Over the Edge by Suzanne Brockmann Page A

another.

    Stan wanted to hold her hand. Just like this morning, when she’d confessed her transgressions on his back porch, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that from now on he’d make everything all right.

    But was that comfort really just an excuse to touch her, to get her into his arms again?

    Probably.

    He remembered how soft she’d felt when she’d hugged him last week—how good her hair had smelled. He sat back slightly, instead of leaning forward to see if her hair still smelled that delicious.

    “Let me guess—when you joined the Navy, your mother wasn’t exactly thrilled,” he said.

    That got him a real smile, although it was a wan one. “Good guess. Although horrified is the more appropriate word.”

    “Any brothers or sisters?” he asked. Surely there was somebody in Teri’s life who was proud of all she’d accomplished.

    “None. You?”

    Damn. “I have a sister,” he told her, “who joined the Navy through marriage. She and Bob—my brother-in-law—are about to have their fifth kid, if you can believe that.”

    “Oh, my God, Uncle Stan! You and the other kids must be so excited,” she said with another flash of her perfect teeth.

    He laughed at that, gesturing for her to keep it down. “Shhh. Yes, I’ve got four nieces who can wrap me around their little fingers, but don’t spread it around—my reputation as a tough assed senior chief will be completely shot.”

    “So did you always want to be a tough assed senior chief?” she asked, her smile still lighting her eyes.

    If he were thinking with his dick, he might think she liked making him laugh—that she was actually flirting with him.

    “Did you always want to be the best helo pilot in the Navy?” he countered, because what did it hurt to pretend that she was flirting, to flirt back a little bit, too, and let her know he thought she was first-rate, all at the same time.

    “Yes.” She blushed then, and he wasn’t sure if it was the compliment in his question or her too-hasty response that implied that she was, indeed, the best, that made her cheeks turn pink. “Well, I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a pilot, you know, to fly. . . .”

    “It’s okay to be the best,” he told her, suddenly wishing desperately that he looked like Mel Gibson.

    And as long as he was wishing for things that he couldn’t have, he wished that they weren’t going to K-stan but instead were still headed to the Azores islands, where there would be enough down time to take Teri Howe away from the air base, away from anyone who knew them both, to spread a picnic blanket out on the sand of some deserted beach and really make her blush by taking off her clothes and . . .

    Easy there, Mr. Wonderful. Thinking about fucking this girl blind while he sat here trying to be her friend was pretty goddamn rude. And where did he get off thinking she’d be even remotely interested in recreational sex, even if he did look like Mel Gibson?

    She’d had sex with a good-looking stranger in the backseat of a car in a bar parking lot.

    Once. Only once.

    In her entire life.

    And it still made her feel like crap, still cut a giant hole into her self-esteem.

    Dear sweet Jesus, he’d sat there this morning, listening to her tell him about it, forcing himself not to react in any visible way at all. He hadn’t burst out laughing, or burst into tears, or just plain burst from wishing it had been him with her in that car.

    God damn, she’d been so embarrassed about it, all he could think about were the dozens upon dozens of far more stupid mistakes he’d made when he was nineteen.

    She was so sweetly young and freshly untarnished despite her confession, he wanted to protect her from the world.

    And he’d wanted to kill Joel Hogan, that was damn sure. He wanted to rip out his heart for using Teri that way all those years ago. He wanted to rip out the asshole’s lungs for daring to take advantage