"Fire indicator light, number two engine!"
The copilot's barked alarm rocketed through Captain Ray "Gator" Perez's headset. Blazed through his gut.
Ray's eyes shot to the control panel on his C-17 aircraft. The warning light glowed.
Damn. "Roger, co." Ray twisted, hard and fast. Looked out his side window. "Checking number two visually."
Hell and damnation. Red shards of fire poured from the seams of the number two engine — streamed over the plane's gray wing and into the star-studded night sky. "Visual confirmation. Fire in number two."
A nanosecond of ominous silence followed from the crew. Bulky Bronco looming in the copilot's seat. Silent Tag, the loadmaster, in back. Not even a word from renegade flight surgeon Cutter sitting in the instructor's seat.
Then training overrode emotion. Aircraft commander for the mission Ray clipped orders through the headsets, exhausted emergency checklist procedures. Still, the fire indicator light glowed like the unity candle he and Megan had planned for their wedding. A wedding that would never happen. A wedding once scheduled for today.
Ray shut down that thought faster than his flaming engine. He couldn't afford images of his cool, blond ex-fiancée screwing with his concentration. Not now, with a cargo hold of medical supplies to deliver to the war-ravaged eastern European village below.
The same village where Megan waited, stationed at the American-held military airfield, the main reason he'd volunteered for his hell-bound flight. Deliver her ring and his goodbyes. If he got to the ground in one uncharred piece.
"Loadmaster, haul forward and strap in." Ray cranked the throttle up on the other three engines, using airspeed to combat the fire, keep it blowing aft. It was damage control at best. God help them when time came to slow for landing.
He radioed the airborne warning and control system aircraft for the airfield's tower frequency and spun up the number. "Eagle base, this is REACH 2-7-1-1."
"REACH 2-7-1-1, this is Eagle Approach. Go ahead," husky, controlled tones — feminine tones — flowed through the headset over the whine of straining engines.
Megan's voice echoed in his ears. First Lieutenant Megan Reed, U.S.A.F. — once his Megan. Just his damned luck, she was the air traffic controller on duty. Apparently irony had decided to take a chunk out of his backside before roasting him into hell in his burning plane.
He'd hoped to talk to her one last time. But not like this. And definitely not with the risk of it being so very final. "REACH 2-7-1-1 declaring an in-flight emergency."
"State nature of emergency."
Her cool tones breezed over him, stirring fires within him hotter than the ones streaming from his C-17. Damn it, did anything rattle this woman? His leaving sure hadn't.
"Severe," he answered, battling to adjust the airspeed in the single remaining left engine to equalize thrust from the two engines on the right. "Fire in engine number two. Request immediate landing."
"Roger, 2-7-1-1." Megan's transmission crackled with interference, her unwavering voice, however, plenty clear without even a hint of his name. Just an impersonal flight number. "Fuel and souls on board?"
"Forty-five thousand pounds of gas and four souls on board." Emotions churned through him. Too many. Of course, that had always been the problem between them. And now hearing her blindsided him when his emotions were already overrevved.
"Copy. Fire trucks are on their way to the field. State intentions."
Intentions? He'd once had plenty of intentions and plans with this woman. Had lived with her for a full year, planted his baby inside her. Scheduled a wedding. Then they lost their baby. And he lost Megan.
Now he had no intentions other than getting her out of his mind with this last meeting. If he lived through the night.
Whomp.
Ray jerked round in his seat, checked the wing through the windscreen. Found ragged metal instead of a mounted engine. "Oh, shit."
A small gasp breezed through his headset. Just a whisper, but so much coming from his reserved Megan. Mortality stared him in the face and he could only think how damned erotic Megan's small gasp, Ray, had felt against his ear during sex two months ago.
How damned good it felt now knowing she might still care.
"REACH 2-7-1-1," Megan queried, her voice once again steady. "Define nature of 'oh, shit,' please."
Ray held back an irrational chuckle. Definitely his Megan, always calm, even when his emotions where shot to hell and back, alarms blaring in the plane and his mind. "Number two engine has departed the aircraft. Mark my position and set us up for immediate landing."
"Roger, 2-7-1-1," Megan answered with the same quiet authority as when she'd ordered him to leave her hospital room after the miscarriage.
He ignored the remembered jab of pain. Ray called to the two pilots and loadmaster. "We have to get this puppy on deck now. Unless you guys want to bail out first?"
Negatives from Cutter and Tag bounced through the headset. The crew would ride her in together.
Bronco didn't budge from the copilot's position. "Lights are flashing like Christmas trees, Gator. You need our eyes and ears."
Computerized warning voices squawked their agreement through the crew compartment. Lost generator. Gas leaking. Energy wanes and pulses yanking the plane like a carnival ride.
Ray thumbed the mike button. "Tower, things are going all to hell in here. I need to expedite this landing. No flaps." Say my name, Megan. "Faster than normal airspeed. Larger than average turns. Get me lined up now."
"Roger, REACH 2-7-1-1, come to heading two-six-five." She clipped through wind speeds and altimeter settings, dry numbers in drier tones when there was so much left unsaid between them.
