by Radclyffe
Another cot was lined up parallel to Mallory’s about fifteen feet away, tucked under the eaves. A small rag rug sat on the rough wood floor next to it. A darker spot the same size marked where the rug had previously sat in front of Mallory’s cot. That small kindness sent an unexpected shiver of heat through Jac’s belly. She dumped the sleeping bag she’d been assigned along with her duffel onto the bottom of the cot and sat down, surveying the space. Despite its barren appearance, the place held a hint of Mallory. Honeysuckle. Smiling, she unrolled the sleeping bag, stretched out on her back, and closed her eyes. As she drew Mallory’s scent deep into her chest, she couldn’t think of any other place she’d rather be.
Chapter Eleven
Mallory leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. After midnight, and the pile of papers in front of her didn’t look any lower. Probably because she hadn’t managed to complete anything in the last hour, at least. Ever since Jac had gone upstairs to the loft, Mallory had been aware of her, even though only silence drifted down around her. No matter how hard she concentrated on filling out work rosters, she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to Jac, lying upstairs asleep, breathing softly in the dark. She didn’t want to go up to bed. Foolish. Nothing had happened between them and nothing was going to, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she was that close to her, in the dark, in the night, alone, she would feel her in a way she’d never felt anyone before. Her skin disappeared when she was around Jac, and every sensation, every shiver, penetrated to her core as if she had no barriers at all. She pictured herself on her cot, listening to Jac breathe, and feared she’d imagine Jac lying next to her, naked. Her breasts tightened and her skin tingled. Oh no, she wasn’t going upstairs.
She’d sleep in the damn plane before she’d let herself get any more crazy over Jac.
“It’s getting pretty late,” Jac said from very close to her.
Mallory jumped. “God! Where did you come from?”
Jac grinned and pointed upward. “Remember?”
“Forgot all about you,” Mallory said through gritted teeth. Damn it. Jac was wearing a faded gray T-shirt with pinpoint holes over the belly, as if tiny sparks had drifted from the air and landed on it. Burning through. Faded letters said something Mallory couldn’t quite make out—baseball, maybe—under some kind of college logo. And sweatpants, just tight enough to show off her muscular thighs. Jac was almost certainly naked underneath. Mallory’s heart galloped and her fingertips almost vibrated, conjuring soft cotton over hard muscle.
“Want some company?”
“No. I’m working here,” Mallory said grumpily. Jac’s hair was tousled, just as Mallory imagined it would be, but she didn’t look sleepy. Her dark eyes glinted, and her handsome face was smooth and unwrinkled. She looked young and vigorous and unbelievably sexy. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because I’d rather do anything except paperwork, and now I’m being punished.”
Jac laughed, looked around the shadowy corner of the hangar, and pulled over a packing crate. As she sat down, she said, “Clear off a corner of your desk. You’re not doing that stuff anyhow.”
Mallory frowned, not bothering to debate the obvious. “Why?”
“Because,” Jac said, holding up a deck of cards, “I’m going to beat you at gin.”
The words were right on the tip of Mallory’s tongue—I’m not playing cards with you, go back to sleep, go away. But those weren’t the words that came out of her mouth. “Beat me? Oh, I don’t think so.”
Mallory heard the words and wondered what was wrong with her. Why couldn’t she seem to say no?
“You’re going to regret that, Mal.”
“Excuse me? Mal?” Mallory’s heart beat a wild tattoo against the inside of her ribs. “Where did that come from?”
“Ice doesn’t suit you. Not really.”
Jac watched her, searching, and Mallory couldn’t escape. “You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I?” Jac riffled the cards in one hand. “Ready?”
“You’re incredibly sure of yourself.”
“I didn’t get the nickname Hotshot just last year, you know.”
Mallory glared. “Oh, you’re some kind of ringer, aren’t you? What, did you put yourself through college playing blackjack?”
Jac grinned. “Nope. I put myself through college dealing stud in a casino in Reno.”
“Same difference,” Mallory muttered. “Well, gin isn’t poker, Hotshot, and I’m very good at both.”
Jac deftly dealt out a hand of gin. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we.”
Mallory snatched up the cards. She had a good hand and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. As she sorted her melds, she said, “How did your father feel about you being a card dealer?” Jac sucked in a breath, and Mallory mentally kicked herself. “Sorry. Out of bounds. I don’t know where that—”
“No, it’s okay,” Jac said calmly. “I’m just not used to people asking questions because they actually want to know about me and not him. And he didn’t like it—at all.” Jac’s smile was part pleased, part rueful. “He hated it, in fact, which is probably the reason I decided to do it in the first place. Then I found out I really liked it, it paid really well, and it was a great way to pick up girls.”
“Aha,” Mallory said. “Of course.”
“You want the turn card?”
“No.”
Jac took the upcard and tossed down a discard. “Of course what?”
“Nothing.” Mallory picked up Jac’s discard, pretending to shuffle the rest of her hand into a new order. “I’m sure you would have had no trouble getting girls even without the cards.”
“You think so? Why?”
Mallory stopped herself from saying You’re sexy as sin and the devil rides in your eyes. “Never mind.”
