French
nurses
in
the
Balkans?”
“Uh, no, dude.” Face shook his head slowly. “I have absolutely no recall of that. Really.”
“Oh, right.” Bobby thumped his forehead. “That was a dream and come to think of it, you weren’t there.” Falling back onto his cot with a belly laugh, Face tucked away his BlackBerry. “I swear you make shit up just for shock effect.”
“What of it?”
Face stuffed his hands under his head. “Well, we did talk to those two Israeli women in that bar in Tel Aviv for ten whole minutes before they walked away uninterested.”
“You’re not listening.” Bobby swung his bare feet to the ground. “I’m having a serious crisis here. I need your help.”
His pal stared back, his expression even more serious than normal. Everybody knew Face—Joe—was the best guy around, a man you could trust anywhere, anytime. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a badass in the cockpit. And you sure as hell don’t need me to remind you of all the women who have pitched their panties in your beer seconds after whispering to a friend—” his voice shifted to Marilyn Monroe breathy falsetto “‘—I can fix him.’”
Vegas snorted from the cot behind him, apparently not completely asleep. Bobby tossed a pillow at the guy’s head, even as he laughed along.
Gracie had no interest in fixing him. Smart woman. Because damn straight, he was as broken as a guy came while still staying functional.
Antsy, he walked around the tent, checking the boxes, the door, the stakes.
All he could think of now was a workout to burn off pentup energy just from touching Gracie’s hair.
Smelling her freshshowered skin. Touching her—
Hourlong workout, here I come.
Kneeling, he tugged his bag from under the bed and unzipped it for a change of clothes, rifling around for his gym shoes to carry with him to the tent set up as a weight/exercise room.
Face clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s tough knowing what you want but being certain it’s wrong, isn’t it?” Sympathy stank worse that his flaming hardon. Bobby tugged on his BDU pants, tucked in his black Tshirt then laced up his boots, complete with the knife he never let out of arm’s reach. Ever. “Don’t you have a coloring book to finish or something?”
Face raised both hands. “Okay, dude. You’re not ready to think this through. Got it. I’ll back off. Don’t know why I’m wasting good sleep time anyway.” He sagged back onto his pillow.
Bobby eyed the door, his mind mapping out the trail ahead. Yeah, he should probably sleep, too. But first, he would have to pump iron until his muscles screamed for mercy.
NO DOUBT, he needed some sleep, because images of Felicia Fratarcangelo had his libido screaming for mercy.
Matthias had been awake for twentytwo hours straight studying Cantou’s lightwater nuclear reactor. The
“Uh, no, dude.” Face shook his head slowly. “I have absolutely no recall of that. Really.”
“Oh, right.” Bobby thumped his forehead. “That was a dream and come to think of it, you weren’t there.” Falling back onto his cot with a belly laugh, Face tucked away his BlackBerry. “I swear you make shit up just for shock effect.”
“What of it?”
Face stuffed his hands under his head. “Well, we did talk to those two Israeli women in that bar in Tel Aviv for ten whole minutes before they walked away uninterested.”
“You’re not listening.” Bobby swung his bare feet to the ground. “I’m having a serious crisis here. I need your help.”
His pal stared back, his expression even more serious than normal. Everybody knew Face—Joe—was the best guy around, a man you could trust anywhere, anytime. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a badass in the cockpit. And you sure as hell don’t need me to remind you of all the women who have pitched their panties in your beer seconds after whispering to a friend—” his voice shifted to Marilyn Monroe breathy falsetto “‘—I can fix him.’”
Vegas snorted from the cot behind him, apparently not completely asleep. Bobby tossed a pillow at the guy’s head, even as he laughed along.
Gracie had no interest in fixing him. Smart woman. Because damn straight, he was as broken as a guy came while still staying functional.
Antsy, he walked around the tent, checking the boxes, the door, the stakes.
All he could think of now was a workout to burn off pentup energy just from touching Gracie’s hair.
Smelling her freshshowered skin. Touching her—
Hourlong workout, here I come.
Kneeling, he tugged his bag from under the bed and unzipped it for a change of clothes, rifling around for his gym shoes to carry with him to the tent set up as a weight/exercise room.
Face clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s tough knowing what you want but being certain it’s wrong, isn’t it?” Sympathy stank worse that his flaming hardon. Bobby tugged on his BDU pants, tucked in his black Tshirt then laced up his boots, complete with the knife he never let out of arm’s reach. Ever. “Don’t you have a coloring book to finish or something?”
Face raised both hands. “Okay, dude. You’re not ready to think this through. Got it. I’ll back off. Don’t know why I’m wasting good sleep time anyway.” He sagged back onto his pillow.
Bobby eyed the door, his mind mapping out the trail ahead. Yeah, he should probably sleep, too. But first, he would have to pump iron until his muscles screamed for mercy.
NO DOUBT, he needed some sleep, because images of Felicia Fratarcangelo had his libido screaming for mercy.
Matthias had been awake for twentytwo hours straight studying Cantou’s lightwater nuclear reactor. The
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