Leaving out the only word that mattered to him now.
Say my name, damn it, one last time. "Copy, Tower." Ray gripped the throttle. Focused on the runway lights. Training overriding emotions. Barely.
My name. Just say my name. Care enough to stop me from walking out that door.
But she hadn't then. And she didn't now.
Ray centered the nose between the blinking runway lights screaming toward them at much higher than normal speed. "Everybody tighten your belts. This one will come quick and hard." Like the end of his future with Megan. "Nobody unstrap until we're at a complete stop. Then we'll haul ass out the back of the plane."
Sweat popped, poured, streamed down his face. Megan's guiding voice echoed over the airwaves. Inside his head. A head full of regrets.
God, he missed her. Couldn't stomach the thought of never seeing her again. Willed the C-17 not to explode.
Gear down. Ground rushing up to meet them. "Okay, crew, get ready to run 'til you feel stupid. Then run a thousand feet more."
Ray set his teeth for the thud of a landing he knew was coming. He'd run from Megan once. And damn it, if he got out of this alive, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. This time, he wasn't backing off until he rattled her cool composure.
Fire trucks screamed across the taxiway, filing in behind the landing C-17, echoing the scream in Megan's head as she peered helplessly through the tower window onto the stretch of cement illuminated by a halo of lights.
Composure evaporated. Forget waiting around.
Hands trembling, Megan passed radio control to the sergeant and tore down the stairs to the cracked runway. Her eyes clung to the sight of the cargo plane powering past. Flames streamed from the wing.
Sweat plastered her BDUs to her skin in spite of the chilly mountain winds whipping through the band of evergreens. Fear churned those flames into kaleidoscope visions within her mind of blood and…Ray.
She braced a shaking hand to the brick tower. Damn him and his grandiose gestures that had undoubtedly brought him here in harm's way on what should have been their wedding day. Damn him for leaving when she'd needed him.
Most of all, damn him for still being the only man she wanted.
Smoke pumped from under the tires as the plane jerked to a halt. Megan froze. Waited. Prayed.
The hatch door flung open. Her breath hitched on an icy gasp. Bodies poured through the open portal — Cutter, Bronco, Tag…Ray.
"Thank you, God." She exhaled her relief in a puffy cloud into the night air.
The four men sprinted full out, combat boots pounding toward the control tower. But she watched only one man now. Ray. Tall with muscles bulging and rippling his legs beneath the forest green flight suit as he ran. Brown leather stretched across a wide chest with a heart that had once beat such steady reassurance against her ear.
And then there he was. In front of her. So close. The mingled scents of musk, smoke, and man saturated her senses seconds before Ray grabbed her arms. Her body absorbed the blessed familiarity of his touch after too long without him, her pounding heart echoing enemy explosions in the distance.
Ray held her with his gaze as well as his hands. "You're not going anywhere. Got it?"
"Oh, yeah, I've got it." Angry words tumbled from her lips in a torrent of frustration born from the teeth-chattering terror still pulsing through her. "You're the one who leaves after all. Not me."
"Christ, Megan!" His close-cropped black hair lifted in the wind that carried acrid gusts. "You told me to go."
The three crew members standing behind Ray backed up a step. Cutter swept a red bandanna over his face. "Uh, Bronco? Wanna go check with the security police by the plane about that gunfire?"
"Sure, bud. A little rebel action sounds less explosive than what's about to go down here." Bronco thunked Tag on the chest. "Coming, Tag?"
The ever-silent loadmaster nodded, and the trio lumbered back toward the smoking C-17 now encircled by fire trucks spewing water and foam.
Even though Megan realized the plane didn't seem likely to blow after all, horror still clawed up her throat until emotion threatened to spill free again. Too much. Always too much emotion spinning around Ray, and she wouldn't — couldn't — relive echoes of her tumultuous childhood.
Megan pulled her spine as straight as her resolve. "Forget I said a thing. You're alive. And that's all I needed to see."
His brown eyes hardened. "Nice to know it would have bothered you if I died."
Pain prickled through her like the relentless rat-tat-tat of a machine gun.
"Of course it matters, Ray. We…" Loved each other? Made a baby together? Lost everything in a day? "We have history. But we're exactly that. History. Your fault or mine — I don't remember anymore. I just know when life got tough, our relationship couldn't take the pressure. It's best we learned before…" she swallowed the ache "…before we married."
"Married?" He hauled her closer until their bodies exchanged heat and longing. "Like you would have ever agreed to marry me if there hadn't been a baby."
She started to snap back that he should have been patient with her, damn it. She wasn't impulsive like him.
Megan closed her mouth. With practiced precision, she restrained the harsh words and chaotic emotions that would only lead to more arguments. More hurt.
Ray's molten brown eyes sparked with enough emotions for two people anyway.
"Don't!" His grip tightened around her arms. "Don't you dare shut down on me. For once be honest about how you're feeling. Even tell me to go to hell. But don't pull this ice-princess crap."
