With a nod, Jessica headed to the entrance, trying not to be seen while she took in the status of their rescue. Before she made it inside, though, she ran headlong into a man who towered over her, his face shadowed by the setting sun behind him. She didn’t need a clear sight of his face to recognize the man she’d been following all morning. Without warning, a rush of elation had her jumping up to her toes and hugging him close.
But Reid stood stiff, even as one of his hands patted her waist. Jessica pulled back. “Sorry. I was just so happy to see that you won.”
Reid smiled at her, but it was a voice behind him that explained his reticence.
“Understandable, Dr Cross.” Another soldier emerged from the shadows behind Reid. Reid’s superior officer circled around Jessica to go straight to her father. “Good to see you doing so well, Dr Cross. You gave us all quite a scare.”
“Nathan, it’s good to see you. Is everything taken care of, now?”
Within minutes, the injured Mike, her father and Jessica were loaded onto another helijet. Seeing Reid appear in the doorway was almost déjà vu. This time, he spread a warm blanket over her and another over her father. Her pajamas weren’t a complete lost cause yet, but they were thin, and cold air had covered the valley as soon as the sun had retreated. Reid sat across from them, his posture military perfect and his attitude properly withdrawn.
Jessica looked at her hands, twisting the blanket’s ends in her fists. This had been the most eventful, dangerous day of her life and now she felt a connection to Reid. But did he feel the same for her? Or was that connection just the residual effect of an adrenalin rush they hadn’t crashed down from yet? Did it really mean anything?
Jessica dreaded the answer.
Nine
Jessica hurried to set her flute of champagne on the waiter’s tray as he passed by during the Eutopia fundraiser. Eutopia. She snorted. Just another way of saying there were still issues that must be dealt with. Nothing was ever good enough. Cure illness, fine. Now there’s poverty. Or political strife. Or too many hangnails.
Considering the dark mood she’d had the last few months, alcohol was not a great idea. She and her father had testified against Stephen Carson and the men who’d blown up their helijet and attempted to kidnap them. She’d seen Reid once at the courthouse, from a distance. He hadn’t spoken to her that day or any day since the helijet explosion. Normally, having someone pass in and out of her life didn’t bother her. Other scientists, receptionists, medical interns – they usually had no effect.
A soldier who saved her life, then shared chocolate with her, should probably be the same. And maybe if Mike had been the one to rescue her, he would have been. But Reid’s eyes haunted her. She’d stared into those expressive blue eyes so much that day, reading his directions as easily as reading a book. Not seeing him, except in her dreams, had become a painful, nagging weight she’d never experienced before.
Her mood was ruining everything right now. Jessica straightened, ready to avoid anyone asking her to dance. She just wanted to grab her purse and leave.
“What’s wrong, Dr Sweetheart? Your experiments not turning out?”
Jessica’s eyes widened and she spun to the voice at her back. The full skirt of her peach gown brushed against black-clad legs. Her gaze traveled up his formal long-tail tux to the three gold strips at his cuffs, and farther, to his broad shoulders decorated with stripes and stars and gold braid, and more ribbons than even she’d won for her doctorate research. Shock made her voice flatter than she intended. “Lieutenant.”
Reid’s face went from a charming half-smile to smooth and expressionless. “I didn’t mean to bother you, Doctor. Just thought I’d be friendly.”
He started to turn away and she panicked. That was not what she wanted. Not at all. Snagging his fingers, the tension in his hand and arm warned her not to attempt pulling on him. Jessica rushed in front of him and stared up into his face. “Friendly is an offer to dance.”
He raised a brow. “I think not.”
She tilted her chin up and raised a challenging brow. “Haven’t you learned by now? Thinking should be left to the geniuses.”
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but it would do. She tugged him onto the dance floor. It wasn’t easy to talk, but it was not impossible, until his arms surrounded her again. He held her waist and hand at a discreet distance. She cast around for something more to say, but nothing seemed quite right. Too personal, to distant, too accusatory. As he stared over her shoulder, not seeming to be part of the dance at all, she went for the only tactic that seemed like it might work.
“Gee, save a girl’s life, then don’t talk to her again for three months. Is that the way with soldiers, Airborne 81?”
That brought his gaze back to her. “It is if the soldier in question is trying not to take advantage of a momentary attack of hero-worship.”
Her eyes widened, then fell to the bow tie at his throat. “Oh.”
As an incredibly good-looking man, he probably got that all the time. Desperate, needy, lonely women who had a day of excitement in their otherwise staid lives and refused to let it go. Is that what she’d become? Jessica tried to release her hand and step away but he wouldn’t let her. She looked up, reading his eyes again.
The scary, expressionless look had gone, and he now seemed gentle, teasing. “Are you trying to abandon me? On a dance floor in front of hundreds of strangers? Now that is just cruel.”
“No, of course I won’t do that.” Confused, she settled back into his grip. “Have you been well?”
Do you think of me? Dream of me? Remember holding me and maybe miss it? Desperate, foolish, whiny woman.
“My health is good. The weather is good. This event is good.” His eyes mocked her attempt at innocuous conversation. “The case is closed.”
She blinked. “The case?”
He raised a brow. “The one where I had to be debriefed, write reports, and speak to a jury in a completely unbiased manner.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “That case. It’s closed for me, as well. Last week I finished signing the final paperwork.”
“I know,” he said meaningfully.
Jessica met his gaze again, but couldn’t quite read him this time. “You know?”
“Now I can dance with you without any accusations of tampering with an investigation.”
Jessica scowled. “Who would accuse you of that?”
“At this point, no one who matters. So, sweetheart, can I have your number?”
“Oh.” Yes, that was genius thinking at work. She finally understood why he’d stayed away. And he wanted her number. Jessica’s eyes darted to her purse, left at the table beside her father. Her father, whose twinkly eyes were focused on the two of them on the dance floor. Jessica looked back at Reid. “I don’t have a pen, or my phone, or my business card with me.”
He smiled. “I can get it from you before we say goodnight.”
A glow she could actually feel spread across her face. “Yes, you can. But if you kiss me again, you’ll have to promise to take your time.”
He chuckled. “That’s a promise.”
A promise he fulfilled three hours later when he escorted her to her car. In the slowest of increments possible, he cupped the side of her face in one hand, slid the other arm around her waist, and did nothing short of caress her lips with his. Jessica closed her eyes and sank into him, one hand at the nape of his neck, playing with the smooth skin there. Her other hand reached around his back, pressing him even closer. This was exactly what she’d wanted, needed, dreamed about since his first abrupt kiss on the run.