Catherine Mann - Taking Cover

Until he’d noticed she wore a beret with her uniform, the distinguishing symbol of an upperclassman.

Relationships between upperclassmen and freshmen-doolies were forbidden. Grounds for expulsion. And he wasn’t throwing away his career for anyone.

Maybe later, he’d thought….

Later she’d become his training officer and his own personal ticket to hell. Training officers were universally resented by the doolies they hammered into Academy material.

Tanner had stuffed his hormones into his footlocker and concentrated on getting through his freshman year. Becoming a pilot meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t risk it.

Something that hadn’t changed in twelve years.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Closer. With a light tread that launched a wave of foreboding in Tanner. Unless Cutter had lost about seventy pounds and developed a decided glide to his walk, those footsteps didn’t belong to him.

Two quick raps sounded on the door.

Foreboding death-spiraled into certainty. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door swung wide, revealing Kathleen O’Connell.

His libido crashed and burned. And damn, but it was one hell of a plunge.

She lounged against the door frame, wearing lime-green scrubs, instead of her regular forest-green flight suit. Cotton hugged gentle curves her bulky uniform usually disguised. Her leather flight jacket hung loose as she hooked a hand on one shapely hip. “Well, good morning, hotshot. How’s the back?”

Did she have to sound so chipper, look so hot? Small but fit, her tight body tugged his gaze into a slow glide he didn’t have the reserves to resist. She came by those taut muscles honestly. More than once over the past year, the two of them had pitted themselves against each other doing sit-ups during physical training.

A stethoscope dangled around her neck, nestling between breasts that were as understated and damned irresistible as the rest of her. Apparently, the attraction hadn’t left after all, only slipping out of formation while waiting to rejoin without warning.

Time to pull out the old footlocker and replace the padlock on his hormones.

A strange thought taunted. Could their arguments have been a way of rechanneling his lust? Damn it all. “Figures you would be a morning person.”

Kathleen’s wicked smile creased her blue cat eyes. “And with next to no sleep. Imagine that? Come on. Hop up and let’s go to breakfast. What? Having a little trouble moving are we? Hmmm.” She pressed a slim finger against her pursed lips. “Guess that’s to be expected when someone ignores his doctor’s advice. Word around the water cooler has it that you even skipped out on your last chiropractor appointment.”

Tanner tapped precious energy reserves to tuck his good arm behind his head casually. “What are you gonna do, bludgeon me with your pocket edition UCMJ manual?”

“My, we’re cranky today. Just think, you could have been languishing in a Demerol daze as we speak. But, nope. You had to play the tough guy.”

“Doc, your bedside manner sucks.”

Her smile tightened. “Chalk it up to sleep deprivation. Two house calls in less than twelve hours qualifies as more TLC than you’re issued, soldier. In the civilian world I could have financed a summer home with the overtime you’re demanding.”

He might as well have been a freshman again, pumping push-ups over some infraction. She wasn’t going to cut him any slack. “And you’ve opted to take it out of my hide, instead.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She smoothed her already immaculate hair. No sneaky strands slipping loose today, her red mane was swept back into her traditional French braid with the short tail secured under.

Tanner frowned. When had he started noticing how she styled her hair? She’d kept it cropped at the Academy, he remembered that much. Until he’d seen it loose on the flight line, he hadn’t given much thought to its longer length hidden inside that braid.

Now he couldn’t think of anything but wild red strands wind-whipped around her composed face.

Kathleen uncrossed her feet and flicked on the overhead light. “While the conversation is positively stimulating, I’ve got other patients to see. Ones who want to get well. Sit up and let’s take a look.”

“Might as well get it over with.” Contracting his stomach muscles toppled a domino effect to his back that left Tanner straining not to whimper like a kid. And now he couldn’t get his arm from behind his head.

“Bennett?” Compassion darkened her blue eyes. “You can’t sit up, can you?”

He offered silence and no movement as his answer, all the concession his pride would allow. As much as he wanted to snap at her, he couldn’t. His innate sense of fair play insisted he’d brought this on himself.

“Time to call for a stretcher.” She turned on her heel, her tennis shoes squeaking against the tile.

“No!” Tanner arched up. And promptly fell back, his hoarse groan echoing.

Kathleen closed the space to the bed in three quick steps. “Deep breaths. Look at me, Bennett. Focus and breathe until it passes. Try to relax or you’ll make it worse. No need to fight everything in this world, hotshot. There you go, in and out. Breathe.”

Her voice talked him down, like flying by instinct when the instruments were shot and he couldn’t see beyond the clouds. He locked on the timbre of her throaty voice and let it work through the fog of agony.

“Better?”

“Yes.” He offered the clipped word rather than risk even a nod.

She braced her hand on the headboard and sighed. “I’m not going to be able to talk you into a stretcher, am I?”

“No.”

“Even if I tell you walking out of here could delay your recovery?”

Man, she fought dirty. Lose air time or lose face. Hell or Hades. Same thing.

Almost.

He could grit his way through recovery. Regaining face…

Tanner opened his eyes, wasn’t sure when he’d closed them, and allowed himself to gaze straight up into her blue eyes, eyes as clear as an ocean sky. “I can’t roll out of here on a stretcher, Doc. I have to fly with these guys again. Trust in the air is everything, could make the difference in a split decision that costs somebody’s life.” Frustration snapped his restraint. “O’Connell, come on….”

“Okay.”

Shock immobilized him as much as his back. “What?”

“If we can haul you out of this bed, and if you can put one foot in front of the other, I’ll allow you to walk out of here under your own power. No doubt that flyer ego can manage more miracles than modern medicine.”

He searched for sarcasm in her words, in her eyes.

Better not look at her eyes.

Back to her voice. Not a note of sarcasm, just resigned logic.

“Thank you.” Gratitude mixed with respect. He understood how difficult backing down could be.

Then he realized he owed her, an uncomfortable thought at best. He would have shrugged it off if he could lift his shoulders. He joked instead, a safe barrier against free-falling into her eyes. “Do you think we could act like I’ve got some shrapnel in my butt? It would make for better stories around the Officer’s Club.”

Her laugh, low, throaty and her one unreserved trait, filled his senses. Like a drag of one hundred percent oxygen from his face mask, it invigorated him, left him slightly dizzy.

She chuckled again, dipping her head until he could see every tuck of her braid. Each perfectly spaced weave called to his fingers. He wanted to untwine that restrained fire until it poured over his hands.

Silken fire. He wanted it with a pulsing force that threatened stirrings within him farther south.

And he didn’t have anything more than a thin bedspread between his naked body and total exposure.