Are Men From Mars?: Are Men From Mars? / Venus, How Could You?. Candy HallidayЧитать онлайн книгу.
And it wasn’t until she turned back around that she noticed the items he had offered her the night before were now sitting in a neat little bundle on the closed toilet seat.
Atop the bundle was a note.
Maddie walked over and picked it up. Shower and get cleaned up. By the time you’re dressed, I should be back with breakfast. Baker is back at his guard post in case you get any bright ideas about trying to escape again.
“Cute, real cute,” Maddie said aloud.
Yeah, he was a real riot, that Hawk.
She tossed the note into the wastebasket beside the sink, shed her rumpled clothing and pulled back the shower curtain that was still damp from the shower Brad had taken earlier. Stepping under the hot spray, she winced slightly when the water found the tender places from the manhandling she had suffered the day before. Too bad her arms and legs weren’t the only things bruised. She hated to admit it, but her ego was a little bruised, too, from the manhandling that hadn’t taken place the night before. And that’s what had her so puzzled.
Maddie couldn’t explain it, but in less than twenty-four hours she felt as if her entire life had done a gigantic flip-flop. Even finding a Deva Skipper seemed unimportant at the moment, although that could easily be explained thanks to Mary Beth and the media. Now, just holding on to her job had to be her main priority.
But what about all of the fantasizing? The funny feeling she got in the pit of her stomach every time she looked at Hawk? Not to mention the sudden concern over her appearance, which had never mattered one way or another to Maddie before.
Those weren’t her normal concerns.
Which was why, Maddie decided, she had to pull herself together and she had to do it fast. Captain Brad Hawkins was a luxury she simply couldn’t afford. Not if she intended to remain in control of her emotions and in control of her life. So, she simply wouldn’t give in to any further fantasies. Nor would she allow herself to obsess over her ratty hair and whether or not she had a big red wound on the tip of her nose. What she would do was start acting like the woman she really was. A competent woman. A focused woman. A confident woman. A woman with a kick-ass attitude, who knew what she wanted out of life and what she had to do to get it.
“Will the real Maddie Morgan please step forward?” Maddie said aloud, and stepped from the shower a woman renewed.
Thirty minutes later, however, she certainly didn’t look like the real Maddie Morgan. Her standard military issue fatigue pants were so large around the waist they fit like hip-huggers, and the T-shirt was so small it strained across her ample bosom like something you would wear to a wet T-shirt contest. Not that it mattered whether the T-shirt was wet or not. Since she’d rinsed out her bra and her undies along with the rest of her clothes that were now hanging discreetly behind the shower curtain, there was nothing to encumber the two distinct protrusions winking back at Maddie as she stared at herself in the mirror.
So much for getting back to my old self, Maddie thought. If anything, she looked exactly like Mary Beth.
Maddie rubbed her hand over her exposed midriff, thinking that all she needed now was Mary Beth’s belly-button ring. Yet, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about the situation or her new clothes, Maddie stomped from the bathroom like the true survivor she was, in search of one thing and one thing only.
Breakfast.
AFTER MAKING A MORNING check on Operation Demob, Brad had made a stop by the mess hall himself, then quickly returned to relieve Baker of his morning guard duties. He had chosen things he thought Maddie might like: cream cheese, bagels and a variety of fruit. He’d also picked up two containers of orange juice and a couple of disposable cups of hot coffee. He’d even remembered to grab a few packets of artificial sweeter and some creamer, since he found women rarely liked their coffee black the way he did himself.
Baker’s confirmation that he’d heard the shower running earlier told Brad his prisoner was already awake. Had she been one of the usual women he found in his company, Brad would have probably wandered into the bathroom and maybe even into the shower with her. But Brad had to remind himself that Maddie wasn’t one of his dates. She was his prisoner. And the fact they’d already shared a bed didn’t change a thing.
Especially since the bed sharing had been totally platonic; a fact Brad was still struggling with, even though common sense told him he needed to maintain the same resolve over the next few days. And that was going to be the hard part. Just like last night. He’d been teasing her, trying to keep her off balance, until the proximity to her got out of control and he accidentally let her know what was really on his mind. But who could blame him? What red-blooded American male could snuggle up with Maddie Morgan and not get aroused?
Smiling to himself over the comment she’d made about the hand grenade, Brad knew she had spent most of the night awake, most likely worried that his male urges would eventually get the better of him. Even when his own internal alarm clock had awakened him at 5:00 a.m., he could tell she was only pretending to be asleep. When he’d switched on the bedside light, he’d seen those long eyelashes of hers flutter ever so slightly like the butterflies she was so passionate about.
He’d been tempted to rattle her chain a little, let her know he was on to her by cuddling up next to her again, until thoughts like those evoked a response that sent him straight to the bathroom for a long, cold shower. In fact, just thinking about her now was enough to make Brad wonder if he shouldn’t come up with a Plan B and back off on the sexual advances. Those damn advances left him teetering on the fence every time he got close to her.
And falling for Maddie Morgan wasn’t an option.
He was a lifer. A military career man. He had made a solemn vow there would never be any room in his life for a serious relationship. Maddie was no exception.
At least, those were Brad’s convictions until the bedroom door opened and she stepped into the room. Then all thought of the Air Force and his convictions evaporated faster than a jet engine vapor trail.
Sweet Maddie, hell! Brad thought. The way her T-shirt was clinging to every curve, all he could do was stare at the two delectable mounds that seemed to be begging for his immediate attention.
“Yes, I have boobs. Now, close your mouth and stop staring at them.”
Brad swallowed, hard. “Hey, you surprised me, that’s all,” he lied.
She didn’t answer. Instead she padded barefoot across the room in his direction and headed straight for the local paper lying on the table. Her eyes narrowed when she picked the paper up and read the bold headlines THE SEARCH FOR MADAM BUTTERFLY CONTINUES.
“Were you expecting your sister to change her mind and call off the search?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I was sure hoping she’d change her mind,” Brad admitted. “If she’d been willing to cooperate, we might have been able to put an end to this predicament.”
When she didn’t comment, Brad changed the subject by motioning to the table he already had set and waiting. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” she said and tossed the paper into the trash can before she seated herself at the table.
Okay, Brad thought as he seated himself opposite her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she was acting differently this morning. Sure, she had never seemed nervous or too timid to take up for herself, but still, there was something different about her. She was acting more…well, more aloof. Yeah, that was it. Today she seemed detached. Distant.
Which might be a blessing in disguise, Brad decided when his eyes wandered back to the two perfect peaks responsible for the activity that was going on under the napkin he had just placed on his lap.
“I hate to keep harping on your sister,” he said, testing the water a little further, “but you’re certainly being more charitable about her behavior than I would be if I were in your shoes.”
The look she sent him was as unyielding as the material