Max couldn't stop himself from asking, "Do you have some prior claim to those sunflower seeds?"
"That's not the point."
Like that mattered. "Do you?"
"No."
"Okay, then."
"Not okay." Crusty slapped a bug on his neck. "Her father will have our asses in one of those dolphin slings if something happens to her."
"Isn't she here because of her father?"
"Hell, no. Our squadron commander doesn't give a damn about politics. Colonel Dawson juggled the schedule to give you his best pilots."
"Good enough, then. Let her do her job. You do yours. I'll do mine." And his included keeping his own hands the hell off her sunflower seeds. "She'll be gone from the island before things heat up."
Heat up? Max shut down those thoughts before they led him into more than a drink with Darcy Renshaw.
Darcy.
Unease prickled the hairs along the back of Max's neck. His instincts upgraded to red alert. He scratched a hand along the thin scar on his shoulder while scouring the perimeter.
Lurch straightened away from his tree. "Check your six o'clock. Incoming. Meeting over."
Max scanned the dense jungle and found—a flash of white.
A white shirt. Worn by Darcy.
Frustration and something else he didn't dare label charged through him. He needed to intercept and divert her before she stumbled on faces she would be better off never seeing together. Somebody had to look out for that woman as long as she stayed on Guam.
He shot one last order to Crusty, not caring how the hell the guy interpreted it. "I want Lurch assigned to watch Renshaw until she leaves."
Sprinting along the beach, Max whipped his T-shirt from his shoulders. His battered deck shoes pounded the mix of sand and ground coral.
He might not want to label the emotion that felt too close to an anticipation he hadn't experienced in two and half years. And he might not understand why it bothered him that Darcy Renshaw wanted a man who barely existed anymore.
But he knew without question he had to watch her every step, turn, move until he got her off the island.
She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
Darcy grasped a squat tangan-tangan tree for balance and wound her way down the moist dirt path. She kept the shore in sight as Max's assistant had told her. Meanwhile, the jungle seemed never ending.
Guam offered no half measures in bombarding the senses, and she found herself luxuriating in every step of the walk. Twining vines and flowers caressed her bare arms. Vibrant magentas and crimsons enthralled her eyes with their vibrancy, painted amidst emerald leaves of the tropical jungle. Wind drifted an intoxicating swell of hibiscus and philodendron perfumes.
A rush of hedonistic pleasure surged into sensory overload from a simple stroll. Not a response at all like her usual practical self. She couldn't help but wonder if the new awareness had something to do with a certain marine biologist with intriguing eyes and drop-dead awesome pecs.
Darcy cleared the palm trees into a thin patch of beach. A netted sea pen stretched across the lagoon. The gritty mix of coral and shells crunched beneath her tennis shoes. A dolphin arced through the glistening water below a low-slung coral ledge. Another finned back followed suit, but no trainer in sight.
Where was Max?
She scanned the beach, past the reef ledge over to the tree line. A flash of indigo and neon yellow snagged her attention with hues not found in any of the flowers she'd seen on the island.
Unless they were patterned on a pair of dive shorts.
Max jogged toward her while trees rustled with movement behind him.
A smile curved her lips. In a world full of military-issue drab olive, she found Max's unconventional flamboyance an intriguing change. That rebel quality called to her. A free spirit like him would understand her own need for soaring independence. With him, she could be herself, really fly. A guy like Max wouldn't smother her with overprotective urges.