Terms of Surrender

She shrugged. “Don’t ask what I think about my goofy-looking ears or my thin, flat hair, but I have supreme confidence in my feet. Even pedicurists compliment them.”

He glanced down at the sexy, spike-heeled pumps. He’d like to pull them off and closely examine those feet. Then work his way up. Inch by devastating inch.

He already knew he’d have to add her calves to the list of fabulous body parts. And he suspected if he kept going up those legs, he’d find quite a few more.

Danny shook his head, hard. Jesus, this woman was turning him into some kind of hound dog. He never started immediately thinking about how sexy a woman was right after meeting her. If she was attractive? Sure. Smart? Yeah. But downright I-think-I’ll-die-if-I-can’t-go-to-bed-with-you-soon thoughts? Uh-uh.

He knew why. It wasn’t just how attractive she was—he’d met plenty of attractive women. It was because of the sharp bolt of utter, mouth-watering want that had roared through him when he’d stuck his hand in her glove compartment and found himself wrist-deep in sexy, feminine undergarments. The flood of pImages** that had gone through his brain, the sweet scent lingering in the air, the silky feel against his skin. All that had combined to put him on red alert.

Even changing her car’s battery and checking her oil had done nothing to cool him down. Because he’d thought about nothing but charging her battery and slickening up her engine.

“I might not ever be in line to model Dior in Paris, but I bet I could sell a lot of Dr. Scholl’s at Target. So you might just be in luck when it comes to my old lady feet,” she said with a laugh. “I might even be able to pull off flip-flops at seventy and not make you want to hurl.”

Her words brought an image to his mind—him still knowing her, all those years in the future. And for some reason, Danny didn’t laugh with her.

Maybe it was that crazy karma thing—fate, serendipity. Whatever the reason, despite being a thirty-three-year-old bachelor, he suddenly found the idea of being with someone for that long, knowing someone that intimately, a little appealing.

Oh, it had always appealed to him when he thought of his parents and grandparents, all of whom were alive and happy back in Chicago. But he hadn’t really given much thought to it for himself. He’d been focused on so many other things.

First, of course, on flight. That he’d focused on from the age of five when his mechanic father had first taken him to a field beneath a landing flight path at O’Hare and he’d felt the power of a 747 shaking his small body like an earthquake.

Then, during a family trip to Disney World, he’d gotten his dad to take him over to Kennedy to watch a shuttle launch. And he’d suddenly begun to dream about another kind of flight altogether.

Everything he’d done since that point had been with an eye toward space.

He knew it would take years—and he’d planned his route carefully, knowing how most astronauts made their way into the manned space flight program. He’d listed his goals—air flight, navy, NASA—and pursued them with diligence from the time he hit high school, making sure he got the grades to get into Annapolis. Succeeding at this very academy had been key. Not just for everything that would come later, but also to justify the expense and sacrifices his family had made to get him here.

Then, on to the navy. He’d finished at the Academy, gone to Pensacola, then to Whiting.

Then to Afghanistan.

And there, everything had sort of fallen apart.

Not anymore. Now he was back on track. Back on schedule.

So why the hell was he suddenly thinking about what it might be like to grow old with someone, when his focus should be entirely on awaiting word on his application to the Astronaut Candidate Training Program?

“Anyway, back to my little wardrobe malfunction,” she said, apparently not having noticed his distraction. “I had a run in my hose, and…”

“You panicked.”

“Exactly.”

Part of him was tempted to ask her if she’d had a run in her sexy black panties, too, but he figured that might be pushing his luck.

Besides, he didn’t want to think about her sexy black panties any more than he had to. He especially didn’t want to think about the fact that she wasn’t wearing them right now. That just wasn’t good for his sanity.

But it was tough to turn off the mental pImages**, knowing she wasn’t wearing a thing beneath that sinfully tight skirt. Under that simple black fabric was soft skin, curves and hollows and everything deliciously female.

You’re an officer and a gentleman. An officer and a gentleman.

“So I made a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Sure, I get that,” he said, pulling his mind out of his own pants. “I mean, I once spilled tomato juice on my dress whites and had to go on duty in my skivvies.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha.”

“Look at it this way—I bet your, uh, state of undress provided a distraction from the interview, so maybe it made you a little less nervous.”

“Are you kidding? I remembered they were in the glove box halfway through my second meeting, and immediately panicked, thinking you might find them.”

“Well, I did,” he admitted. “But trust me, I’m not some perv. They’re not hanging from my rearview mirror or anything. I put them right back where I found them. In case you, uh…have need of them.”

“Believe me, I usually do.” She sighed heavily. “I know you won’t get this—no guy would—but I just couldn’t deal with a bunch of he-man jerks staring at my butt today.”

He’d been staring at her butt today. But he didn’t think it wise to point that out. And he wasn’t a he-man. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure what going bare-ass naked beneath her skirt had to do with it. Men stared. Period.

“And panty lines would have just begged to be stared at,” she continued, quickly explaining her thinking on the whole nylons-smoothing-things-out theory.

Which, frankly, was just bullshit. Men definitely didn’t need panty lines acting as little arrows to guide the eye to the perfect female posterior. Maybe other chicks would notice and care. If he did see them, a guy wouldn’t be thinking about anything except pulling those elastic panty lines down. Preferably with his teeth.

“I’m afraid ass-appreciation is just part of our genetic code,” he admitted. “Like flicking other naked guys with towels in the locker room, and our inability to ask for directions when we’re lost.”

“Yeah, what’s with that?”

He shrugged. “It’s a mystery.”

“And one I’m not sure I want to solve.”

“Some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“Like men shouldn’t really want to understand why women go to the bathroom together?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s all prearranged, right? So you can compare notes on the guys you’re with, and escape together out the window if they suck, right?”

“Busted.”

Nodding, he said, “So I guess that means you’re in trouble today, since you’re flying without a wingman when we go out for lunch.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. “You mean on your boat?”

Growing still, Danny eyed her steadily, liking the idea, but also knowing she’d hesitated earlier because she’d been unsure. “We don’t have to.”

She glanced outside at the beautiful late afternoon sky. “I’d love to.” Then she looked down at herself and sighed. “But unfortunately, I’m not exactly dressed for it. My only spare clothes are, well, you know…”

Yeah. He knew. Her spare clothes were in her glove compartment and just the thought of her in nothing but them was enough to send an extra pint of blood toward his cock. Of course, knowing she was currently without them was doing a damn fine job of that already.

“How about this,” he said, “it’s only three-thirty, hours until sunset. You go to the nearest store and grab a cheap pair of jeans, I’ll go take a shower. We can meet again at that Irish pub on West Street in exactly forty-five minutes. We’ll get to know each other. Then, if you’d like, we’ll go to the marina and take the boat out for a little while.”