family back myself.”
Storm bowed her head, her burnished hair making a frame about her face. “I understand.”
The waitress approached, disturbing their intimacy. Storm listened absently as Jim ordered, and then waited for him to speak, her mouth dry. His face was taut and pale, his anguish of the previous night having given way to exhaustion.
The silence lengthened between them, making Storm feel uncomfortable. Finally Jim leaned forward, his hands around his coffee cup. “About last night, Storm—”
“You don’t have to apologize for it,” she interrupted nervously.
He regarded her in surprise. “Apologize?” He shook his head. “I’ll never be sorry we made love, Storm. But I owe you an explanation.”
“You owe me nothing,” she stammered. Oh, God, this was coming out all wrong! She didn’t mean to sound defensive…as she had with Jack. She twisted the napkin in her lap, unable to meet his intent gaze.
“Will you stop fidgeting for two seconds and let me talk?” he asked, humor tingeing his voice.
Storm took a deep breath. “I didn’t go to bed with you out of pity,” she blurted out. “I can’t stand people who pity others. It’s a useless, wasted emotion.”
“I agree,” he said calmly. “But last night’s events shook loose something I’ve been running from for five years, Storm. Here, give me your hand before you shred that napkin.”
Hesitantly, she placed one hand in his, aware of the strength and warmth of his flesh. Her pulse raced as he caressed her fingers and she felt with excruciating hopelessness the depth of her love for him.
The thought brought another kind of panic to the surface. All her life she had felt the need to maintain control, whether over the airplanes she flew or the events in her life. Now she felt like a plane in a death spiral, out of control, dizzy with confusing emotions, unable to think clearly—all because of Jim.
He interrupted her thoughts. “There’s something I have to tell you about myself, Storm,” he said slowly. “Maybe I should have said it sooner, but—” he hesitated”—I didn’t plan any of this.”
Storm gave a small nod of encouragement. For the second time in twenty-four hours she was seeing a side of Jim Talbot she’d never known existed. He’d always seemed so coolly in control, so confident about who he was and where he was going. Now he didn’t seem certain at all.
“I guess we all get thrown off kilter when the unexpected happens,” she commented gently, thinking of herself as well as him.
He shook his head. “Well, I was pretty sure where I was heading, until I met you.” She was surprised to hear her thoughts about him echoed so closely. “Anyway,” he continued, “I want to share something with you. To help you understand last night, Storm. Five years ago I was married to Dan Bradford’s daughter, Heather. We both flew for Dan. Heather was a good pilot.” He grimaced, pushing his spoon absently around on the table. “Maybe she was too good, because the confidence she had in her ability sometimes made her take chances that someone else might not.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her speculatively. “You’re like that yourself, you know—you have the same kind of confidence.”
“And you’re not?” Storm choked out. “I’ve watched you fly. I’ve sat next to you in the copilot’s seat, seen the way you handle a plane. Why do you think men can have that kind of confidence and women can’t? Why can’t we have the same ‘feel’ for a plane that you do?”
He let go of her hand and sat back, momentarily rebuffed. Storm stared back at him, her eyes large with unshed tears.
“Look,” he began slowly, “let’s not discuss that now. There’s something more important I need to tell you, Storm.”
“All right,” she said softly, relenting immediately when she heard the pain in his voice. “I’m listening.”
He took another sip of coffee. “Heather was born here in Alaska and
Storm bowed her head, her burnished hair making a frame about her face. “I understand.”
The waitress approached, disturbing their intimacy. Storm listened absently as Jim ordered, and then waited for him to speak, her mouth dry. His face was taut and pale, his anguish of the previous night having given way to exhaustion.
The silence lengthened between them, making Storm feel uncomfortable. Finally Jim leaned forward, his hands around his coffee cup. “About last night, Storm—”
“You don’t have to apologize for it,” she interrupted nervously.
He regarded her in surprise. “Apologize?” He shook his head. “I’ll never be sorry we made love, Storm. But I owe you an explanation.”
“You owe me nothing,” she stammered. Oh, God, this was coming out all wrong! She didn’t mean to sound defensive…as she had with Jack. She twisted the napkin in her lap, unable to meet his intent gaze.
“Will you stop fidgeting for two seconds and let me talk?” he asked, humor tingeing his voice.
Storm took a deep breath. “I didn’t go to bed with you out of pity,” she blurted out. “I can’t stand people who pity others. It’s a useless, wasted emotion.”
“I agree,” he said calmly. “But last night’s events shook loose something I’ve been running from for five years, Storm. Here, give me your hand before you shred that napkin.”
Hesitantly, she placed one hand in his, aware of the strength and warmth of his flesh. Her pulse raced as he caressed her fingers and she felt with excruciating hopelessness the depth of her love for him.
The thought brought another kind of panic to the surface. All her life she had felt the need to maintain control, whether over the airplanes she flew or the events in her life. Now she felt like a plane in a death spiral, out of control, dizzy with confusing emotions, unable to think clearly—all because of Jim.
He interrupted her thoughts. “There’s something I have to tell you about myself, Storm,” he said slowly. “Maybe I should have said it sooner, but—” he hesitated”—I didn’t plan any of this.”
Storm gave a small nod of encouragement. For the second time in twenty-four hours she was seeing a side of Jim Talbot she’d never known existed. He’d always seemed so coolly in control, so confident about who he was and where he was going. Now he didn’t seem certain at all.
“I guess we all get thrown off kilter when the unexpected happens,” she commented gently, thinking of herself as well as him.
He shook his head. “Well, I was pretty sure where I was heading, until I met you.” She was surprised to hear her thoughts about him echoed so closely. “Anyway,” he continued, “I want to share something with you. To help you understand last night, Storm. Five years ago I was married to Dan Bradford’s daughter, Heather. We both flew for Dan. Heather was a good pilot.” He grimaced, pushing his spoon absently around on the table. “Maybe she was too good, because the confidence she had in her ability sometimes made her take chances that someone else might not.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her speculatively. “You’re like that yourself, you know—you have the same kind of confidence.”
“And you’re not?” Storm choked out. “I’ve watched you fly. I’ve sat next to you in the copilot’s seat, seen the way you handle a plane. Why do you think men can have that kind of confidence and women can’t? Why can’t we have the same ‘feel’ for a plane that you do?”
He let go of her hand and sat back, momentarily rebuffed. Storm stared back at him, her eyes large with unshed tears.
“Look,” he began slowly, “let’s not discuss that now. There’s something more important I need to tell you, Storm.”
“All right,” she said softly, relenting immediately when she heard the pain in his voice. “I’m listening.”
He took another sip of coffee. “Heather was born here in Alaska and
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