Private Maneuvers

"That's not my point." She stopped, bit her lip, shook her head before continuing, "I shouldn't expect you would understand about my job. We're just from two different walks of life." She nudged his foot with hers. "But then I guess the different-worlds part is a lot of what I enjoy about you, Dr. Maxwell Keagan."

There it was again. The reality that Darcy would make a military sharp turn in the other direction if she knew the truth about him. He should be relieved. He wasn't.

She scooped the rag off the floor and flung it in the sink with the toothpaste. "Thanks for checking on me. Twice. But I'm better now. I should put my leg up and go to sleep so I can finally call this day over."

She studied the bed as if it were a hill to conquer, a battle to win. He couldn't just walk out and leave her alone with those demons lurking behind her eyes.

And maybe he needed a little while longer to reassure himself the snake was nothing more than coincidence after all.

Without taking time to think and therefore change his mind, Max scooped her up in his arms. Darcy yelped, flinging her arms around his neck. "What are you doing?"

Turning sideways, he angled out of the bathroom. "You need to stay off your feet, and I've got an idea for the perfect place to do that."

"Uh, Max." She eyed the bed. "I don't need you to tuck me in."

"That's good. Because you're not going to bed." Not there anyway.

"I'm not inviting you to keep me awake either."

An image he did not need, thank you very much, especially with her nestled so warm and soft against him. "I'm not offering. I prefer my bed partners not be half-dead on their feet."

She needed a distraction and he intended to provide one. He refused to question his impulsive decision. He dipped to twist open the knob and toed the door open. Staying away from her hadn't kept her safe, and he'd already determined he couldn't shut down the investigation. Which left him only one alternative. Keep Darcy with him whenever possible.

Starting now.

"Max!" She slapped a hand to the door frame to stop him from moving farther. "I'm not so sure whatever you have planned is such a good idea."

Securing her against his chest, he stared into her shadowed brown eyes and asked, "Are you really ready to try sleeping?"

Her hand slid from the door frame and curled around his neck. "Where are we going?"

"To find some neutral ground."

Chapter 7

Neutral ground? Being held in Max's arms seemed more like landing smack-dab in the middle of an explosive mine field. Darcy stayed rock still as Max carried her along the outdoor walkway.

The man was hung up on another woman, for crying out loud.

Darcy tried to ignore the scent of musk and suntan oil. Tried. And failed. Damn it, she didn't need the grief of wanting a guy who wanted someone else. Especially not now when her emotional reserves lodged somewhere in the negative numbers after the whole snake debacle.

Max rounded the corner, tucking her closer, nestling her br**sts against his buff chest. Her traitorous body responded. Please, Lord, she hoped Max wouldn't notice.

She wasn't sure how much more of his TLC she could withstand before she lost it. Except he'd nailed her state of mind dead-on in guessing she couldn't stomach staying confined to her room. The night air and Max's arms surrounding her made for a fabulous sensory distraction. "How far away is this neutral ground of yours?''

"Not much farther." He jostled her closer, launching a shower of tingles from his touch all the way to the roots of her windswept hair.

"Good. Because while I appreciate the ride, I'm not overly anxious to be dropped."

"No worries." Hot, muscled strength rippled through his arms, against her skin, confirming his claim of a strength that could carry her for miles. For hours. Long, satisfying hours.

Max started up the outdoor stairs. Stairs? Darcy eyed the sunning deck on the roof over the center section of the cinder-block VOQ. At two in the morning, the cement expanse sprawled blessedly empty but for the call of night creatures and the whisper of salty wind.

Without breaking stride or a sweat, he cleared the steps and kicked wide the metal gate. White plastic lawn chairs and recliners were scattered over the deck, tables interspersed. Max strode toward two recliners nearest the fence and lowered Darcy into one.

His arms slid from beneath her slowly, gently. The night blanketed her with intoxicating heat. Maybe her body only hummed from all the meds or adrenaline rather than arousal. Either way, her skin burned everywhere he touched.

Parking-lot lights and the moon showered a nimbus through the whitened spikes of Max's hair, begging her fingers to explore. Just as she started to surrender and raise her hand, Max settled onto a chair beside her and propped his feet on the rail with his typical negligent ease that dominated any landscape he occupied.

What was it about him that drew her so? Already she knew she wouldn't forget him or their time together on the island. She hated unresolved business, like the way the lingering fears from her kidnapping had been brought too sharply into focus tonight.

Now Max was quickly gaining an importance in her life that wouldn't be easily dismissed. And that worried her.

Time to find out more about him. With any luck he would admit to something majorly piggish in his past, which would launch him into the realms of jerkdom and out of her mind.

Yeah, right. "Thanks for what you did earlier."

"No big deal." He kept his face forward, eyes narrowed and focused on the darkened expanse of island and sea in front of them. "I'm sure you would have finished off the snake on your own."

"I meant later. Checking on me." Darcy tore her gaze from him and stared out into the night. The hazy glow of spotlights illuminated a museum-quality B-52 on static display. "Thank God I didn't bring Crusty or one of the other guys back to my room. They would have razzed the hell out of me for years over finding you there."

