The Right Touch

“What did you do? Strain it? Looks a little swollen here,” he said, lightly running his thumb across the affected area.

“I—I sprained it about three weeks ago.” She sounded like a stammering eighteen-year-old.

Cal drew up her hand, positioning her wrist in a better light. “Yeah, there’s still some bruising. You can barely see it, though.” He looked up, his face inches from hers. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself fencing?”

His eyes were so wide and inquiring that Dev lost herself in them. Eyes that were at once intelligent, clear and yet filled with genuine concern. He wasn’t a sham, after all; she knew it in her heart. This was another side to the enigmatic Cal Travis. Dev blinked, shaken. She reclaimed her hand and took a step away from him. “No…I got shoved down by a couple of union guys about three weeks ago.”

“What?”

Dev’s lashes flew up at his growl. “I’m a television camera operator. The reporter, Tucker, and I had to go out and cover a strike. He wanted some close-ups of the union people having words with the police, and he ordered me into the confrontation. One of the guys tried to tear the camera off my shoulder and out of my hands.” Dev shrugged. “I held on to it, but me and the camera both went flying.” She glanced down at her wrist. “I took a bad strain, and I’ve been trying to baby my wrist along ever since then so I can fence at my best in this competition.”

Cal’s eyes flashed with anger. “Tucker was a fool to let you that close to something like that,” he snapped. “What’s the idiot got for a brain? A pea?”

Dev gave him a feeble smile. “Don’t be angry at him. He’s always where the action is. I only banged up my wrist a little,” she lied.

Cal threw his hands on his hips, assessing her. “That épée must weigh around a pound and a half. If you can’t even hold a lightweight piece of aluminum with that hand, how are you going to fence?”

Dev raised her eyebrows, pleased by his insight. “Good question. I’ll probably have to wrap it tightly and pray it holds up during the bouts. I’ll be back in a minute. I want to get a warm cloth and wrap my wrist.”

“No, sit down here. Let me do it.”

“But—”

“Sit down.”

Dev sat, rather shocked, watching him stalk to the bathroom. When Cal came back with the washcloth and hunched down in front of her, Dev held out her wrist. “I want you to know, I don’t normally take orders from anyone.”

Cal wrapped the cloth around her wrist, holding it between his hands. He raised his chin, meeting her cool blue eyes. Eyes that were flecked with gold spikes in their depths. “You’re pulling back from me. I guess sometimes retreat is the better part of valor.”

“You’re impossible, Travis.”

A grin lurked around his mouth. “Yeah, I know. And you like me that way.”

A flush invaded her cheeks. “I didn’t say I liked you at all!” she blustered, her flesh tingling madly where his hands rested. His touch was firm without being painful. As a matter of fact, her wrist felt better already.

“You also admitted I was handsome.”

“And a playboy. Don’t forget the last label. It’s the most important one.”

“What do you have against me enjoying the woman I want to give my undivided attention to?” he asked huskily, the vibration of his voice moving through her like a sensual drug.

Dev wanted to run. She was reeling from his decidedly masculine aura. “Nothing. Everything,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“If you were my woman, you wouldn’t be saying that,” he told her softly, his voice deep, penetrating.

Her defenses were up; the red light was going off in the back of her head, and she was trembling. Trembling! And it wasn’t from fear. It was from the promise in Cal’s intimate baritone, aimed at her. She swallowed. “My wrist feels better now.”

He shook his head, removing the cloth and then refolding it around her wrist. “Why are you afraid of me, Dev Hunter?”

Cautiously, she met his frank gray eyes. “You make me feel as if I’m being hunted.” She was completely unprepared as his hand left her wrist and framed her face, tilting her head slightly upward. His breath was moist against her flesh as he bent his head.

“You are….” he said thickly, his mouth slanting across her parted lips as he slowly drew her to her feet.

The breath was stolen from her body, replaced by the gentle invasion of his mouth, tasting, testing and teasing her lips. Her world shattered into a million golden fragments as Dev felt his hands frame her face, deepening the exploration, coaxing her to partake of the heat that boiled within them. She had no time to react, her hands automatically lifting to rest against the hardened muscles of his upper arms. The scent of Cal entered her nostrils, and she tasted the maleness of him. A driving hunger flared to life in her lower body, liquid fire racing through her as he continued to gently tease her lips with little nips, his tongue lightly stroking her flesh with unexpected tenderness. Her knees weakened, and Dev trembled outwardly as his onslaught continued. Somewhere in her stunned, incoherent mind, Dev recognized that if Cal had been ruthless or brutal, she would have reacted negatively. Instead, he had surprised her again. He was a man of war. Someone who was used to flexing his muscles and using his strength. But he wasn’t capable of using force on her. Dev found herself capitulating to his coaxing.

Cal slowly broke the kiss, need screaming through his hardened body. “God, you’re so sweet,” he rasped, looking deep into her dazed cobalt eyes. “Sweet and good and all woman.”

Dev blinked, languorously. If it weren’t for Cal’s fingers spanning her jaw, she would have slumped against him, dizzied by his kiss. She had never savored the utter raw sensuality of a kiss before as she had with him. Confusion darkened her eyes as she basked in his warmth. Dev saw a hint of a smile tugging at his wonderfully shaped mouth.

“Come on, I think you’d better sit down before you fall down.” Cal led her over to the settee, briefly keeping his hand on her arm. He picked up the cloth that Dev had allowed to drop to the carpet when he had kissed her. Going to the bathroom, he wet it again. Dev gave him a guarded look as he walked back toward her; he saw her defenses going up. Could he blame her? As he hunched down, Cal felt a wave of dizziness race through him. Not because of her giving, vulnerable kiss, either—because of the damn liquor he had consumed. Wrapping her wrist once more, he cursed himself. Now he wanted to be sober. To be clearheaded. Dev interested him. She was different. Independent. And she didn’t play games. Cal didn’t regret the kiss, but he regretted how he was feeling. It had been a stupid, immature idea to drink. Normally he’d have had a few beers, that was all. No carrier pilot lasted long if he hit the bottle.

