She placed her hand on top of his.
Hot damn, as the Americans said. He linked his fingers with hers.
“Refreshing enough to have dinner with me?”
Her pause doused his enthusiasm, his hope.
She inched her hand free, patting his wrist lightly before twisting her fingers together. “I’m flattered, truly, but it’s not a good idea.”
Yes, she had pulled away, but he was certain he saw disappointment, even regret in her eyes.
So why then did she reject him? Anger fired hotter inside him, unusual to him as he was more used to an even keeled life. Not knowing how to hold in these alien emotions, he snapped. “Are you saying no because I am not American? Because my skin is not as white as yours?”
“Whoa, hold on.” She leaped from her chair and rushed to his side, kneeling. She took his hand in hers and held his eyes unwaveringly. “First, you know me better than that and I thought I knew you better because the last thing I would expect is for you to insult me like that.”
Her cool touch against his inflamed skin made it difficult to speak. “I am sorry. And second?”
“Second?” She blinked fast, her pupils widening with a flash of awareness.
“You said ‘first,’ which implies there is a second point.” He very much wanted to know more about her thoughts.
Her eyes fell away, down to look at their hands. “Oh, just that you deserve better than me.”
Studying her expression, he realized she truly didn’t see or care about the differences in their skin. For some reason this woman perceived a lack inside herself.
“Annie…” He tucked a knuckle under her chin, savoring the texture that was even softer than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined touching her many times as he lay alone in his bed. “Everything I know about you is intriguing. Please do me the honor of having dinner together.”>Stella clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing. She sank back on her butt and kept right on giggling and he understood well the need to tap the steaming stress after battle.
Jose eased back out into the street, kneeling until the dog that looked like some kind of mix between a Pharaoh hound and Rhodesian ridgeback barreled into his chest.
An airman wearing a red bandana on his head looped a makeshift leash around the dog’s neck. “Sorry about that. The gunfire freaked him out.”
Stella stepped up alongside, still grinning. “You’ve been hiding a local dog here? That’s against regs.”
She would point out the regs. She probably had the book memorized.
“Yes, ma’am,” the bandana-sporting flyboy said with a southern drawl, “but we just couldn’t let this little dude starve.”
“My wife would kick my ass,” said a private who didn’t look old enough to go to the prom, much less have a spouse. “We’re trying to work through a group that will bring him back to the States.”
The flyboy tugged his dog. “We’d better get him tucked away.”
“Roger that.” Jose took hold of Stella’s elbow and steered her toward the hangar. “Things may have died down for the moment, but I’m not feeling the need to stand around here chitchatting.”
Keeping his 9 mm in hand, he hoofed it faster, staying close to the buildings until finally he tucked Stella into the safety of the hangar that housed their mobile command center.
He made a beeline straight toward Mr. Smith. “What the hell was that all about outside?”
Mr. Smith normally played life close to the vest, but the guy’s regular stony face was downright thunderous right now. The agent reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of antacids and thumbed one into his mouth. “We’re still not a hundred percent sure, but actually, those sorts of attacks are commonplace right now.” He crunched the tablet, the second already thumbed free and ready. “Rebel forces, separatists, warlords—hell, even al-Qaeda takes potshots at this base. This place needs thicker walls and better intel.”
Stella picked away gravel on the knees of her jeans. “What about the cloth? Any luck deciphering it? And what about Sutton’s backpack?”
“The backpack had some other relics in it, which we’re going over, but no other cloths. We’re still working on the kanga with a local translator.” Mr. Smith tucked away the antacids. “Once he’s through we’ll let you know.”
“Or I could work with what they already completed,” she pressed.
“We’ll let you know.” Mr. Smith tugged his jacket over his shoulder harness as he left.
Stella’s jaw jutted. “Too bad there aren’t any trees around here for him to actually mark his territory.”