Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors #2)

Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors #2) Page 25

Slanting his mouth over hers he tasted apples, cider, cinnamon—warm honeyed flavors he would never be able to sample again without thinking of her. And he wanted more than a sample now.

Apparently, so did she.

Her tongue tangling, twining with his, she scooted closer. Her hip nudged insistent pressure against him, hot friction that left his jeans uncomfortably tight.

Too much. Too soon.

Grasping her hips, he stilled her restless movements, only to find the feel of her beneath his hands stirred him all the more. How could one woman be so toned and soft all at the same time?

Just like Kathleen. Tough and curiously vulnerable.

His hand tucked under her shirt and found more of that velvety softness as he stroked the small of her back. Kathleen's breathy moan filled his mouth just as she filled his arms, warm, difficult to capture but so incredible when he did.

Suddenly the enclosed airplane became a torture chamber as he yearned to see more of her. Two of her buttons later, his mouth explored her fragile collarbone and discovered those freckles he'd wondered about. A light dusting, but every one begged to be tasted, followed until he reached the gentle curve of her breasts.

Air whispered across his chest, and he couldn't even remember when she'd unbuttoned his shirt. Not that he cared as long as she kept touching him.

And, man, was she touching him. A pleasure he fully intended to reciprocate. Trailing a finger along the waistband of her pants, he gauged her reaction, not wanting to rush her, needing to make this as un-freakin'-believable for her as it was for him.

Her fingers vise-gripped his wrist. She stared straight into eyes. "No more playing around, hotshot."

She urged his hand inside her waistband as she nipped his bottom lip. She kicked her shoes free, each one thudding to the floor.

The lady didn't have to tell him twice.

His hand dipped inside, cupping the warm curve of her bottom, edging aside the stretchy fabric of her pants. With an extra tug from Kathleen, her pants and underwear slipped, rolled, peeled down her legs and off.

Swinging a leg over, she straddled his hips, a bare knee on either side searing through his jeans. For twelve years he'd wanted her, had imagined this moment more than once, yet he'd never even come close to the reality.

His eyes feasted on her, as greedy as his hands. Wild red hair tangled around her face. A lone strand fluttered to rest on her full, damp lips. The vee of her shirt plunged low, white cotton pooling around the tops of her thighs.

Her deft hands popped free the button fly on his jeans. The temperature in the cabin rose at least ten degrees.

Nudging aside his boxers, she clasped him in her soft hand, flicked her thumb over him. His eyes slid closed as his head thudded back against the seat. He inhaled, blinked, scavenged for control as he captured her wrist. "Slow down, hon. No rush on this."

"I want fast. Now. Isn't twelve years long enough to wait?" The pupils of her cat eyes widened, darkened, until only a small ring of blue remained, leaving no doubts about how much she wanted him.

"Yes, ma'am, it is."

He splayed a hand on Kathleen's back as he reached forward, rocking her toward the dash so he could palm one of the packets. Kathleen plucked it from his hand as they sat upright again.

Her fingernail lightly rasped up the length of him before she sheathed him with excruciating precision. "Next time, we'll do it your way."

Next time.

Those two words pleased him as much as the silken glide of her body as she lowered herself onto him. He didn't want to think about why her words were so important. Not at this particular moment.

Slow, torturously so, she slid her way down until she settled chest to chest against him, enclosed him in a moist heat that threatened to end it all.

He thrust up. She gasped, shivered, moaned.

She may have orchestrated this, but damned if he would let her control everything. He tunneled his hands beneath her shirt as his face ducked to nudge aside her collar. His mouth closed around her satin-covered breast, laved attention on the needy peak. Circling her tightening nipple, he mirrored with his hand teasing lower where their bodies joined, finding an answering bead of arousal.

A purr swelled in the back of her throat, vibrating through her chest, under his mouth. She scored her fingers up his chest, beneath his shirt until her fingernails dug into his shoulders, deeper, harder, until with a throaty cry she sagged against him.

Two shuddering breaths later, her head flung back, revealing a perfect stretch of neck for him to explore, while he guided her h*ps and she demanded a rhythm all her own. Until they both gave up the battle and simply moved. Together.

Tanner's hands crawled all over her skin, needing to touch every inch of that velvet softness, longing to possess all of her if only for a few hours. For once, he could hold her the way he'd always wanted to. For once, Kathleen didn't fight him. Instead, she sighed, moaned and whimpered her pleasure in a running monologue that had him so crazy he didn't know how long he could stave off the building pleasure.

Her throaty purr started again, followed by a hitch in her breath he now recognized. He was so grateful for that sigh of hers, that increasing sweet sound. The need to finish, pour into her until there wasn't anything left, shuddered through him and he wasn't going alone.

Tanner caught her before she collapsed back onto the control panel. She arched against his hands, her hair streaming against his fingers.

He wanted to watch her, tried to fight off his own release. A losing battle. The sky opened up and he fell in, no plane, no chute, just a free-falling surrender.

Cupping the back of Kathleen's head, he anchored her to his chest while his aftershocks rippled through him. Or were they hers? Who knew? … since they both shook, sagging against one another, breathing a monumental task for what could have been minutes or hours.

