Night Flight (14 page)

Eyes narrowing, Sam studied Megan for a long minute, digesting the information, the terrible impact it must have had on her innocent heart. “Your mother went to bed because she was angry and going to get even with your father? That was her way of handling the situation?”

“Classic passive-aggressive tactics, Sam. I learned that in college when I started taking psychology courses. Becoming a teacher helped me see myself. It was a good thing.” Megan moved her gaze back to him. “At the time, I didn’t realize what she was doing. I do now.”

“Jesus,” Holt whispered, wanting to crush the plastic cup between his hands, “didn’t she ever think what her decision was going to cost you?”

“Don’t blame just her,” Megan said. “My father went along with it. To him, I was a shadow in his life. His real love, his real wife, if you will, were the planes he flew. He pretended nothing was wrong and gave me a list of things to do each day when I got home from school. As long as I got those tasks completed, he ignored me.”

“And if you didn’t?” Sam held his breath, wondering if Colonel Roberts had abused her physically. Some military men believed that physical punishment was good for the children.

“Don’t look so upset. My father never had to lift his hand in threat to me. I was too scared, wanting to please him too much, not to get that list done every day.”

Roberts was a total jerk in Holt’s opinion, but he remained silent. That explained so much about Megan, and her distrust of military pilots. Rubbing his jaw, he said, “You were so starved for affection, for any kind of a positive stroke, that you worked hard to get that list done in hopes your father would praise you, right?”

Sadly, she nodded. “Exactly. My dysfunctional family life became abundantly clear to me in college. That’s why…” Megan hesitated, unsure whether to confide in Sam. But the compassion in his dark blue eyes made her go on. “I came back to Edwards to put the ghosts from the past to rest. My past. I came here with a mission, and with priorities. I have to settle my own accounts, and I want to make the children’s lives better at the school. Better than what it was for me. I know I can do both.”

“That took a lot of courage. Most of your growing-up years were spent here, weren’t they?” Roberts had been a test pilot at Edwards for fourteen years before he augered in.

Toying with the glass, Megan poured herself more water, feeling some of the load she’d carried so long by herself slip off her shoulders. “Yes. My mother committed suicide when I was eighteen, a month before I was to graduate from high school here on base.” She didn’t taste the water. “My parents are buried over in Lancaster, at the cemetery. Since coming back here, I’ve been afraid to go over and visit their graves. I guess I’m not ready to face them. I hope I will be, someday.”

Holt hurt for her. He couldn’t help himself, getting up and coming around the table. Sitting down, he took Megan’s hands and held her eyes that mirrored the pain she carried. “Look, promise me one thing?”

His hands were warm and strong feeling on hers. “What?” The enormity of what Sam had done didn’t make her feel panic, only care from him, and hope sprang strongly in her heart for the first time since coming back to Edwards.

“When and if you decide to go visit them, take me along?”

Holt was serious. Megan searched his somber-looking features. This was no line, and he wasn’t playing a game with her. “Well—”

“Megan, you could use a friend right now. How you ever had the guts to come back here, set up your life with no friends, no support, took more courage than you realize.” Holt shook his head and reached out, caressing her cheek. Her flesh was warm and damp from the hot afternoon. “I don’t think you know how much courage you already have in place. And you’re looking at what you think you’re not doing right, zeroing in on handling a few squabbles among the kids.” He wanted to gently shake her, to get her to see what he saw, but Sam realized that she was still mired in her past. Weren’t they both? But his past was different than hers. His was much happier growing up. Megan had lived in a cloistered hell, had her childhood stolen, and been forced to act like an adult. She was made to help keep a broken marriage together. “Well?” he goaded, squeezing her hands gently. “Ask me along when you decide to face them down?”

With a nervous laugh, Megan tried to withdraw her hands, but he wouldn’t allow it. Holt was too close, too masculine and tender for her vulnerable emotions. “If and when I do, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

With a slight smile meant to buoy her spirits, he said, “Okay, Red.”

It would be wonderful to simply lean forward, kiss Sam and find herself in his embrace once again. Megan realized Sam could help her salvage those scattered bits of her soul she was trying to find by coming back to Edwards. Still, he was a pilot, and her father’s brusque, cold treatment of her and her mother warred strongly within her. She wanted to trust Sam, to allow herself the privilege of admitting how much she liked him. How could she?

