Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Lauren took the flight helmet off, her chestnut hair escaping from the gray skull cap all pilots wore beneath it. Shaking her head, she smiled up at Sam. “Let’s call it a day, huh?”
“Roger that.”
“Is that Megan?” Lauren asked, as they walked toward Ops in the distance.
“You bet it is.”
“Very pretty, Sam. You’re serious about her, aren’t you?” The wind blew playfully, cool and welcoming.
“She’s special,” Sam admitted, a sudden catch in his voice, surprised at the emotions following on the heels of his disclosure. As they drew closer, he saw Megan’s features were serious and sober, not welcoming as he’d have thought. Automatically, Sam muttered, “Something’s wrong.”
Lauren took the steps quickly. “Oh?”
“Let’s find out.” Sam passed her and got to the door first, opening it for Lauren.
Holt smiled at Megan as she came to meet them. There was a line of tension to her mouth, and he frowned. First, he made introductions, realizing Megan had never met Lauren. The two women smiled and shook hands. Fear gnawed at him. Megan’s eyes were fraught with something, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“Sam, Major Porter, I need to speak to both of you for just a moment.” Mouth dry, Megan dove in, repeating what had been said by the Stangs at the Christmas ball the night before. She saw Sam’s eyes narrow with fury. The major’s reaction was far more volatile.
“That gossiping son of a bitch!” Lauren cursed fiercely under her breath. “I’ve had it with him!”
Eyebrows raised, Sam slid his arm around Megan’s shoulders. He wanted to reassure Megan of his love. She lifted her chin, her eyes mirroring gratefulness for his action. “Easy, Port,” he cautioned. Only a skeleton crew was on duty over the holidays, but Sam didn’t like the prospect of her words floating around to the wrong ears.
Clenching her flight gloves, Lauren glared around the quiet lounge area. “I don’t care, Sam! Stang has tried so hard to keep everyone on edge. This is my project, and I’m sick and tired of him trying to undercut my authority and keep my people upset! I’m going to do something about it.” She started to leave, but caught herself, and turned on her heel toward Megan.
“Thanks for telling me this, Megan. Ryan and I have some talking to do. You’ve saved us from a potentially serious rift in our relationship.”
“You’re welcome, Major.”
“Hey, Port.”
She turned slowly, her jaw set. “Yes?”
“Have a good Christmas despite this, huh?”
A slight smile dissolved some of the tightness around her lips. “I’ll try. And merry Christmas to the both of you. See you on the twenty-sixth.”
Sam watched Lauren stalk off, and then devoted all his attention to Megan. He didn’t want to kiss her in front of the crew, so took her into a side room where reports were written. Closing the doors, he set his duffel bag and flight case on the table.
“Now, it’s your turn,” Sam murmured to Megan, and settled his hands on her shoulders. He saw her eyes thaw and grow warm with welcome. With a groan, Sam growled, “I didn’t sleep well without you. I had a hell of a time paying attention to the design efforts. All I could think about, dream about, was kissing you, Red. Come here….”
It was easy to be drawn into his arms, to lean against his hard male body and feel his mouth capture hers in a heated welcome that drove the cold fear from the pit of her stomach. Megan inhaled his masculine scent, a faint odor of sweat, and felt the sandpapery growth of his beard against her cheek. With a slight moan, she surrendered to his exquisite assault, wrapping her arms around his neck, and gloried in his joy at seeing her once again.
Reluctantly, Sam broke contact and smiled into Megan’s lustrous green eyes. The words
I love you
were almost torn from him. He swallowed them. It was too much, too soon. If Megan knew how he really felt about her, she’d run. Placing several small kisses on her brow, cheek and nose, Sam whispered, “I know what it cost you to come here today.”
Megan nodded, content to rest her head against his shoulder, the beat of his heart beneath her palm. “I can remember swearing I’d never set foot over here. I hated Ops so much.”
“Because you hated what it stood for,” Holt said.
“Yes, a place that meant more to my father than we did.” More of the terror was draining from her, Sam’s arm strong and protective around her.
“You came because you wanted to find out if there was any truth to the Stangs’ gossip.”
Megan looked up. “Sometimes you amaze me with your perception.”
Grinning carelessly, Holt brushed another kiss to her brow. “Hey, I’m just being my old test-pilot self.”
“Humph.”