Kathleen nuzzled beneath his chin with one last purr of contentment. "You were right."

Fingers combing through her hair, he let each strand slither free while he watched the shifting reds. "About what?"

"About us working this out of our systems. I absolutely do not feel like fighting with you right now."

His hand stopped midstroke. Work each other out of their systems? Damned with his own words.

What did he expect? This was Kathleen, after all. He suffered no delusions that she had some great desire to enter into a relationship with him.

Except, somewhere along the way, she'd become his friend, and his every instinct screamed he'd just messed that up. All he would have to show for their friendship was a blown-up car and a night of no-strings sex.

No-strings sex with the hottest, most intriguing woman he'd ever met.

A woman who made it clear she didn't need a damned thing from him.

An hour later Kathleen buried her face in Tanner's neck, knowing too well their pocket of time together in the airplane would have to end soon.

She should peel herself off him and go. But she couldn't find the will to leave. Not yet. Being with Tanner had been … everything. Both times. Her way, followed by his.

Now she sprawled over him, chest to chest, hearts still thudding at a rate that would blast alarms on any EKG machine. Except her heart rate raced from more than great sex.

Okay, awesome sex.

Her pulse answered with an extra surge. Maybe she could hang out awhile longer.

Kathleen listened to Tanner's heartbeat, nuzzled her cheek against the bristly hair sprinkling his chest and twirled his dog tags around her fingers. A small pewter medal peeked between the dog tags.

"What's this?"

He looked down at her hands, lifted her wrist to press a lingering kiss before replacing her palm on his chest. "A St. Joseph's medal."

Kathleen twirled a finger through the sworls of hair trailing down his stomach. "Oh, yeah. Your lucky charm. Where did it come from?"

"Tara bought it for me … that last Christmas."

Her finger slowed before resuming. "Why St. Joseph?"

"As kids, we dubbed Joseph our patron saint since we didn't have a dad. We figured maybe he would rustle us up a stepfather."

Tears stung her eyes, the sharing turning too intimate as he offered pieces of himself, a gesture she wouldn't be able to reciprocate. She'd always stunk at sharing. What did she have to give him, anyway? Not much came to mind. So she opted to just listen, stroking his chest over where his medal rested.

"Silly, now that I look back, because we didn't really need anything. We had a great family even without a father. The whole no-dad thing was a big part of why Mom pushed us into sports. I had father-figure coaches coming out of my ears."

His mom must have chosen those role models well, because no doubt Tanner would make a great parent someday. Fun, dedicated, a little pushy, but accepting and quick to forgive. No child of his would ever hide out in a tree because she'd disappointed her parents again.

He dropped a kiss on top of her head. "What about you? Your family? You've mentioned sisters."

Restlessly she wriggled to sit up, buttoning her blouse. "Three of them. Two older. One younger. All perfect."

"Come on, O'Connell. Talk." Tanner stilled her hands, then tunneled up the back of her shirt, urging her to his chest.

Strong fingers massaged muscles she hadn't realized were kinked, melting her against him. "We're just the typical upper-middle-class family. Dad's a doctor. Mom's an interior designer."

"And your sisters?"

"Sara's a plastic surgeon like Dad. Bree's a newscaster, a weather girl working her way up. Celia's a fashion consultant." Perfect people with perfect lives. No messy divorces or failed relationships. "They're all married with kids. Real superwomen."

"So's their sister." His fingers continued their never-ending trek up and down her spine.

"Hmmm. Keep doing that." His hands offered a great distraction from disagreeing with his assumption. No need to argue with him, anyway, as it would sound like she was angling for compliments.

Already Tanner had said words she would have once given anything to hear from Andrew. Sure, she'd become accustomed to the fact that she just didn't click with the rest of her family. But she'd expected better in the way of acceptance from Andrew. He should have understood she felt the calling to serve her country as strongly as he did.

Worse yet, he'd doubted her. Her sisters might be able to manage it all, but Andrew hadn't had faith in her ability to do the same. Somewhere along the line, she'd begun to doubt herself. Too bad marriage didn't come with a nice safe treehouse to hide out in when things went bad.

Kathleen let herself accept the comfort of Tanner's arms for a full minute, then shut off the past.

She shifted to safer and more pressing matters. Food. "Enough about me. I'm starved. Let's scout around for someplace that's open and get something to eat. There's a Quick-Mart not far past the main gate. Maybe if we get there before midnight, we can find something edible."

"Microwavable sandwiches and supersize sodas while we talk shop. Hmmm. Not much of a first date, but I'll make it up to you later. What do you like, Italian? Greek? I know this great seafood place back in Charleston, right on the water, great view. You pick."

Date? Is that what they were doing now, and later back home? Dating? He sounded genuine, not like some cornered guy spouting what he thought she wanted to hear just because they'd had sex.

She didn't regret what they'd done together, and she wasn't one to delude herself into believing good sex equaled a relationship. However, while he might not be Mr. Commitment, she should have remembered he wasn't the one-night-stand type, either.

He was a good man, so passionate, an incredibly generous lover and she was…

Scared.

What did she want in the morning? Once they returned to their rooms with those microwavable "date" sandwiches? She honestly didn't know, except that she wasn't ready to discuss any of the options yet.