Touch the Heavens (8 page)

It was almost 0900 when Chris landed the Phantom. After she completed the final landing, Dan ordered her to bring the bird in from the grueling hour-and-a-half test. Chris pushed up the dark visor that covered the upper half of her face. When she unsnapped one side of her oxygen mask, it brushed the left side of her cheek. She grimaced, feeling the familiar trickle of sweat from between her breasts and from beneath her armpits. It had been one hell of a test.

“Switch to private,” Dan ordered, breaking into her thought.

Chris reached down and switched the dial to PVT. “Go ahead,” she said, holding the mask that held the communications device up to her mouth.

“You looked pretty tired when you came in this morning.”

She managed a low laugh. “Is that a statement or question?”

Dan’s laughter floated back into her ears. She relaxed, loving the huskiness of his voice. “A statement. What did you do? Stay up all night studying the F-4 manual?”

“Couldn’t sleep so I decided to read through it one last time,” she admitted cautiously.

“It showed. I’m giving you a ninety-four percent on your overall grade. Congratulations.”

The shock of his statement almost disrupted her concentration as she taxied the F-4 toward the ramp.

“What’s the matter?” Dan drawled. “Did I finally surprise you?”

She blinked and then choked on a laugh. “Sort of! A ninety-four?”

“You earned it,” he said. “And just to celebrate all the hard work you’ve been putting in, I’m taking you out for dinner tonight. No argument.”

Chris didn’t know what to do first: cry, laugh or yell with happiness. She had passed with flying colors! A new sense of pride overwhelmed her momentarily. It had been a long hard road back since that crash—she had fought her own fears every time she had sat in the cockpit of a jet. By passing the test for the F-4, she had reconfirmed so much about herself that Chris lapsed into silence, too emotional to trust her voice.

“Hey, when I said ‘no argument’ I didn’t mean for you to completely ignore my invitation.”

Chris willed back her tears and popped the canopy hatch, allowing fresh air into the cockpit. As she slowly brought the F-4 into parking position with the help of the ground crew, she said, “I’m in shock.”

“Over the test score or my invitation to dinner?”

Chris managed a smile, unbuckling the complicated harness and placing the safety pins back into the ejection seat. “Both, frankly. I’m going to unhook. See you down on the ramp.”

Several other students and instructors were on the ramp, preparing to fly. Among them was Brodie who was climbing into the F-4 next to them. Chris ignored the glare Brodie leveled in her direction. She pulled the camouflaged helmet off her head, carefully tucking it back into the flight bag and released her chignon. Her ebony hair swung across her shoulders, framing her face once again. Dan sauntered around the wing and joined her. An irrepressible grin lurked at the corners of his mouth. Without the helmet, his hair was mussed, giving him a boyish look. Chris couldn’t help but return his smile. Suddenly her exhaustion disappeared. All the nights of sporadic sleep coupled with the replay of the crash now seemed far away.

Dan shortened his stride in order to walk at Chris’s side. A glint of pride shone in his blue eyes as he looked down at her. “I’ll pick you up tonight at eight, Raven. Oh, and one more thing. Put your dancing shoes on. We’ve got some heavy celebrating to do.”

She grinned. “Roger, roger, read you loud and clear.”

It had been one long, exciting day. Written tests on calculus and aerodynamics were given that afternoon. They had to be graded, but Chris knew from long experience that her answers were correct. Begging off from joining Karen and Mark at the O’Club, Chris went directly to her room at the BOQ. She stripped off the flight suit, wrinkling her nose at the odor her nervousness had created during the demanding flight test. After taking a hot, invigorating shower, the tiredness that she had held at bay overwhelmed her. Slipping into her pale-pink robe, Chris lay down on the couch, intent upon a quick nap to refresh herself.

Her nightmare began insidiously, interwoven with the exhausted sleep she desperately needed. First, there was the

G-buildup as the T-38 jet aircraft suddenly nosed downward at a frightening angle, crushing her against the ejection seat. She felt as if a huge hand were pushing in on her chest. Chris moaned, calling to Jim.

Jim
,
what’s wrong?

I
don’t know.

