Page 2 of Wild Card

“Yeah, well…not here and not now.” She pushed to a sitting position, shoving dark strings of hair from her face. She’d gone for sleek sophisticate when pulling up her hair, but Audrey Hepburn she’d never be. “Speaking of here and now—what the hell, Mackenna? How are you here? Why are you here?”

She didn’t have to elaborate further. Sometimes Sam and she all but finished sentences for each other. The sharp glints in his gaze proved the verbal shorthand hadn’t gone wasted. “John Franzen is a good mate.” He elaborated the point by nodding toward the half-Samoan giant who was standing up as Dan’s best man.

“You two…served together?” No other explanation made sense. Franzen had been raised on Kaua’i, Sam just outside Edinburgh. One was U.S. Army, the other British RAF.

Sam grunted. “Camp Bastion. Never underestimate its magical brotherly bonding powers.”

Despite his sarcasm, Jen didn’t laugh. People rarely did when Bastion was invoked. The Brits’ operating base in Afghanistan was no humorous matter. Located in the lethal Helmand Province, it was a dirty, dangerous compound sitting in the middle of nowhere, making it ideal as an airstrip and very little else. When the Americans joined the party too, the base became an even bigger play toy for the enemy—often with lethal results.

Jen fought a violent urge—yes, another—to just grab the man, pull him tight, and hold him until all his demons went away. Just looking at his service record—four deployments, to the shittiest parts of the globe—told her the task would take a while. She’d savor every minute.

But a man like him probably preferred the “comfort” of someone like Mattie Lesange. The woman already prepared for the job, checking her reflection in a compact mirror from where she sat in the third pew, next to the spot Sam had just vacated. As she tucked the case into her purse then stood, Jen swallowed a lump of envy. The term “blonde bombshell” was invented for someone like Mattie. Even her curves had curves and she accentuated them all with finesse, skating to the edge of slutty but never over it. She’d probably already earned herself a cute nickname from Sam too. Something like kitten or princess or sugar bunny.

Not mouse.

“Anyhow,” Sam went on, “as you can see, John and Dan are thick as thieves too, so I was dragged along for the festivities.” He shrugged then chuffed, kicking up one side of his mouth in one of Jen’s favorite expressions. “Couple of glaikit bawbags,” he mumbled. “They say I’ve been too reclusive. That I should be ‘gettin’ out for my last few weekends in the states’.”

Jen’s return smile came easily—as she fought the craving to explore the new dimple he’d revealed. “You are too reclusive.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am.” She backhanded his shoulder. “Recluse.”

“Mmmph. Next I know, bastards’ll be draggin’ me off to Disneyland.”

His Scottish moodiness was contagious. While Jen kept her smile plastered on, she couldn’t help the inevitable direction he’d steered her thoughts. Another week, and his remaining days in the states would be down to single digits.

Ugh.

How the hell had nine months gone by already? Wasn’t it yesterday that the man had first entered her office with the command of a laird taking over his new castle, his long legs and proud shoulders making even his puke green flight suit look like a nobleman’s vestments? Hadn’t it been a moment ago that he’d laid the paperwork down to validate that he and his eleven squad mates were officially supposed to be at Nellis, on loan from Lakenheath for some U.S./U.K. cross-training over terrain that emulated most of the Middle East?

She didn’t want to think about that now.

She especially didn’t want to think about the moment she’d hand those papers back—and tell him goodbye.

Sarcasm to the rescue. “What? You really don’t want to get a pair of plastic mouse ears before queen and country call you home?”

Sam chuckled. For a moment. As his face sobered, his eyes gained a new gleam. Jen swallowed past a sudden cotton mouth. Fought against getting sucked into that stare of his, so sizzling and brilliant…

Hopeless cause.

Especially as he leaned over, both hands raised, knuckles brushing her cheeks…

Before yanking on her earlobes and cracking a broad smirk. “Don’t think the plastic ones will compete with these beauties.”

She spurted a laugh. Good thing. It disguised the quiver conquering the rest of her body…then the heat in the crux of her thighs. Hell. It had only been a couple of playful tugs…on her ears.

Was she that starved to be touched by a man again?

Yes. And no.

Celibacy had never been an issue after Diego, then Flynn. Paying one’s way through college was always more glamorous in the movies than real life, meaning the time and energy to date was pushed onto a distant back burner, and Mr. Pleasure Bullet was adequate entertainment for most of her Saturday nights. Besides—surprise, surprise—it was amazing what a girl could get done without snoring in her ear, drool on her pillow, and a hairy arm smashing her boobs.

But that arm had never belonged to Sam.

What if it had?

Danger zone, girl. You are way,way behind the boundaries of proper thoughts for this man. Back on track. Now.

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