Sam saw the devilry in Megan’s eyes, a flood of relief flowing through him. “I keep telling you I’m different. You keep denying it, but it’s the truth.” He guided her to the chair and she sat down opposite him. Gripping her hands, which were cold and white, he said softly, “Red, there’s no one but you. I promise you that. Ever since I saw you, every other woman pales in comparison beside you.” He smiled gently, running his thumbs across the backs of her hands. “Even Lauren. Okay?”
“I feel so stupid, Sam. Last night, when Melody hit me with that, and then dragged my father’s name into it, I lost it.” She gripped his warm, strong hands, holding his warm blue eyes. “I’m sorry. Am I forgiven?”
He kissed her fingers. “There’s nothing to forgive, Red. You did the right thing—you perceived a problem, and you brought it to me to talk about. I told you before, with communication, we can make this work between us. Any doubts now that we’ve been put to the test?”
Megan shook her head, dread dissolving around her. “No…no doubts.”
Sam squeezed her hands. Come the twenty-sixth when he saw Stang in Design, he’d set him straight about his wife verbally attacking Megan. It wouldn’t happen again.
“Let me complete my flight records, and then we’re out of here.”
Megan watched as he pulled a pen from the sleeve pocket of his flight suit. The report before him was painfully neat, no ink smudges, no misspellings. Test pilots were graded on such things. “Sam?”
“Hmm?” He kept on writing.
“When you saw me at the doors, what was your first thought?”
Lifting his head, the pen hovering over the report, he returned her thoughtful gaze. “Well, I could say something flip like you couldn’t wait to jump my bones because you missed me so much.”
“But you won’t, will you?” His honesty with her was the crux of everything good between them. Megan had to have his real feelings.
Setting the pen aside, Sam folded his hands above the report. Brows drawing downward, he said quietly, “At first, I was happy as hell you’d come. I thought you were trying to overcome your fear of this place, of my job. But then, when I got close, I saw your face, and I got afraid, Megan. My first thought and feeling was, ‘My God, you’re going to tell me it’s all over, that this isn’t going to work out between us.’ I knew you had to go to that Christmas party over at the O Club alone, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to be there with you—for you.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I got scared. Real scared. I thought I knew what fear was, but I’ve never experienced this kind of gut-wrenching fear before. And—” Sam paused “—I didn’t want to come up those stairs. I was too afraid to find out what had you so upset.”
Reaching out, Megan slid her fingers between his hands. Her heart mushroomed with such an incredible array of emotions, that all she could do was stare across the table at him. Words choked up in her throat, and she bent her head, trying to get past the lump.
“If,” she rasped, “it makes you feel any better, I was afraid, too. Afraid that the Stangs were right. Lauren is beautiful. I stood there teetering between the joy of seeing you again and the terror that you had something going with Lauren.” Looking around the light blue room, Megan added, “And you’re right, I had to face another barrier of old fear by deciding to come over here.”
Sam picked up her hand, placing a kiss on it. “That’s just one of many things I like about you—even if you’re scared to death, you overcome it.” Watching her lips part, and seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, Holt couldn’t ever imagine himself with any another woman. “And as for worrying about me straying…well, it just isn’t going to happen.”
“It could, Sam.”
He nodded. “Yes. But honey, we can’t live our lives on possibilities. We can’t be Chicken Little always running around shouting the sky is falling in.”
The need to love him, to be in his arms and a part of his sensitiveness, moved gently through Megan. “Funny how we all have our fears, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s how we handle them that counts.” Sam squeezed her hand and reluctantly released it. “Give me five minutes and we can go home—together.”
Leaning back on the dark blue aluminum chair, Megan waited. Sam looked so tired.
Exhausted
was a better word. “I want you to come over to my apartment to sleep. I got a tree. We can decorate it tonight after you wake up.”
Grinning, Sam asked, “Does that include dinner in the invitation, too?” He loved good home-cooked food.
Megan colored slightly. “Yes. And don’t laugh, but I spent all morning making pierogies for you. We’ll have them tonight. On Christmas day, we’ll have the traditional turkey and dressing.”
Delighted, Sam laughed. “God, I don’t believe this! Polish food! At last! I really miss my mom’s cooking.” In that instant, Sam wanted to simply take Megan into his arms and hold her—forever.