Sam read the desire in her eyes, and he gave her a slight smile, sliding his hand against her cheek. “Come here,” he whispered, and drew her forward.

Panic made Megan freeze momentarily, but his fingers caressed the nape of her neck, neither forcing or demanding to meet him halfway, to convince her that they should share another kiss. Megan found herself pulled into the smoky hue of his eyes, transfixed, the stroke of his fingers banishing her fear, and shutting off her mind that screamed out a warning to run away.

Instead, Megan surrendered to the promise reflected in his tender gaze…a promise that simmered just beneath the surface and belonged to them alone. Her lashes swept downward, and automatically, Megan’s lips parted, yearning for contact with his strong, eliciting mouth upon hers once again.

This time, his mouth was masterful as he captured her. There was nothing tentative or searching about his quest. Hungrily, Megan met and matched his heated assault, lost in a series of molten, liquid explosions that blossomed throughout her. His hands moved through her hair, and she tilted her head back a little more, feeling his lips trail a scalding path of kisses down the length of her throat. All she was aware of was the warmth of his hands, the soft fire of his mouth retracing the slender line of her jaw, finding and claiming her wet, waiting lips once again. His tongue traced the lower curve of her lip, inciting a blaze deep within her. Slowly, he lavished each corner of her mouth, and scalding fire erupted down through the center of her body.

A small sound, a breathless sigh, escaped Megan. Her fingers alternately opened and closed against his chest, the pounding of his heart beneath her palms, racing along in time with hers. His breath washed across her cheek and nose, moist velvet heightening her senses of him, of his tender assault. Unaccustomed to the whirling vortex of heat spiraling through her, dizzied and burning with a fire that raged hotly between her thighs, Megan tried to stop herself from falling down through it, and losing her last shred of coherency.

Slowly, Sam drew away from her wonderfully pliant, sweet lips that filled him with the ache of need. Her face was flushed, her lashes opening, revealing drowsy emerald eyes saturated with arousal and a need that matched his own. “You’re heady stuff,” he whispered thickly, unable to stop himself from tunneling his fingers through her beautiful red hair. His breathing was ragged, but so was hers. Managing a self-deprecating smile, Sam eased his hands away from her hair, holding her gently by the shoulders because she looked disoriented.

“You look deliciously exotic,” he said huskily. “Red hair and fire. What a combination you are, sweetheart….” Indeed, Megan’s hair was mussed, her mouth glistening and parted, giving her the appearance of a woman who had been well loved by her man. The urgent throb of his flesh ripened, demanded satiation, but he controlled his need for her. They had been so close to losing what little control had been left that Sam was shaken in the aftermath of their torrid kiss.

“I…” Megan’s voice was contralto, heavy with passion. It was so easy to fall into Sam’s hooded gaze and feel the returning fire leap along every nerve ending in her body. Just his look made her vibrate with a longing that left her aching to be fulfilled by him.

“Don’t talk,” Sam urged, keeping his hands on her shoulders. Megan was honestly disoriented.

Feeling cherished, as if she were some priceless, beautiful gift to Sam, Megan barely nodded her head. His hands moved from her shoulders, downward, gently caressing her arms and hands, as if to ground her back into the present. She closed her eyes, allowing his ministrations to do just that. The call of the birds, the hot wind against her face and the frantic beat of her heart were all that permeated her spinning senses for at least the next few minutes.

Finally, Megan opened her eyes. Sam’s hands remained around hers, as it to keep her stabilized. She studied those hands, remembering the wonderful feeling of them threading through her hair, gently kneading her scalp. Shakily, she released a breath of air. “Every time we kiss,” Megan confided huskily, “is like a new world for me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked her quietly.

With a small smile, Megan admitted, “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

Sam wondered how many serious relationships Megan had had, and concluded not many. Her innocence shimmered through her honest response to him. It hadn’t been tainted by too many lovers who had “trained” her to respond. “Well, I’ve never experienced what I share with you, Red.” He watched surprise and then pleasure come to her lustrous eyes. “We’re kind of good together.” And good for one another.

