Halfway through his outpouring about speaking with the families, her heart had softened the rest of the way toward forgiving him for what happened before. Any man who noticed the vulnerability in a woman spinning circles to find her shoes in a crisis...well, that man had a deep and tender heart.
She wasn't sure what she intended to do with him after tonight, but she would never be able to move forward if she didn't finish what they'd started months ago. What better place to be together than out in the open? Away from the world that seemed to intrude too often and insist they were wrong for each other, for a litany of reasons she couldn't remember because the bold sweep of his tongue stole every thought right out of her head.
What was it about him? Could it simply be his experience that made men her age seem like boys? He certainly did know his way around a nerve-humming kiss that made her forget the nip in the air. In fact she could swear her skin was steaming as hotly as the blood coursing through her veins. His palm sketched along her stomach, bared as her sweater hitched, the bottom button already open in a V.
Arching—was that a purr coming from her?—she savored his calluses gained from years sailing, the gentle rasp a tantalizing abrasion against her oversensitive skin. She wanted more, more kisses, touch, sensation.
Everything, here under the bower of trees and light of a harvest moon glinting on the water.
He leaned forward, or she angled down, or they both simply followed gravity to the sleeping bag. She wasn't sure and didn't care as long as they both were flat. Soon. Yes. She sank into the giving softness, his body blanketing hers while he braced on his elbows to keep his weight off her.
Her legs locked around his at the knees, her hands urging against his rippling shoulders. "I want it all tonight."
No half measures like their other time together.
Still he kept the full press of himself off her, the sleeping bag only offering so much protection from the steel truck bed. He peered down at her, blue eyes deepening to a midnight hue almost as dark as the sky. "Things are moving fast here tonight. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Do you plan to walk out on me afterward?"
"I tried to stay away and we saw how well that worked for me. I've thought about you every damn second for seven months.">"She's upstairs resting."
"Good," he answered, his voice so.. .dead? "Are you free?"
What did he need to say that couldn't be relayed over the phone? "Just hanging out with Chris and Jamie, watching Jungle Book."
"Could you explain to Chris what's going on so he can tell your mom if she wakes up and there's something on the news?"
"Sure, but do you really think there will be anything on TV?"
"It was bad over there, Nikki." Cell phone static echoed along with the silence and what sounded like a heavy swallow. "I'm pulling into the driveway now. Could you meet me outside?"
He was upset. Of course he was. And oh God, he'd come to her.
"Give me thirty seconds to update Chris, and then I'm out the door."
"Thank you."
His bass rumbled even deeper, hoarse with emotion. If the accident didn't involve her father, there could only be one reason Carson had driven over.
He needed her. A couple of weeks ago she would have expected to take satisfaction from that. Now, she could only think of racing out the door, her heart as heavy as his voice over the phone at just the thought of him being in pain.
Studying the tops of his flight boots, Carson slumped against his truck tailgate, not sure why he'd driven here, but knowing if he didn't he might land in the bottom of a bottle before morning.
Even though he'd wanted to run to Nikki from the start, he'd tried to find his sponsor. Nikki shouldn't have to deal with his crap. But his sponsor hadn't been at home or at work or even picking up his cell phone.
Streetlights flickered on, doing little to brighten his mood. He needed to stop thinking about the past hours spent informing a woman her husband wasn't coming home. Of more hours telling two other women their husbands were being flown to Germany for surgery and God only knew if they would survive.
Still checking out his boots and that lone dog tag attached to ID a dead aviator when his body was blown to bits, Carson heard the front door creak open and bang closed. Nikki's footsteps—he was too tired to question how he knew it was her without even looking—thudded down the porch stairs. Closer, until her gym shoes and the hem of her jeans appeared in view.
He looked up and let himself soak in the sight of her makeup-free face, hair straggling from her haphazard pony-tail. He'd been right to come here.
Carson fished out his keys and passed them to her. "Feel like driving? I even brought along your CD."
"Sure. Who would turn down the chance to drive a great new machine like this?" She took the keys from his hand, lingering for a quick comforting second before pulling away as if sensing he couldn't take too much emotion.
Without another word—and God bless her, no questions, yet—she slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine and rolled down the windows.
She handled the vehicle with her typical confidence, so he relaxed, only as his eyes slid closed realizing he never sat in the passenger seat. Even in the plane, he was the aircraft commander. His copilot days were long past.