Hotshot (17 page)

She looked up at him. “He’s tight with you guys. I can see that.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all one big happy family, but that’s not what I meant.” His twitchy penny loafer went stone still. “He prays for the other guy. The one he’s looking at in the camera.”

His words curled through her veins much like the warm tea heating her system. As if she wasn’t already confused enough about her feelings for Vince.

“Well, Mason, for a guy who supposedly hits on every woman in sight, you sure are doing your level best to sell me on your friend.”

“Shhh . . . That’ll be our little secret. As much as I enjoy a kegger, I want to keep my call sign.”

She turned the imaginary key on her lips and tossed it away. “I won’t rat you out.”

“Smart lady. When you get an inside track, it’s always wise to cultivate your contact.”

“Sounds like you prefer those assignments that call for category three grooming codes.”

“Hell yeah.” He stroked his own contoured beard growing in. “Hey wait. How did you know about that? Hey, you’re really good at that espionage crap. You must get it from your old man.”

“Thank you.”

His perfect smile faded. “It’s not a good thing, not if you want to have a relationship with Vince. We do things we can’t talk about. We go places you’ll never know. The wives and girlfriends who can’t be at peace about that end up leaving.”

The already frigid temperature dropped in the room by at least ten degrees. “Who could ever be totally at peace with that kind of life?”

“My point.”

A knock on the door cut through the silence. A knock in code.

Vince was awake.

Vince waited outside the hotel room, his gift for Shay tucked under his arm.

Smooth opened the door. “Hey there, sleepyhead. What do you have there?”

Vince shouldered past, his grip loosening as the dog—Shay’s gift—leapt free to race across the room.

“Omigod!” Shay jumped from her chair to kneel down and scoop up Buster. “I’ve missed you, buddy.”

She nuzzled the dog’s neck, talking more nonsense phrases and looking totally beautiful doing it. Her brown eyes glimmered with more life than he’d seen in her all day.

And he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “Eyes off, Smooth.”

The flight engineer held up his hands. “Why does everyone always assume I’m after their woman?”

“Because you are.” Vince clapped him on the shoulder with a bit of extra force on his way to the vanity. He filled up an ice bucket with water for the dog and set it in a corner of the bathroom.

“You are so toast,” Smooth said low.

“Stick it, my friend.”

“You brought her dog, dude. That’s better than flowers.” He winked. “I should know.”

Vince gripped the doorknob. “If you hang around much longer, you’ll end up walking this mutt instead of the bell-boy I paid off.”

Smooth waved on his way out. “Heading to work as we speak.”

“Hey, Smooth?” Vince stopped in the doorway. “Thanks.”

His crewmate shot him another wave over the shoulder on his way down the carpeted corridor. Vince closed and triple locked the door. He’d actually taken the dog with him to the hangar to pull his shift watching the screens, logging numbers and forwarding them to Wilson’s people for the Feds to link together.

Part of him wanted to work through the night. The other part knew his crew had it under control, and he’d gone beyond bleary-brained an hour ago.

Shay pressed her cheek against Buster’s head. “How did you get him and manage any sleep?”

“I caught a catnap.” A lie, of course. He’d been working before he picked up her dog. He was supposed to be sleeping now.

Vince looked at her open laptop. “Do you have your speech ready?”

“I’ve been ready to give this talk for months.” She stood. “I’m just glad to finally have the chance.”

Buster leapt from her arms and into the chair.

She laughed low. “Apparently he hasn’t missed me as much as I’ve missed him.”

Her laughter hung in the air, tempting him as much as her long legs. “I would imagine he feels safe now that he’s with you again.”

“Ah, you’re turning into a regular dog whisperer.”

He laughed. She laughed again. The sounds echoed lightly, then faded, leaving just the two of them alone in a room with a bed and not much else.

A cart rattled outside the door, louder, sending him on alert until it passed. Buster hadn’t even flinched. “You really ought to think about getting Buster a pal, preferably one with some guard capabilities.”

