"I've lost twenty pounds. Thirty more to go." His father kissed him on the cheek and patted him on the shoulder, not having missed the shine of emotion in Harvard's eyes. "I'm all right now, kid," the elder Becker said quietly to his son. "I'm following the doctor's orders. No more red meat, no more pipe, no more bacon and eggs, lots of exercise—although not as much as you get, I'm willing to bet, huh? You're looking good, yourself, as usual."
Harvard gave his father one more hug before pulling away. PJ.'s eyes were wide, and she quickly glanced away, as if she suddenly realized that she'd been staring.
"Dad, I want you to meet P. J. Richards. She's with FInCOM. We've been working together, and we've become pretty good friends. We got a couple days of leave, so I dragged her out here with me. P.J., meet my dad, Medgar Becker."
Dr. Becker held out his hand to PJ. "It's very nice to meet you—PJ. is it?"
"That's right," PJ. said. "But actually, believe it or not, Dr. Becker, we've met before." She looked accusingly at Harvard. "You never told me your father was Dr. Medgar Becker."
He laughed. "You know my father?"
"Oh!" Ellie said. "It's the small-world factor kicking in! Everyone's connected somehow. You've just got to dig a little bit to find the way."
"Well, you don't have to dig very far for this connection," PJ. said with a smile. She looked at Dr. Becker, who was still holding her hand, eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at her. "You probably don't recall—"
"Washington, D.C.," he said. "I do remember you. We got into a big debate over Romeo and Juliet."
"I can't believe you remember that!" she said with a laugh.
"I’ve done similar lectures for years, but you're the only student who's asked a question and then stood there and vehemently disagreed with me after I gave my answer." Harvard's father kissed PJ.'s hand. "I never knew your name, kiddo, but I certainly remember you."
"Dr. Becker was a guest lecturer at our university," PJ. explained to Harvard. "One of my roommates was an English lit major, and she, um, persuaded me to come along to his lecture."
"I remember thinking, "This one's going to be somebody someday,'" Dr. Becker said.
"Well, thank you," PJ. said gracefully.
"You know, I've been thinking about everything you said for years, about wanting the language of the play to be updated and modernized," Dr. Becker said, pulling PJ. with him toward his office, "about how the play was originally written for the people, and how because the language we speak and understand has changed so much since it was writ ten, it's lost the audience that would relate to and benefit from the story the most."
Harvard stood with his mother and watched as PJ. glanced at him and smiled before his father pulled her out of sight.
"I love her smile." He wasn't aware he'd spoken aloud until his mother spoke.
"Yeah, she's got a good one." She chuckled, shaking her head at the sound of her husband's voice, still lecturing from the other end of the house. "You know, he's been acting a little strange lately. I've chalked it up to his having a near-death experience and then losing all that weight. It's as if he's gotten a second wind. I like it. Most of the time. But I might be a little worried about his interest in that girl of yours—if it wasn't more than obvious that she's got it way bad for you."
"Oh, no," Harvard said. "We're friends. That's all. She's not mine—I'm not looking for her to become mine, either."
"Bring your bags in from the car," Ellie said. "You two can have the rooms with the connecting bath." She smiled conspiratorially. "Sometimes these things need a little help."
"I don't need any help," Harvard said indignantly. "And I especially don't need any help from my mother."
Chapter 11
P. J. found Harvard standing on the deck, elbows on the railing, looking at the nearly full moon.
She closed the sliding doors behind her.
"Hey," Harvard said without turning.
"Hey, yourself," she said, moving to stand next to him. The night was almost oppressively hot. It was an odd sensation, almost like standing in an oven. Even in the sweatbox that D.C. became in the summer, there was at least a hint of coolness in the air after the sun went down. "I've been wanting to ask you about what you said tonight to your sister— to Kendra?"
He looked at her. "You mean when she was making all that noise about how dangerous your job must be?"
P.J. nodded. Kendra had made such a fuss over the fact that PJ.'s job put her into situations where bad guys with weapons sometimes fired those weapons at her. Her arguments why women shouldn't have dangerous jobs were the same ones Harvard had fired off at P.J. the first few times they'd gone head-to-head. But to PJ.'s absolute surprise, Harvard had stepped up to defend her.
He'd told his sister in no uncertain terms that PJ. was damn good at what she did. He'd told them all that she was tougher and stronger than most men he knew. And then he'd made a statement that had come close to putting PJ. into total shock.
Harvard had announced he would pick PJ. as his partner over almost any man he knew.
"Did you really mean that?" PJ. asked him now.
"Of course, I meant it. I said it, didn't I?"
"I thought maybe you were just, you know..."
"Lying?"
She could see the nearly full moon reflected in his eyes. "Being polite. Being chivalrous. I don't know. I didn't know what to think."
"Yeah, well, I meant what I said. I like you and I trust you."
"You trust me. Enough to really believe that I'm not someone you need to protect?"
He wanted to tell her yes. She could see it in his eyes. But she could also see indecision. And he didn't try to pretend he wasn't sure.
