“Wait . . . you mean to tell me . . .” Her words trailed off as she shook her head.
He shrugged and then laughed self-consciously, not having meant to reveal quite that much detail about his life or his circumstances. But Anita was street-wise and read into his statement the subtext that was there; it was true, he hadn’t slept with a woman since his breakup with Monica, and hadn’t been with her six months prior to that while in Kuwait. Now staring at Anita Brown and answering her outrageous questions made him acutely aware of his personal drought.
“Okay, just tell me, is it because of some serious religious convictions, because I can respect that. If I was in foxholes and avoiding bombs, I’d probably get saved again, too.”
“I do take my personal religious convictions seriously, but I can’t lie on that,” he said smiling. “Don’t want to bait fate by doing that, especially at thirty thousand feet in the air.”
“I heard that,” she said with an easygoing smile. “So, why didn’t you just hit a club?”
“Well . . . I was stationed in Muslim countries,” he finally said, still smiling. “You don’t roll like that unless you wanna get someone stoned to death or get shot by some-body’s father or brother. There are also health risks and I’m already in a high-risk
profession where I get shot at— so why add to the odds? When I got home, I just didn’t have the energy for the games . . . so I focused on other things. No big deal.”
“Oh, wow . . .”
“Yeah,” he said shaking his head. “You get used to it.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, sucking her teeth and folding her arms over her chest. “What you mean is, you deal with it, but you don’t get used to it. Ask me how I know?”
She had a point and he glimpsed her from the corner of his eye, making them both start laughing again. The woman was truly outrageous. No one had ever asked him anything so personal in his life. The whole conversation was crazy, and yet, here he was having this conversation with, of all people, arguably one of the most beautiful women in the world.
“You learn serious self-discipline being stationed in foreign nations— it isn’t worth dying for,” he finally said in self-defense.
“I feel you,” she said, nodding and taking a sip of her champagne then popping several grapes into her mouth.
“By the way . . . you’re going to have to cover your head when we disembark in the Middle East . . . you don’t technically have to, but it would sure make our security detail easier . . . so we’re asking the ladies to cover up their arms and not have on shorts and deep plunging necklines. What you wear on the base and for the show is one thing . . . but while we’re in country, if you go into the city away from the hotel— which I strongly advise against . . .”
“I’m not trying to have any problems” Anita said, raising her hands in front of her.
“Thanks,” he said, growing serious. “I really appreciate it.”
He had thought she would argue with him and take a stance just because she could. But she didn’t. Something about their interaction had changed since he’d held her all night long and something within her overall demeanor had seemed to mellow. Urban instinct told him it was that hard-to-define thing called respect.
“I really appreciate you,” she said quietly after a moment, staring at him without blinking.
He watched the light play against her satin-textured, cinnamon brown skin, wishing for a moment that there weren’t thirty-eight other people on the plane. His palm ached to reach out and touch her face; his fingers tingled with the need to trace the delicate line of her jaw. Stupidity made him fantasize about watching her turn her lush mouth against the palm of his hand when he cradled her cheek. But in reality all he could do at the moment was keep a professional distance and hope that his eyes conveyed nothing but respect.
“I should probably get back to the other men,” he said after a moment. “And, uh, you know . . . nail down logistics.”
“Do you have to?” she said quietly, totally catching him off guard.
Anita bit her lip and looked down for a moment. Her face burned. That didn’t come out right at all. She didn’t want him to think of her like that, somebody playing him fast and loose. But the fact was, for some reason, this guy had her wide open and she wanted to be with him in the worst way. They shared a common bond, a common hollow in their hearts, and this man clearly had honor— which was the sexiest thing about him . . . something she hadn’t seen in a long time, if ever. And she definitely wasn’t big on trusting the male species, but for some reason Zachary Mitchell gave her hope.
“I mean . . .” she stammered, trying to recover her dignity. “Talking to you has really been chilling me out . . . takes my mind off the gig and problems, just joking around like we used to back home on the stoop, you know?”
He nodded. He did know. That was the one thing he couldn’t share with Monica. Everything with his ex had to be about appearances, what people thought, mingling with the right social set, advancing his military career with Pentagon soirees. Hooking up with a Washington socialite had been a nightmare. But as he looked at Anita Brown he admonished himself for even going there . . . the societal gap between him and Anita Brown, aka Queen B, was leagues apart.
That reality tempered his libido and crushed his ego. The thought was sobering, no matter how forlorn her expression was. Right now she was just reeling from what was obviously a recent breakup, trying to cope with being stalked, maybe had performance jitters, and was possibly just playing with the hired help. He had to go back and sit where he was supposed to, away from her.
“I really enjoy talking to you, too,” he finally said, choosing his words with care. “We’ll be able to do that more over the next ten days, I hope. But right now you’ve got some music you’re working on . . . I’ve gotta be alert when we touch down, and have to make sure we’re all in sync . . . so, maybe I should go find Megan to bring you something to eat and you know . . .”
He stood before he changed his mind and made a fool of himself. Seventeen hours next to Anita and wanting her as badly as he did was more than a distraction, it was possibly something that could send him to the hospital.
“Okay,” she murmured, and then looked out the window. “I understand.”
No. It was clear in her bereft expression that she didn’t get it at all.
CHAPTER 7