Tall, Dark, and Dangerous Part 2

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “I remember doing that,” Harvard admitted. “But I gave Schneider and Greene a boost, too.”

  “Maybe so, but you didn’t announce it to the world, the way you did with me.”

  “I announced it with you because I felt it was only polite to give you a proper warning before I grabbed your butt.”

  She gazed steadily into his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment that was heating her cheeks. “Well, it just so happens that I didn’t need a boost. I’m plenty strong enough to pull myself into that boat on my own.”

  “It’s harder than it looks.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to find that out, did I?”

  She was right. She may indeed have found that she couldn’t pull herself into the boat without a boost, but she hadn’t had that opportunity, and so she was right. Harvard did the only thing he could do.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just that women tend not to have the upper body strength necessary—”

  “I do.” She cut him off. “It’s one of the times my size works to my advantage. I can probably do more chin ups than you, because I’m lifting less than you.”

  “I’ll grant that you weigh less because you’re smaller, but everything’s smaller. Your arms are smaller.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have muscles.” P.J. pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt and flexed her biceps. “Check this out. Feel this. That’s one solid muscle.”

  She actually wanted him to touch her.

  “Check it out,” she urged him.

  Harvard was so much bigger than she was, he could have encircled her entire upper arm with one hand—flexed biceps and all. But he knew if he did that, she would think he was mocking her. Instead, he touched her lightly, his fingers against the firmness of her muscle, his thumb against the inside of her arm. Her skin was sinfully soft, impossibly smooth. And as he moved his fingers, it was more like a caress than a test of strength.

  His mouth went dry, and as he looked up, he knew everything he was thinking was there in his eyes, clear as day, for her to see. He wanted her. No argument, no doubt. If she said the word go, he wouldn’t hesitate even a fraction of a second.

  P.J. pulled her arm away as if she’d been burned. “Bad idea, bad idea,” she said as if she were talking to—and scolding—herself. She stood up. “I need to go to bed. You should, too. We both have to be up early in the morning.”

  Harvard slouched on the couch, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush of air. “Maybe that’s a way to relieve some of the tension between us.”

  She turned to look at him, her beautiful eyes wary. “What is?”

  “You and me,” Harvard said bluntly. “Going to bed together—getting this attraction thing out of our systems.”

  P.J. crossed her arms. “Now, how did I know you were going to suggest that?”

  “It’s just a thought.”

  She looked at him, at the way he was sitting, the way he was trying to hide the fact that he’d gotten himself totally turned on just from touching her that little tiny bit. “Somehow I think it’s more than just a thought.”

  “Just say the word and it changes from a good idea to hard reality.” His eyes were impossibly hot as he looked at her. “I’m more than ready.”

  P.J. had to clear her throat before she could speak. “It’s not a good idea. It’s a bad idea.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You know it’d be great.”

  “No, I don’t,” she told him honestly.

  “Well, I know it would be better than great.” He looked as if he were ready to sit there all night and try to tease her into getting with him.

  But no matter how determined he was, she was more so. “I can’t do this. I can’t be casual about something so important.” Lord, if he only knew the whole truth…. She turned toward her room, and he stood up, ready to follow her.

  “I’m not just imagining this,” he asked quietly, his handsome face serious, “am I? I mean, I know you feel this thing between us, too. It’s damn powerful.”

  “There’s a definite pull,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we should throw caution to the wind and go to bed together.” She laughed in disbelief, amazed their conversation should have come this far. “You don’t even like me.”

  “Not so,” Harvard countered. “You’re the one who doesn’t like me. I would truly like us to be friends.”

  She snorted. “Friends who have sex? What a novel idea. I’m sure you’re the first man who’s ever come up with that.”

  “You want it Platonic? I can keep it Platonic for as long as you want.”

  “Well, there’s a big word I didn’t think you knew.”

  “I graduated with high honors from one of the toughest universities in the country,” he told her. “I know lots of big words.”

  P.J. desperately wanted to pace, but she forced herself to stand still, not wanting to betray how nervous this man made her feel.

  “Look,” she said finally. “I have a serious problem with the fact that you’ve been treating me as if I’m a child or—a substandard man.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, willed herself not to melt from the magmalike heat that lingered in his eyes. “If you really want to be my friend, then try me,” she said. “Test me. Push me to the edge—see just how far I can go before you set up imaginary boundaries and fence me in.” She laughed, but it wasn’t because it was funny. “Or out.”

  Harvard nodded. “I can’t promise miracles. I can only promise I’ll try.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “Good,” Harvard said. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Friends?”

  P.J. started to reach for his hand, but quickly pulled away.

  “Friends,” she agreed, “who will stay friends a whole lot longer if we keep the touching to an absolute minimum.”

  Harvard laughed. “I happen to disagree.”

  P.J. smiled. “Yeah, well, old buddy, old pal, that’s not the first time we’ve not seen eye to eye, and I’m willing to bet it’s not going to be the last.”

  “Yo, Richards—you awake?”

  “I am now.” P.J. closed her eyes and sank onto her bed, telephone pressed against her ear.

