His To Protect

Yet, based on Raeanne’s story, she wondered.

Did Jeff haunt Mark, too?

An alarm sounded as she finished rinsing. Warned that such a signal heralded increased wind and dangerous conditions, she yanked the T-shirt over her slick body, pulled on the shorts and dashed outside.

Straight into a wall of muscle.

“Oh. Excuse me,” she muttered, her apology withering on her lips as she glanced up. Mark.

Her pulse quickened under his intent stare, shock rooting her feet to the ground. The gaining wind whipped her wet hair around her face.

His gaze traveled down her body, from the collar of her wet shirt to the hem of Nurse Little’s shorts, which, thanks to Cassie’s longer frame, barely covered her ass. His predatory eyes narrowed.

Before she could whirl away, she caught sight of her duffel, dangling from his hand.

“That’s mine.”

He cleared his throat. “I was dropping it at the aid station. Didn’t think you’d still be working.”

Oh. So he’d hoped to avoid her? Anger sizzled through her, despite her own strategy to evade him.

Well. Too bad, flyboy.

“And why’s that?” she demanded, grabbing the bag from him. At the brush of his fingers against hers, hungry need growled low in her gut and she shoved it down. Focused on her anger. Outrage. “You didn’t think I’d last?”

Before he could answer, something whizzed by her ear and he grabbed her, lightning fast, and pulled them to the ground. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as he crouched over her protectively, his smell familiar and sexy as hell.

She shoved him away. “I don’t need your help,” she muttered then stopped. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of a piece of sheet metal buried in the shower wall where she’d stood seconds ago.

The words thank you could never come out of her mouth when it came to Mark...yet he’d just saved her. Conflicting emotions churned in her stomach like the lousy coffee she’d drunk all day—gratitude, fury and desire.

God help her.

“I’m getting you back to your quarters,” he said in a tone she’d bet was usually obeyed. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, draped it around her shoulders and hustled her toward the nearby women’s quarters.

* * *

OF ALL THE people to run into after his long day. Cassie Rowe.

The last person he wanted to see.

Mark had struggled to compartmentalize as he’d worked to rescue survivors. Flying through bands of the storm, he’d sweated ten gallons trying to wrestle the Jayhawk through the remnants of the hurricane weather, pulling people out of tossing waves. That used to all be in a day’s work. Now? He battled demons harder than the buffeting winds, Jeff’s specter riding shotgun beside him, a dark copilot and a reminder of the biggest screwup of Mark’s career.

He needed some R & R to decompress. Get his shit together. He was flight ready, damn it. Could more than handle this disaster response.

As for Cassie?

He had to get his feelings for her under control, too. His plan to leave her bag with the Red Cross’s chief nurse would have helped. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, holy hell.

When she’d dashed out of the showers, a flimsy T-shirt molded to her voluptuous breasts, short shorts revealing the sweet curve of her ass, all the blood in his brain had gone south. In an instant, he’d forgotten all the reasons he was staying away from her, his hands itching to touch her smooth skin long before his sense kicked in.

He took a deep breath and tried to banish the image of a nearly naked Cassie from his mind. The oversize jacket that hung to her knees should have helped...but he kept picturing her gorgeous body on the beach last night. The feel of her soft flesh, yielding to him. Demanding, too.

He quickened his pace.

“Hey!” she protested, flipping back her damp hair. All around them, the air moved like a wild thing, dark and dangerous, reminding him of everything he’d battled at the controls today over the Atlantic. How close he’d come to losing the bubble.

He needed her out of here. She drew his attention like a fireworks display. One about to detonate in his face.

“Slow down or let go,” she warned him, edging out of his grip.

Which was just as well. He had no business putting his hands on her.

“You didn’t have a problem keeping up last night.” Where had that come from? He sounded like a horny teenager. Or an arrogant asshole.

She huffed beside him as a downed palm tree frond caught against the coat and she yanked a piece of stray foliage loose, her shape barely discernable now in the moonless night. “Really?”

He slowed his gait, guiding them carefully over the branches. “That’s my recollection.”

“I’d rather forget. I wish it’d never happened.”

Her bitter tone left little doubt that she meant every word.

So why wasn’t he glad about that?

“If I’d known...” he began.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “Then what? You would have avoided me. Stayed away like you did at Jeff’s memorial?”

“An emergency came up.”

“You could have visited his stone anytime.”

Guilt ripped through him. Yes. He’d thought of that. Was planning to go, actually, after this mission. After he’d figured out what the hell to say to Jeff’s family. But now Cassie was here, her presence more intimate than he could ever have prepared for, catching him flat-footed.

He breathed in the bracing, briny air. “Look, I can’t take back what happened last night.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t take back any of it. So what’s the point? I’ve got my bag so you can go now. I’ll find my way alone.” She wrapped the coat tighter around herself. Was she still oblivious to the flying debris, or just that stubborn?

“Where’s your room?” he challenged as he ducked beneath a tree, and pulled her with him when the air suddenly swooshed by carrying stinging pebbles.

Her eyes darted around him. “I’m number ten.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And where is that?”

She flung an arm east. “There?” She pivoted and peered into the night. “Or did Raeanne say to the left of the showers...?”