by Karen Foley
She looked around the office where she’d worked for the past five years. Maybe the reason she’d never brought anything personal in, like framed photos or a potted plant, was because on some level she knew she wouldn’t be sticking around.
Beside her desk hung a large poster of a jet engine emblazoned with the words Thrust You Can Trust. The poster had to have been designed by a guy. Only a man would come up with a motto like that. Even the shape of the engine was phallic, right down to the afterburner with its smooth, curved cap. The poster never usually failed to wring a wry smile out of her. Now it just made her grimace.
She wrenched open a side drawer in her desk and bent over to rummage through the hanging files, looking for a copy of her old résumé. It was way past time to get that baby updated and on the street. Maybe she could teach some engineering courses at one of the local colleges; all those fresh young minds would definitely be an improvement over what she was accustomed to working with.
“Excuse me, Miss Stewart?”
“Yes?” Sedona recognized the voice of the administrative assistant, Linda, but didn’t look up.
“Um, there’s a gentleman here to see you. An, um, officer gentleman.”
Sedona shot upright in her chair so fast she nearly threw her back out. Linda stood in the doorway to Sedona’s small office and, despite her round proportions, was completely dwarfed by the man behind her. Linda stared at Sedona in a meaningful way, mouthed the word wow and fled, leaving Sedona alone with her visitor.
She gaped at the man standing there. Her gaze slid over him, from his cropped black hair, past the impossibly wide shoulders and slim hips, to the long legs, all encased in a dark-green jumpsuit emblazoned with the American flag on one shoulder and a flight-squadron insignia on the other. For those who thought Antonio Banderas was hot, all Sedona could say was they hadn’t seen Lieutenant Angel Torres.
She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say. There was only one thought that kept buzzing through her head.
He came back.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice no more than a squeak. Then she wanted to die. Nothing like stating the obvious.
To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes or look at her as if she’d come from another planet. He stepped into her office and extended a hand across her desk. “Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me. After all, it’s been almost a year since I left.”
Remember him? Was he kidding? A day hadn’t gone by that Sedona hadn’t thought of the navy fighter pilot whose job it was to test-fly the military jets as they rolled off the production line. When he’d been reassigned to an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf ten months earlier, she was certain she’d seen the last of him.
Rumor had it he’d been grounded after a combat sortie went bad, but she hoped it wasn’t true. She didn’t know any details about the incident except that he’d apparently disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer. Lieutenant Torres was a Top Gun graduate, and Sedona knew he possessed more than an average intelligence, so she had to assume he’d had no other choice in disobeying the order. He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who would throw his career in the toilet for pride’s sake.
Now here he was, standing larger than life in her office. He looked even better than her memories—and her fantasies—gave him credit for. His Spanish heritage was evident in the blackness of his hair and eyes, the thrust of chiseled cheekbones and his proud nose. He also had a set of dimples you could drive a truck into, although they were barely evident until he smiled. His skin was darker than she remembered, burned to a coppery hue by the Arabian sun. He reminded Sedona of a Bedouin sheikh, desert-hot and just as fierce.
She’d forgotten how seductive his voice was, deep and warm, with just the barest hint of a Spanish accent. Once, during a meeting when he’d given an overview of test-flight parameters, Sedona had sat in the back of the darkened conference room with her eyes closed and let his voice flow over her like warm, dark chocolate. In more private circumstances, she’d bet he could bring her to orgasm using only his voice.
Blushing at her own wayward thoughts, she pushed herself to her feet and clasped his hand and tried to ignore how large and warm it was.
“Lieutenant Torres.” Please, don’t let my voice wobble. God. She was like a teenager, but there was no denying the effect he had on her. Every cell in her body responded to him on a primal level. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and released his hand. “I’m happy to see you made it back safely.”
He smiled at her across the mess that was her desk and Sedona felt her pulse react. “Yes, ma’am. But it’s lieutenant commander now.”
“Oh. Congratulations.” Sedona’s eyes flew to the broad thrust of his shoulders, noting the gold oak leaves embroidered there. Whatever transgression he’d committed hadn’t prevented the navy from promoting him. So why was he here, and not aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, keeping the bad guys at bay?
“Thanks.” He shifted his weight. “Listen, I understand several changes have been incorporated into the Coyote engine design since I left, and I was hoping we could set up a time for you to brief me on what impact they have on flight performance.”
Sedona pushed down the disappointment that surged through her. Of course he was here on business. What had she thought? That he had come all the way over to her office just to see her again? Guys like Lieutenant Commander Torres were too busy saving the world to think about plain-Jane engineers like herself.
Forget about coming back as a man in her next life. She was coming back as a gorgeous, long-legged, sultry blonde.
She forced a smile. “Of course. Just let me know what time is convenient, and we can go over the drawings.”
“How about first thing in the morning?”
Forget about looking for a new job. It was suddenly the last thing she wanted to do. This time, she didn’t have to force a smile. “That sounds great. I’ll bring the coffee and doughnuts.”
