The Complete Mackenzie Collection (30 page)

On the bright side, one of the first things she had done had been to replace the light bulbs in the bathroom with new ones of sufficient wattage for the application of makeup. She probably had the brightest bathroom on base. She rather liked the idea.

She took the long, cool shower she had promised herself, gradually turning the hot water off as she became accustomed to the chill, until the spray was satisfyingly cold. She felt herself revive as her overheated skin drank in the moisture. She didn’t turn the water off until she was shivering, then dried herself briskly and dressed in loose, cotton knit pants and a big T-shirt, which perfectly suited her notions of comfort.

Now for food. She had decided from the outset to eat in her quarters as much as possible, so she had stocked the tiny kitchen with a few staples. She was standing in front of an open cabinet door studying the contents and trying to decide on her meal when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Mackenzie.”

He didn’t have to identify himself by name, she thought irritably as she strode to the door and opened it. All he had to do was rumble something in that deep voice.

She braced herself in the opening and felt the heat settle over her like a suffocating blanket. “What do you want?” she demanded. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but the glove-soft jeans, scuffed boots and white T-shirt were oddly disturbing, while the inevitable dark sunglasses every pilot wore hid his eyes. She didn’t like it; she didn’t want to know what he was like when he was off duty.

Joe noted her challenging stance and the fierceness of her glare. Evidently she had decided that her best course of action was to simply carry on as usual. He was glad; being around her might not be comfortable, but it was sure as hell exciting, and he didn’t want that to change.

“Supper,” he said.

She crossed her arms. “I’m not feeding you.”

“No, I’m feeding you,” he said mildly. “Remember? I told Daffy you’d be with me tonight, and everyone will know about it tomorrow if you aren’t.” It was an effort to keep his voice mild and his eyes on her face, because she was obviously braless. The thin T-shirt she was wearing plainly revealed the shape of her high breasts and the darker circles of her nipples. Every muscle in his big body tensed with growing arousal.

“Just a cheeseburger,” he cajoled in the soft voice he’d often used to calm nervous mares. “You don’t even have to change. Just slip on your shoes and we’ll go off base and find a hamburger joint.”

Caroline hesitated. The thought of a cheeseburger was enticing, since she had been about to choose between two brands of cold cereal.

“All right,” she decided abruptly. “Give me a minute.” She dashed into the bedroom and put on a pair of sandals, then raked a comb through her hair. Her freshly washed face stared back at her from the mirror, and she contemplated putting on makeup, then shrugged. A cheeseburger was waiting.

Just before she left the room she remembered that she wasn’t wearing a bra and hurriedly put one on. She didn’t think he would have noticed, but it was better to play it safe.

He hadn’t entered her quarters but was still standing just outside the open door. Caroline turned the lock on the door and stepped out, closed the door firmly, then tried the knob to make certain the lock had caught. Satisfied, she dropped her keys into her pocket.

He was driving a muscular black pickup truck. Caroline looked at him in surprise as he opened the door and she climbed up into the seat. “I never would have figured you for a truck person,” she said as he slid his long legs under the steering wheel.

“I grew up on a horse ranch in Wyoming,” he said. “I’ve driven pickups all my life. What did you think I’d drive?”

“Something low and red and flashy.”

“I save my speeding for the air.” His ice-blue eyes flicked at her. “What do you drive? I know what you’re driving now is a rental car, since you flew in, so that doesn’t count.”

Caroline settled back in the seat. She decided that she rather liked sitting up high so she could see, and she was feeling more comfortable by the minute. Maybe it was the truck that did it; it was such a no-nonsense kind of vehicle. “What do you think I drive?”

“Something safe and dependable.”

“Oh.”

The one syllable was a little disgruntled. Joe controlled a smile. “Am I wrong?”

“A tad.”

“So what
do
you drive?”

She turned her head to the side and stared out the window. “Something low and red and flashy.” She had absolutely rebelled against buying anything sedate and conservative. She had wanted power and speed and handling, and had paid a small fortune to get it.

“How flashy?” he asked.

“A Corvette,” she said, and suddenly chuckled at the contrast between them.

Joe looked at her again. He couldn’t keep from it. She had lived the life of a total egghead, reclusive and socially awkward, but the fire in her couldn’t be hidden. It was revealed in the unconscious sex appeal with which she moved and dressed, the fierceness of her temper, the adventurous car she drove. She sat so decorously on the passenger side, but her face was lifted to the hot wind blowing in through the lowered windows. There was a streak of wildness in her that intrigued him, and he shifted restlessly to ease the constriction of his jeans.