The instant Sam stepped into Megan’s apartment, whatever tension he carried fell away. They had stopped over at his house, and he’d picked up some clean civilian clothes, his robe and a few toiletry articles because he was staying over for two days. Lifting his nose, he inhaled deeply.
“Pierogies…” And then, Sam smiled over at her, and loved her fiercely for her thoughtfulness. “I never thought I’d get them again unless I went home for a visit.”
“Trust me, while I was trying to make them this morning, I thought about giving up on the project.”
Setting his suitcase in the corner of the bedroom, Holt went over to Megan as she opened the bathroom door. Sliding his arm around her, he kissed her tenderly. When Megan’s lashes swept upward, he saw happiness in her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t. Look, I’m going to get a quick shower and cr—” He was going to say “crash,” but it wasn’t a wise choice of words to use around Megan. “I need sleep.”
“I know you’re exhausted, Sam. When you wake up, we’ll have dinner.”
He embraced her, running his hands down her small but strong spine. “Thanks for understanding.”
“I can remember the times my father would come off duty and sleep for fifteen hours straight, get up the next morning and go back to work.”
With a grimace, Sam released her. “That’s not going to happen to us. I’ve set the clock.” He glanced at his watch. It was noon. If he got five or six hours under his belt, he’d be decent company for the evening. By Christmas morning, he’d be in good shape. “I’ll get up at five.”
Megan stepped away, moving to the door of the bedroom. “Fine. See you then.”
Nodding, Sam watched as Megan quietly closed the door behind her. He stripped out of his smelly flight suit and let it drop on the carpet. All he wanted was a shower and bed.
The streams of hot water not only cleansed him, but also brought him to the edge of drowsiness. Getting out of the shower and wrapping a white towel around his hips, Sam glanced in the steamy mirror. He needed to shave. To hell with it. He needed sleep worse. Holt stumbled out of the bathroom to Megan’s canopied Victorian bed.
As he laid down on top of the covers, he groaned, feeling his muscles begin to relax immediately. Rolling on his side, he realized he should have pulled back the covers. Shaping the lace-bordered pillow, he fell into a deep sleep, the clean, fresh scent of lavender in his nostrils. His last thought, if it could even be called that, was that he’d never felt as content as now. It was because of Megan, he was sure. He loved her.
Megan quietly entered her bedroom. Light from the living room filtered in, allowing her to see Sam, who was sleeping soundly. Only an occasional snore broke the silence as she went to the closet and retrieved a light wool blanket. It was 8:00 p.m., and she knew he’d sleep the rest of the night without awakening—-just as her father used to do.
As she approached the bed, her gaze moved appreciatively down across his naked body. Holt was lean and tight, the dark hair on his chest emphasizing his maleness. The white towel that had once been around his waist had long since fallen away. Until recently, Megan hadn’t thought of men as being beautiful, but Sam was. There was a steel-cable strength that ran through his body. Even in sleep, he looked powerful and sleek. As she carefully placed the blanket over him, she felt shaky with need for him. The urge to lean down, to kiss those parted lips that were used to giving orders, was very real.
Instead, Megan gently moved several dried strands of dark hair off his brow. Sam didn’t even move, telling her the depth of strain he’d been under the last week. In a perverse way, Megan was glad she knew about the demands put on a test pilot, because it neutralized her worry.
Unable to move away from him, Megan crouched down. The darkness accented Sam’s beard, his cheeks hollowed—he almost appeared gaunt. Had he lost weight this week? No doubt Sam had been in marathon brain-drain sessions with other design experts. Both he and Lauren Porter had looked exhausted upon their return. Megan’s gaze lingered on his features. The shadows beneath his eyes were disappearing, and his brow, which had been furrowed earlier, was smooth. A soft smile pulled at her mouth, and she lightly caressed his stubbled cheek, a fierce feeling of love sweeping through her.
How had Sam become so important to her life? He looked natural lying in her bed, this apartment—as if he’d always belonged here. Straightening, Megan felt so many new and joyous feelings move through her that the fear she felt dissolved. Turning, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
The pierogies were refrigerated, along with the salad, mashed potatoes and gravy. Megan ate a small tossed salad, had some French bread and decided to decorate the tree. When Sam awoke on Christmas morning, it would look beautiful. She pulled out the cardboard boxes laden with pretty Victorian ornaments she’d collected over the years. Some had bits of ivory lace and colorful ribbon. Others were carefully crafted wooden ornaments.
