Jump Start (10 page)

“He has you,” she whispered to the image in the mirror. She’d already made that decision, while lying in bed not sleeping and wondering what Bobby had going on in his head right now. Knowing he needed her and she’d be there for him, no strings attached. Oh, sure, he seemed to want her now, but after hearing about his father, she knew that feeling stemmed from his need to broach the past. She understood she was a part of his healing. She certainly believed he was a part of her healing. No matter how this ended, she had her closure. And she knew now, she’d needed closure desperately.

The doorbell rang and Jennifer’s heart raced wildly at the sound. She was nervous. With Bobby. As if they hadn’t seen each other in every intimate way possible. As if they hadn’t just had sex several hours before. As if this was a date.

“It’s not a date,” she said softly, rushing toward the door. He was leaving. Again. This was a fling with hot sex and a final kiss goodbye—the end that should have happened before, and never did. A bit of entertainment outside the bedroom was not so abnormal. But Bobby…at her door, knocking when he’d once had a key to her home and her heart, this felt abnormal.

She reached for the doorknob and inhaled a calming breath before pulling it open. “Hi,” she said, bringing him into focus, her calming breath lodging in her throat, and not so calming after all.

Bobby leaned on the door frame, one powerful arm looped over his head, his big, gorgeous body filling the archway. The scent of him inviting her body’s response.

“Hi,” he said softly, while his eyes screamed with crystal-blue awareness.

Jennifer pulled the door open fully. “Come in and I’ll get my purse from the bedroom.”

He dropped his arm and sauntered forward, pushing the door shut behind him. Before she knew his intention, he tugged her into his arms. His lips brushed hers, a caress, a promise, though of what she did not know. “Did you rest?” he asked.

“I tried and failed,” she admitted, her hand brushing his cheek as she noted the weariness beneath the sex appeal. “You didn’t rest either, did you?”

“Rest is overrated, right?” he teased, his hand lazily caressing her back, sending shivers down her spine as he reminded her of her earlier comment. “Guess we could have spent the afternoon in bed after all.” He molded her closer. “We might have time—”

She pressed away from him. “Or we might lose track of time and forget the show. And for the record, this show is the closest you are getting me to a parachute.”

“You forget how persuasive I can be,” he reminded her, nuzzling her ear. “Should I remind you?” His hands slid up her waist, brushing the curves of her breasts.

Jennifer sucked in a breath as her nipples tingled and tightened, and she pulled back to glower at him. “Have you forgotten how stubborn I can be? Should
I
remind
you?
”

“I’ve definitely not forgotten how stubborn you are,” he teased in an exaggerated voice and swatted her backside. “You win the battle of wills.” He winked. “For now. Go get your purse and let’s roll. The show’s in San Marcus at the actual Texas Hotzone airfield where we’ll be jumping tomorrow.”

“Not we,” she corrected. “I already told you. I’m not jumping out of any airplane. And don’t try to change my mind. Tell me about the show instead. Is it some sort of festival or charity type thing or what?”

“Someone at the Hotzone told me about it when I called to book the reservations,” he said. “They put the show on themselves once a month to draw interest and new customers. We just got lucky with the timing.” He glanced at his watch. “Show starts in forty-five minutes. It’s about a thirty-minute drive, if I remember my distances correctly.”

“We should have taken Marcie and Mark,” she suggested, and then realized her error. They were going to see his father in San Antonio. He wouldn’t want Mark and Marcie along for the ride. She crinkled her nose. “Then again, it might have started a fight we don’t want to be a part of.”

Bobby kissed her forehead, appearing unaffected by her misstep. “I wanted to have you all to myself anyway.”

The confession vibrated with a sweet, romantic kind of sensuality that made her smile. “I can live with that,” she admitted, and then, with an undeniable smile inside to match the one outside, Jennifer whisked away to her bedroom. She returned a few seconds later, ready to leave. “Should we take my car?”

He dangled a key in his hand and wiggled an eyebrow. “We’re riding in style, sweetheart. An Infiniti G Series.” He held the door open. “And it’s a convertible.”

“That’s a pricy rental there, soldier,” she said, flipping off the lights as she stepped outside.

“Just call me Sugar Daddy,” he joked and kissed her. He took her keys, as if it were second nature, and locked the door, as he explained, “Free upgrade. They lost my reservations and I had to wait an hour.”

“Still got a pickup at home?” she asked, as they walked to the parking lot to the right of her condo.

He stiffened, a barely perceivable shift in his body, but she didn’t miss it. “If you mean at the base,” he said, holding the door of the shiny silver Infiniti open for her as she slid inside. “A white F150.” He didn’t give her time to respond, shutting her inside the car, where the scent of new leather threaded through her nostrils, sadness in her chest.

He claimed the driver’s seat and started the engine, sudden tension palpable. Jennifer glanced at his profile, noting the hard set to his jaw. “I didn’t mean to imply this isn’t your home,” she said softly. “I… Well, you’ve been gone seven years.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he said, maneuvering out of the parking space. “This isn’t my home. It hasn’t been for a long time. Hell. I don’t know why I have a truck back at base. I’m deployed more often than not. I’m rarely even in the same country where it’s parked, let alone driving it.”

