Julia sat on the floor. Knees drawn to her chest, her back against the wall. Her pale face glowed in the darkened kitchen. What the hell was wrong? Something with the kids?
"Julia? Is everything okay?"
"Hi," her husky voice whispered, strangely hollow in the silence. "You're home early."
He flipped on the lights. "The winds were too strong once we returned to base, so we cancelled the touch-and-go landings."
"Good."
Confused and more than a little worried, he crouched in front of her. Was this some kind of delayed post-partum depression thing? "Tough day with the kids?"
"Not at all. Shelby's at band camp, remember? Ivy's at a sleepover, and Patrick's down for the night." She reached to touch his jacket, tracing his nametag. "I was just... thinking."
Beneath her fingers, his muscles twitched. He cleared his throat. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Talk was good. Something to take his mind off those elegant fingers gliding along his nametag.
"Not really." She tugged the jacket zipper down, link by link, the rasp taunting him almost as much as her shower-fresh scent and low-riding pajama bottoms.
Zach shot to his feet. "All right, then. I'll just go change. Is there any supper left?'
Damn, but he was hungry.
"I'll warm something up before you get back."
If things got any hotter, the kitchen would combust.
Zach shucked his jacket and slung it over the coat tree on his way back down the hall. In the computer room, he yanked on a black T-shirt and jeans. Tying gym shoes, he tried not to think about how he did not want to spend another night in that single bed. His feet hung off the edge and it was cold.
His bed was right across the hall and belonged to a gorgeous woman— his wife—who spent her nights tangled in his sheets.
His wife. Who was upset about something. Time to shut down his libido—yeah, right—
and take care of Julia.
He approached the kitchen as he would a loaded minefield. Fifteen years of marriage with Pam had taught him he had the unerring knack for stepping right on those land mines. Give him a plane to fly, a nation to feed and he was fine. Circumventing the female psyche in a snit, however, stumped him.
Standing at the kitchen counter, Julia spooned barbecue onto a bun, her drawstring pajama pants dipping to reveal an ivory patch of stomach. Her tank T-shirt outlined perfect breasts, small and high.
And unrestrained by a bra.
A land mine might make a welcome distraction.
She returned the plastic container of barbecue to the fridge, bumping the door closed with her hip. The door closed, the thump echoing in the silent house.
Silent house?
Hey, wait. He'd been so focused on Julia's pale face earlier he hadn't really listened to her words. The kids were all gone or asleep.
He was alone. In the house. With Julia.
Hell and damnation.
Head pounding, Zach stalked into the kitchen. He jerked open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer bottle. He needed one. Or four.
He twisted the top. "So the house is empty until tomorrow."
"Pretty much." She passed him his sandwich like Eve handing over the forbidden fruit.