The pressure of the dive increased as the sleek, needlelike T-38 dived toward the earth thirty-nine thousand feet below them. The Gs were so awesome that Chris was smashed against the seat, barely able to move her hands from their position on her thighs. Her heart was racing. She heard Jim’s harsh breathing coming through the earphones.

“Damn—Chris, grab the stick and hit the left rudder hard. I can’t unlock the right rudder.”

Her heart pounded as the T-38 hurtled into the spin, its long nose pointed at the dry Texas desert, now thirty-thousand feet below them. Was it hydraulic failure? It took every vestige of strength to get her hand to the stick. Her fingers wrapped strongly about it. She shoved her booted left foot forward, putting all her weight on the rudder beneath it. Nothing moved! The scream of the jet continued. Her head was pressed against the seat, and she was unable to move it one inch either way. The altimeter showing their altitude was unwinding like a broken spring.

“We’ve got to punch out!” she cried. “It’s locked! It’s locked!”

“No!” Jim gasped. “It’s not hydraulic. Something’s jammed under the rudder. Damn! Pull harder!”

Fear twisted through her. Her eyeballs felt as if they were getting pushed through the back of her skull. The T-38 spun in an almost vertical dive toward the parched brown earth. Chris could feel the right rudder give slightly. But not enough. Not enough! “It’s stuck!” she gasped. “Punch out!” Sweat bathed her body, and a scream tore from her lips as the altimeter showed only fifteen thousand feet left between them and the ground. As always in the recurring nightmare, everything from this point on became a slow-motion blur. She was on the edge of blacking out, Jim’s frantic breathing rasped over the headphones. In wild desperation he tried to work the right rudder free.

Chris moaned, crying out. Suddenly she was thrown violently awake by the ejection sequence. Another man’s voice broke through the chaos of wind howling at her, pounding her body, tearing the visor off her helmet. Chris became aware of arms around her, holding her, rocking her. A sob tore loose from deep within her. The scent of Dan’s body, his warmth and lean strength sponged slowly through her fragmented, cartwheeling brain. Chris felt the texture of corduroy against her wet cheek, heard the steadying beat of his heart against the turmoil of hers. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, burying her head more deeply against his cradling shoulder. “Oh, God....”

Dan held her tightly, one hand against her blue black hair, the other around her trembling sweat-soaked body. “Ssh,” he soothed softly against her ear, “it’s all right. You’re here now and you’re safe, Raven.” His eyes mirrored the anguish he heard. Dan had arrived at exactly eight and knocked on the door. There had been no answer at first. And then he heard Chris cry out. He called her name. She had not answered. Grimly, he had put his hand around the doorknob, twisting it open. Luckily it was unlocked, and he stepped into her apartment. She was lying there on the couch, face contorted in sleep, sobbing.

Her words were almost unintelligible as he sat down on the couch, taking her into his arms. He was no stranger to nightmares himself and recognized that Chris was reliving some tragic flying sequence. Words such as “punch out” and “it’s locked” were torn from her lips as she wrestled to escape the clutches of the event clothed in the mantle of sleep.

Dan held her, stroking her ebony hair, whispering words of comfort. Her body was damp and trembling. He closed his eyes, pressing his head against her fragrant hair. How many times had he awakened in a sweat after his days in Vietnam. Far too many. It was no different for Chris. What trauma from her past had caused this kind of reaction? His mind raced with questions as he rocked her gently, listening to the last vestiges of the horror fleeing from her. Had she been involved in a crash? If she had, there was no one at TPS who knew about it. And if she had, how long ago? He ran his fingers down her long curved back, delighting in the firmness of her muscles. Experience told him the crash couldn’t have been more than a year ago because of her violent reaction.

Slowly Chris’s breathing began to return to normal. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest, aware of the wild beat of her heart. Dan embraced her more tightly for a moment, dizzied by her ability to trust him. She was like a small child that had been frightened by a storm, clinging to him in muted silence. She stirred other awakening desires to life within him, but Dan made no move to capitalize upon the moment. She needed help and someone to hold her.

“It’s all right, Raven,” he told her in a hushed voice. “You’re here, in the present now. The nightmare’s over. You’re here, with me, in your room at the BOQ.” How many times had he wakened in his barracks room thinking he was still reliving the horror of SAM missiles streaking toward his F-4, intent on obliterating him from the skies? And how long had it taken him to talk himself out of that state even though he had been pulled awake by his own screams? His own sobs? He had wanted to roll over and bury himself in the arms of a woman and find solace against those stalking ghosts of the past. Grimly Dan blinked back tears as he gazed down at Chris.