"I'm still working on that," he told her. "I'll tell you this much, though—I'm looking forward to the next few days. It's going to be fun going into the field with you—even if it's only for a training scenario."
PJ. met his gaze steadily, warmed by the fact that he'd been honest with her. She was also impressed that he'd confronted his prejudices about working a dangerous job alongside a woman and had managed to set his preconceived notions aside. His opinion on the subject had turned a complete one-eighty.
"Senior Chief, I'm honored," she told him.
Senior Chief.
The title sat between them as if it were a barricade. She'd used it purposely, and she knew from the way he smiled very slightly that he knew it.
The moonlight, the look in his eyes, the heat of the night and the way she was feeling were all way too intense.
She looked over the railing. The Beckers' small backyard abutted a golf course. The gently rolling hills looked alien and otherworldly in the moonlight. The distant sand traps reflected the light and seemed to glitter.
"They gave up an ocean view for this," Harvard said with a soft laugh. "There's still a part of me that's in shock."
"You know, I spent about forty minutes in the garage tonight with your father, and he didn't mention Shakespeare once. He spent the entire time showing off his new golf clubs." PJ. turned to look at him. "I suspect he likes this view much better than the view of the ocean he had in Massachusetts. And I know your mother loves having those adorable nieces of yours within a short car ride."
"You're right." Harvard sighed. "I'm the one who loves the...ocean. My father just tolerated it. My father." He shook his head. "God—I can't believe how good he looks. Last time I saw him, I was sure we'd be burying him within the next two years. But now he looks like he's ready to go another sixty."
PJ. glanced at him, thinking about the way his eyes had filled with tears when his father had walked in this afternoon. She hadn't believed it at first. Tears. In Senior Chief Becker's eyes.
She remembered how surprised she'd been when she'd found out Harvard had a family. A father. A mother. Sisters.
He'd come across as so stern and strong, so formidable, so completely in charge. But he was more than that He listened when other people spoke. His confiden
ce was based on intelligence and experience, not conceit, as she'd first believed He was funny and smart and completely, totally together.
And one of the things that had helped him become this completely, totally together man was his family's love and affection.
It was a love and affection Harvard returned unconditionally.
What would it have been like to grow up with that kind of love? What would it be like to be loved that way now?
P.J. knew Harvard wanted her physically. But what if— what if he wanted more?
The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
But totally absurd. He'd told her point-blank he wanted friendship. Friendship, with some sex on the side. Nothing that went any further or deeper.
"Your family is really great," she told him.
He glanced at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ken-dra's ready to join with Mom and Daddy and become co-presidents of your official fan club. After she came at you with her antigun speech, you know, after she said the only time she could ever imagine picking up a gun was to defend her children, and then you said, 'That's what I do.'" He imitated her rather well. '"Every day when I go to work, I pick up my gun because I'm helping to defend your children.' After that, Kendra pulled me aside and gave me permission to marry you."
PJ.'s heart did a flip-flop in her chest But he was teasing. He was only teasing. He was no more interested in getting married than she was. And she was not interested.
She kept her voice light. "I'm too old for adoption. The way I see it, marrying you is the only way I'm going to get into this family, so watch out," she teased back. "If I could only find the time, I might consider it."
Harvard laughed as he glanced over his shoulder in mock fear. "We better not joke about this too loudly. If my mother overhears, she's liable to take us seriously. And then, by this time tomorrow, our engagement picture will be in the newspaper. She'll be finalizing the guest list with one hand, signing a contract with a caterer with the other and 'helping' you pick out a wedding gown all at the same time—and by helping, I mean she'll really be trying to pick it out for you."
P.J. played along. "As long as it's cut so I can wear my shoulder holster."
"The bride wore Smith and Wesson. The groom preferred an HK MP5 room broom. It was a match made in hardware heaven."
She laughed. "They spent their wedding night at the firing range."
"No, I don't think so." Something in his voice had changed, and as PJ. glanced at Harvard, the mood shifted. Laughter still danced in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Something hot and dangerous. Something that echoed the kiss they'd shared on jump day. Something that made her want to think, and think long and hard, about her reasons for avoiding intimate relationships.
Wedding night. God, she hadn't been thinking clearly. If she had, she certainly wouldn't have brought that up.
She cleared her throat. "Your mother told me to tell you she and your dad were heading to bed," she said. "She wanted me to ask you to lock up and turn out the lights when you come in."
Harvard glanced at his watch as he turned to face her, one elbow still on the railing. With his other hand he reached out and lightly touched the sleeve of her shirt, then the bare skin of her arm. "It's after twenty three hundred. You want to go to bed?"
It was an innocent enough question, but combined with the warmth in his eyes and the light pressure of his fingers on her arm, it took on an entirely more complicated meaning.
He trailed his hand down to her hand and laced their fingers together. "I know—I promised no pressure," he continued, "and there is no pressure. It just suddenly occurred to me that I'd be a fool not to check and see if somehow between last night and tonight you've maybe changed your mind."
