Taking Cover. Catherine Mann

four years of my life there.”

      “Yeah.” Not what he was looking for in the way of a response, but then O’Connell had never been easy. “I remember sharing a couple of them with you.”

      “Uh-huh.” Cool professionalism plastered itself right over the wariness. Kathleen shoved her glasses back on her nose. She whipped a file from the bottom of the stack and dropped it in his lap. “Check out the crew’s training reports while I review their seventy-two-hour histories prior to the crash.”

      “Okay.” He opened the file and thumbed through the pages. Determination kindled within him, fueling the same competitiveness that had carried him across the goal line more than once.

      It was only the first down. Be patient. Hang tough. Wait for the opening.

      He read through the contents of the thin manila folder, then thumped the stack of papers in front of him. “Training reports look good. The copilot busted a check ride two years ago, only hooked the test on something minor, though, nothing reckless enough to wave a major red flag about.”

      “Isn’t the copilot kind of young?”

      “Compared to me? Yeah. But I pulled time as a C-130 navigator first.” Which made him all the more anxious to speed through the upgrade from right-seat copilot to aircraft commander flying left seat. He had to establish an uncomplicated working relationship with her to prove his professionalism to the Squadron Commander.

      Tanner stacked the training reports and slid them inside their folder. Time for his next play, a surprise sweep around to her blind side. “It’ll be good to see ol’ Crusty again once we get to California. Remember how he used to catch hell from you about his sloppy uniform?”

      “Uh-huh.” She plopped another file in his lap. “Take a look at the pilot’s seventy-two-hour history. It says here Crusty only ate burgers and dill pickles for two days before the flight. That seems odd, like he’s forgotten something. Who eats nothing but burgers and pickles?”

      Second down. Stopped short of the ten-yard gain. Damn it, he would make all the time in the world for the case, after he got one thing settled.

      With her head bowed over the file on the seat between them, he could see a third color threading through her hair. A deeper shade of copper mixed in with the red and gold. She glanced up. Her blue eyes shone as clear as the sky whipping past that tiny window, taunting him with a small peek when he wanted the wide open expanse.

      “Bennett? Burgers and pickles?”

      He regained his footing before he lost critical yardage. “Oh, uh, yeah. Crusty’s a bachelor. That probably explains it.”

      “If you say so.” She scribbled a note on the top corner and flipped the page as a mother and toddler eased out of the seat in front of them.

      Tanner shifted his legs from the aisle to let a woman hurry her child toward the bathroom. Minimal privacy established, he stretched his legs again. “Back at the Academy, whenever Crusty saw you coming, he would untuck his shirt or scuff his shoes, anything to catch your attention. Sure enough, you would stop and chew him out. He really had a thing for you.”

      “Apparently, he got over it.”

      Time to press. “He had to get over it. The whole doolie-upperclassman taboo.”

      Her hands faltered. The paper shuffling stopped, and he thought he had her. Finally she would say something about the night that should have gotten them both kicked out of school.

      She glanced toward him, and it was all there for him to see. The memory of that kiss scorched her mind as much as it singed his. She stared back at him, drawing him into her sky-blue eyes filled with memories. Filled with hunger. With fire.

      Twelve years ago the two of them had been brimming with need and seriously lacking in sense as they’d fed on each other. Mouths meeting, hands almost as frantic as her breathy moans, sweet sounds that had eased the roar of pain in his head.

      Tanner canted forward, his hand reaching. Still he remembered the glide of her hair against his skin. He couldn’t resist her healing warmth now any more than he could then. “Kathleen—”

      Her eyes shuttered like clouds in front of his windscreen blocking the sky. Without a word she returned to the open file on her knees.

      But her eyes weren’t scanning. Her spine couldn’t have been any straighter if she’d snapped to attention.

      He slumped back against his unforgiving cement-slab seat. The woman had defensive moves that would garner serious bucks in the big leagues. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her this way.

      She’d obviously done a better job at putting aside the past than he had. As if he could ever forget any of it. Of course, that night had been…beyond hell, and she’d been there for him.

      Forget a touchdown. Punt the ball and salvage what he could. “About that night. I never had a chance to say—”

      She slapped her file closed. “Bennett.”

      “What?”

      “Save the apology.”

      He stared at her blasé face, her tight jaw. He hadn’t planned to apologize at all. He owed her a big fat thanks for dragging him through the worst night of his life. “Kathleen—”

      “It was one kiss twelve years ago.” She flung half the stack in his lap. “We’ve got work to do. Look over these maintenance records.”

      Her bland expression didn’t fool him for a minute. The slight tremble of her hands told him so much, an understated sign that screamed a clear message coming from this restrained woman.

      He’d won. She’d admitted she remembered, and it had dogged her as much as it did him. Now they should be able to jettison all the sparks arcing between them.

      Except he still wanted her. A woman who played by the rules scorned rule breakers like him and wouldn’t pass up the chance to ground his butt permanently if he misstepped.

      Maybe Kathleen had the right idea. Reviewing pages of maintenance reports was a hell of a lot less frustrating than acknowledging those memory missiles lobbing between them.

      Yet his gut told him otherwise, and flyers learned to follow their instincts. If he and Kathleen didn’t figure out a way to face the attraction and move on, it would keep tracking them, waiting until their defenses were lowered.

      Then it would blast them both right out of the sky.

      The Fasten Seat Belts light switched off with a ding. Kathleen slid the folders into her I Love Germany bag and readied to disembark. Ready? She was beyond ready to end the transcontinental journey and Tanner’s persistent questions about their good old Academy days.

      Eleven hours total in the air, broken by a three-hour lay-over in New York, had wasted her resistance, and they still had a ninety-minute drive to Edwards ahead of them. Their flight from New York to California had been packed. They no longer had the neutral zone of an extra seat between them.

      Exhausted and more than a little irritable, she’d spent the past four hours with her body molded from shoulder to ankle against Tanner. Masculine heat and musk saturated right into her. His every muscle-rippling move, and he shifted way too often for her comfort level, left her swallowing a case of sodas from the drink cart.

      Not that it helped moisten her dry mouth. She didn’t bother deluding herself that it had anything to do with cabin pressure.

      He moved in his seat again, stuffing the doll-size pillow behind his head before his snores resumed. Poor guy. That tiny airline seat had to have made a mess of his back. At least he’d finally acknowledged his mortal status a few hours ago and downed a couple of muscle relaxers.

      Kathleen studied the big lug sprawled asleep in his seat, his broad chest clearly outlined even under the drape of an airline throw blanket. The man had a great body, always had. She would have to be blind not to notice. And she would be