They were checked through the gate, and he turned the truck toward the sunset, blazing red and gold in front of them. She didn’t seem to feel any need to carry on a conversation; Joe was comfortable with silence, too, so he let it continue.

Caroline couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him every few minutes, though she would then jerk her gaze back to the sunset. The T-shirt bared his powerful arms, darkly tanned by the desert sun. He had so many muscles, it was unnerving. She knew that fighter pilots regularly worked out, because a dense muscle mass seemed to help them resist the effects of pulling Gs, but his muscularity was somehow different. He was powerful—the way a panther or a wolf is powerful—from a lifetime of work and using his body. The sun outlined his profile in gold, mercilessly revealing the bladelike bone structure, as clean and fierce as an ancient warrior’s face cast on a coin.

She stared at the thin, high-bridged nose, the wide forehead and high, chiseled cheekbones. His mouth was almost brutally clear-cut. The hot wind was sifting through his thick black hair, disarranging the short military cut and her vision blurred as a disturbing vision filled it of this man with his hair long and flying around his broad, bare shoulders. Her heart thumped in a sort of painful panic, and she jerked her gaze away yet again, but it didn’t do any good. She could still see him in her mind. It took her only a minute to decide that if out of sight wasn’t going to be out of mind, she might as well give in and let her eyes feast.

She turned her head toward him, and her hungry gaze slipped down over his wide, powerful chest to his flat belly. She just couldn’t stop it, though neither was she brave enough to let her eyes rest on the fly of his jeans, instead hurriedly skimming on to those long, muscled legs.

She blurted out, “Aren’t you almost too big to get into a cockpit?”

He briefly took his eyes off the road to look at her, though the dark lenses kept her from reading his expression. She wished he would take them off. “It’s a tight fit,” he replied, his voice low and slow and growling. “But I always manage to squeeze in.”

The underlying sexuality of his words hit her like a sledgehammer. She was woefully inexperienced but not naive, and there was no mistaking his meaning. Now she was glad he had those dark glasses on, because she didn’t
want
to read his expression. She wanted to hide her face in her hands. She wanted to jump out of the truck and run all the way back to the base and the safety of her quarters. Had she been
mad?
She had actually climbed in the truck with this man, and now here they were, alone in the Nevada desert with the sunset rapidly darkening to purple.

Then she remembered that it was her own reaction to him that frightened her, not anything he had done, and she wondered miserably if she should tell him to bail out now while he still could. The way she had been ogling him, he was probably wondering if he would make it back to the base with his pants on, though considering the notorious libido of pilots in general and military pilots in particular, he might not fight very hard. Maybe it was the contrast he presented that got to her the way no man had before, the sense of an intense, smoldering sexuality beneath that cool remoteness. And maybe, if she was lucky, he had no idea of the tumult going on inside her.

Joe was glad of the dark lenses that protected his eyes from the sun, because they allowed him to study her without her being aware of it. She had put on a bra, damn it, but the thin restricting material couldn’t quite disguise the pebbled hardness of her nipples. The little darling was aroused—and upset by it; he could feel her tension, see it in the faint trembling of her body that her still posture couldn’t control. His eyes went back to her distended nipples, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel as he inevitably began thinking about taking those hard buds into his mouth. She was so beautifully responsive, and she didn’t even know it. If she could be so aroused by a naughty comment, what would she be like when he was actually making love to her?

She wasn’t the only one who was aroused. If he looked at her nipples one more time, he might have to stop the truck on the side of the road, and she was far from ready for that. To keep himself from making a big mistake, he didn’t look at her again until they had reached his favorite drive-in hamburger joint, which was just seedy enough to be interesting.

He parked beside one of the speakers and turned off the ignition, then removed his sunglasses and put them on the dash. “What do you want?”

She wished he had phrased it differently. She leaned down so she could read the menu posted above the speaker and scowled as she forced herself to concentrate on food. The heavenly aroma of frying hamburgers, onions and French fries filled the air; why did the most unhealthy food always smell the best? “A cheeseburger basket and large soft drink.”

He punched the button on the speaker, and when a tinny voice answered, he ordered two cheeseburger baskets. Then he half turned toward Caroline, his wide shoulders wedged into the corner of the truck, and casually said, “I’m going to kiss you when we get back to the base.”

