Navy Orders. Geri Krotow
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to meet you.” Miles smiled at Krissy, and the resulting stab of awareness in her midsection made Ro take notice. She’d never seen that nice a smile on Miles’s face before. God, was he flirting back with her pregnant half sister?
Wish it was you?
His gaze jolted her back from her unwelcome revelation.
“We need to go. It’s going to be a late night.” He held up his phone. “I got a text from Ross. This is a good time for us to head over to the house.”
“Who’s Ross?” Krissy inserted herself as though she were working the case with Miles.
“He’s our CSO, the wing’s number two guy.” Ro was not in the mood to explain the navy staff system to Krissy.
“Don’t worry about me here, Ro. I’ll be fine.” Krissy was only too cooperative when it suited her needs.
Ro gritted her teeth.
“I’m not worried about you, Krissy, not at all. You’re an adult, and I know you need the time to make sure your travel arrangements back to New Jersey are squared away for tomorrow.”
Krissy ignored her and kept her gaze on Miles.
“Is she always this serious at work, too, Miles? Ro’s never learned how to lighten up.”
“Ah, Ro is the consummate professional at work. I don’t really know how she is outside of work.” He offered Krissy a placid enough expression, but Ro saw the muscle twitch next to his mouth. He’d love to add that she wasn’t the most cooperative woman he’d ever known, she’d bet a skein of cashmere on it.
To his credit, Miles kept his trap shut. Ro reluctantly gave him more points.
“I’ve got what I need—let me get my backpack.” She squeezed past Krissy into the kitchen. Ro’s home was the perfect size for her but with Krissy and now Miles inside she found it claustrophobic.
The fact that Miles towered over her and was built like a rock didn’t help matters.
He’d barely fit in your sleigh bed.
No matter how professional she was, she couldn’t stop herself from being human.
She just hoped she’d keep her most human instincts under wraps.
When she felt the door latch behind her she let out a deep breath and went into the still night with Miles.
* * *
THE IMMEDIATE, PALPABLE quiet was rare for Whidbey Island. Since it was perched on the most northwestern corner of the continental United States, every weather formation that came in from the Pacific or down from the Artic passed over the island. Ro often imagined her cottage was at the very edge of the earth. The winds had a habit of being unforgiving and brutal to anything but the native fauna.
It was so quiet she could hear Miles’s breathing as they walked down her winding drive to the road where he’d parked.
His motorcycle.
“Where’s your truck?” She bit her lip. She’d have to go back to the garage and get her car—no way was she riding on that bike.
He sent her a mischievous smile. “Left it at home. Too many people know my truck. This way we’ll be more under the radar.”
“‘We’? I’m not getting on that. Besides, can you, uh, are you able to manage two people?”
“Two’s as easy as one, Ro. It’s my thighs that grip the seat, not my calves. And my prosthetic leg does what I need it to, even on a motorbike.” He eyed her with restrained patience in the still-light evening. Whidbey Island was so far up north that the sun stayed up until nine or so on a spring evening.
“I’ve had the bike outfitted to my specifications.” Of course he had. He was an amputee, not an invalid.
She put her palms to her shame-heated cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Miles. I’m not questioning your ability.”
“Yeah, you are, Roanna.”
“It’s not you, it’s me, really—I’m not the motorcycle type. Besides, isn’t there some navy regulation that prevents us from riding motorcycles?”
“The only reg that says anything about it is that we can’t drive recklessly. I don’t do that.” He cocked one eyebrow at her. “As for not being the bike ‘type,’ you may surprise yourself. You look like you’d adapt in no time.”
Shame turned to desire and inflamed her face, her throat, her stomach. Just the briefest flirtation with Miles set her on fire.
This investigation needed to get wrapped up fast or she risked breaking the one promise she’d made to herself and had always kept.
Never date a man in uniform, especially one you work with.
Unfortunately, the population of single men in Oak Harbor who weren’t on active duty greatly diminished her chances of finding someone to distract her from Miles.
And what will you do when you prove that no one tempts you as much as Miles does?
* * *
MILES KEPT HIS revelations to himself. The expression on Ro’s face when she spotted his bike had been priceless. She tried to be so tough and was quite the naval officer, but he was learning that she’d forgotten that it was okay to be a girl, too.
Girl, hell. More like a woman of amazing beauty. Her large, round breasts couldn’t be hidden in her khaki uniform blouse. The formfitting hoodie she had on tonight left even less to his imagination—in which he’d already held Ro’s breasts and—
He groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
Shit. He thought his sexual frustration had been silent.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He flipped up the top of the storage box and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to her.
“Put this on and make sure the strap is snug, like a flight helmet.”
“I’m not—”
“You already told me. Frankly, Ro, I’ve never seen you as a pussy. Don’t start now.”
Anger threw sparks out of her irises that almost made him laugh. But her anger wasn’t the passion he really wanted to spark. For now, it’d have to do.
His strategy appeared to work as she shoved the helmet on her head.
“You win this one, Miles, but if you pull any crap on the road—” she adjusted the neck strap “—like speeding or making crazy turns―” she snapped the buckle on the strap into place “—or making me feel at all uncomfortable―” she pulled down the visor “—I’m done.”
He hated not being able to see her eyes.
“Got it.”
He put on his own helmet and lifted his good leg, his right leg, over the bike. It was one of the many adjustments he’d had to make since losing the left leg. He used to mount bikes and horses alike with his left leg first. He still could if he really wanted to, but he felt much more stable doing it the new way.
Ro remained next to the bike.
“Get on.”
She complied, although he understood beyond any measure of doubt that she did so only because she, too, was convinced this was the best way to travel at the moment—light, fast and basically undercover.
His abdomen quickened when her hands reached around his waist and clasped in front of him. The fact that she didn’t even try to hold on to the back handle inexplicably pleased him.
Despite her refusals to see him on a social basis, she trusted him on some gut level. She wouldn’t be on his bike, much less with her arms around his waist, unless she did.