He grinned then, revealing the deep indents in either lean cheek. “Thanks, but I’m not much for pastries.” He laid one hand over his flat stomach, drawing Sedona’s gaze irresistibly to his midsection. “The cockpits on those jets are tight enough as it is.”
“Um, okay. Just coffee, then.” How was it that those two words, tight and cockpits, were enough to send her imagination nosediving into the gutter?
He smiled again and Sedona felt her own tummy turn over. God, she had missed seeing his face. The agency she worked for, the Defense Procurement Agency, maintained a government office at Aerospace International, one of the top five aircraft manufacturers in the world. Her agency oversaw the production of the military jets and provided final acceptance on behalf of the customer, in this case, the U.S. Navy. It had been her experience that when the navy sent test pilots to their facility, they were on temporary assignments that rarely exceeded three years.
For the six months Angel had initially worked on their flight line, she had lived in hopeful anticipation of seeing him or talking to him. Their brief encounters had never been anything but professional, but Sedona had harbored an embarrassingly intense crush on Angel Torres from the moment she first saw him. His departure for the Persian Gulf had left a huge void in her otherwise unexciting, predictable world. She’d thought she’d never see him again. And now here he was.
“Great,” he was saying, “it’s a date. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned away, and then paused in the doorway. He angled his head toward her and his dark gaze traveled slowly over her. “It’s nice to see you again, Sedona. You look…good.”
And then he was gone.
Sedona sat down slowly and drew in a deep breath. She was trembling. But then, Angel Torres had always had that effect on her. In the past, all she’d had to do was see him from a distance and her heart would pound, her knees would literally go weak and she would start to tremble. It was worse than any high-school crush she’d ever had.
He’d called her Sedona. H
e typically only ever addressed her as “ma’am.” He’d called their meeting a date, but that was definitely just an expression.
He’d said she looked good.
Sedona expelled her breath in a whoosh. What did that mean? Good could mean anything. He hadn’t said she looked great. Or gorgeous. Just…good.
She glanced down at her khaki slacks and plain white blouse. Nothing overly exciting there. She didn’t have a bad shape, but she certainly wasn’t under any illusions about her appearance. Her hair was nice, but she usually kept the thick, auburn mass neatly clipped up on the back of her head. She had her mother’s green eyes, and while she privately thought they were her best feature, she admittedly did little to enhance them. She was reasonably slender, although her butt was bigger than she would have liked, despite the fact she worked out on a regular basis.
Still, there wasn’t anything about her that would make a man like Angel take a second look. He was probably just being nice. All part of the officer-and-a-gentleman protocol.
Sighing, Sedona pushed to her feet. She’d go pull the drawings they would need for their meeting, and reacquaint herself with the details of the engine changes. If she couldn’t dazzle Lieutenant Commander Torres with her beauty, at least she could impress him with her brilliance.
The room where they kept the thousands of blueprints and drawings was aptly named the Drawing Room. It comprised row after row of tall cabinets with long, shallow drawers containing specific drawings, cataloged by number. After compiling a list of the ones she would require, Sedona walked among the cabinets until she found the corresponding drawer. It was close to the floor, so she pulled up a low, rolling footstool and sat down on it as she leafed through the contents.
“Hey, looks like that trip to San Diego really paid off, huh?”
Startled, Sedona looked up. There was nobody in sight. She recognized that the voice belonged to Mike Sullivan, one of her fellow engineers, and realized he must have entered the Drawing Room after her.
She groaned inwardly, dreading any confrontation with him. He was nicknamed Hound Dog for his daily practice of strolling through the office to check out what the women were wearing. If that wasn’t bad enough, it was common knowledge he sent emails to his male colleagues entitled Hound Dog’s Pick of the Day, and identified the woman he considered the hottest that day. While Sedona was pretty sure she’d never been one of Hound Dog’s top picks, the complaints she’d lodged against the alleged practice went unheeded.
She was about to stand up and reveal herself when a second voice, belonging to the latest promotee, Bob Lewis, chimed in.
“I’m telling you, man, if I’d known how easy it was to get promoted, I’d have been banging chicks left and right a long time ago.”
Sedona blinked. Excuse me?
“Yeah, it’s a pretty great system. Why do you think we volunteer to do so much business travel?” Mike Sullivan chuckled. “Get laid, get promoted. All you have to do is bring back the proof. Speaking of which, those photos were amazing. I mean, I’ve gotta hand it to you, not just one babe in your bed, but two! I think you actually put the other members to shame.”
Sedona’s mouth fell open.
“Well,” Bob drawled, “it was all in a day’s work, so to speak. You can tell the Membership I was happy to oblige.”
“You can tell them yourself,” Mike replied. “We’re going to have a quick meeting at two o’clock today in the East Wing men’s room. You know, to officially celebrate your promotion.” There was the sound of a high-five hand slap. “Good job, my man.”
Sedona listened to their laughter fade as they left the room. She forced herself to remain seated despite the fact that she wanted to leap up, chase after them and confront them. She could scarcely believe what she had heard. She didn’t know what was more shocking, the discovery of a secret club that promoted men based on their sexual exploits, or the fact that dorky Bob Lewis had actually gotten it on with two babes.