No one had ever held him in the throes of those horrible nights. At least he could do that for Chris. Dan understood better than most what the warmth of a steadying body could do to bring someone back into the present. He gently brushed the wetness from her cheek, his face filled with concern. Chris was still trembling, her lips parted, contorted by powerful updrafts of emotions he could sense were violently alive within her. “It’s okay, honey,” he murmured, leaning down, placing a kiss on her temple. “Work through the fear. Don’t hang on to it. Just let it go....”

Chris squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in the folds of his coat. “Oh, Dan...” she cried hoarsely.

“I know, I know,” he crooned. But he didn’t know. Dan was stymied. If a crash was this traumatic, the pilots were put on waivers and given medical or psychological help to pull them through it so they could fly again. Chris had to have conquered it, or they wouldn’t have allowed her to come to TPS. Especially because of the pressures she would be under in order to learn to fly fighter planes. The medical people would not have certified her fit for flight duty if she hadn’t gotten herself together after the accident. It had to be something else. But what? He pursed his lips, gazing down at her pale drawn features. His heart felt torn from his chest. God, she looked so damn broken. So vulnerable. A soft groan escaped Dan, and he simply held her within the safety of his arms for a long, long time.

Dan eventually shifted his position. He rested against the couch with Chris safely ensconced in his arms. The watch on his wrist read 9:00. Chris’s heart had quit beating like a frightened bird; her breathing was less chaotic, telling him she was now past the worst of it. He brushed her flushed cheek with his fingers one last time, aware of the smoothness of the skin. His body contracted with need of her—all of her. The natural fragrance of her skin, the smell of apricot that lingered in her black hair, were all powerful aphrodisiacs to his heightened senses. Dan controlled his desire to kiss those full, parted lips. But the desire that coursed through him was more than just physical desire for Chris. He wanted to love Chris, protect her. He needed her—Love? He tested the word carefully in his mind and heart. A tranquil sigh came from deep within Dan as he nuzzled his face against the silk of her hair.

His heart soared with that knowledge. He took his time to assimilate the gamut of feelings that she effortlessly brought forth in him. He had known many women in his thirty-five years. But never one like Chris. There was a magic that flowed between them. A new tenderness flooded Dan’s chest, and the warmth he experienced in that moment of knowing took his breath away. He placed a small kiss on her cheek, and felt her respond, the tentative, hesitant sliding of her arm around his neck, the resting of her brow against his jaw.

Dan tried to sort out all the emotional impressions he was picking up from Chris. There was an excruciating level of anguish and loss surrounding her. Somehow, he wanted to fill the void. Following his instincts, he cupped her jaw, bringing her face close to his own. He studied her thick lashes wet with tears, the flawless peach color of her fragrant skin and finally her waiting, full lips. Leaning down, he caressed them tentatively. They tasted of salt, of life. Dan felt her lips tremble beneath his own, and he pressed more surely, lost in the warming texture of her flesh. A small cry tore from her as she weakly struggled to push away.

“Don’t,” he whispered. He had felt her immediate response when he had first brushed her lips. Pressing more firmly, Dan moved his mouth across hers in small, teasing motions. Chris’s breath quickened, telling him that he was affecting her just as much as he was dizzied by their tentative exploration of each other. Gradually her resistance disappeared. He inhaled her scent, barely able to control his raging desires now begging to be released. Her lips parted against his like an opening flower to sunlight, allowing him to explore her. He groaned as he tasted the sweet depths of her mouth, and coaxed her into mutual exploration, his tongue teasing, tantalizing. Chris almost melted against him, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing ragged.

Dan tasted her thoroughly, his own body hardening with a desire so overwhelming that he felt himself tremble for want of her. But something cautioned him to go no further. Dan had lived all his life by his instincts, and reluctantly, he obeyed. He wasn’t thinking: only sensing, feeling, glorying in the fact that her mouth was warm and responsive against his. Her body was supple, her soft feminine curves fitting perfectly to him.