Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors #2)

Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors #2) Page 30

Because she knew he wouldn't have.

She strained to see, although not much was visible, with cloud cover muting the moon and stars. She'd landed right back in the desert again, twice in less than forty-eight hours. Except, this time she was alone.

Fear poured over her with each gust of sand-laden wind. Not fear for herself. She could take care of herself until a rescue plane tracked the beacon on her chute.

But she was scared spitless for Tanner. She'd seen the gleam in his eyes, the need for revenge powered by an overwhelming sense that he could make it happen through his will alone.

Ego. That invincibility he'd needed to carry him through combat could be the very thing that brought him down.

Then she heard it. A reverberating thud and grunt about fifty yards away.

Tanner.

Was it her imagination, or had the ground shuddered under her feet when he hit the desert floor? Or maybe it was sheer, earth-shattering relief rocking her from her toes to her teeth.

Kicking free of the pool of parachute nylon, she stumbled toward the sound.

"Tanner? Tanner!" she shouted, running toward him. Medical training marched gory scenarios of shattered bones through her mind. Parachuting was dangerous, especially in the dark. And he'd already been injured protecting her. "Tanner! Answer me, or I'm going to ground your butt until the next millennium!"

A blur took shape in front of her. A big, broad-shouldered shape. Tanner bent over with his hands on his knees, his parachute lying in a pile behind him.

"Hang … on … Athena." He straightened, slowly, wonderfully tall and whole. "Just trying … to catch my … breath."

She sagged with relief. It had to be relief. She was too close to tears to consider it could be anything else without totally losing control.

The final ten yards between them closed in seconds. She slammed against him. He was alive. They both were. In a day that could have ended so differently, they'd made it, worked together, flushed out Quinn and lived to tell about it.

And Tanner had followed her to the ground.

She stroked her fingers over his gunshot wound with expert hands. After finding reassurance, she let her hands rove into his hair, this time with impatient, lover hands. "Kiss me, damn it. Now," Kathleen demanded, even as his face was lowering to hers.

"Already on my way."

Her hands scoured over him, detailing every healthy inch with a need she didn't even try to delude herself into thinking was for medical reassurance.

He hadn't stayed with the plane and thrown his big reckless body into the line of fire. She couldn't think beyond celebrating that. Apparently, neither could he. Tanner's mouth feasted on hers, his embrace strong, solid and so damned exciting.

Like the man.

Kathleen tugged at his clothes, her hands frantic, powered by that relief and something else. She tore his shirt over his head, bemoaning the scarce second when her lips had to slide from his.

Clothes yanked off and flung free fluttered to the desert floor around them until wind whipped over her bare skin. Wild, invigorating gusts of gritty wind scraped at her body, reminding her they were both alive.

In a tangle of arms and legs, they fell backward onto the parachute, Tanner's body cushioning her fall.

God, how far she could fall if she let herself. And she did, for just a moment, giving herself up totally to sensation as she'd never done before. She kissed him while he kissed her back so thoroughly she couldn't have seen even if her eyes had been open.

From somewhere he pulled out a condom. From his wallet maybe? She didn't care. Why waste a second more even thinking about anything other than him?

Grabbing the edge of the parachute, she rolled, pulled Tanner on top of her, draped the silken folds around them until even the hazy moonlight faded away.

Nothing but silk, Tanner and the glide of his body sliding into hers, filling, stretching her until her thoughts scattered like sand in the breeze.

She locked her legs around his waist, locked him to her. Smooth parachute beneath her, Tanner above her. Bristly hair, hard muscles and callused skin rasped over her while silky nylon whispered under her.

Her body writhed against his, begged for release. She fought it off, not ready to lose this moment, unwilling to return to a world of thoughts, logic, reasonable worries that would steal more moments like this from her.

She scaled the rugged planes of his chest, her fingernails gripping, clinging. Like climbing a sheer cliff, she held on until she had no choice but to let go, to surrender control.

Tingling heat started low, pulsed, spread, burned over her. She set her teeth. Fought it back again.

Tanner's breath flowed hot against her ear. "Come on, honey, let it go. I'll catch you, then take you there all over again."

His words tore through her restraint, shredding it until she became like a parachute ripping open, sending her, screaming, catapulting down. And catch her he did. Right before he lunged into her again and, as promised, sent her right back on a second flight into a total loss of control.

She wasn't flying solo. With a hoarse groan of completion, Tanner collapsed on top her, a welcome weight grounding her as aftershocks trembled through her.

Burying her face in Tanner's neck, Kathleen tasted the warm sweat along his shoulder and wanted to stay wrapped inside their parachute forever, where she wouldn't have to face how much her complete loss of control scared her. Tanner deserved so much better than what she had to offer. Yet she knew too well those silken walls couldn't protect her from a risk nearly as frightening as any they'd faced that day.

The risk of letting herself love Tanner.

Tanner held Kathleen against him and breathed in her scent. Mint and Kathleen permeated their parachute haven, surrounded him in silk and Kathleen, just as she'd enclosed him, holding his body in hers seconds before.

The parachute slithered away as Kathleen slipped from beneath him. Tanner flipped to his back while she gathered her clothes, a shadowy, slim outline in the night as she dressed. Silently.