Jac chuckled, took a stock card, and discarded one. After a beat of silence she asked, “What about you? Girlfriend?”
Mallory drew from the deck and fanned her cards. “Gin. No.”
“Well hell,” Jac said. “We keeping score?”
“Of course we’re keeping score, Hotshot.”
Jac passed the cards for the deal. “How come?”
“How come we’re keeping score? Because I told you I was go—”
“No, you know what I mean.” Jac studied her cards intently, seeming oddly uncertain. “How come no girlfriend?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Mallory said, completely at a loss as to why she was even answering, “but I live up here eight months out of the year. It’s not conducive to relationships.”
“What about dating?”
“What about it?” Mallory picked up her hand, feeling progressively more cranky. There were a million things she ought to be doing, and none of them included sitting up in the middle of the night with Jac Russo talking about things she never talked about. Not even with Sarah.
“We’re not exactly in Antarctica,” Jac said. “And although I haven’t actually verified this, we do get some time off now and then, don’t we?”
“If you make it through boot camp,” Mallory said, “you’ll be on rotation for fire call, and when you’re off, you’re welcome to go anywhere you want to.” And do anything you want, which will undoubtedly involve a woman. Probably more than one.
“Well then, there’s no reason not to have a date now and then, right?”
Mallory looked at Jac over the top of her cards, wondering where Jac was going with the conversation. Her expression was suspiciously innocent, but her eyes were anything but. If Mallory could only escape from Jac’s eyes, she could get control of herself again. But looking away was so hard. Jac’s gaze was so warm, so deep, so focused on her, the connection couldn’t have been any stronger if they were touching. However Jac managed it, Mallory hadn’t been able to break the link since the moment they’d met, and she was starting to get a little scared. Anger, she’d found, helped banish fear. “Is that you
r plan? Carousing on your off-hours?”
“I had thought of that,” Jac said, her mouth curving at one end. “Only not quite in those terms.”
“You’re all set, then, aren’t you?” Mallory discarded and immediately regretted it. She could have used the eight for a run.
“Looks like it,” Jac said, picking up Mallory’s discard. She laid her hand down. “Gin.”
“You talk too much while you play,” Mallory griped.
“Oh, that’s lame.” Jac scooped up the cards to deal. “An excuse beneath one as talented as you.”
Mallory laughed. God, Jac was charm personified. “Go ahead and deal.”
“Two out of three?” Jac asked.
Mallory got up, pulled two Cokes out of her tiny fridge in the corner, and set them down on her desk, one for each of them. “Best four out of seven. Be prepared to be humiliated.”
“And the winner?” Jac asked, her voice dropping low. “What does the winner get, Mal?”
A kiss was Mallory’s first thought, and she hoped to blazes Jac could not read her face in the dim light. “Coffee.”
Jac frowned. “Explain.”
“In bed. The winner gets coffee delivered in bed.” Mallory picked up her cards and stifled a smile. She was so looking forward to her morning coffee, delivered while she was still warm in her sleeping bag.
*
“It’s almost two,” Jac said.
“I don’t think you want to quit now,” Mallory said with just a hint of malicious delight in her voice. “Do you?”
Jac had been keeping score in her head. She knew the outcome. Ordinarily, she hated losing at anything. In the service, if she’d lost, she would have been dead. Tonight she’d been playing to win, and as far as she was concerned, she had. The score at gin wasn’t what counted for her. “How do you like your coffee?”
Mallory folded her arms behind her head and leaned back in her chair, swiveling back and forth, looking supremely satisfied. She also looked totally hot. Sometime during the last game, she’d removed her sweatshirt, and her navy T-shirt clung tightly to her breasts as she stretched. She was the perfect combination of strength and beauty, and Jac’s throat tightened. She could so easily see herself bracing her hands on the arms of Mallory’s captain’s chair and leaning over her, kissing her as she straddled Mallory’s thighs. She could almost feel their breasts brushing. She pushed the packing crate back a few inches from the desk and stood, needing to move out of touching range before she did. Bad move on so many levels. Mallory hadn’t given her the slightest indication she was interested, and even if she had been that lucky, there was the little problem of Mallory being in charge at the moment. Operative words, at the moment. Mallory would always be senior, but she wouldn’t always be her boss. If she made it through the month, they’d be colleagues. Jac rubbed her stomach, and the muscles jumped under her fingers. Damn it, she was way too turned on. “So, the coffee?”
“A touch of cream. No sugar.” Mallory sighed. “I guess we’d better pack it in. I’ve got training sessions to run tomorrow and you”—she pointed at Jac—“you have a course to pass.”
Jac swept up the cards and slid them into their box, aware of Mallory watching her. She liked it when Mallory watched her. Right now she liked it so much her nipples were hard. “What time?”
“What time, what?” Mallory asked, just a hint of teasing in her voice.
“Coffee. What time tomorrow?”
“Oh five thirty. In plenty of time for me to enjoy it before I take a shower and have breakfast and start you rookies on your way.”
