sex in
the hangar. Not him. He hadn’t seen the attraction. Not until
now.

This was Laura Jo sitting next to him. Laura
Jo asking him to kiss her again. Or vice versa. He didn’t care who
kicked things off here if it ended with his hands on her and hers
on him. That was a damned good outcome in his book.

“Dane?” She stared at him, and he realized
she was waiting for him to say something. Yeah. Not so slick on his
part. Still, she had to know what he was like. They’d been an item
for forty-five glorious minutes ten years ago and she’d come back.
Eventually. He decided to look at that as a good sign, and not some
misguided gratitude on her part. Was she really here to hook up
with him?

He’d find out. He’d wanted that for years, if
he was being honest with himself. If this was his one shot at a
do-over, he’d seize it with both hands.

“If we were having this drink at a bar, I’d
be asking you to come home with me.” As far as answers went, his
wasn’t suave. Hell, it probably wasn’t even sexy. At all. But it
was honest.

“For sex?” Hazel eyes watched him.

“That, too.” He shrugged. “But more because
I’d be having a damned good time talking with you and I’d want to
keep you to myself. I wouldn’t want to share you with a bar full of
people.”

Had her breath caught? A guy could hope. Her
wry grin said he hadn’t scared her away yet.

“It’s definitely hard to talk over the
music,” she said, lifting her beer to her lips again.

“Would you come?” He liked this playful side
of her he hadn’t known she had. The lieutenant was all business and
he respected her, but the woman was fun. She laughed, and his dick
decided the low, husky sound was a personal hi-how-are-ya?

Setting the bottle down, she leaned into him,
reaching over to capture his mouth in a quick kiss. Her tongue
danced over his lower lip, tracing a naughty pattern. She tasted
like Budweiser and summer, with a side of spearmint—God, he hoped
that meant she’d come here intending to kiss him—and something else
indescribably
her
.

She broke the kiss, but she didn’t move away.
“Picking a soldier up at bar is a recipe for disaster.”

“I usually try to avoid it,” he deadpanned.
“But for you—” her slow smile lit up her face—“I’d make an
exception.”

Her hand slid down his jaw, her soft skin
catching on his five o’clock shadow. “Accommodating,” she said. Her
fingers walked down his chest, over his dog tags, and come to rest
on his abdomen. His whole body jerked, coming to attention.

“Would you like that, soldier?”

“Hell, yeah.” She didn’t look like she was
imagining banging his brains out in the hangar, but her fingers
were all promise. “So, I got to ask—you think the price of rescue
is two Buds?”

Her fingers fell away from his body and
grasped the hem of her tank top. Curled around the bottom and
tugged slowly upwards. “When you put it that way—”

Holy hell. His mouth dried up, but his dick
was happy to salute his lieutenant. Who was standing up and turning
to face him. What. The. Hell.

“What
would
be a fair price?” She
slowly pulled the tank up, one sexy inch at a time. Her eyes
laughed wickedly at him, but she’d arranged her face in a careful
question. Like they were discussing the fucking weather or
bargaining over an oil change. She still had that flat stomach that
had driven him crazy all through high school. Her skin was
sun-kissed now, though, all feminine strength and seductive curves.
His body hit a hundred miles an hour, racing down the runway. Yeah.
Take-off
.

“I think I’m worth at least a six pack. Or,”
he eyed the white cotton still covering her breasts, “another six
inches.”

“You drive a tough bargain.” The smile was on
her face now and lust hit him hard. Christ, she was beautiful no
matter what, but her smile lit her right up. He loved seeing her
happy. His Laura Jo did serious real well. She played with the big
boys and she was fiercely competitive. This playful side of her?
She didn’t let that side out to play anywhere near as often.

He loved it.

The tank came up, bearing a white bra that
was absolutely not military issue. Some kind of silky fabric that
cupped her breasts and pushed them up. The delicious handful begged
for his tongue, with the edge of her nipples peaking over the lacy
cups.

“You see something you like?”

“Hell, yeah.” His voice sounded hoarse to his
own ears. Little devil. She knew exactly what she did to him. His
eyes narrowed. “So how about you come over here and settle up?”

Pay your way.

Owe no one.

What had started as a sexy game, however, was
rapidly taking on a life of its own. Dane’s hot eyes roaming over
her body made her feel bold, so she kept right on pulling until her
tank top cleared her head.

“Consider this a down payment,” she purred
and dropped the shirt on the floor by his boots. Not so much a
white flag of surrender—she didn’t
do
submission, ever—but a
checkered flag dropping at the races.
Game on
.