Of course their silent acceptance of her presence said a lot for her and Jack's inability to keep things low-key. Yes, she wanted him, but there had to be more to a relationship than attraction. She knew that. Apparently, Jack knew it now, too, since he seemed to be keeping his distance. She should be relieved. Instead, frustration kicked through her.
The door swung open seconds before Jack entered from the corridor. The room seemed to fill with broad shoulders stretching a tan flight suit to the limit beneath the body armor they'd all begun wearing since the shooting.
Her hormones went on full alert as they always did around this man. At least her armored vest provided better coverage to her reaction than those pageant Band-Aids used to mask her reaction to the cold. Except now her reaction had more to do with something hot. Very hot. Her br**sts definitely weighed heavy and needy and in need of closer contact with Jack right this moment.
His eyes found her. Held. He angled his dark head toward Rodeo and Tag without looking away. "Go on ahead without me, guys. I'll catch up in a minute."
The copilot and loadmaster pushed through the second door outside to the waiting truck, leaving her alone with Jack and an airman deep in paperwork at the desk.
Jack moved toward her with a loose-hipped strut, the black M-9 pistol in his web belt bringing gunslinger images to a Texas girl's mind. The weapon also engendered insidious reminders of danger when even noncombatant medical personnel like herself needed to be armed—at Jack's insistence.
He stopped in front of her, crowding her space just by being him. "You should be in bed."
She wasn't so far gone with her feelings that she couldn't scavenge a face-saving excuse for waiting for him. A valid one at that. "I wanted to make sure everything's okay. I heard you moved up the flight."
"Because of bad weather. Heavy winds expected later tonight. Only a couple hours change." He checked out his helmet and survival vest from the airman behind the desk.
"I thought there might be signs of moving the hostages."
"Nope," he answered without even sparing her a glance. He shrugged into the webbed survival vest. He unhooked his pistol belt and transferred his M-9 to the side holster in the vest, before shifting his attention to preflighting his helmet. His hands skimmed the oxygen hose, searching for breaks or cracks, then checked for frays along the communications cord wrapped neatly around the hose.
"Jack''" she prompted, unsure whether to be worried or pissed. >Like now.
She waited across the tarmac under a palm tree beside the empty hangar where he'd received his inoculations. Her military escort shuffled impatiently a few yards away, eyeing her, eyeing the planes. But she kept her distance from the flight line as ordered.
She wore her customary black dress, today with a yellow scarf. The tail over her shoulder fluttered like a kite in the wind.
Damned if he hadn't been anticipating finding out what ridiculous scarf she would choose from the minute he announced a chow break. And double damned if her haughty little ways and dry sense of humor weren't starting to wear him down like sand in his boots on a hundred-mile trek when there was nothing he could do.
Apparently he needed to listen to his own lecture about conflict of interest since this woman was also a sister to one of those hostages.
He marched past her.
"Colonel Cullen?"
"Good morning, ma'am." He nodded and kept right on marching.
"Colonel Cullen." She fell into step behind him, her sandals whispering faster along the asphalt while her words carried on the dry wind. "If I could just have a moment of your time. There is something we really need to discuss."
"You'll have to check with my sergeant about my schedule."
"I have noticed you are reluctant to speak with me," she said louder as the space increased between his long strides and her shorter ones. "Could it be because you are attracted to me?''
Drew stopped. Pulled an about-face. Choked on a cough and wondered if the sun was baking his brain. "Good God, woman, would you keep it down?"
Ignoring her wasn't working. But no way did he intend to have this conversation out in the open when God only knew what she might say next. He searched, found, allocated an empty hangar for a more secluded locale to stop this train wreck in the making. He gave her guard a high sign, relinquishing him from duty for a few moments.
Drew gripped Yasmine's arm and jerked her into the dim sanctuary of the abandoned hangar. "Why in the hell would you think I'm—" he longed for a LifeSaver "—attracted to you?"
She stared at him. Just stared through an extended silence broken only by a bird flapping around the webbing of metal beams overhead. In her eyes he could read the memory of him flattening her to the floor during the shooting. Before that, of her backing into him and smack-dab on the erection he'd been fighting to will away.
Damn it all, even the memory of her tight little bottom nestled against him had him throbbing back into a world of want. He'd never been more grateful for his DCUs that kept him well covered. "I thought women over here were sheltered."
"We are. That doesn't mean we are ignorant. And of course I had an American mother who wanted to be certain her daughter made—what do you call them?—informed decisions."
She hesitated, tipping her head to the side. How the hell anyone could look regal in a yellow scarf with goddamned daisies on it boggled his mind. "Well, there's no decision to be made here. You need to stop following me."
"I understand that this physical reaction of yours makes you uncomfortable around me. Of course women are lucky that when they experience such a physical reaction it is not as obvious."