wind down for the night. A cart vendor wandered by and enticed her with three tiny scoops of truly exceptional lime gelato as the sun set. The air temperature dropped, and she soon regretted the cold gelato. It was chilly, at least to her desert-thinned blood. No one else looked dressed for the near-Arctic blast.
Tourist buses of bantering high-school kids poured through in shorts and T-shirts, harried parent chaperones dragging behind. Occasional local couples strolled through the gathering twilight. Easy to pick out the locals; they traveled in pairs, not packs.
She’d done the same herself. Come to think of it, her first kiss had been here, pressed up against the cool marble of Lincoln’s seat.
Walter. Walter… Last name gone. Lawrence. Lawrence Walters. That was it. Never Larry. He’d been so emphatic about it that she’d nicknamed him “Never Larry.” And it had stuck. Probably the reason Never Larry never offered a second kiss.
Given the opportunity, would Mark Henderson want a second kiss? Would she let him if he did? Assess, that’s what a pilot’s good at. He was her commanding officer and never should have kissed her in the first place, they both knew it, so that could be discounted for the moment.
The kiss itself, an electric-shock kiss. She grinned back over her shoulder at Abe and gave him a private wink. That was an understatement. Her brain had switched off and her body had switched on in a single instant. Even now she couldn’t say if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes.
No question, she’d absolutely remember if she’d ever had a kiss like that before. How could such a hard man have such a soft and gentle mouth? And that rough-palmed hand so tender and strong against her cheek.
And then she pictured the next moment. Major Mark Henderson pinned to a Formica tabletop by a hand wrenched up behind his back hard enough she knew he’d feel it for days. He’d tapped out with his free hand against the table. A training signal. Several times. Three quick taps meaning she’d gone past initial pain and into serious ouch. The last triple tap almost frantic before she let him go to collapse at her feet. Then did she check on him? No. Apologize? No. She’d stepped over him and gone.
No second kiss there, that was for sure. She considered again. But what if there were a chance?
But there wasn’t. Couldn’t be. And now that she identified that, she could feel all the weariness and rage of the day overwhelm her. Her commanding officer had kissed her. Taken advantage of her first moment of weakness since she’d turned twenty. The first time in nine years. She’d been weak, hurt, confused, and her commanding officer had kissed her.
It was a court-martial offense. Not that she wanted to press charges. But she couldn’t go back. Not if that was all Mark Henderson thought of her, a pretty bit on the side. What next, private training missions? She’d heard that stupid offer too many times when she still flew regular Army. Groping on the flight line. Pinched—
Emily wanted to scream. It had all been so good. So happy. She’d saved Michael’s life and been thanked for it. Had been told she was a good pilot by the toughest commander she’d ever been honored to fly with. A man she could truly admire and look up to, who treated her no differently than any other pilot.
And then he’d ruined it by kissing her. Well to hell with Major Henderson. When she was done with whatever nonsense her mother had landed her in, she’d put in for a transfer, for her entire crew. They’d proved themselves as the toughest team in the toughest company. Anyone would take her. And if Henderson protested, she’d threaten to go to the Military Conduct Board and then see what he said.
She’d only ever dreamed of one man’s kiss. And, joke was on her, it was a man she’d never kissed. There was no question that she’d let a dozen or more relationships die before they started, all because they never measured
Tourist buses of bantering high-school kids poured through in shorts and T-shirts, harried parent chaperones dragging behind. Occasional local couples strolled through the gathering twilight. Easy to pick out the locals; they traveled in pairs, not packs.
She’d done the same herself. Come to think of it, her first kiss had been here, pressed up against the cool marble of Lincoln’s seat.
Walter. Walter… Last name gone. Lawrence. Lawrence Walters. That was it. Never Larry. He’d been so emphatic about it that she’d nicknamed him “Never Larry.” And it had stuck. Probably the reason Never Larry never offered a second kiss.
Given the opportunity, would Mark Henderson want a second kiss? Would she let him if he did? Assess, that’s what a pilot’s good at. He was her commanding officer and never should have kissed her in the first place, they both knew it, so that could be discounted for the moment.
The kiss itself, an electric-shock kiss. She grinned back over her shoulder at Abe and gave him a private wink. That was an understatement. Her brain had switched off and her body had switched on in a single instant. Even now she couldn’t say if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes.
No question, she’d absolutely remember if she’d ever had a kiss like that before. How could such a hard man have such a soft and gentle mouth? And that rough-palmed hand so tender and strong against her cheek.
And then she pictured the next moment. Major Mark Henderson pinned to a Formica tabletop by a hand wrenched up behind his back hard enough she knew he’d feel it for days. He’d tapped out with his free hand against the table. A training signal. Several times. Three quick taps meaning she’d gone past initial pain and into serious ouch. The last triple tap almost frantic before she let him go to collapse at her feet. Then did she check on him? No. Apologize? No. She’d stepped over him and gone.
No second kiss there, that was for sure. She considered again. But what if there were a chance?
But there wasn’t. Couldn’t be. And now that she identified that, she could feel all the weariness and rage of the day overwhelm her. Her commanding officer had kissed her. Taken advantage of her first moment of weakness since she’d turned twenty. The first time in nine years. She’d been weak, hurt, confused, and her commanding officer had kissed her.
It was a court-martial offense. Not that she wanted to press charges. But she couldn’t go back. Not if that was all Mark Henderson thought of her, a pretty bit on the side. What next, private training missions? She’d heard that stupid offer too many times when she still flew regular Army. Groping on the flight line. Pinched—
Emily wanted to scream. It had all been so good. So happy. She’d saved Michael’s life and been thanked for it. Had been told she was a good pilot by the toughest commander she’d ever been honored to fly with. A man she could truly admire and look up to, who treated her no differently than any other pilot.
And then he’d ruined it by kissing her. Well to hell with Major Henderson. When she was done with whatever nonsense her mother had landed her in, she’d put in for a transfer, for her entire crew. They’d proved themselves as the toughest team in the toughest company. Anyone would take her. And if Henderson protested, she’d threaten to go to the Military Conduct Board and then see what he said.
She’d only ever dreamed of one man’s kiss. And, joke was on her, it was a man she’d never kissed. There was no question that she’d let a dozen or more relationships die before they started, all because they never measured
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