“I would probably wreck that dog, too. I spoil pets.” She settled on the arm of the chair, her leg swinging.

“Have you considered obedience school? Or at least watch those dog training reality shows.”

“He’s perfectly obedient. He’s just too sweet for his own good.” She stroked Buster’s neck as if soothing herself as much as the dog. “What about you? What kind of pet do you have?”

He leaned back against a wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t.”

“Why not?” Her hand slowed, her fingers long and graceful like the rest of her. “You obviously love animals.”

He was in serious trouble if he was getting turned on by her fingers. Except he remembered well how high those fingers could take him. “Heavy travel for my job doesn’t permit.”

“That sounds like a cop-out from committing to me.”

Commitment talk. “I’m away seventy-five percent of the time. How fair is that to a pet?”

“Seventy-five percent?” Her eyes went wide.

Way to go, dumb ass.
Was he subconsciously trying to sabotage any chance of getting her into bed? “Between field tests and operational missions, it doesn’t leave much time at home.” He dropped into the other chair. The bed was apparently off-limits for now.

He knew how he wanted this night to end. How he
needed
it to end, given that tomorrow looked so unsure. But with her life on the line, her needs had to be top priority.

She held his gaze. “That can’t leave much time for a social calendar.”

“That’s part of why those of us in the squadron are close. We spend so much time together.”

“Is anyone married? Does anybody even manage a relationship?”

There she went with talk of relationships again. What had happened to the woman pulling away as fast as she could pull on her pants? “It’s possible. Our squadron commander is a recent widower, but before that, he and his wife had one of those perfect marriages. Berg is married, rocky, though. They have small kids, which makes the separations tougher on his wife.”

“And dating?” Her chest rose faster, her breasts outlined in that pretty pink shirt.

“Jimmy Gage—Hotwire—met someone a couple of months ago. They’re working out the commuting deal until she can move to Vegas.”

“Two whole months. Wow. Serious long term stuff there.”

He shrugged. “They seem intense about each other, but time will tell.”

“What about you?”

Well, she couldn’t be blunter than that. Of course they probably should have had this discussion before they ditched their clothes. “I don’t have a girlfriend tucked away in Vegas, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’d better not, if you’re sleeping with me. But actually, I was asking about your past.”

“Oh, hell. Okay.” He worked to keep up with her words when all he wanted to do was look at her legs. Naked. “Wait. We’re sleeping together?”

SIXTEEN

Vince’s stunned look stayed put long after his words faded.

Shay bit her lip. Had she really said that part out loud? Of course she had. Since the conversation with Smooth, she’d gone soft inside over the peek into Vince, a peek that left her hungry to know more about him.

“I said I wanted to hear more about your past. Back when we were teenagers, we were so busy trying to be cool, we didn’t spend much time talking about things that mattered. You, in particular, were tight-lipped about anything but jokes.”

“Maybe I had good reason.”

She’d spent most of her teen years fantasizing about his hot body and most of the present avoiding any feelings for him because of past rejections. Hiding out in the dark not only covered her scars, but it also kept her from clearly seeing the person in front of her. “I would like to hear that reason.”

His eyes took on a predatory gleam. “Would it increase my chances of getting you in bed?”

“Saying things like that sure won’t.”

He relaxed back with a laugh. “Fair enough. History of Vince coming up. I was the first in my family to graduate from college, a shocking accomplishment in and of itself. Nobody would have thought I stood a chance at getting a master’s.”

“Congratulations! That’s an awesome accomplishment. Your mom must be so proud. It’s a shame your father died before he could know that.”

His eyes dropped for the first time. “Actually, my dad didn’t die like my mom told everyone.” He looked up again, a flicker of the old defensive Vince shadowing across his face. “My father went to prison by the time I was seven. I even remember visiting him.”

A thousand questions scrolled through her head. She settled on, “Is he still alive?”

“He did die, just not when or how mom insisted we tell everyone. He died in a jail yard fight at Leavenworth when I was ten.”