Caroline stared wide-eyed at him, her heart going into its crazy thumping rhythm again. “I want onions on my cheeseburger. Lots of onions.”

“You don’t have to be afraid I’m going to grab you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’ll just be a kiss, outside your door where anyone walking by can see us, and someone probably will. I won’t even put my arms around you if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she said, withdrawing to her own corner of the truck and glaring at him across the expanse of the front seat.

“I’m going to anyway. It’s expected.”

“I don’t care what’s expected. I agreed to come out with you tonight because it does seem to be a good way to keep all the others inline, but I never agreed to any kissing.”

“Don’t you like kissing?”

She glared sullenly at him. The perfect answer would be that yes, she liked kissing, but she didn’t want to kiss
him.
The perfect answer, however, was a bald-faced lie, and from the way her heart was fluttering like a Victorian maiden’s at the prospect of kissing him, she wouldn’t be able to carry it off. Lying, she found, seemed to work better when performed with a certain amount of detachment.

On the other hand, the truth was the worst answer she could give him. No, she hadn’t liked any of the sloppy kisses that had been forced on her in a hit-or-miss fashion because she’d been fighting like a wildcat to avoid them, but the thought of kissing him made her light-headed, and she was afraid she would like it
too
much.

When she didn’t reply he said calmly, “When we get back to your quarters, unlock your door, then turn and hold out your hand to me. I’ll take it, lean over and kiss you. It won’t be a long kiss, but it can’t be a quick peck, either. Does three seconds sound long enough to you? Then I’ll let go of your hand and say good-night. On a busy base, any number of people will see us, and the word will spread that we don’t seem to be having a flaming affair, but we’re definitely involved.”

She cleared her throat. “Three seconds?” That didn’t sound like very long. Surely she could manage not to disgrace herself for three seconds.

“Just three seconds,” he reassured her.

T
he cheeseburger—without onions—and fries were delicious, reminding her of those few precious times during her childhood when she had been allowed to stay over with her mother’s brother and his wife, both of them about ten years younger than her parents, and Uncle Lee had invariably treated her to the biggest, juiciest hamburger she could eat, followed by ice cream, another forbidden food. Her parents had allowed her to eat sorbet or frozen yogurt, but never ice cream. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Lee, Caroline thought she might have reached the age of majority without knowing the joys of junk food. She still always felt as if she were having a special treat when she indulged.

After the cheeseburgers, he gave her a slow smile and asked, “Ever played the slots?”

“No. I’ve never been to a casino.”

“That’s about to change.” He started the truck, and soon they were tooling down Las Vegas Boulevard, an endless array of flashing neon lights in every color of the rainbow. They blinked, they arrowed, they cascaded, they exploded in endless neon showers, inviting one and all to sample whatever it was they were advertising. The big casinos drew the largest crowds, of course, but a goodly number of people were just strolling, tourists determined to see everything in this town geared toward attracting them. People were dressed in clothing that ran the gamut from shorts to formal gowns.

“Do you like to gamble?” she asked.

“I never gamble.”

She snorted. “Except with your life. I was in the control room today, remember? Hitting eighty degrees alpha and pulling 10 Gs isn’t what I’d call safe living.”

“That isn’t gambling. Baby was built to give us an unlimited angle of attack, but her capability doesn’t do us any good if we don’t know how to fly her. My job is to make certain she does what she’s supposed to do, get her fully tested out and operational and find out her limitations. I can’t do that if I don’t exceed what we’re already doing in the F-22.”

“None of the other pilots are pushing the envelope like that.”

His eyes were utterly calm when he looked at her. “They will now. Now that they know Baby will operate under those conditions.”

“You did it just to show them it could be done?”

“No. I did it because it’s my job.”

And because he loved it. The thought echoed in her mind. She had seen it that day when he had entered the control room after his flight, tired and sweaty, his eyes bloodshot, his expression as remote as ever. But his eyes had given him away. They had been fierce and…exalted, the fires of life burning white hot in him.

He parked the truck, and they strolled down the sidewalk. “Do you feel lucky?” he asked.

She shrugged. “How does lucky feel?”

“Want to try it?”

She paused before the entrance to one of the casinos, feeling the cool air gush out through the opened doors. Rows and rows of slot machines stretched before her and even spread out on the sidewalk. Most of them were manned by people automatically feeding in their tokens of worship and pulling the levers. Occasionally there were cries of delight as coins in varying numbers came tumbling out to reward their persistence, but mostly the machines took rather than gave.