She tried to focus on his words, but could only stare up and soak in the sight of him. The square cut of his jaw, the hard angles of his bronzed face. Her fingers clenched around warm leather, muscles flexing beneath her touch. "I may be many things, Ray, but when I'm with you, cold isn't one of them."
Passion combusted in the slice of air between them.
His hand shot up her arm and tangled in her hair. Pulling her close. Closer still until his mouth took hers. Maybe she took his. The meeting and mating of their lips happened so fast she couldn't think. Didn't want to think. Just wanted to drink in the taste of Ray.
Ray. Alive. So very alive. His tongue stroked hers, as bold and potent as the man. Her hands glided up, over his shoulders and into his hair with a familiarity that left her whimpering for what they'd thrown away. His arms banded around her, anchoring her to him in a perfect fit until fire pooled low in her belly.
Insidious doubts whispered through her mind. She'd needed his arms around her weeks ago. How could he not know that even if she never cried, the sorrow and tears over losing their child were drowning her inside?
And he'd walked. This man who'd first told her he loved her during a hot air balloon ride. A man who'd cradled her face in his hands while they made love, repeating with every deliberate stroke of his body that he would love her forever.
Forever had lasted until their first fight.
Two years together without a real argument had seemed idyllic. Finally, she'd found peace after years accommodating the mood swings of her drug-addict parents. No one had suspected their addiction. Or helped her. Why question the welfare of a child of such wealthy parents?
After a life of upheaval, the military had offered her order. Ray had brought her light.
But Ray, with all his grandiose gestures and boisterous emotions, hadn't been there for her when it counted. Illogical on her part, expecting him to perceive her unspoken needs? Maybe.
Except damn if he wasn't doing a fine job perceiving at least her most basic needs now. The caress of his hands down her back, cupping her bottom, tempted her to forget the reasons they would hurt each other. And, man, could this guy ever tempt.
Megan caressed his lips with her own. "Ray."
Pleasure swelled through her just speaking his name.
He groaned into her mouth. "Again. Say it again."
How could she deny him anything? She couldn't. "Ray."
The distant growling of gunfire increased. Faster. Louder. Ray inched away from her. "Christ, Megan, we need to talk. But not here. Not now when —"
An ominous whistling interrupted from beyond the dense pines.
Ray's arms convulsed around her, his broad shoulders enclosing her as a missile arced overhead. Tearing into the control tower. Crumbling bricks and glass showered around them.
"Oh, God!" Frantically, Megan scanned for the best place to take cover. Wished Ray's muscular chest didn't make such a large target.
A second whistling sounded.
"Damn it." Ray's body ripped with tension against her. "Incoming!"
Ray anchored Megan to his chest to shield her from the danger arcing overhead, demolishing the tower where she had been minutes before. Another mortar round from beyond the wall of evergreens whistled past to explode the truck where he'd planned to take Megan to talk.
He couldn't afford to choose wrong. His eyes scanned for safe cover, searched, found five sandbag bunkers around the runway. He reached for her hand to run and stopped short.
The sight of blood, Megan's blood, staining the shoulder of her battle dress uniform sent a bolt of dread through him, reminding him too clearly of her miscarriage. The fear of losing her then and now merged. He didn't know how badly she might be hurt, and he didn't have time to find out.
Training kicked into overdrive. Ray bent and hefted her up over his shoulder into a fireman's carry as he'd done countless times with others during emergency landing exercises.
"Ray!" Her muffled cry drifted from behind him as he sprinted.
His grip tightening around her legs, he ignored her squawk. Ray dashed toward the nearest bunker, which waited fifty yards away. He tried like hell not to think of the other time he'd run with Megan cradled in his arms. Blood on her clothes then as well. He'd raced her to the hospital, fast, not fast enough.
"Ray!" Megan shouted again. "Set me down so I can run. I'm all right."
All right? How could he be sure? Adrenaline masked pain and he wasn't taking any chances. Not with Megan. She could chew him out later.
"Damn it, Ray! Set. Me. Down!"
Or she could chew him out now.
Fine by him as long as she kept talking. Her voice, alive and full of fire, offered welcome reassurance despite the bullets pocking the asphalt, tearing into the grass.
Ray skidded past the sandbags and mounded roof, down the dirt ramp. His boots plowed the angled earth as he made a sharp turn into the 10 x 10 bunker and into relative safety.
His exhale filled the murky darkness. He lowered Megan to her feet.
Her hand shot out and thumped him on the chest. "What the hell was all that John Wayne over-the-shoulder garbage? We could have run faster and made a less obvious target if you hadn't carried me. Did it ever occur to you that I'm a trained soldier, too?"
He caught her wrist before she jarred her injury. "And did it ever occur to you I knew what I was doing?" Ray carefully prodded the tear in her uniform as his eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering down the ramp. "You're bleeding."
Megan blanched. Her gaze fell to the bloodstained circle on her camo. She nudged his hand away. Her fingers sped down the buttons on her BDUs, revealing a black T-shirt with a jagged rip. Her fingers slid inside the split fabric. She winced, then a sigh of relief parted her full lips. "Just a scratch. Must have come from flying debris."