Just knowing Sam slept in the next room brought a wonderful new kind of contentment to Megan. He was with her in spirit, even though he slept. That was a nice kind of feeling—another new one Megan had never experienced. Had her mother had such feelings about her father in the early days of their marriage?
Chewing on her lower, lip, Megan continued to decorate the five-foot Scotch pine that sat in the corner of the living room. She remembered that many of her Christmases as a child were sordid affairs. Her mother always pouted, took verbal shots at her father, and he retaliated by going over to the O Club to drink with the single pilots who had nowhere to go during the holidays. How many times had she sat next to the tree with her gifts, watched her father depart in anger, and her mother go back to her room?
“Not this time,” she told the tree. No, she and Sam would have a wonderful Christmas—together. Hope moved powerfully through Megan as she placed the delicate carved angel on top of the tree. The gown was made but of purple velvet and white lace. The wings had been painstakingly crocheted and starched. Megan loved the antique more than any other. Making sure it was stable, Megan stood back, admiring her efforts. Victorian trees would have candles on the limbs, but she didn’t carry the tradition that far, in fear of a fire.
Admiring her handiwork, she hummed along with a Christmas tune coming softly from the radio. The few gifts beneath the tree made it look complete. Megan could hardly wait to see Sam’s expression when he saw the tree, because he loved the Victorian era as much as she did. It was time to go to bed.
The thought of sleeping with Sam was heated, filled with promise. Perhaps, when Sam awoke tomorrow morning, they would make love together, a special kind of Christmas gift to one another. Her hands trembled slightly as she wrapped his gift, the thought delicious. And then she laughed at herself.
“Megan Roberts, you are going to go to bed, sleep at his side and not wake him up. He needs his sleep. Hands off!”
“No…Russ…no….”
Megan frowned, awakened from her deep sleep. She lay curved against Sam’s back. He muttered once again, and moved restlessly. Sleep gradually left her as his mumbling increased. She felt him jerk beside her, and she moved away, dragging her eyes open. What was wrong with him? Automatically, she reached over, making contact with Sam’s shoulder. His flesh was sweaty, muscles hard and strained. What time was it?
Before Megan could roll over and look at the clock on the nightstand, she heard Holt shriek.
“Eject! Eject!”
A cry escaped Megan, and she watched in terror as Holt lurched into a sitting position, his gasps punctuating the darkness that surrounded them. Instantly, Megan got to her knees, hesitantly reaching out and touching him.
“Sam, Sam, it’s all right, it’s all right. You’re having a bad dream.” He was trembling, and Megan’s fear increased. Holt buried his face in his hands with a groan. Glancing over at the clock, she saw it was 3:00 a.m. “My God, you’re soaked with sweat,” she murmured worriedly, moving her hand across his taut arm and shoulder. “Sam? Are you okay?”
His heart wouldn’t steady in his chest. It felt like someone was pounding a kettle drum inside him. The nightmare still flashed across the lids of his closed eyes. The terrible G-forces were pulling at him, a trap that could kill him. Worst of all, he could hear Russ’s scream in his ears. The blackness of the night surrounded them in that cockpit, heightening his terror.
Megan got up, moving around the end of the bed. Sam sat there shaking badly, the blanket pooled around his waist. Alarmed, she turned on a light in the bathroom, came back and sat down next to him. Gently, she laid one hand on his drawn-up knees, the other on his right arm. A very old, frightening memory surfaced within Megan. She recalled her father had had punishing nightmares for months on end when she was twelve. His voice would caterwaul off the bedroom walls. She remembered waking up in her room, frightened, not knowing why her father was screaming like that.
“Oh, Sam,” she whispered, caressing his damp hair, “it’s all right. You’re safe, do you hear me? Safe.” She rested her cheek against his knees, the trembling that gripped him beginning to abate. Softly, she repeated the words over and over, not knowing what else to do.
Holt felt Megan’s touch on his hair, neck, and shoulder. The fear in his gut was going away sooner than it normally did. Lifting his head, he slid his hand forward across her shoulder, the cool, smooth cotton of her gown pulling him back to reality. Megan was real. Megan was here, with him. He released a ragged sigh and watched her lift her head.
“I’m okay,” he said thickly.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“Yes…” He clung to her shadowed features, her green eyes compassionate, the line of her lips mirroring the pain he felt. That unruly red hair of hers was a lovely frame, emphasizing her honest beauty. A compelling need to love Megan, to bury himself into something good and positive, overwhelmed him.