“It isn’t cost-effective,” she said after studying the procedure for a few minutes.

He laughed softly. “That isn’t the point. Never gamble if you can’t afford to lose, that’s rule number one. Rule number two is to have fun.”

“They don’t look like they’re having fun,” she said doubtfully.

“That’s because they’ve forgotten rule number two, and maybe even number one. C’mon, I’ll stake you.”

But she waited another few minutes, until she saw someone abandon a machine that hadn’t paid anything in quite a while. The law of averages said it was more likely to pay out than one that had just disgorged a few coins would be to do so again. She sat down in front of it and fed in the quarters, feeling like an idiot as she did so. Joe stood behind her, softly laughing when the mechanical bandit gave her nothing in return. After she had fed in about five dollars without winning anything, Caroline began to take it personally. She muttered warnings and threats as she went through the procedure again—and lost again.

“Remember rule number two,” Joe cautioned, amusement in his voice.

She told him what he could do with rule number two, and he chuckled.

She hitched her stool closer to the machine and shoved a quarter into the slot. She pulled the lever and the pictures began whirring, then one by one clicked into place. Bells began ringing and quarters began flooding out of the bottom slot, spilling out onto the floor. Caroline jumped up and stared at the silver coins as other slot players crowded around, offering congratulations, and a smiling casino employee came over. Then she gave Joe a look of consternation. “All those quarters won’t fit in my pocket.”

He threw back his head and began laughing. She stared at his strong brown throat and felt suddenly dizzy as that damn light-headed feeling swept over her again.

The casino employee, still smiling, said, “We’ll be glad to change the coins into bills.”

They did, and to her relief Caroline found that the flood of quarters wasn’t a great fortune after all, only a little over seventy dollars. She returned Joe’s stake to him and stuffed the remaining bills into her pocket.

“Did you have fun?” he asked as they left the casino.

She thought about it. “I suppose so, but I was beginning to feel a little vindictive toward that machine. I don’t think I have the temperament to be a gambler.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, and took her hand in his to gently pull her out of the path of a man who wasn’t looking where he was going. But then he didn’t release her as she had expected.

She looked down at their clasped hands. His hand was big and hard, the fingers lean, his palm tough with calluses, but his grip was careful, as if he were very aware of his strength. She had never held hands before, and the touch of palm against palm was surprisingly intimate. She was beginning to realize that fear had kept her from doing a lot of pleasurable things before, but then, she had never before been even tempted to explore them. Her reactions to other men who had tried to venture into a physical relationship with her had varied from bored and disinterested to absolute revulsion.

She could tug her hand free. That was the safest course of action, but somehow she couldn’t do it. So she ignored the situation, acted as if her hand wasn’t nestled in his much more powerful one like a bird taking shelter, and inwardly she savored every moment of it.

Finally they walked back to the truck, and she realized she was reluctant for the night to come to an end. It was her first date, if she cared to categorize it as such, and it was almost over.

They were both silent on the drive back to the base, and inevitably her mind turned to the coming kiss. She felt both panicked and excited. Another first for her, the first kiss she had actually agreed to and welcomed. It was a toss-up whether she would bolt in fear or hurl herself into his arms.

The moment of truth came all too soon. He parked in front of her quarters and got out to walk around the truck and open the door for her. There were a number of personnel going about their business, glancing at them with idle curiosity, and she knew he had perfectly gauged the situation.

She took out her keys and unlocked the door, then turned and faced him in the colorless glow of the vapor lights overhead. Her eyes were solemn and defenseless as she stared at him, his eyes glittering like ice.

“Hold out your hand,” he commanded softly, and she obeyed.

His hard, warm hand enclosed her fingers, and he pulled her closer even as he bent. His mouth lightly touched hers, lifted, settled again. He turned his head slightly to adjust the pressure, and somehow the motion parted her own lips, so that they yielded to the molding of his.

His taste was warm and pleasant and…male. The scent of him enveloped her, and she shivered in response. His mouth was still on hers, moving gently. She felt the tip of his tongue touch and tease, making her stiffen at the jumbled memory of some uninvited, intrusive kiss, but this was nothing like that. She felt enticed rather than coerced, and his taste was filling her senses. Warm pleasure shuddered up from her depths; with a little whimper she opened her mouth, and slowly he took her.