Hopeful, he inspected every inch of her slender body, mussed blond hair swirling around her face, eyes refracting green sparks. She looked fine.
Damned fine.
Don't go there, pal. Adrenaline not only numbed pain, it fired hot kisses like the one they'd shared on the runway. He would push her for more information in a minute. When her delicate jaw wasn't set for battle. When heat wasn't pulsing through him. When gunfire didn't echo a staccato beat outside.
Ray hooked his hand on his hips to keep from reaching for Megan. "And you're okay otherwise? You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Why all the questions?"
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, forcing free the words. "It's only been two months since you lost the baby."
Intense pain flashed across her face, dissolving anger. She gave him a tight nod. "I'm okay physically. Otherwise the doc wouldn't have signed off for me to deploy overseas."
Megan turned away from him, striding toward a battery-powered emergency light hanging from the underground wall. One of three lamps. She flicked the switch. The red beam bathed her in a crimson nimbus.
Time faded until they were back in the hospital room. He, afraid of losing her. She, so distant but brittle against the stark white hospital sheets. He, pushing for reassurance about their future when he realized full well Megan needed him to shut up and hold her.
He knew the mind games her cocaine addict parents had played with her growing up, and yet he'd demanded his way. His pace. No compromise. Marry him, quit putting off their life together. He'd still been shaking in his running shoes with fear that she would die, so when she'd told him to leave, he'd let his temper, his emotions — his pride — win.
Now that shaking fear of losing her nailed him all over again.
The heirloom ring — his grandmother's — weighted in his pocket like a brick. He'd planned to give it to Megan today, either way. Even if she didn't marry him, he could never place that particular ring on another woman's finger.
He shoved aside the past for more pressing concerns. Like making sure they didn't get their asses shot off in the crossfire rumbling outside the bunker. He turned to check the opening. Another explosion sounded. A mortar round. Dirt puffed through the door.
Ray and Megan hit the floor. In the corner. Backs to the sandbag-lined wall. He wanted to cover her with his body. Accepted she wouldn't allow it. Only minutes before she'd reminded him of her training. He would have to trust in that.
A rumble sounded, like an avalanche. A mountain of dirt collapsed across the opening. Silence echoed in the red haze.
Ray raised his head, facing Megan. Wordless realization passed between them. They were totally screwed. No escape. Just hope for a rescue.
If the battle swelling with renewed explosions didn't find them first.
He braced his elbows on his knees. How strange finally to be alone with her, and he couldn't unroll the speech he'd planned. Instead, he wanted to make her smile at least one more time. "Well, hell. I haven't been this pinned down since a gator treed me while I was at an air show in Louisiana."
"An alligator?" Megan unfolded her mile-long legs in front of her, her normally cool voice betraying a hint of warmth, interest.
Ray yanked his mind right off those long legs. Too bad his libido didn't understand about life-and-death stakes. "How did you think I got my call sign?"
"I assumed it's because you're from Florida."
"Nope," he answered. "I got drunk at the Officer's Club at Barksdale Air Force Base and somehow ended up out on the golf course at three in the morning. An alligator treed me. I stayed in that oak for two hours before I sobered up enough to remember I had a cell phone in my pocket."
"I don't imagine you have a cell phone now." She smiled.
"Afraid not, hon." He clenched his hands to keep from tucking her silky blond hair behind her ear before kissing that smile. "I guess that means you don't have a radio handy to call back for help?"
"I left it in the control tower when I ran down to check on you."
Even as he mourned the loss of a radio, he wanted to punch the air with a victory yell over having rattled his normally composed Megan. "Then it's just us in here until the airfield clears and someone comes looking for us." Hopefully, the good guys.
Her smile faded. He hated the wary look creeping across her face over being stuck together. He hated even more how he'd handled things back at the hospital. After his parents' acrimonious divorce, he wanted reassurance the woman he loved would stick it out for the long haul. He'd thought he wanted that woman to be Megan. The ring burned a hole in his pocket half the size of the one in his heart.
Ray shoved aside sentimental crap that would only distract him from survival. Time to find out more about her shoulder wound. "We should check that scratch of yours."
A half smile returned, his ever-indomitable Megan holding strong in spite of the world exploding around them. "I guess there's no use in arguing."
"Not a chance." He gave her his best bad-boy grin when all he wanted to do was hold her. "Now take off your shirt, hon."
Take off her shirt? Megan tucked her knees closer to her chest as she sat on the dirt floor. She could barely keep from reaching for Ray while dressed. How would she hang on to her resolve once clothes started flying?
Not that he seemed open to debate on checking the injury to her shoulder. The determined thrust of his jaw and concerned glint in his eyes in the hazy red lighting made a lie of his playful grin. He was worried. And that simple emotion set her heart drumming louder than the repercussion of enemy bombs exploding outside their bunker.
Megan grasped the hem of her T-shirt, struggling not to grimace over the sting of her wound. An unsuccessful attempt. Ray swept aside her hands. He tugged the cotton shirt over her head and prodded her minor cut with a touch so impersonal she wanted to slug him.