Before Megan could ask him more about the nightmare, she saw the remnants of it leave his haunted eyes. The smoldering look that replaced it sent her heart skittering and made her tremble with anticipation. Sam laid her down beside him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he uttered softly, running his fingers through her hair. The light was suffused, and revealed the full length of the white cotton gown she wore. It was like her, Sam thought as he released the first satin bow from her shoulder, sliding his hand beneath it. There was something so good and clean about Megan. The second satin bow fell away, and he eased the gown away, revealing her lovely breasts, torso and hips.
A sigh escaped Megan’s lips as she felt him remove the gown from her. The intensity of his gaze, that predator look that excited her, heightened as he caressed her rounded belly. The thought that she wanted to bear his children seared through her. The predator look disappeared from Sam’s sweaty features. In it’s place was a warmth, a silent invitation that made her lift her arms and slide them around his neck.
She wasn’t disappointed as he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers, swift, hot and sharing. A moan rose in her throat as he cupped her breast and moved his thumb across the hardening nipple. He left her lips, his mouth settling on its peak, and Megan arched against his strong body.
There was an urgency to his hands, mouth and body. Her world spun crazily, tilted, and she was swept up in his demand to have her quickly. Sensing his urgency, vaguely aware that she represented reality as opposed to the terror of his dream that had mercilessly stalked him, Megan matched his drive, more than ready to receive him, to celebrate her love for him within herself.
The taste of his salty flesh aroused her senses. His breath mingled hotly with her own as he moved on top of her. They were both trembling, and she opened her thighs to receive him. The instant he thrust deeply into her, she gasped, but it was one of surprised pleasure, not discomfort. Her world blended and melted into a cauldron of heat. The rhythm was wild, starving and frantic. Exalting in his male strength, joined and equaled to her own feminine demands, Megan cried out as the heat deep within her exploded, spreading searing pleasure throughout her. As she felt the orgasm surge through her, it made her feel floating and joyous. Sam groaned, tensing, gripping her hard, and released within her.
Smiling weakly, Megan lay there in the aftermath and savored his weight upon her. He buried his face in her hair, his breath punctuated against her neck and shoulder. It was several minutes before she could speak. His hand moved in a caress across her cheek, and she turned, kissing it.
“Fantastic,” Sam murmured. “You’re something else, lady. Something else…”
Bereft when Holt moved off her, Megan was content when he brought her into his arms after he rolled over on his back. Megan liked the way their damp bodies molded perfectly to one another. She placed her arm across his chest, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“So are you,” she said faintly.
Sam opened his eyes, and stared up at the shadowy canopy above them. Worried, he stroked her shoulder and felt the firm pliancy of her flesh beneath his fingers. “I’m sorry, Megan. I shouldn’t have been in such a hell of a hurry.”
With a shake of her head, she answered his unspoken question. “I enjoyed it just as much as you did.”
“Seven days apart kind of takes the civilized veneer off us, doesn’t it?” Sam commented wryly, satisfied that Megan hadn’t been hurt by his urgency. Miraculously, the nightmare wasn’t as potent as it usually was in the aftermath of waking. No, Megan’s sweet body, her fire, had burned some of it out of him.
Megan lifted herself up on one elbow. Sam’s hair was mussed, making him appear boyish. Moving her fingers across his damp brow, she whispered, “I like what we are together.” The smoldering cobalt heat in his eyes made her feel shaky all over again. “It’s not always going to be tender. I like wild, too.” And when he reached over, placing his hand against her belly, she had to stop herself from speaking. The words
I love you
were there, begging to be said.
“It was a little wild,” he admitted. “But I care that you are pleased, too.” He knew she was, had felt the orgasm flood her. She didn’t have red hair for nothing. He rasped, “I like your belly,” Sam admitted huskily, running his hand gently across it. “Soft, rounded, filled with promise.” Looking up into her eyes that were lustrous with unshed-tears, he wanted to say:
You’d make one hell of a mother. The mother of our children. Made out of the love we hold for one another.
But he didn’t. Instead, he gently eased Megan on her back, leaned down and kissed her there. Then, he laid his head on her belly. He slid his hand slowly up and down her long, slender leg and allowed contentment to wash over him.