Max's jaw flexed. "I knew you wouldn't ask them for help. That's why I stayed."

"Oh." Gulp. Already this guy had her number. So much for being an Alicia-style enigma.

Of course Alicia had told her on the phone earlier to cut herself some slack. A trip to Guam for Darcy had to be as tough as flying combat mission over Cantou from the cockpit of an F-15.

Yeah, right. She wasn't buying it then and wasn't buying it now. She felt compelled to offer Max an explanation for her meltdown so he wouldn't think she was a weak-kneed twit. "When I was a kid here on Guam, I was—" she paused to find a word that worked while still hiding the truth she wasn't ready to share, especially not tonight ''—I got lost in the jungle. I had some bad experiences with those Guam critters before my father, uh, found me a few days later on Lovers' Leap cliff."

Max's eyes shone with quiet empathy as if he somehow understood the rest without her even having to tell him. "That would be tough for a kid. Even for an adult."

"It was. Especially being stuck there with that creepy legend about two doomed lovers jumping to their death rather than let the girl be married off to some Spanish soldier. I mean, damn. Why didn't they both just paddle to another island? Fight back?''

Of course she'd been to Guam since the kidnapping yet hadn't strayed more than a few yards from base. Her leg throbbed. "Of course who am I to talk? I should probably just go confront my fears. Hike through those jungles and even up to the cliff. Conquer my mountain."

Max straightened. "You don't have to face those critters alone, you know. Call me. I'll take that hike with you, be an extra set of eyes to watch out for...more tree snakes."

Her heartbeat tripped over itself. Oh, man. She was in serious trouble.

Darcy looked away before his sea-green eyes had her plunging right into their sympathetic depths and into those strong arms. She stared out over the moon-speckled water to the dim glow from the island of Rhoda. No one in sight. Safe, for now.

Of course she could take care of herself—wouldn't rely on the protection of others ever again. Twelve years ago, she'd been snacking on a plate of roasted poi on the wide-open beach with a hundred partying Air Force warriors around her. Still she'd been snatched.

These days she preferred the metal-encased protection of her aircraft and her own defenses. "Thanks. I'll keep your offer in mind."

Alicia would be proud of her elusive answer. Too bad it had more to do with self-preservation than enticement.

"Don't you feel exposed out here?" Darcy picked at her sweaty T-shirt and tried not to think of how little she'd been wearing earlier.

"I can see anyone coming long before they get anywhere near me. No chance for one of life's ambushes."

Ah, a kindred spirit. "No snakes under your bed, huh?"

"I guess you could say that." Max folded his hands over his washboard stomach. "I like the wide-open space and the quiet. It's almost as good as being underwater."

She'd never considered that his diving could be a way to achieve ultimate solitude—which made his taking time to comfort her all the more special.

Special. A shiver of longing prickled. Dangerous when she was so vulnerable.

Silence settled, steamy, heavy. Needy. Darcy searched for something to fill the space between them so she wouldn't fall victim to the temptation to explore the muscles cutting his chest.

She pointed to the spotlit plane. "My dad flew that in when the other B-52 monument blew off the blocks during a hurricane." She kept her eyes fixed ahead. "I assume you know who my father is?"

Max blinked but didn't turn to her. "Hank Renshaw? General rumored to be next in line for Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? Yeah, I've heard of him."

"Who hasn't, right?" She forced a laugh. Her father's prestige and power had brought about the kidnapping. Not that she blamed him. Her old man blamed himself enough for fifty people. "When Dad pulled his stint here as the Squadron Commander, crewdogs painted over all the signs that carried his name and title. They replaced it with 'Uncle Hank: Best Damned Bomber Pilot in the United States Air Force.'"

Darcy stared out at the plane. She'd been certain her indomitable father would wing in to the rescue. He had. But it had taken so damned long. "Sometimes I wish I'd felt the calling to be an artist. Or a lawyer. Or a teacher. Something different from my old man." A job where the memories wouldn't dog her.

"But the genes run too strong."

She nodded, surprised he understood. "Exactly. I have to fly. It's like breathing for me. Except my father owns all the air." Her fighter pilot sister had figured out how to make it work and her bomber brother just didn't care.

Why the hell wasn't there a patch of the sky she could claim for her own? Not one she'd located yet, anyway. "I wish I could find my niche in his world."

Sharing her frustrations felt good. Max was so easy to talk to, a good listener. No games. No facades. Just open honesty. "I feel as if I have ten times more to prove to these guys because of the Air Force pedigree. I need to make sure everyone knows I earned my wings with hard work instead of soaking up the benefits of nepotism."

She smacked her throbbing leg in frustration. "Damn it, I should be flying combat in Cantou instead of working the Flipper Flight." Darcy stopped short. "Uh, no offense."

A half smile tipped a dimple into Max's cheek. "None taken."

"Of course, now I can't even fly in earthquake relief supplies for three days. My missions will have to be taken on by someone else. Way to make a big impression as the new co around the squadron."

Max turned solemn eyes her way. "The crew's respect for you seems rock solid."

His sure tone bolstered her. Typical for the guy-minimal words, maximum punch. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">