“I have a favor to ask,” he began, meeting her grave eyes, “and I know you’ll probably think I’m playing a game when I ask you.”

Dev’s arm tingled where Cal’s hand rested. Her voice was soft when she answered. “Are you feeling bad?”

A mocking smile lingered on Cal’s mouth. “Not from kissing you, believe me. It’s from the scotch.” His brows drew downward. “To make a long story very short, Dev, I’ve had about seven hours’ sleep the past four days. All that liquor and I’m ready to keel over.”

“You’ll never make it back to your ship.”

“No, I won’t.” He glanced toward the beds. “If you could let me just kick off my shoes and sleep for a few hours—”

Her eyes flickered with concern. “Four days? Cal, what happened? I mean—”

His mouth thinned. “I can’t talk about it, Dev. Trust me, all right? Just let me get a few hours and then I’ll leave. I promise I’ll keep my hands off you. No games, my redheaded witch.”

She studied him for a moment. Her instincts always ran true, no matter how the rest of her was feeling. She searched Cal’s face, noticing that the skin was drawn tautly across his flesh, dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“Okay. Go lie down. I’m tired, too. Do you want a shower? The hotel supplies robes—”

Cal slowly stood up. “No. I’ve taken enough advantage of your generosity already, Dev. If I can grab a few hours, that’s all I’ll need.” He walked over to the bed, turned the lamp off and sat down. Dev watched as he took off his shoes, then stretched out, his hands behind his head. She got up, moving to the hall and shutting off another switch, which darkened the entire suite. Her lips still tingled from the coaxing fire of his kiss, and dazedly, she wandered into the bathroom to have her bath. The evening was turning out to be incredible in so many ways.

Dev languished in the orange-scented bath salts, her thick mane piled on her head. If someone had told her she would be meeting a devastatingly handsome man, a marine corps fighter pilot, she would have roared with laughter. And then to have him in her room, sleeping in one of the beds! If Sarah ever found out, her twenty-year-old eyes would widen to saucer proportions, and her mouth would drop open. Dev smiled. Cal Travis, you are something else. A breed apart. An interesting man. A fascinating human being. She mulled over the facets of him that she had glimpsed that evening. Putting them all together, Dev confirmed her belief that something tragic had happened lately to Cal. After he had kissed her and she had opened her eyes, Dev had seen grief in his gaze. Raw anguish that hadn’t yet been expressed. She sighed tiredly, rising from the water and stepping onto the rug, wrapping the thick white towel around her and drying off.

Slipping into her lavender-sprigged, knee-length gown, Dev quietly opened the door, shutting off both the bathroom and hall lights. She waited a few moments, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloomy darkness. A slight smile chased across her lips: she could hear Cal’s occasional soft snore breaking the silence. Padding barefoot into the main room, she noted that she had left the gauzy blue panels drawn across the huge wall of windows. The lights of Hong Kong shed a luminescence into the room, making it easy to see where she was walking.

Dev hesitated after pulling back the covers on her own bed, turning to look at Cal. He had rolled onto his side, legs slightly drawn up toward his chest, arms around the pillow he had laid his head on. In sleep, he looked vulnerable, and her heart gave a funny lurch. No longer did the corners of his mouth pull in as if he were experiencing some pain known only to himself. Dev felt sudden compassion for him and, walking around the bed, drew a lightweight blanket up across his body. Several strands of his dark-walnut hair had dipped down across his brow. She leaned over, coaxing them into place with her fingers.

“Good night, Cal,” she whispered. “I hope you’ve escaped all that hurt I saw in your eyes.” Dev straightened up, her own eyes fraught with worry. She recalled the only time in her life when she had gotten miserably drunk and on a great deal less than what Cal had probably consumed. Dev gnawed on her lower lip for a while before going back to her bed and slipping between the cool, crisp sheets. If Cal hadn’t slept much in four days, he wasn’t going to be getting up in a few hours feeling fit. Or even human. Dev found herself hoping he would sleep through the night and be around when she woke up in the morning. Her dreamy side wished that. Her realistic side chided her: Cal would get up in a few hours and quietly walk out of her life, never to be seen again. She snuggled into her pillow. Despite everything, she liked Cal Travis. Despite his obvious love of himself, he did have some face-saving traits that endeared him to her. On that thought, Dev spiraled into the welcoming folds of sleep.

* * *

CAL MOVED RESTLESSLY in a stupor that straddled sleep and the nightmarish reality that haunted him. He twisted his head to one side, feeling a rivulet of sweat running down from his temple, across his jaw. His mouth moved, unintelligible words torn from him. Chief was smiling. Even though his friend wore the mandatory oxygen mask, Cal could always tell when his copilot was smiling because the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkled. He smiled back beneath the rubber of his own face mask. They were running through the last compulsory checks on their A-6 Intruder jet. It stood poised in front of the catapult that would soon sling them like an arrow off the deck of the carrier and into the pink dawn.

“Hey, you know you have to see my sister, Kaya, when you make it to test pilot school,” Chief teased him, flipping on a few more switches with his gloved hand.

Cal leaned over, his gray gaze making a final sweep of the instruments. “Told you I would.”

“I’ll scalp you if you don’t, buddy,” he teased good-naturedly, giving Cal a light punch on the right shoulder.