Anderson looked over his shoulder as they walked out into the yard. When they were alone, he said, “I don’t mind telling you, I’m sore all over. And I thought I was in good shape. I’ve been training hard for this all winter.”

Jac rubbed her right shoulder where she’d banged into the not-so-soft sawdust wall on one of her last practice runs. “I was feeling pretty good after the obstacle course, except for a few blisters. But I felt like my brains were going through a blender after the third time into that wall.”

“Yeah, I think they made their point. There’s no such thing as a soft landing.”

“Well, there’s always landing in a tree,” Jac pointed out.

“Oh yeah, that works. If you don’t fall out and break your ass, you have to rappel down on a skinny little line fully geared up. No thanks. I’ll take the good old ground, anytime.”

“Yeah, me too.” She cut right toward the locker room as he cut left toward the barracks. “See you tomorrow.”

He waved and she went through the empty ready room to collect her gear. The hangar was dark when she let herself in through the side door, but she had a feeling she knew where Mallory would be and plotted a course from memory. After she circled around behind the plane, she saw a small cone of light edging out into the darkness. Mallory was at her desk, going through a six-inch stack of paperwork.

“I didn’t see you at supper,” Jac said.

Mallory glanced up. “Charlie sent over a sandwich for me.”

“Too bad. The chicken was tear-inducing.”

“I know.” Mallory smiled. “Charlie does something to it—injects it with sugar or something. Once you’ve had his chicken, you’re ruined for life.”

Jac laughed. “I might have been ruined before I showed up here, but I’m definitely not salvageable now.”

Mallory scribbled something on the bottom of a form and tossed it on top of the pile on her right. The right-hand stack was the finished pile, presumably. That stack was a lot shorter than the one she was working on. “I cleared out a space upstairs. There’s a cot. It’s rustic.”

“Believe me, after today, I could sleep anywhere.”

“That’s good, because you’re gonna have to.”

“At least I won’t be bedding down with sand and fleas.” Jac hesitated. “Will I?”

“The field training is just like fire call…tents, sleeping bags, water and food rations, the whole nine yards. Enjoy the cot while you can.”

“I appreciate you letting me—”

“Look, Jac,” Mallory said without looking up as she scribbled something on another form, “there’s nothing personal about this arrangement. You needed a place to sleep. That’s all it is. You should go get some. Light switch is on a beam to your left as soon as you get up there.”

“Right.” She’d been dismissed. No reason to be bothered by Mallory’s disinterest. Hell, she knew the offer of a room wasn’t personal—Mallory obviously didn’t even want her here. She shouldered her pack. “Night, then.”

“Night,” Mallory said, reaching for another piece of paper.

Jac climbed up the ladder to the loft and switched on the light. Mallory’s sleeping space was neat and orderly. A tall, narrow, handmade bookcase of plain pine boards stood next to a cot with Mallory’s sleeping bag on top of it. The shelves were filled with what looked like an eclectic selection of books. A familiar-looking dented green army trunk sat at the foot of the cot. For a second, Jac felt like she was back in Iraq. The place looked exactly like every barracks she’d ever slept in. Functional, sterile. A place to crash between duties. Come to think of it, Mallory reminded her of the soldiers who returned for second and third tours, who couldn’t adjust to civilian life and preferred the controlled chaos of the battlefield. For a while, she thought she might be one of them, especially when it became real clear that having her around was a problem for her family. This posting had probably saved her from requesting another go-round over there. No time to think when you’re defusing IEDs.

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.”