Crossfire. Jenna Mills
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she said softly. “There’s a difference.”
A hard sound broke from his throat. “You think so?” For a minute, he thought about telling how in explicit detail just how wrong she was, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. So instead he slammed his fist against the pathetic excuse for a pillow, then stretched out on the mattress. He didn’t pull the covers over him, though. The room was too damn hot.
“Get some sleep, Ellie,” he said, reaching over to flick off the bedside lamp. “I’m here if you need me.”
The heater rattled relentlessly, interrupted only by the occasional airplane taking to the skies. The curtains blocked most of the light from the parking lot, but a sliver cut through, casting the man with the gun in shadow. She watched him standing there, alert and ready, still wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His shoulders rose and fell with each deep, rhythmic breath he drew. The sound thrummed through her, and before she realized it, she’d matched his cadence.
Frowning, she was tempted to turn away, to face the sallow wall instead of the man who stood rigidly by the window, but knew better than to turn her back on Hawk Monroe.
If that was a mistake, it wasn’t just one.
Even now, hours later, the words made her shift uncomfortably, acutely aware that she was naked beneath his shirt. The blunt statement had caught her completely off guard, even though she knew Hawk Monroe wasn’t a man to mince words. She’d never known anyone with such a complete disregard for propriety.
I’m here if you need me.
That’s what worried her.
Two years before, she’d realized a truth, made herself a promise. A promise she intended to keep. Never would she allow herself to dance naked in a thunderstorm ever, ever again.
Impulse seduced, but in the end it also destroyed.
Early-morning sun glistened off the sleek Lear jet. Standing in the cool Canadian breeze, Elizabeth nursed a cup of coffee while Hawk conducted his preflight inspection of her father’s prized possession. The Lear had been in the family for seven years, giving them the flexibility and security to travel without the hassle of commercial airlines.
Elizabeth loved flying. She loved the freedom of soaring above the clouds. She loved the vastness. She loved the suspension from reality.
You want to learn how?
To fly? Are you kidding?
I’d never kid about something so important to you.
Hawk stood near one of the engines, touching and feeling like every good pilot did. It never ceased to fascinate her how a man who lived for the thrill of the moment could be so meticulous when it came to his job. He left no detail, no nuance to chance. The Army had taught him that, he’d told her once. Even a small miscalculation or oversight could result in hideous consequences.
He was all business this morning, decked out in faded jeans and a khaki shirt, a well-worn leather bomber jacket. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. She accepted the change, welcomed it. They’d both be better off if they could get back to Richmond without trying to overanalyze their relationship.
Relationship. The word scraped something deep inside, jarred her in ways she didn’t understand, wasn’t about to explore.
Tension had always arced between her and Hawk, even in the beginning. Wesley “Hawk” Monroe had almost seemed to enjoy goading her. She’d tried to ignore him, much as her mother had insisted she ignore her twin brother, Ethan, when they’d been five and his single greatest pleasure in life was putting lizards and toads and other slimy creatures under her pillow, but Elizabeth had never figured out how. The more she tried to ignore, the more effective he became.
“Everything’s in good shape,” he said, coming around the plane with a clipboard in hand. The cool morning breeze ruffled his slightly long hair. “Did you file the flight plan?”
“All done,” she said, finishing off her coffee. The breeze whipped up, but, tucked inside a newly purchased Ski Banff sweatshirt and a pair of stiff jeans, she didn’t shiver.
“Then let’s get this baby off the ground.” Hawk signaled to the ground crew, then headed for the stairs leading to the jet.
Elizabeth didn’t move.
“Something wrong?” he asked, turning to face her.
She squinted into the sun, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. “Where’s your copilot?”
Hawk’s smile was slow, gleaming. “I’m looking at her.”
The breath jammed in her throat. “Me?”
He shrugged. “Unless you’re not up to it.”
Excitement surged. “Of course I’m up to it,” she answered quickly, but shock pierced deep. She hadn’t taken to the skies since Miranda’s kidnapping. “I just thought…after last night I didn’t think you’d take any chances. I figured you’d have men crawling all over the place.”
In one lethally quick movement Hawk slipped off his sunglasses and destroyed the distance between them.
“Chances?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice that made her chest tighten. “Let’s get something very straight, right here, right now.” All that simmer and amusement that had sparked in his eyes last night…gone, replaced by a hardness she’d rarely seen. “I take my job seriously. I don’t play fast and loose with your life, not on the ground or in the air.” He gestured toward the roof of the terminal, where three snipers lay on their bellies, rifles in hand.
“See those men?” He pointed to the ground crew, all sporting discreetly concealed MP50s. “And those? Of course I have men crawling everywhere, but once we’re airborne, it won’t matter if two or twenty people are onboard. As long as we can fly the plane.” His eyes hardened. “Call me a jerk, but I thought you’d jump at the chance to fly this baby.”
Too late Elizabeth realized she’d insulted him.
“Unless, of course,” he added lazily, “it’s not your life you’re worried about, but your virtue.”
Heat flashed through her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I mean, think about it,” he drawled. “It’s not like I can drag you into the cabin for a quickie at twenty thousand feet.” He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “Someone’s got to fly the plane.”
She cut him a look. “How reassuring.”
With stunning speed, the hardness dissolved into a smile laced with dare. “Of course there’s always autopilot,” he mused, boxer-dancing out of the way.
A very unladylike noise escaped before she could stop it. “You haven’t flown on autopilot a day in your life.”
He tucked the clipboard under his arm. “What do you say, then? You up for flying?”
More than he could possibly know. She hadn’t realized how confined, how grounded she’d felt.
“Careful,” she said, breezing past him and heading up the stairs. “I might just push you out of the way and take this baby up all by myself.”
“Not in this lifetime, Ellie. You need me too much.”
She stepped into the cool, plush confines of the corporate jet and headed for the cockpit. “Dream on.”
From behind her, she heard his rough laughter. “Trust me, sweetness. You don’t want to know what a man like me dreams about.”
No, she didn’t. That was true.
“You forget,” he added, catching up with her. He slid into his seat and began checking the controls, making sure the yoke moved in all directions. “I know you. Flying by the seat of your pants isn’t your style, and the Lear is a two-pilot plane. If you want to get home today, in this plane, you’re stuck with me.”