  “Well, good, because it’s too early to be sleeping.”

  She opened one eye, squinting at the clock radio on the bedside table. “Senior Chief, it’s after eleven.”

  “Yeah, like I said, it’s too early to crash.” Harvard’s voice sounded insufferably cheerful over the phone. “We don’t have to be on base tomorrow until ten. That means it’s playtime. Are you dressed?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get shakin’, or they’re gonna start without us. I’m in the lobby, I’ll be right up.”

  “Start what?”

  But Harvard had already disconnected the line. P.J. hung up the phone without sitting up. She’d gone to bed around ten, planning to get a solid ten hours of sleep tonight. Lord knows she needed it.

  Bam, bam, bam. “Richards, open up!”

  Now the fool was at the door. P.J. closed her eyes a little tighter, hoping he’d take a hint and go away. Whatever he wanted, she wanted to sleep more.

  The past week had been exhausting. True to his word, the Senior Chief had stopped coddling her. She’d gotten no more helpful boosts, no more special treatment. She was busting her butt, but she was keeping up. Hell, she was out front, leading the way. Of course, the FInCOM agents were being trained at a significantly lower intensity than the SEALs normally operated. This was a walk in the park for Alpha Squad. But P.J. wasn’t trying to be a SEAL. That wasn’t what this was about. She was here to learn from them—to try to understand the best way not just FInCOM but the entire United States of America could fight and win the dirty war against terrorism.

  Harvard hadn’t stopped watching her, but at least now when she caught him gazing in her direction, there was a glint of
something different in his eyes. It may not quite have been approval, but it was certainly awareness of some kind. She was doing significantly better than Farber, Schneider and Greene without Harvard’s help, and he knew it. He’d nod, acknowledging her, never embarrassed that she caught him staring.

  She liked seeing that awareness. She liked it a lot. She liked it too damn much.

  “Oh, man, Richards, don’t wimp out on me now.”

  P.J. opened her eyes to see Harvard standing next to her bed. He looked impossibly tall. “How did you get in here?” she asked, instantly alert, sitting up and clutching her blanket to her.

  “I walked in.”

  “That door was locked!”

  Harvard chuckled. “Allegedly. Come on, we got a card game to go to. Bring your wallet. Me and the guys aim to take your paycheck off your hands tonight.”

  A card game. She pushed her hair out of her face. To her relief, she was still mostly dressed. She’d fallen asleep in her shorts and T-shirt. “Poker?”

  “Yeah. You play?”

  “Gambling’s illegal in this state, and I’m a FInCOM agent.”

  “Great. You can arrest us all—but only after we get to Joe Cat’s. Let’s get there quickly, shall we?” He started toward the door.

  “First I’m going to arrest you for breaking and entering,” P.J. grumbled. She didn’t want to go out. She wanted to curl up in the king-size bed. She would have, too, if Harvard hadn’t been there. But sinking back into bed with him watching was like playing with fire. He’d get that hungry look in his eyes—that look that made her feel as if everything she did, every move she made, was personal and intimate. That look that she liked too much.

  P.J. pushed herself off the bed. It would probably be best to get as far away from the bed as possible with Harvard in the room.

  “Those electronic locks are ridiculously easy to override. Getting past ’em doesn’t really count as breaking.” He looked at the ceiling, squinting suddenly. “Damn, I can feel it. They’re starting without us.”

  “How does the captain’s poor wife feel about being dropped in on at this time of night?”

  “Veronica loves poker. She’d be playing, too, except she’s in New York on business. Come on, Richards.” He clapped his hands, two sharp bursts of sound. “Put on your sneakers. Let’s get to the car—double time!”

  “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “You are dressed.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Not exactly elegant, but certainly practical in this heat. Come on, girl, get your kicks on your feet and—”

  “I can’t go out wearing this.”

  “What, do you want to change into your Wonder Woman uniform?” Harvard asked.

  “Very funny.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, thanks. I thought it was, too. Sometimes I’m so funny, I crack myself up.”

  “I don’t want to look too—”

  “Relaxed?” he interrupted. “Approachable? Human? Yeah, you know, right now you actually look almost human, P.J. You’re perfectly dressed for hanging out and playing cards with friends.” He was still smiling, but his eyes were dead serious. “This was what you wanted, remember? A little Platonic friendship.”

  Approachable. Human. God knows in her job she couldn’t afford to be too much of either. But she also knew she had a tendency to go too far to the other extreme.

  As she looked into Harvard’s eyes, she knew he’d set this game of cards up for her. He was going to go into Joe Cat’s house tonight and show the rest of Alpha Squad that it was okay to be friends with a fink. With this fink in particular.

  P.J. wasn’t certain the Senior Chief truly liked her. She knew for a fact that even though she’d proved she could keep up, he still only tolerated her presence. Barely tolerated.

  But despite that, he’d clearly gone out of his way for her tonight.

  She nodded. “I thank you for inviting me. Just let me grab a sweatshirt and we can go.”

  This wasn’t a date.

  It sure as hell felt like a date, but it wasn’t one.