"Nothing's changed," she whispered. But everything had changed. This man had turned her entire world upside down. More than just a tiny part of her wanted to be with him. A great deal more. And if they'd been anywhere in the world besides his mother and father's house, she might well be tempted to give in, and God knows that would be a major mistake.
She couldn't let herself become involved with this man— at least not until the training mission was over. At the very least, she couldn't afford to have anyone believe she'd suc ceeded in the intensively competitive program because she'd slept with Alpha Squad's Senior Chief.
Including herself.
And after this project was over, she'd have to search long and hard within herself to find out what it was she truly wanted.
Right now, she was almost certain what she wanted was him. Almost certain.
"Nothing's changed," she said again, louder, trying to make herself believe it, too. Almost wasn't going to cut it.
Harvard nodded, and then he leaned toward her.
P.J. knew he was going to kiss her. He took his time. He even stopped halfway to her lips, searched her eyes and smiled before continuing.
And she—she didn't stop him. She didn't back away. She didn't even say anything like, 'Hey, Holmes, you better not be about to kiss me.' She just stood there like an idiot, waiting for him to do it.
His first kiss was one of those sweet ones he seemed to specialize in—the kind that made her heart pound and her knees grow weak. But then he kissed her again, longer, deeper, possessively, sweeping his tongue into her mouth as if it were his mouth, his to do with what he pleased. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close, settling his lips over hers as if he had no intention of leaving any time soon.
P.J. would have been indignant—but the truth was, she didn't want his mouth to be anywhere but where it was right that moment. She wanted him to kiss her. She loved the feel of his arms around her. His arms were so big, so powerful, yet capable of holding her so tenderly.
So she stood there, in the Arizona moonlight, on the back deck of his parents' new house, and she kissed him, too.
Harvard pulled away first, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out fast. "Oh, boy. That wasn't meant to be any kind of pressure," he told her. He sounded as out of breath as she felt. "That was just supposed to be a friendly reminder—like, hey, don't forget how good we could be together."
"I haven't forgotten." P.J.'s mouth went dry as she looked at him, and she nervously wet her lips.
"Oh, damn," he breathed, and kissed her again.
This time she could taste his hunger. This time he inhaled her, and she drank him in just as thirstily.
She pulled him close, her arms around his shoulders, his neck—God, there was so much of him to hold on to. She felt his hands sliding down her back, felt the taut muscles of his powerful thighs against her legs as she tried to get even closer to this man she'd come to care so much about.
"Oh, God," she gasped, pulling his head down for another soul-shattering kiss when he would have stopped. She didn't care anymore. She didn't care about the fact that they were here, at his mother's house. She didn't care about the potential damage to her reputation. She didn't care that she was taking an entire lifetime of caution and restraint and throwing it clear out the window.
She shook as he trailed his mouth down her neck, as his hand cupped her breast, as sensations she'd never dreamed possible made her lose all sense of coherent thought.
"We should stop," Harvard murmured, kissing PJ. again. But she didn't pull away. She opened herself to him, welcoming his kisses with an ardor that took his breath away. She was on fire, and he was the man who'd started the blaze.
But even as he shifted his weight slightly, subtly maneuvering his thigh between her legs, even as he ran his hands across her perfect body, he knew he shouldn't. He should be backing off, not driving this highly explosive situation dangerously close to the point of no return.
But she tasted like the mocha-flavored coffee they'd shared with his parents just a short time ago, after his sister and the twins had left. And he could feel her heat through the thin cotton of her chinos as she pressed herself against his thigh.
Harvard swept her
into his arms, and he could see a myriad of emotions in her eyes. Fear swirled together with anticipation, both fueled powerfully by desire.
She wanted him. She might be scared, but she truly wanted him.
He glanced at his watch again. There was time. They still had enough time.
He could carry her into the house, take her into his parents' guest room, and he could become her first lover.
She could have had anyone, but she'd picked him to be her first.
That knowledge was a powerful aphrodisiac, and it made a difficult decision even harder to carry out.
But the truth was, he had no choice.
Yeah, he could have her tonight. He could continue to sweep her off her feet, to seduce her, with her own desire and need working as his ally. She would come willingly to his bed, and he could show her everything she'd been missing all these years.
He kissed her again, then set her gently in one of the deck chairs and walked all the way to the other side of the porch.
Or he could keep the promise that he'd made to her this morning.
"I wasn't playing fair," he said. His voice came out a husky growl—part man, part beast. "I knew if I kissed you long enough and hard enough and deeply enough, you'd go up in flames. I’m sorry."
He heard her draw in a long, deep, shaky breath. She let it out in a burst of air. "That was..." She stopped, started again. "I was..." Another pause. "I wanted..." A longer pause. "I thought... I'm really confused, Daryl. What just happened here? You don't really want to be with me?"
Harvard turned toward her, shocked she could think that. "No! Damn, woman, look at me. Look at just how much I allegedly don't want to be with you!"
She looked.
He stepped closer, and she looked again, her gaze lingering on the front of his fatigues. His erection made an already snug pair of pants even tighter. And the fact that she was looking with such wide eyes made it even worse.
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