“All right. You’ll have it.” Jac hesitated. As much as she wanted to escape, she didn’t want their moment alone to end. Being with Mallory was easy—easy and comfortable, and that was odd. She’d spent plenty of casual time with women, but that was usually time spent over a few drinks in a bar or a few hours in bed. There hadn’t even been much of that since she’d been home. But the past few hours with Mallory were different—their conversation had been real, as if what they were saying mattered. Like she mattered. Talking to Mallory had warmed her inside, surprising and wonderful, like receiving an unexpected kindness from a stranger.
“I guess I’ll head up,” Jac said, her voice husky.
Mallory rose, and she was suddenly very, very close to Jac. “I’m going to hit the head first. You go on.”
They were almost exactly the same height, and Mallory’s mouth was only a few inches away. Jac swallowed hard. Mallory’s lips were moist, her breath spicy and sweet. Jac wanted to taste her. Taste her kisses. Taste her skin. Taste her everywhere. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sleep well,” Mallory said and then abruptly turned and disappeared.
Jac climbed back into the loft, a heavy thud of arousal beating between her thighs. She crawled into her sleeping bag, aware for the first time that the huge, nearly empty building was cold. She hadn’t been cold sitting close to Mallory, talking, laughing, trading jibes. Her skin was chilled now, but she was burning on the inside. She lay awake, and a few minutes later Mallory climbed quietly up the ladder. Moonlight filtering through a small diamond-shaped window high above them, just under the dome of the hangar, provided the only illumination. Mallory’s face was ghostly pale, and she might’ve been an apparition visiting Jac’s dreams—except she wasn’t. She was real. Alive and warm, and Jac wanted her.
Mallory kicked off her boots, and when her hands went to the waistband of her pants, Jac turned on her side, facing away. Mallory probably wouldn’t care if she saw her undressing, but she would care. She wouldn’t violate Mallory’s privacy that way.
She prayed for sleep, but it was a long time coming.
*
When Jac opened her eyes she wasn’t even certain she’d been asleep. The loft was still cloaked in darkness, the chill of the not-yet-summer night having settled into the building, into her bones. She propped her head on her elbow and gazed across the space between their cots. Mallory slept on her back, one arm outside her sleeping bag, her fingers gently curled. Her face was soft, her regular breathing gentle and comforting. Jac turned her wrist back and forth until she caught a sliver of moonlight and checked the time. 0520. Smiling to herself, she carefully unzipped her bag, trying to be quiet. Soon she’d have the perfect excuse to wake Mallory. To enjoy a few more moments of stolen time with her. She climbed out of her bag and grabbed her boots and clothes to dress downstairs where she wouldn’t wake Mallory.
Outside, the stars had not yet yielded to the rising sun, and the air was so crisp Jac’s breath crystallized with each exhalation. She hustled across the yard to the mess hall. Charlie hadn’t opened the chow line yet, and a couple of guys waited at tables, hunkered down over cups of coffee. The huge urn never seemed to be empty, the rule being when someone drank the last cup they made a new pot. Hopefully, the coffee was fresh. Jac wanted Mallory’s coffee to be perfect. Laughing to herself, she poured two extra-large paper cups and added cream to both. She was looking for tops when Sarah walked up.
“Morning,” Sarah said. “How’d you sleep?”
“Great. Thanks.” Jac fixed the lids on both cups.
“You look like you’re preparing for a long day,” Sarah said, indicating the two cups with her chin as she poured one of her own.
“Oh. One of these is for Mal.”
Sarah’s lips parted and she let out a soft breath. “Really? Wow. She’s got you running errands for her now?”
“Not exactly. I lost a bet.”
“And payment is coffee?”
“Hand delivered. In bed.”
Sarah sputtered on the coffee she was sipping.
“It’s not as exciting as it sounds,” Jac said.
“I don’t know, it sounds pretty damn exciting to me.”
“I better go. Not much time before we have to muster.”
“Go ahead. Don’t keep her waiting.” Sarah shook her head. “She’ll get grouchy without coffee first thing.”
�
��See you,” Jac said, wondering just how many times Sarah had seen Mallory first thing in the morning. Telling herself there was no cause for jealousy, and almost being convinced.
Chapter Twelve
Mallory’s heart beat so rapidly she was actually embarrassed by how eagerly she awaited a simple cup of coffee. Except it wasn’t the anticipation of morning coffee making her pulse race. It wasn’t the fun of winning a silly bet either. She was jittery waiting for Jac to climb into the loft, bringing with her that blazing smile and hot gaze. Mallory remembered stretching the kinks out of her back after the card game and the way Jac’s gaze had dropped to her breasts and stayed there. Jac’s expression had gotten fierce, and oh, but Mallory liked that. She liked knowing Jac liked the way she looked. And that was so not her. Half the time when she went into town on her nights off she did little more than jump in the shower, pull on clean clothes—the same clothes she would have worn going to work—and tame her hair with an unadorned band. Now she was practically purring because Jac Russo had cruised her with a hungry glint in her eye. And the longer she lay there waiting for Jac to come back and smile at her again, the more her brains were going to leak out of her ears.