“You’re gone that much?”

He nodded. “My unit is small and specialized,” he said. “We don’t technically exist. Top secret, done off the grid that no one else will touch. It’s not exactly a situation cut out for home and family. In fact, one of our members just opted out of reenlistment after meeting a woman he wanted to marry. He didn’t want to put her through the hell of the life we lead. And it was the right decision. He almost got himself killed on his final mission. He was distracted. Survival in our unit means treating our duty, and nothing else, as our home. Lives depend on it.”

The butterflies were back in Jennifer’s stomach, but this time, they felt more like bats, clawing her inside out. “And does it?” she asked softly. “Feel like home?”

Seconds ticked by before he replied in a low, gravelly voice, his attention latched on to the road, “It’s been the only home I’ve had for seven years.”

Jennifer tore her gaze from his profile, and stared out of the window, the sun lowering rapidly into a skyline blended with blues, yellows and oranges. He was leaving. She’d known this, but maybe on some level, she’d prayed it wasn’t true despite telling herself she was ready for closure, ready for goodbye. Prayed that there could still be something between them beyond the past.

But he was married to duty; duty was home. The only part of the past that could exist was goodbye. That should be liberating. The pressure was off. The fling was on. Closure could be found without turmoil. It was liberating. It was everything she should want. So why wasn’t she relieved?

Well-populated steel bleachers were set up on the building side of the airfield. Not far from the seating, smoke floated from several oversize barbecue grills near a large concession stand.

Jennifer stepped out of the car as Bobby held the door open. She inhaled. “Oh, that smells good,” she said and pressed her hand to her stomach. “I’m hungry.”

He laughed. “For a little thing, you’ve always had the appetite of a linebacker.”

She shoved her hands on her hips. “Your point?”

“Other than I like that you actually eat and don’t pick…” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward where they had to register. He was about to get his first look at Rocky Smith and his Hotzone skydiving operation, that might well be a cover for running illegal drugs to and from Mexico. “No point at all.”

“I think the point should really be—you need to feed me sometime soon,” she argued.

“Just like old times.” He laughed, remembering eating out with Jennifer at their favorite spots. The little Mexican place on Lamar Boulevard, the cafeteria on Research Avenue. The Chinese place next door to it. “I promise to feed you as soon as we get our tickets and our seats.”

“I’ll go grab us some food while you register, so we don’t miss the show,” she suggested.

He reached for his pocket to give her money. She sidled up to him, her hands on his hips, body pressed close. “I don’t want your money,” she said. “You buy the show tickets. I can cover the cost of the food.”

His hand slid up her back. “I invited you, Jen.”

“Save the macho routine for the bedroom,” she chided. “Or wherever else we might…enjoy one another. But if you try to give me your money, I reserve the right to punch you, and I most certainly will.”

“Wasn’t it ‘throw’ something at me?” he asked.

“If you prefer,” she said agreeably. She gave him a short, no less alluring, kiss, before turning on her heels, and then sashayed her cute little curvy ass toward the barbecue pits. Bobby’s gaze lingered on her a moment before he laughed and shook his head, heading into the building.

A shot of instant, cool air rushed over him as he stepped into the tiled lobby of the facility, a long, counter-style, built-in desk as the centerpiece. Behind it, several desks and file cabinets scattered an open bull-pen setting. A few last-minute ticket buyers crowded the thirty-something brunette behind the counter.

Bobby held back, watching and listening, patiently making use of the wait to evaluate the operation.

The phone rang and a man dressed in a burnt-orange flight suit appeared from somewhere in the back and snagged the line. A second later, the man shouted, “I need Rocky, Shari!”

The brunette eyed him over her shoulder. “Join the club,” she said. “And do I look like the man’s keeper?”

“There won’t be any show to sell tickets to if we don’t find him,” the man blasted back.

One of the customers piped up at that. “No show?!”

The brunette grimaced. “Ignore him,” she said. “He dramatizes when he wants attention.” Then over her shoulder again. “He’s in Zone 2 with Rick.”

“What?” the man said. “Rick should be in the air by now!”

The woman waved him off and handed a customer tickets. “Better get a seat. The show’s about to start.”

Bobby advanced farther into the lobby, his mind racing with options that would allow him to pursue the man in the flight suit to Zone 2 before he was out of sight, impossible to locate.

He slid money onto the counter. “I’ll take two tickets,” he said. “Don’t suppose there’s a restroom I can use?”

The woman snatched the money without looking up. “Outhouse is in the parking lot—”

“I have reservations tomorrow,” he said. “For four.”

Her gaze lifted and lingered on Bobby. “Far right corner behind me, but make it snappy.”

Bobby rounded the counter with a murmured “thank you,” in pursuit of Zone 2, when he should have been outside with Jennifer. Where he really wanted to be. Proof that it was all or nothing with Jennifer. He was in the Army, or he was out, in her life, or out. Considering he was leaving her to fend for herself, and was forbidden from explaining his mission to her, even if he wasn’t worried it would put her at risk, he had a feeling he was going to be out. Bobby was doing a good job of staying in the doghouse, instead of finding a way to make sure that Jennifer knew the Army wasn’t home—she was “home.”