Her pride stinging more than her shoulder, she tried to ignore the fact that she sat in front of him in nothing more than camouflage pants and a white bra. "So, am I going to live?"
"Yeah, looks that way." He ripped her T-shirt into strips and looped a makeshift bandage under her arm, tying it at her shoulder, the black fabric making a harsh contrast to her lacy bra.
And why was it only she seemed to be bothered by the lack of clothes?
He shouldn't look anyway. She would probably be pissed at him if he did. They were stuck in the middle of a war zone in the godforsaken Eastern European country of Sentavo, for crying out loud, their bunker sealed closed with an avalanche of dirt. She did not want him ogling her breasts like some sex-starved adolescent. Did she?
His gaze fell.
Her temperature rose.
Making love with Ray had always been incredible. And the hell of it was she'd really thought they were compatible out of bed, too.
His eyes narrowed and he reached. She steeled herself to resist temptation but couldn't bring herself to tell him no. Heaven help her, she wanted his hands on her again. With the world exploding outside their earthen haven, she couldn't help but think she might never have the chance to feel his caress again.
His knuckles grazed the inside of her breast. She shivered, her eyes sliding closed. Megan waited for a bolder stroke. Yearned. His hand left, and she moaned her disappointment.
Her eyes fluttered open. Ray's hand hovered just between her breasts — his fingers hooked around the chain to her dog tags. Nestled in his palm rested the two metal disks and a tiny silver airplane.
A half smile quirked his mouth. "You kept it."
Not only had she kept it, but she wore it. Always. Hadn't been able to bring herself to take off the memento from their afternoon at a fair. "I couldn't give it away after you worked so hard to win it at the duck shoot booth."
"Ridiculous little thing cost me a fortune in tokens."
Her mind winged back to a happier day with Ray. Pumped with the victory of winning the airplane charm, he'd taken her for a hot air balloon ride. Told her he loved her for the first time.
She wanted that moment with all its promise back but couldn't delude herself. Ray needed more from her than she could give. He deserved better than a woman too hung up on her past to risk her heart. She hated herself for being a coward. Taking a bullet for him in battle would be easier, less frightening, than this. "The guy rigged the shooting booth, Ray, so he could get more money out of you."
"Hell, I knew that." His hand fell away, the chain dropping to rest between her breasts again. "But you wanted it and I figured eventually he would feel sorry for me."
Her fingers gravitated to clutch the tiny plane, the silver still holding Ray's heat. "That's so sweet."
His eyes shifted away from her, fixed on his arms resting on his bent knees. "Sweet? Nah, I'd already decided once I reached fifty bucks, I would opt for the stuffed gator instead."
She wasn't fooled. He would have played into bankruptcy for that charm. Being Ray with his grandiose gestures and big heart, once he set his mind to something, he never quit. Except when it came to them.
But he was here now.
Oh, God, was he ever here now, all six foot three inches of him, his muscular build filling their confined space and her senses. How quiet and, worst of all, lonely her life was without him. If they got out of this in one piece, would she spend the rest of her life only half-alive without him?
Her chest tightened, each breath constricted at the thought of never being with Ray again. She swayed nearer.
He thrust her BDU top toward her. "Get dressed."
"Ray —"
"Damn it, Megan —" his hoarse bark filled the murky enclosure "— unless you want to end up flat on your back, put your uniform on."
To hell with reason. With mortality rumbling a bombing echo above ground, she could only think of the here and now. She angled forward on her knees and draped her arms around his neck. "Maybe I want you on your back."
"Christ, you're killing me here, woman." He grabbed her wrists and untwined her arms from him. "What about afterward? Are you going to slide into ice princess mode? Because if you are, then forget it. Call me crazy, but if I can't have all of you, then I don't want you at all."
His words sent a shiver of excitement through her. Followed by fear. Then more excitement. And need. So much need. The war raging outside mirrored the one within her. Reason and recklessness battled for control.
Recklessness won. "Liar."
"Run that by me again?"
"We may have hurt each other, but we never lied. Don't start now." She pulled her wrists free and flattened her hands to his chest, his heart thudding a double pace against her palms. "You want me as much as I want you. That was never in question."
A slow swallow moved his throat, but he stayed silent. He was going to make her say it, make her risk and ask.
"Ray, I don't know about tomorrow. With you being here, I want to hope…." Doubts threatened to chill her. "But I just keep thinking what if there isn't a tomorrow? What if we never have that chance to be together again? To touch. To —"
He yanked her to him, his mouth meeting hers, hard and deep, tenderness playing no part in the raw longing, the ache that passed from him to her, then back again. She kissed him, tasted him, met each hungry sweep of his tongue with her own. Megan yanked down the zipper of his flight suit, tugged his T-shirt up for freer access to the steely play of muscles.
Ray's broad palms roved restless, bold paths along her back, then returned to the front clasp on her bra. "Is this pink or is the red light messing with my perceptions?"
