Page 72 of Vaquero
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Why not Antigua? It’s civilized,” Hotrod asked pointedly.
Meg looked at Julio for that answer. They were on deck next to Hotrod’s Blackhawk. It was just after sun-up, and a strong easterly wind had blown in. The helo’s rotors vibrated under the assault, but Hotrod had assured them the weather was no problem. He was in his jumpsuit at the cockpit’s open door, and ready to go, his helmet dangling from the strap in his hand. The reflective lenses of his Aviators bounced Meg’s reflection back at her. It’d be nice to see his eyes for a change, but he always wore some kind of protective eye cover. If not his darkened helmet lens, then the Aviators. If she could ever make actual eye contact, she was sure she could convince him to get this show on the road before Charlie showed up and spoiled everything. He had a knack for doing that.
Julio stood beside Meg, his hands loose at his sides and his gear bag at his feet. Dressed in a new pair of denim jeans instead of his customary black get-up, he was as ready as Meg to get off the carrier. He was wearing dark glasses too, along with his work boots, and the leather bomber jacket he’d purchased at NEX. But the plain white, sexy-as-hell t-shirt beneath that jacket had to be two sizes too small the way it stretched over his wide chest. The way it delineated the sheer power in those muscular pecs.
Meg had no idea ordinary cotton fabric could turn a man into a sexy beast. But it surely had. Her fingers itched to get under that shirt, maybe rip it off. Standing beside him was pure torture when her mind was still back in bed, where he’d gotten acquainted with every bare inch of her body. It still thrummed from what he’d done to and with her in their morning shower. Which she’d adored. She wanted to return the favor.
Julio had a way of never making her think twice. With him, she was beautiful again. He’d turned her back into herself instead of the Doubting Thomas she’d been since her stroke. Who was she to argue? If he thought she was gorgeous, then she was. To prove her newly found femininity, she’d left her bandana behind. Refused to hide behind it ever again. Didn’t even know where it was. Eventually, her hair would grow back, but if it didn’t? She no longer cared. Julio loved her just the way she was. He’d told her so, and that was good enough.
But damn, this sturdy hero beside her looked like a bad-boy biker with an attitude behind those Ray-Bans. Yup, they definitely needed more space and a heck of a lot more time to themselves. He had a couple weeks off and it’d be months before the carrier docked. It was now or never.
But Hotrod was right. Antigua would make a cozy retreat. Southeast of Puerto Rico, its deep harbor accommodated even the largest cruise ships. Surely, she and Julio could recharge their batteries there instead of some burned-out island.
“Too many people,” Julio replied, his voice as even and emotionless as ever.
She’d quickly come to understand that he was a different man behind closed doors than he was in public. Her man’s pride ran deep, and she respected that. There would be no public displays of affection once they’d stepped outside her room.
Which made her smile. The only reason they’d even come up for air was they’d gotten hungry. Aircraft carriers might come with deluxe accommodations, but not room service. Not that she and Julio had checked to see if there was any such thing. She didn’t need to be the subject of any scuttlebutt that would surely follow her calling the galley for an order of eggs and ham.
Hotrod’s chest heaved with a long-suffering sigh. “I’d rather take you somewhere stateside, not drop you two on some deserted, undeveloped island off Costa Rica. I’m not a damned taxi.”
“Stateside will do, kind sir,” Dr. Barbara Hazelton chirped, her British accent as classy as ever. The breeze caught her very lovely blonde hair, making her look like a college girl instead of Britain’s leading nuclear engineer. Wearing white slacks and a pink silk blouse beneath what had to be a London Fog trench coat, she smiled like a movie star on the set.
What was it about that blasted accent that turned every male head on deck? Like Julio’s. Meg wanted to reach out and slap the back of that man’s hard head, but she’d never embarrass him like that. Unless he continued staring at this blonde bombshell. His eyes had gone scary dark. What on earth did he see in Hazelton that he hadn’t seen in Meg?
Irritated now, and surprised at how defensive she’d become over some woman she’d barely met, Meg cleared her throat, determined to make her point. “Sorry, Doc, but we were up top first, and we’re not going states—”
“But we could,” Julio interrupted, his tone still even, his jaw set, and his damned focus still on Hazelton.
Meg could’ve been on fire and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. She cocked her head and sent him a “What the hell?” ice glare, even as Hazelton offered a pert, “Cheerio, then. Let’s be off. If you’re sure?”
Oh, that was rich. Pull the sweet damsel in distress card.Bat your long, thick eyelashes, which are probably fake. Purse those full, red, and no doubt, botoxed lips. Damn you.
Meg wanted to slap the smirk off Hazelton’s face. And Hotrod! For the love of god! All he’d offered Meg was a curt, “Morning, ma’am,” when she’d showed up bright and early. But Hazelton had earned one of his mega-watt grins? For what?
Julio was the one who’d suggested they get away for a couple days, not Meg. And Charlie had all but promised Hotrod could and would take them anywhere they needed to go. Yet Julio and Hotrod had both up and changed their weak little male minds because this blonde bimbo showed up and said jump?
“Island first,” Meg told Hazelton in her best Corporal’s voice. “Then you can go wherever you want.”Back to England would be nice.
But Hotrod was already shaking his head. “No can do, Duncan.”Now I’m Duncan, not even ma’am?“Doctor Hazelton’s mission takes precedence over everything else on this ship. Your little vacay will have to wait.”
She opened her mouth to argue this was most certainly not a vacation, but Julio intervened. “Which was why I agreed to go along with Doctor Hazelton. Stateside is better than nothing.”
He was going with Hotrod and Hazelton? “Since when?”
“Since she said she needed to go stateside.” Julio’s broad shoulders lifted like this betrayal was no big deal. He’d taken his Ray-Bans off and tucked the stem into his t-shirt’s neckline. His dark chocolate eyes were too damned bright, and still fixed on Hazelton. Not on Meg where they should’ve been. The ass!
While her blood boiled, Meg held her tongue. Hazelton on the other hand, had no trouble directing the four sailors behind her where and how to stow her four, small, metal crates, most likely the plutonium and her equipment, on board the Blackhawk. “Do be extra careful, boys,” she piped up. “Strap them nice and tight. One slip and who knows what might happen. Why, we could be responsible for another Godzilla.”
That, and the annoying patronizing way she talked down to them as if they were mere boys, earned her a hearty round of male chuckles. But it also bought those crates extra-special handling. The young men she’d enlisted to help couldn’t seem to do enough. One even saluted before he winked and walked away. Yet not a one of them had said a word to Meg.
Once they were gone, Hazelton turned that creamy complexion on Julio, her blue eyes suddenly warm and her tongue sliding suggestively over her lush bottom lip. “But I really do hate to abscond with your ride. Please, my good man,” she said to Hotrod. “May Agent Juarez ride with me? There is so much I need to ask him, and it’ll save me having to cross over the pond again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hotrod replied easily, gesturing Julio forward. “Up front with me, Juarez. Looks like you’re co-pilot this trip.”
And I’m chopped liver.
