Taking Cover. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
out in the aisle, with the other knee wedged against the seat in front of him. Figures he’s a sprawler.
Probably a bed hog, too.
Whoa, girl! Those kind of thoughts could just hike right on back into her subconscious, because she had no intention of exploring them further. She had a case to solve and a promotion to secure. No way would she let another hotshot flyboy interfere with her career.
Especially one with such damned distracting dimples.
Kathleen started to reach for his shoulder and he shifted, flinging his arm across her lap. His hand rested, palm up, searing her leg through her cotton slacks.
She forced her breathing to regulate.
Just a normal hand, five fingers and his Academy ring. Except that hand flew planes with the same finesse he’d used to scramble her brains back in the airport with a few caresses to her head.
What would those callused fingers feel like exploring her bare skin? Her heart rate kicked up a notch.
Scooting her leg from under his hand, Kathleen gently nudged his foot with hers. “Rise and shine, hotshot. We’re here.”
He jackknifed upright, eyes wide as he woke without hesitation. At the sharp movement he paled, and a curse slipped free with enough force to make her wince.
“Are you okay?”
“Take off your stethoscope, Doc. I’m fine. Just slept crooked and moved too fast.” He shoved aside the pillow and blanket and stood, stretching. His arms arced over his head in a muscle-rippling reach.
She tore her attention from his chest.
Couldn’t she display a little sympathy without him turning defensive? Given the thrust of his jaw, apparently not. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He hefted his bag from the overhead storage.
“Fair enough. I’ll put away the MD.” Kathleen shoved aside her hurt feelings and shrugged her bag onto her shoulder.
She wedged into the crowded aisle behind Tanner as he turned sideways to fit through the narrow passageway. Did his slow swagger hide genuine pain? He needed bed rest, not an eleven-hour flight in a cramped airline seat.
Had he been home in Charleston, one of his girlfriends would have been pampering him, plying him with eggnog and TLC. Who was he seeing now? Tiffani, Brandi or some other woman with a name ending in an I with a heart over it.
Kathleen inched forward, mentally kicking herself for thoughts that bordered on petty. Tanner wasn’t a bar hound collecting a different bimbo every week like some crew dogs, such as her ex-husband or Lance Sinclair before he married. Gossip and her own observations revealed Tanner had a relationship pattern.
She didn’t want to ponder overlong on why she’d bothered to listen to gossip about his love life.
All stories ran the same path. He held steady for six months to a year. Then one of them broke it off for any number of lame reasons.
Another common thread ran through it all. The Brandi, Tansi, Candi types were all needi—needy. And no doubt about it, Tanner was a man who thrived on watching out for people. His protectiveness in the German airport had only been a sampling.
Kathleen had been born taking care of herself. She’d never needed rescuing, except for two brief moments. Once when she’d fallen out of a tree as a kid and sprained her wrist, and later in a rock climbing accident that had left her with a broken ankle. Both times the helplessness had been hell.
Much like Tanner must have felt in the infirmary.
The thought blindsided her, tangling her feet for a startled moment. Who would have expected she could find a common bond with Tanner Bennett?
They approached the cheery flight attendant by the cock-pit. The woman bestowed an extra bright smile with her “bye-bye” for Tanner.
He ducked to clear the airplane doorway, barely disguising his wince. Kathleen resisted the urge to stroke a comforting hand over his broad back. He would likely accuse her of plotting another hospital stay.
So what if her name didn’t end with a sweet and softening i? That didn’t mean she couldn’t offer a little compassion when someone deserved it.
Her bedside manner did not suck, damn it.
She winced. All right, maybe she wasn’t the soft and cuddly type like her mom and sisters. She’d learned long ago to stick with what she knew and did best, then no one would be disappointed.
Kathleen locked away her conciliatory remarks. For this trip she wasn’t Tanner’s doctor. She wasn’t his Academy bud. And she wasn’t the woman who would tend to his aching back. She was nothing more than his workmate.
Her hand skimmed down the nutcracker necklace that weighted like a ten-ton reminder of Tanner’s hundred-watt smile.
Tanner crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet as the shuttle bus plowed around a corner toward the rental car building. The ever-present L.A. smog battled with misting rain to haze out visibility. Drizzle streaked the windows, the overcast sky mirroring his mood.
Kathleen hadn’t released her grip on the seat in front of them. There wasn’t a chance the bus driver’s haphazard speedster techniques would fling her against him. The stubborn set of her jaw and white knuckles told Tanner she wouldn’t budge if they hurtled into a three-car pileup.
He’d made her mad, not unusual, except he had no idea what he’d done this time. The comments about their Academy days? Maybe. But she’d handled it, stopping him dead with a chilling stare. He couldn’t dodge the notion that he’d hurt her feelings somehow.
That bothered him more than any of their bickering.
The shuttle bus squealed to a shuddering stop in front of the rental car building, puddles sluicing up onto the sidewalk. Tanner followed Kathleen’s stiff back and trim, too-enticing hips all the way inside.
Wasn’t she going to talk to him? They couldn’t resolve anything if she wouldn’t speak. That woman had the silent treatment down pat.
He would wait her out.
Not that he’d ever been the patient type.
Just hang tough. The ninety-minute drive to base would likely stretch into a couple of hours, thanks to rush hour traffic.
Oddly, he missed sparring with her. Mental boxing matches were something he shared with Kathleen alone. The women he dated had always been more agreeable, yet something about Kathleen’s bristly manner put him at ease and fired him up all at once. One of their lively exchanges would spark up a dreary day.
Kathleen advanced in the line to the garland-strewn counter. One of the twenty androgynous agents droned, “Driver’s license, proof of insurance and credit card, please.”
Tanner reached for his wallet.
So did Kathleen.
Uh-oh.
He sensed her silent treatment was about to come to an abrupt end. Anticipation churned inside him as it did during those last sixty seconds before take off.
His hand twitched on his wallet. “I always drive on TDYs.”
“So do I.” Kathleen flung her canvas tote onto the counter and began digging for her wallet in earnest.
“And I’m going to look like a real chauvinist if I say I want to drive, anyway.” Tanner tried to keep his tone light, a smile in place, but suspected the annoying tic in one eye might give him away.
She planted a hand on the counter and perched her other hand on her hip. “I’ll make this easy on us. Who has the rental car on their travel orders? Military joint travel regs state that’s who is responsible for the car. Need me to cite the reg?”
“Ah. The regs.”
“They’re