"It's whatever you want it to be, Ray." How she wished she could be whatever he wanted. She shoved aside dangerous thoughts that could steal this moment from her. A moment she wanted so very much. She refused to let herself linger on abandoned dreams of the two of them standing at the altar today, Ray sliding his grandmother's ring on her finger.
Megan dipped her fingers lower, palmed the hot length of him. His groan filled her mouth as he cupped her breast, his touch familiar, exciting. Perfect.
She arched closer, sparks of desire burning her with an almost painful need to be with him. Now. "Please say you have contraception stored somewhere in one of those flight-suit pockets." She pulled her lips from his, cupping his face. "Ray, do you? Have something for us?"
"Protection?" Ray captured Megan's questing hands before they unwittingly discovered the wedding band in his sleeve pocket. "Uh, hang on a second, hon." He shoved himself to his feet, struggling for reason — not to mention self-control.
Megan rose to stand beside him, brushing her lips across his chin as she unzipped his pocket that contained the ring. "Don't want to wait."
If she found the jeweled band, the arguments would start. They would be over. God help him, he wasn't ready to let her go yet. But he couldn't risk another accidental pregnancy. If they had any hope of working through this mess, it couldn't be at the wrong end of a shotgun wedding again.
Ray stifled a groan at the feel of soft breasts pressing against his chest through his survival vest. He needed protection. Now.
And then he remembered. Sex may have been the last thing on his mind when he'd packed for this mission, but thank heaven his aircraft survival vest contained unlubricated condoms, included by life support personnel to utilize for water storage while taking up minimal space prior to use.
He resurrected his best bad boy smile to cover the raging frustration over unresolved issues and answered, "Of course I have protection, hon. I was coming to see you."
Slanting his mouth over her grateful smile, he molded her slim body to him as he plastered her against the sandbag walls. He wished they had a softer place, a softer time to be together than standing up in a dank bunker in a battle zone.
However the here and now was all they could count on, and he didn't intend to waste a second of it when he could touch Megan's silky skin. Feel her hand tug his flight suit zipper lower and free him from his boxers.
"Ray," she gasped. "No more waiting. I don't want slow, and I sure as hell don't want tender. I just want you. Here. Now."
How could he deny her when he wanted the same thing? Sliding the button from her waistband, his hands shook with need. She shimmied her pants down while Ray dug out the condom and sheathed himself.
His mouth returned to hers, his body anchoring her to the wall. One sure stroke nearly sent him over the edge. He gritted his teeth and held back. Megan might want fast, but he damned well intended to make sure it was fast and satisfying. More than satisfying. So mind-blowing she wouldn't be able to forget him if she walked away afterward.
He moved within her, forearms braced to the wall, fingers tangled in her hair. Outside, the war raged and pounded while inside Ray found a haven in the dance of their bodies against each other. So easily, they recaptured their perfect rhythm that made time fade to just heat, hands, and sensation. Megan. Only Megan.
Her breathing hitched in a sensual precursor he recognized well. He tore his mouth from hers, his touch roving to heighten her completion as he watched her. Soaked in the incredible image of his Megan, her head thrown back, her skin bathed in the red glow of the bunker light. His body and heart knew her with a primal recognition of his mate that hurtled him right over the edge of satisfaction with her.
Later — hours, minutes, he had no idea and didn't care — Ray emerged from the sensual haze, Megan sagging in his arms. Gently, he helped her back into her uniform, his hands still unsteady on every one of her buttons, then lowered them both to sit.
She trembled in his embrace. He gathered her closer to warm her in the emotional aftermath — then felt the tears leak onto his chest. His arms tightened, residual passion fading into protectiveness. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as his ice princess melted in a flood of hot tears and pain that burned right through him.
"Oh God, Ray. I wanted our baby so much." Her agonized whisper echoed in the musky shelter. "I swore I would be a better parent than mine."
Loss thundered through him with more force than the mortar rounds nailing the airfield and raining loose dirt over them. An ache swelled for their child and for Megan. And yeah, for himself, too. "I'm so damned sorry for not being there when you needed me."
Her hand drifted to his face and she trailed soft fingers down his cheek, swiping away tears he hadn't even known he'd shed. "We weren't there for each other, Ray. I shouldn't have lashed out when you had to be hurting as much as I was."
Her forgiving words soothed over him. Of course his logical Megan would be fair.
She drew in a shuddering breath. "I'm not justifying what I did, but I want you to understand. I felt as if I'd failed you on so many levels. By not being the open sort of woman you want. Then I couldn't even give you a child." Her hand pressed to his mouth before she pulled away, hugging her knees to her chest. "I know. I know. The miscarriage wasn't my fault. Blame the thoughts on hormones, or whatever you want. I just know I lay in that bed certain I would let you down again. So I sent you away."
Ray studied that straight brace of her shoulders and for the first time he saw past her ice-princess facade to the insecurity underneath. Didn't she realize all she brought to their relationship? Her cautious reserve balanced his bullish plow-ahead mind-set. And how could she not know how much happiness she'd given him?
Because he'd been too bent on dazzling her so she would stay that he'd never slowed down enough to reassure her or listen to her needs.