  Harvard glanced at P.J., sitting way, way over on the other side of the big bench seat of his pickup truck.

  “You did well today,” he said, breaking the silence.

  She’d totally rocked during an exercise this afternoon. The FInCOM team had been given Intel information pinpointing the location of an alleged terrorist camp which was—also allegedly—the site of a munitions storage facility.

  P.J. smiled at him. Damn, she was pretty when she smiled. “Thanks.”

  She had used the computer skillfully to access all kinds of information on this particular group of tangos. She’d dug deeper than the other agents and found that the terrorists rarely kept their munitions supplies in one place for more than a week. And she’d recognized from the satellite pictures that the Ts were getting ready to mobilize.

  All three of the other finks had recommended sitting tight for another week or so to await further reconnaissance from regular satellite flybys.

  P.J. had written up priority orders for a combined SEAL/ FInCOM team to conduct covert, on-site intelligence. Her orders had the team carrying enough explosives to flatten the munitions site if it proved to be there. She’d also put in a special request to the National Reconnaissance Office to reposition a special KeyHole Satellite to monitor and record any movement of the weapons pile.

  There was only one thing Harvard would have done differently. He wouldn’t have bothered with the CSF team. He would have sent the SEALs in alone.

  But if Joe Cat’s plan worked, by the time P. J. Richards completed this eight-week counterterrorist training session, she would realize that adding FInCOM agents to the Alpha Squad would be like throwing a monkey wrench into the SEALs’ already perfectly oiled machine.

  Harvard hoped that was the case. He didn’t like working with incompetents like Farber. And Lord knows, even though he’d been trying, he couldn’t get past the fact that P.J. was a woman. She was smart, she was tough, but she was a woman. And God help him if he ever had to use her as part of his team. Somebody would probably end up getting killed—and it would probably be him.

  Harvard glanced at P.J. as he pulled up in front of Joe Cat’s rented house.

  “Do you guys play poker often?” she asked.

  “Nah, we usually prefer statue tag.”

  She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it as she pictured the men of Alpha Squad running around on Joe Cat’s lawn, striking statuesque poses. “You’re a regular stand-up comic tonight.”

  “Can’t be a Senior Chief without a sense of humor,” he told her, putting the truck in park and turning off the engine. “It’s a prerequisite for the rank.”

  “Why a chief?” she asked. “Why not a lieutenant? How come you didn’t take the officer route? I mean, if you really went to Harvard…”

  “I really went to Harvard,” he told her. “Why a chief? Because I wanted to. I’m right where I want to be.”

  There was a story behind his decision, and Harvard could see from the questions in P.J.’s eyes that she wanted to know why. But as much as he liked the idea of sitting here and talking with her in the quiet darkness of the night, with his truck’s engine clicking softly as it cooled, his job was to bring her into Joe’s house and add to the shaky foundation of friendship they’d started building nearly a week ago.

  Friends played cards.

  Lovers sat in the dark and shared secrets.

  Harvard opened the door, and bright light flooded the truck’s cab. “Let’s get in there.”

  “So do you guys play often?” P.J. asked as they walked up the path to the front door.

  “No, not really,” Harvard admitted. “We don’t have much extra time for games.”

  “So this game tonight—this is for my benefit, huh?” she asked perceptively.

  He gazed into her eyes. Damn, she was pretty. “I think it’s for all of our benefit,” he told her hon
estly. He smiled. “You should be honored. You’re the first fink we’ve ever set up a poker party for.”

  “I hate it when you call me that,” she said, her voice resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to stop. “And this isn’t really any kind of honor. This is calculated bonding, isn’t it? For some reason, you’ve decided you need me as a part of the team.” Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “It’s in Alpha Squad’s best interest to gain me as an ally. But why?”

  She was pretty, but she wasn’t half as pretty as she was smart.

  Harvard opened Joe’s front door and stepped inside. “You’ve been doing that spooky agent voodoo for too many years. This is just a friendly poker game. No more, no less.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Senior Chief.”

  7

  P.J. was late.

  A truck had jackknifed on the main road leading to the base, and she’d had to go well out of her way to get there at all.

  She grabbed her gym bag from the back of her rental car and bolted for the field where SEALs and FInCOM agents met to start their day with an eye-opening run.

  They were all waiting for her.

  Farber, Schneider and Greene had left the hotel minutes before she had. She’d seen them getting into Farber’s car and pulling out of the parking lot as she’d ridden down from her room in the glass-walled elevator. They must’ve made it through moments before the road had been closed.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly. “There was an accident that shut down route—”

  “Forget it. It doesn’t matter,” Harvard said shortly, barely meeting her eyes. “We ready to go? Let’s do it.”

  P.J. stared in surprise as he turned away from her, as he broke into a run, leading the group toward the river.

  To Harvard, tardiness was the original sin. There was no excuse for it. She’d fully expected him to lambaste her good-naturedly, to use her as yet another example to get his point about preparedness across. She’d expected him to point out in his usual effusive manner that she should have planned ahead, should have given herself enough time, should have factored in the possibility of Mr. Murphy throwing a jackknifed truck into her path.