“Leavenworth?” Shock echoed through her. “A military prison?”

Defensiveness morphed to a chilling, detached expression, a look that scared her, more because of the resemblance to her own dad than the fact that a cold Vince looked mighty intimidating.

“My old man was court-martialed for smuggling drugs into the country in his military cargo plane. Mom had already divorced him by the time the verdict came in. She hated the military, blamed the military.”

“How does she feel about you being in the air force?”

“Mom doesn’t return my calls.”

“That’s really sad.” She could understand the woman’s frustration, but to so categorically lump all military people together for a hate fest? That didn’t make sense. A tiny, insistent, and annoying voice whispered she was doing much the same because of her own father. “What did she want you to do with your life?”

“Not be my dad.” He shoved away from the wall toward the window.

Could the people on the floor below hear his boots thundering?

He adjusted the air conditioner. Paced. Tweaked the part in the curtains. Paced. “My mom was a receptionist at an oil change garage, and I hung out with her after school. She told me she took that job to give me male role models who would start me on a solid career, living in one place, away from temptations.”

His mother’s rationale made sense. What a tough position for her to be in with so little support and a teenage son running rogue.

He checked the locks again. “For a while, it worked. I learned to take apart any engine and put it back together. I could have used that as a way out. Instead, I started jacking cars.”

“You stole cars?” She couldn’t hide her gasp. She’d known he skirted the edge before her dad recruited him for CAP. He’d even pushed boundaries for a while after meeting her father.

“You know what’s strange?” He dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t keep them. I drove around, sometimes popped the hood to give it a tune-up, then put it back.”

“That’s unusual.” Although not surprising to her, since she knew he didn’t have the heart of a criminal.

“Then I got caught. At that point, jail would have been fine with me.” He glanced up with a wry smile. “But like most teens, I wanted to rebel against the parent trying hardest to help. When the judge offered community service by joining Civil Air Patrol, I figured the military angle would push my mom’s buttons way more. God knows I didn’t magically settle down the minute your dad passed me my first uniform.”

All these revelations about his past were only making her realize her initial instincts about him back then had been right. He was a good man. Now she just had the proof from Mason and Vince’s own mouth to support it.

And, oh God, she was hovering so close to the edge of falling right back into that huge vat of confusion that came with having feelings for Vince. “Something must have changed to make joining Civil Air Patrol be about more than pushing your mom’s buttons. I remember you being totally into the program, even when Tommy tried to tempt you to do otherwise. What happened to make you clean up your act?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I got to know you.”

Paulina usually enjoyed her job. Not so much tonight.

Once Don had shown up at the luxury Cleveland hotel and continually ignored her, job satisfaction had taken a serious downswing. She swept her briefcase off the round corner table in the hospitality suite designated for their use and eyed Don a few feet away dialing his cell phone.

They’d cordoned off a floor of rooms for the Congress members, their aides, and security. Shay, Deluca, and his crew blended seamlessly into the mix of check-ins.

Of course business should take priority, but some kind of acknowledgment of their explosive sex at his condo wasn’t too much to expect. Sure she’d rushed out of his place quickly. She’d been too emotionally raw to talk to him after sex, definitely too upset to discuss forgetting about birth control. He hadn’t seemed in the mood for talking either.

Once she’d pulled out her day planner in the car, she’d realized the timing was wrong in her cycle. And if she turned up pregnant anyway? She couldn’t let herself get excited over the possibility, especially with things so unsettled between her and Don.

Damn it, she was the one who had every right to be prickly and distant. Not the big jerk chatting on his cell phone. Forget waiting for him to approach her.

She took charge on the job. She took charge in all other aspects of her life. She would take charge of this. If that meant the end of things with Don, then so be it.

Her throat closed up.

Her feet plowed forward all the same. Stalking past a silver coffee carafe and spray of hothouse flowers, she spiked divots in the plush carpet as she set her eyes on Don. She tapped her moody lover on the shoulder. “Don? A minute of your time.”