The carnality of it was staggering, and so was her reaction to it. She heard herself whimper again, and then somehow she was pressed hard against him, her head tilted up and back to give him deeper access, an access he took with a hard male dominance that stunned her. She felt weak and hot, and her breasts tightened with an ache that contact with his hard chest both soothed and intensified. Her loins felt hot, too, as coils of pleasure tightened deep inside. She was clinging to his hand like a lifeline.

Slowly he lifted his mouth, and it was all he could force himself to do to break the contact. He gave into the temptation to take several more quick kisses from the soft, innocent mouth that had so quickly warmed to awareness, then he
had
to release her hand and step back. He had promised her. He wanted nothing more than to shove her inside her dark quarters and carry her down to the floor, mounting her with quick, hard urgency, but restraint now would bring him much sweeter rewards in the future. So he controlled his rough, quick breathing and tried to control the fierce rush of blood through his veins.

“Three seconds,” he said.

Her eyes were glazed as she stared at him, and she was weaving slightly. “Yes,” she whispered. “Three seconds.”

She didn’t move. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Go inside, Caroline.” His voice was low and calm. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She moved jerkily to obey, and as she reached the threshold she paused to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were huge and dark with some indefinable emotion. “That was much longer than three seconds.”

She switched on the light, then closed and carefully locked the door. Even as she turned the bolt, she heard him drive away, telling her that he hadn’t been tempted to linger for even a second, or hadn’t considered the idea of knocking on her door. He had accomplished his mission, which was to establish their “relationship,” so as far as he was concerned, there was no reason to hang around.

She sat down on the couch and remained there, motionless, for quite some time. She had some thinking to do, and she always concentrated better if she could just sit still and totally lock herself inside her brain, or perhaps it was more a matter of locking everything else
out,
and that included physical stimuli.

It hadn’t taken any psychoanalysis for her to understand years ago how her upbringing and accelerated progress through school had combined with her own nature to make her the odd man out, but she hadn’t minded. Why should she worry that she had never learned how to associate with the opposite sex on a social and emotional level, when there hadn’t been anyone of the opposite sex she was interested in associating with anyway? So she had never regretted her out-of-sync relationship with the rest of the world—until now.

Now, for the first time, she was strongly attracted to a man and wanted him to be attracted to her, but how did she go about accomplishing that feat? When other girls had been learning how, she had been studying physics. She was an expert in laser optics, but she didn’t know a damn thing about flirting.

Why couldn’t she have gotten her feet wet with someone less challenging, say a fellow physicist who had also spent more time with books than people and was a little awkward socially, too? But, no, instead she had fallen head over heels in
attraction
with a hotshot fighter pilot, a man who could make women go weak in the knees with one look from those diamond-blue eyes. She didn’t have to be an expert at kissing to be able to tell that
he
was, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she had made a fool out of herself. All he had done was hold her hand, as he’d promised, and she had practically been all over him. She had a distinct memory of pushing hard against him and rubbing her front against his like a cat, and thinking that she was going to fall in a heap at his feet.

He’d been nice to her this evening. He’d treated her as a friend, had let her relax, and she had had fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something so totally useless and enjoyed it. Simple playing hadn’t been part of her childhood; her parents had carefully monitored her activities to make certain they were geared toward her educational progress. No ABC blocks for her; she had used flash cards. In defense of her parents, though, she had been an impatient child, irascible when the pace had lagged behind the speed of her inquisitive, hungry intellect. Her childhood hadn’t been unhappy, just different, and she had made her own choices in life.

She was groping her way through unfamiliar territory, but Caroline’s approach to any problem was to tackle it head-on. She didn’t really know how to use the weapons nature had given her, but Joe Mackenzie was about to find them all brought to bear on him.

The first step in solving any problem was to research the subject. It was early enough that a lot of people were still awake, and there were plenty of female Air Force personnel who turned out to be willing to lend her magazines with articles that she thought addressed the problem, and she was even able to come up with quite a bit of research on fighter pilots in general. She was an accomplished speed reader and sat up for several hours plowing her way through magazines offering such intriguing articles as “He’s Bad, Bad, Bad—So Why Do You Love Him Anyway?” and “Finding The Gold in The Dross—When Not To Give Up.” Double titles seemed to abound, as well as hundreds of glossy photos of women five feet nine inches tall who weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds, most of which was evidently hair and breasts. She learned how to tell when he was cheating, and how to get revenge. She learned how to break into real estate or start her own company, how to win at blackjack—she committed that to memory—and where to stay on vacation in Europe. Interesting stuff. She just might subscribe.