Of course, he couldn't put together more than a couple of words himself at the moment so he pulled on his clothes as well. Stuffing his legs into his pants, he ignored the throb in his head that had nothing to do with a gunshot wound.

Frustration churned through him, anyway, an increasingly familiar sensation around Kathleen.

There was nothing to do now but wait. A rescue plane or chopper would arrive soon. Upon landing back in the States, he and Kathleen would undoubtedly be separated for debriefing on the incident. He didn't expect there to be any legal fallout. They'd followed procedure down the line, resisted when possible, but the whole process could stretch into days. They would be lucky to make Cutter's wedding.

"Kathleen?" Tanner sat, his back against a tree. He held out his arms and waited.

Slowly she lowered herself, her back against his chest. He accepted her need for silence. He'd learned that much about her. She needed her space. But he needed to hold her, listen to her heartbeat and remind himself she was alive.

This would be his last chance for days. He refused to think this might be his final opportunity to hold her at all now that their last tie had been cut.

They'd worked together, brought down a crook who'd evaded detection for years, and made the C-17 community safer for their friends. Damn it, they had reason to celebrate.

So why could he feel her pulling away even as she sat in his arms? Just as she'd done after they'd made love in the cockpit.

And, damn it, they had made love. It wasn't just sex. He wanted ties, strong and lasting ones.

With Kathleen.

How could a woman so competent in the work world be so damned wary when it came to relationships?

How much did he really know about her? Kathleen wasn't a woman of many words. She might run that smart, gorgeous mouth of hers plenty around him, but rarely about herself, something he'd never realized before.

Fragments of conversations, pieces of herself she'd unwittingly shared shuffled around inside his mind. Words about her "too perfect," "wonder women sisters." An ex-husband who didn't respect her job any more than he'd respected her, a man who'd been a disloyal scum.

When had she ever found acceptance?

Once again he'd missed the big picture. This woman needed more from him than he'd thought. That proud tilt of her chin hid a pack of very human insecurities.

He'd been so focused on her not needing his protection, he hadn't realized Kathleen needed something far tougher for him to provide. She needed reassurance.

How was he supposed to fix that for her? Talk about Mars and Venus, men and women—he didn't have a clue how to tackle this one for her. If he blew it, the pain would be just as real as if she'd taken a bullet.

They'd made it through a day he hadn't expected to see end. He would have given his life for her, battled anything to keep her safe. This time there weren't any tangible enemies to conquer, walls to knock down.

Other than the ones she'd built around herself.

Tanner stroked her hair back from her brow as the morning sun rose, officially ending their Christmas together. He spoke, even knowing full well she wouldn't answer. "I love you, Kathleen O'Connell."

Chapter 18

"Will you promise to love him," the military chaplain filled the base chapel with his resonant baritone. "Honor him, keep him in sickness and health as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," the bride answered without hesitation. Kathleen had never considered herself the cry-at-weddings sort, but the Clark, candlelit nuptials were sorely testing her on that one.

I love you, Kathleen O'Connell. Tanner's words from two days prior echoed through her brain, her own silence echoing afterward.

Kathleen sat in the pew of the Charleston Air Force Base Chapel and wondered if her answer, or lack thereof, would be any different, now that the world had returned to normal?

She could still feel his disappointment, but she hadn't been able to make herself speak. Not while her emotions were still so raw, so tender, not unlike her well-loved body. She'd used their rescue as a much needed escape.

As a cop-out.

After two hectic days of questioning by military authorities, she'd been cleared and released. Quinn had been captured the minute he'd landed, thanks to the tracking beacon Tanner had sent up. Quinn was in custody, awaiting deportation back to the States. The planes with his faulty part had been grounded. Even Randall faced charges for his negligence.

Kathleen had completed her debrief and caught the first plane back to Charleston with only minutes left to dash to her town house and slide into her full-dress uniform for Grayson Clark and Lori Rutledge's wedding. Kathleen hadn't even known if Tanner had returned in time.

Then she'd seen him stride in during the processional, watched him now as he stood beside Grayson as best man.

And, Lord have mercy, what a best man Tanner made in his full-military-dress uniform. Only a slight crease remained on his temple from the gunshot wound. He hadn't even needed stitches, just a tetanus booster and a butterfly bandage.

Medals gleamed across miles of chest. His blond hair glistened as if he'd just stepped from a shower—or had perspired from making love to her.

Kathleen shifted to safer, more church-worthy thoughts.

Hundreds of ivory candles reflected off the stained-glass windows, showering multifaceted blessings on the small grouping gathered round the altar. Lori stood serene and glowing in a princess-cut satin gown, regal as ever with her hair swept high, interwoven with tiny white flowers and velvet ribbons. Wearing his full-dress uniform, Grayson held her hands, his voice steady and confident as he repeated his vows.

Matron of honor, Julia Sinclair, in midnight velvet held the hand of flower girl Magda, Lori's adopted daughter from the Sentavo rescue mission. The little girl's honey-brown curls danced around her face, a circlet of flowers pinned on her head.

A small wedding party, no doubt, but with their priorities in order. Love and certainty shone from the bride and groom. Not like during the circus of a ceremony Kathleen had let her mother plan. Lori and Grayson's marriage would be blessed with the support of friends wherever the Air Force took them.