She didn’t consider herself to be a prude, but this was completely off the charts. It was one thing to have an affair. It was another thing altogether to deliberately use sex as a means of career advancement. Worse, Sedona had been part of the team that had traveled to San Diego with Bob, and she hadn’t had a clue about his extracurricular activities. She shuddered. Not that she wanted to. But it drove home the fact that she spent way too much time alone.
Her sister Ana had inherited the sultry good looks and the feminine wiles. Sedona had inherited the brains. Ana viewed guys in terms of their potential as bed partners. Sedona’s only interest in the men she worked with was whether they would help or hinder her job performance, and how much competition they might pose for the next promotion.
She’d learned early on that most of her male colleagues didn’t take women seriously. They made insinuating remarks and casual suggestions with impunity, and it still amazed her that the women in question didn’t slap the bastards with sexual harassment suits. While she suspected her male coworkers considered her something of a bitch, it didn’t bother her. They might actively dislike her, but at least they respected her.
She couldn’t envision any man enticing her into having a one-night stand. The very thought of being intimate with a complete stranger made her go cold inside. There were just way too many risks involved to even consider the idea.
She took a deep breath. What to do? Go to Human Resources and report them? She snorted. Yeah, right. Like anybody would believe her. She’d be laughed out of the office. With his lank hair, oily skin and seventies-something wardrobe, Bob Lewis was hardly the picture of animal magnetism. And since she had just been passed over for promotion—for the third time—her story would no doubt be viewed as the malicious rantings of a disgruntled employee. Never mind that the reason she’d been passed over was apparently because she wasn’t getting any on the road.
She pressed her fingers against her eyelids and tried to think rationally about how to handle the situation. The government had a merit promotion system specifically designed to prevent favoritism or unfair advancement practices, but there was no denying they did, in fact, exist. Sedona understood office politics accounted for many of the recent promotions, but she’d have never guessed they might be based on sexual prowess. It was almost too unreal to be believed. More important, why would anyone risk their job—their very career—by taking part in such activity? What was the point? It made no sense.
But one thing was certain; there was no way she could continue working for this particular government agency, not after what she’d just heard. She had to find another job, and didn’t that just suck? Because Lieutenant Commander Torres had finally returned, and leaving was suddenly the last thing she wanted to do.
Grabbing the drawings she would need for tomorrow’s meeting with Angel, she pushed herself to her feet. There was really only one thing to do.
She would find a way to expose the members of the secret club. Once the truth came out, the agency would have to admit they had a real problem and deal with it accordingly. She had no idea how many men were involved, but she was going to put a stop to it.
All she needed was proof.
2
ANGEL GLANCED UP from his paperwork in time to see Sedona Stewart stride out of the Drawing Room and come to a jerky halt in the corridor, as if debating which direction to go. She didn’t seem to notice him sitting in the small conference room just across the hallway.
The Drawing Room appeared to be a popular place this morning. He’d gone in and pulled several drawings of the redesigned tail section, and had taken them across the hall to spread them out on the table in the conference room. He’d watched Sedona go in, followed several minutes later by Mike Sullivan and Bob Lewis. The two men had left after a few minutes, but Sedona remained inside. Angel had refocused his attention on the drawings, but to his mild annoyance, found himself waiting for Sedona to reappear.
When she finally did, she was visibly upset. Twin patches of bright color rode high on her cheekbon
es, and he didn’t miss how she fisted her hands at her sides. He was halfway to his feet when she spotted him.
Their eyes locked.
Hers shimmered with anger. They stared at each other for a full minute. Angel knew the instant she became aware of him, as the fury in her eyes clouded and became softer. The color in her cheeks slowly spread, until her entire neck and face were rosy. She blinked, like a child coming awake after a disturbing dream, and for a moment she looked confused, disoriented.
Angel was already pushing his chair back when she made an incoherent sound of distress, accompanied by a vague gesture of dismissal. Before he could stop her, she turned and fled in the direction of the administration offices, head bent and one hand pressed against her temple.
Curious, he stepped out of the conference room and watched as she hurried down the corridor and stopped outside the Human Resources office. She hesitated, and Angel was certain she was going to turn and walk away. But then she squared her shoulders and he knew if he was closer, he would hear her indrawn breath of resolve. As he watched, she pushed the door open, entered and closed it firmly behind her.
Slowly, Angel turned back to his drawings. Sedona Stewart was considered unflappable. Cool and levelheaded, she approached every issue with a calm, almost Vulcan-like rationality that infuriated her coworkers as much as it amazed them.
So what had caused her uncharacteristic display of emotion? Of course, he reminded himself, she hadn’t known he was watching her. Otherwise, he was pretty sure she’d have controlled her expression before she left the Drawing Room.
He lowered himself back into the chair and drummed his fingers on the table, considering. It had to have been some dumb-ass, chauvinistic thing Mike Sullivan had said to her in the few minutes he and Bob Lewis had been in the room with her. Mike had a reputation for being a prick where women were concerned, and Angel could definitely picture the guy saying something completely inappropriate to Sedona, just to see her reaction.