Reality was settling around her shoulders once more, and Megan regretfully allowed the euphoria that had exploded and then built heatedly between them to dissipate. This was the second time she’d kissed Sam. This time, it had become even more dangerous, and Megan had come so close to throwing away all her caution just to be one with him. No, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t commit to him. He was a pilot—nothing but misery and unhappiness would occur even if they shared sexual compatibility. Sex was only one small ingredient of a good relationship, and that was something Megan had learned in college. Yes, she and Sam shared a molten chemistry between them.

But there was more than a bed to be shared, and Megan knew that. For her to sleep with someone signaled a total commitment to the partner, not just a one-night stand or a flip affair. Somehow, she had to control herself, control the urge to make love to Sam. God, but it was so easy, so natural between them. Megan got up, moving away from Sam.

“I—I think I should get home. Thanks for a lovely picnic, Sam. I enjoyed it.”

Back on automatic. He sat there, watching her draw up those walls to protect herself again.
Okay, just stay patient.
“You’re right.” Gathering up the articles and repacking them in the cardboard box, he walked over to the trash barrel and threw them away. Turning, he saw Megan standing uncertainly, her hands clasped in front of her, the wind ruffling her sundress, outlining her slender form. In that moment, Megan reminded him of a deer: defenseless, nervous and ready to take flight and run.

Picking up his jacket, he guided her back to his Corvette. “You know there’s a mandatory Christmas dance over at the O Club coming up. Colonel Yale told me I’d better show up or else. I don’t have a date, and I’d like to escort you to it.” He knew if he told her the real reason why he wanted her with him, she’d bolt. So, Sam lied, reasoning that it was a white lie—one that wouldn’t hurt anyone and help his cause. “My fitness report comes up for review in late December. I figure if I show up, play the game, make the small talk, that the colonel will give me favorable marks. How about it? As a friend, will you help me out?”

Megan slid into the black leather seat, strapped on the seat belt and thought about Sam’s request. When he got in, starting the growling car, she said, “I don’t know. I hate going over to the O Club. Father used to practically live over there. Every time he had a fight with Mother, that’s where he’d go until it closed. And then, he’d go home with a groupie and come home early the next morning.”

Guiding the Corvette out from beneath the shade, Sam said, “A lot of guys spend time over there.” He reached over, briefly touching her hand. “It won’t be like that this time, I promise you.” Grinning, he added, “Hell, it’ll give you a chance to dress up and show off that gorgeous body of yours. I’m not such a bad dancer, and judging from the way you carry yourself, I’ll bet you’re pretty good on the dance floor, too.”

With a laugh, Megan couldn’t resist his teasing. “You’re right on both accounts. I do love to dress up, and there’s nothing more in this world I love to do than dance. And,” she added thoughtfully, “it’s part of facing my past, isn’t it?”

“It could be,” Sam responded.

The idea felt good to Megan. Sooner or later, she had to revisit these old haunts, reacquaint herself with the painful memories once again, so that she could face them, walk through them and finally release them. “I might not be a very good date, Sam. All the old emotions it will drag up might make me moody….”

With a grin, he said, “I’ll take my chances, Red.”

Megan matched his smile. “Okay, I’ll go with you—as a friend, all right?”

“You’ve got a deal,” Sam agreed fervently.

Megan settled into the cockpitlike seat, thinking that the Corvette looked exactly like the instrumentation found in a fighter jet. “Thanks for being there, Sam.”

Sam felt a twinge of pain again in his heart for her. Megan had grown up so alone, a shy little introvert who never reached out to ask for help or support for herself. He’d provided her an unexpected opportunity to face her past, and he felt good about being there to support her. Gripping her hand, pressing a quick kiss to the top of it, he promised, “I’ll be there for you, good mood or bad. Friends help one another out.”

A wonderful warmth flowed through Megan. The tenor of Sam’s voice gave her the first real hope she’d had since arriving at Edwards. “It’s nice to have a friend,” she admitted softly.

Tension flowed out of Sam. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” As long as he emphasized their friendship, Megan was trusting him—just a little bit. With time, perhaps the career pilot image would disappear from her eyes, and she’d relate to him, Sam Holt. Never had he wanted anything more.