He reached for her. The ring box shifted in his sleeve pocket.… And fell. Right at Megan's feet, with the worst piss-poor timing imaginable.
Ray winced. "Crap." Great proposal, moron.
She scooped up the velvet box. Held it in her trembling hand. Didn't open it.
Yeah. Crap about said it all. He yanked his flight suit zipper up, righting his clothes, if not his messed up head. "Megan, maybe now isn't —"
An explosion drowned out the rest of his words. Followed by another. Closer. Damn, how could he have let Megan blur his focus until he forgot about basic survival?
Dirt exploded through the entryway in a pelting shower and settled, admitting streaks of light through a three-foot hole in the earthen avalanche. He forced aside thoughts of Megan clutching the ring box and assessed their more life-threatening concern.
Go or stay? With two hits, the structure of the bunker had no doubt been compromised. A rumbling overhead swelled, rattling the ceiling until a corner of the shelter collapsed.
Definitely go. He grabbed Megan's hand and yanked her up. "We have to get the hell out of here before the whole thing caves on our heads."
Megan answered with a curt nod, cool professionalism stamped on her tearstained cheeks. Worse than disrupting his own concentration, he'd messed with hers as well, but he intended to do whatever it took to haul her through the day alive.
Once they both crawled through, he clasped her hand in his again, scanned the runway. Smoke stained the morning sunrise. Gunfire stuttered from the band of trees. He searched for a safe haven, found the security-forces bunker, a larger steel structure waiting a hundred and fifty yards away. A helluva run, but their best bet.
He peered over his shoulder at Megan, her face so damned gorgeous, smudged with dirt, blond hair askew, and green eyes lit with a fire he wouldn't see snuffed. "Ready?"
Megan squeezed his hand. "Ready."
Their boots tore up the incline, around, out. Bullets chewed the grass at their feet. He held tight. The majority of the gunfire seemed to be spewing from the right. He adjusted his steps to shield her body with his.
Hope stirred. They neared the steel-enforced bunker. Only a few more yards.
He stumbled. Righted himself. Pain pulled him up short again. White, hot, his nerves blazed along his side where blood spread. Ah hell, he'd been shot. Ray clamped his hand against the wound in counter pressure. Couldn't risk letting Megan know and have her hesitate. He willed himself forward.
His feet wouldn't move. His view of the lush green landscape narrowed, tighter, darker. A scream, Megan's horrified scream, ricocheted in his head.
"Ray!"
His name. Just a few short hours ago he'd wondered if he would ever hear her say it again. Now the sound reverberated through him, in him, Megan so much a part of him he couldn't stop loving this woman. Ever. Why the hell had it taken facing death twice in a day to make him realize how precious what they had together was? Not perfect, sure, but special and worth fighting for.
Agony firing through his gut, Ray held on to the sound of his name on Megan's lips as the world faded to black.
"Ray!" Panic pulsing through her, Megan screamed into the chilly air as Ray fell toward her. Morning sunlight illuminated too well the blood streaking down his side.
Bracing her boots, she caught him, her arms under his to support his weight and halt his fall. Damn, he was heavy. She tamped down feelings of dread. She had to. For Ray. Her fingers fisted around the velvet ring box that had fallen from his pocket back in the bunker.
Acrid wafts of smoke rode the moaning wind through the pine trees. What to do? Fling herself over him on the grass and shout for help? Or get them both the hell out of there? The bunker waited just a few more yards ahead at the end of the runway.
The earth shuddered beneath her feet with another enemy explosion. Getting the hell away before the Sentavo rebel forces found better aim sounded like a plan to her.
Shoving aside the teeth-clattering terror of losing Ray, Megan ducked her shoulder into his midsection. He groaned. Alive. Thank you, God. She would worry about Ray's wound later. She hated to think she might be injuring him further, but the hail of bullets posed a more serious threat. She jammed the ring box in her pocket.
"Damn it, Ray. Hang on a little longer. Don't you dare leave me now." She hefted him up into a fireman's carry as she'd practiced often in rescue exercises, an arm over one shoulder, legs over the other to distribute the load far more easily than dragging dead weight by his arms.
Dead. Nausea roiled. She swallowed back the bite of bile and forced training to override the gut-twisting possibility of Ray dying. She could pull her own weight in the battlefield. Had to in order to don the uniform. And those wearing the uniform understood the code: Never leave your wingman.
Her grip tightened as she started toward the bunker. Adrenaline fired her steps. Love powered her feet the rest of the way. And, God, yes, she did so love this man.
The cement bunker drew closer. Huffing in gasps of icy air, she started down the incline toward the entrance. Cutter, Bronco, Tag, and their squadron commander — Lieutenant Colonel Zach Dawson — poured from the door.
Bronco charged forward, his football background evident in his bulk. "Let me take him." The copilot leaned closer. "Lieutenant?"
Megan's arms convulsed around Ray, an irrational part of her fearing if she gave him over she would lose him forever, somehow certain the strength of her love would keep him alive. Ridiculous since her love had failed him before.
Megan shifted her precious burden to Bronco. "Careful. He's been shot in his left side."