He flipped his cell phone shut. “Sure, but we should make it quick. I need to meet up with Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon.”

That ripped it. “We need to talk.”

Slowly, he tucked his phone inside his sports coat. “Actually, I was planning on talking to you right after I finished up with Scanlon.”

Yeah right. “If you’re worried about your daughter, that’s fine. If you’re mooning over your ex and wanting to end things with us, that’s not okay, but either way, speak up like a man.”

His eyes narrowed at her final words. The air crackled between them with that same dangerous spark they’d succumbed to last night.

“You don’t pull any punches, princess.”

“I think we already established that with our
workout
at your condo.” Her body still simmered from the intensity of the coming together, a heat that could swallow her whole if she didn’t tend it carefully.

His face stayed closed, too classically handsome for his own good, attractive in that way that just grew better with age. She thought for a moment he would walk away right here and now.

Then he crossed his arms over his chest. “I forgot to use a condom.”

“Right. I noticed. I was there, remember?”

“Damn it, Paulina, what if you’re pregnant?”

His words sank in with a thud. Because of his heavy-with-doom tone? Or because she suddenly realized she didn’t want his baby, not this way.

She looked deeper into his expressionless face and found a glimmer of something in his eyes, something that looked incredibly like outright horror.

“It’s fine.” Words tumbled out of her mouth ahead of her brain. “I started my period this morning.”

Of course she lied, but she couldn’t live with this awkwardness for even a few days until she started for real. Or didn’t.

Right now she needed to focus on not slugging him for the mammoth relief flat-out shuddering through him. She might not want to get pregnant this way, but the thought of carrying his child did
not
fill her with
horror
.

Dumping his ass would be a lot more satisfying than any punch.

She threw back her shoulders and thrust her chest out just enough to give him a peek at the lilac lace he would not be seeing up close later. “I think we both know it’s time to call it quits.”

“What?” His incredulity was almost ego soothing.

“Last night was . . .” She struggled for words and could only come up with, “Too much. Destructive, even. We need to end it while we can still be civil to each other.”

He stepped closer, sliding a hand along her neck, stroking his thumb behind her ear. “Come on, Lina, we had a fight. We’ll do better next time. When this is all over, let’s crawl into bed for a week.”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Did I ever mention I really
would
like to have a baby?”

He jolted back like a man struck by a live electrical wire.

“Exactly.” She fought tears. Angry tears.
Not
the other kind. “Now go away, to your ex-wife or your own lonely corner. I don’t care. But please do not insult me by going on about how I’m wrecking a good thing.” So much for not having words inside her. Now there were too many to contain. “You think this is a good thing? Never talking about what’s important? Never going anywhere together except work and our apartments? I think what we have is crap.” Paulina spat out the last word and turned on her heel away from him.

He gripped her shoulder. “Can’t we agree to finish this conversation later?”

“I don’t have time for this now or later, Don. I have members of Congress and their aides to keep track of, as well as your daughter. Then I have a life to live.”

She jerked free, determined to make it to the door before he could see the tears gathering behind her eyes. She would hold on to her pride. She wasn’t that poor, needy little mountain girl in the Kentucky trailer park.

Don watched Paulina stalk away. There was no other word for it. Certainly not
swish
or
sway
or anything at all meant to entice him. He stood stunned. He hadn’t planned on forever, and he was relieved about the baby issue.

But he hadn’t foreseen her reaction or his disappointment.

A rattle in the hall startled him—for all of two seconds until he saw a maid pushing her cart down the hall. Thank God this was a secured area, or anybody could have taken him down. Some agent he made today, no good to Paulina, Shay, or himself. He was always careful. Always in control.

Last night, nothing had been about control.

Don pressed his palm against the pinch in his chest. Had all the females in his life gathered to stage some collective intervention to convince him he was a fucked-up dude? He looked down at his hand and wondered for the first time if maybe those chest pains had less to do with age and more to do with stress.

Somebody needed to alert the media.

He didn’t need persuading anymore.