Tag stepped forward silently to help Bronco carry Ray, while protecting his injury.
The squadron commander nodded toward the looming line of five C-17s. "Load him up. We're evacuating all aircraft from the field. There's not enough in the way of medical treatment here anyway. Cutter can tend him in the air."
Her throat closed at the thought of watching Ray fly away. Hands clenched at her side, Megan backed toward the bunker door.
Cutter's brow furrowed, a doctor-frown marking the flight surgeon's face below his red do-rag. "Where do you think you're going?" He gestured to her shoulder. "Do we have to carry you to the plane as well to get you to accept treatment?"
She looked down. Fresh blood seeped onto the front of her BDUs, even through her T-shirt bandage. She'd never even felt her wound reopen.
"Go!" the towering squadron commander barked over the din. "You're officially relieved of your post. We need to get the planes the hell out of here before they're hit."
Relief washed over her. She would even take another bullet for the chance to stay with Ray. Just as he'd taken one for her.
"Yes, sir." Megan darted with the crew toward the closest aircraft, her shoulder stinging until she wondered how she could have missed it before.
And then she knew. In a flash of understanding everything became so clear it seemed amazing she hadn't grasped it before. Love gave her strength. She'd thought the fear of offering her heart to Ray made her weak. But now she realized the boundless love Ray had shown her — the same love she felt for him — empowered her.
Never leave your wingman.
They'd screwed up on that one a couple of months ago. But if they both got out of this alive, she would convince Ray to make it their lifelong credo to each other.
* * *
Fog blanketed Ray's mind. He pulled himself through the hazy layers, concentrating on the familiar drone of airplane engines. Flying. He was flying. The closest thing to heaven — except for being inside Megan.
Megan. Pain from his side seared through him, along with memories. The bunker. Out of control emotions as they'd made love. Then the shooting. His gut blazed. His eyes snapped open.
Megan. His Megan hovered at the foot of his stretcher inside the belly of the cargo plane. Flat on his back, he absorbed every gorgeous inch of her silhouetted by the lights lining the ceiling of the metal cavern. Her hair tangled around her pale face as she stood, her bloodstained BDU top replaced with a new black T-shirt. But oh so alive. He let himself breathe, his focus expanding now that his fears had been allayed.
Cutter waited at his right. "Well, Gator, looks like your luck held. The bullet went clean through your side. I've already stitched you up. Sewed up Lieutenant Reed's shoulder, as well. You can both collect your purple hearts in a joint ceremony."
Megan edged around the foot of the stretcher toward the flight surgeon. "Thank you."
"No sweat." Cutter grinned, stepping back. "I'm going to head up front with Bronco now. Call if you need anything."
"Thanks, Cutter." Ray kept his eyes on Megan, the ache fading to a dull throb worth ignoring. He had more important things to attend to. "I think we'll be fine now."
The flight surgeon's light chuckle mingled with the rumble of engines as he left.
Ray studied Megan and thought of all he wanted to say, how much he wanted her, loved her. But he waited. No more his way or the highway.
She lifted her hand, fingers clutched around…the black velvet ring box. He remembered her scooping it off the bunker floor, but hadn't dared hope she'd kept it with her through their whole escape.
Megan creaked open the box's lid to reveal his grandma's ring. "Marry me, Ray."
Shock leveled him faster than the bullet. "What?"
"Please marry me." She sat on the edge of the stretcher and smiled down at him. "As soon as we land and find an available chaplain. I love you so much, Ray. No more waiting. I'm ready to start our forever."
He wanted to shout with victory, haul her to him and kiss her until they both didn't need any medication to numb the pain. But her more careful approach to life had merits. Making sure they had their forever right this time was too important to screw up. "Are you sure? There's a lot of adrenaline flowing right now." He wrapped his hand around hers, closing their fingers over the box. "Christ, I love you, too, hon, so damned much. But I don't want you to regret this later."
"I know my heart, and it belongs to you." Steadfast resolution shone in her eyes. "I've learned from you about acting before life slips away. Well, Ray?" Her voice faltered. "Have I blown it by waiting too long?"
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "My answer's inside the ring."
Megan opened the lid and withdrew the jewel-studded gold band. She tipped it to read. "Oh, Ray," she whispered. "Our wedding date is next to your grandparents'."
"It's still our wedding day, Megan." He'd taken off just after midnight on what should have been their wedding day and midnight hadn't rolled around again. "Grandma Anna and Grandpa Ray had fifty-nine years together. I want us to have at least that many."
"Starting now." Megan passed him the ring and extended her left hand, her sure smile healed wounds old and new.
He slid the band on her finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."
Linking her fingers with his, she leaned forward to whisper against his mouth. "With this ring, I thee wed."
Tenderly, she kissed him. He kissed her back. Gentle warmth flowed between them. Passion would come later once they'd both recovered. For now, he took comfort in the familiarity of her soft curves against him, the plane humming as they winged their way through the sky. Ray cupped the back of her head to brush her mouth with his once more and let the contentment roll through him.
No doubt about it, flying solo was highly overrated.
The End