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CHAPTEREIGHT
Bonfire flames lickedtoward the sky as Darcy leaned back against Max’s bare arm. Well, she’d wanted a distraction tonight from memories of another luau twelve years ago. She’d found her distraction in spades. Or rather, found it in one hunkish guy lounging half-naked in parrot-patterned swim trunks. Thanks to Max, she was enjoying herself.
Memories of that long-ago luau lurked but didn’t overpower her. The pig pit crackled off to the side. The remains of a carcass and a few stray sweet potatoes still smoked mouthwatering scents into the ocean breeze. Darcy shuffled her attention to the crewdogs blending together in a mesh of khakis shorts, bland swimsuits, and Hawaiian shirts. The cluster of aircrew members was mostly comprised of the deployed contingent from McChord. But in the tight C-17 community, she knew their faces anyway.
Live music mingled with the waves in an impromptu concert. Hunkered down on the sand, Lieutenant Bo Rokowsky plucked out a Clapton classic on the guitar while Cutter wailed along about Layla.
Darcy threw herself into the semblance of normalcy, all the while too aware of undercurrents tugging her with dangerous power—toward Max. He had acted the attentive, albeit quiet, boyfriend as promised. His arm was draped around her shoulders. Did he know he was playing with the chain on her dog tags? It seemed so intimate.
They’d become friends over the past weeks, a friendship marked by a definite physical distance. Until that brief, too-hot moment in his boat earlier. Tonight there was so much touching she was beginning to believe in moonburns.
Darcy guzzled her fruity drink and let herself mellow into the light buzz humming through her, nothing compared to the full-blown buzz from Max’s touch.
She needed to think of something else. “How’s it going with Lucy and Ethel? Is Lucy feeling better?”
Max’s knuckle rested against the sensitive curve of her neck. “Perry adjusted her diet. She’s back up to speed now.”
“That’s great news. So you’ll be taking both Lucy and Ethel out tomorrow? With Perry will be helping you?”
Max nodded.
Darcy’s eyes gravitated to Max’s preppy assistant.
Perry lounged against a palm tree while talking to Bronco. Coconut bra dangling from around the big lug’s neck, Bronco grabbed an umbrella drink from a muumuu-clad matron passing out beverages and leis. Personnel from the base club and dive shop catered the event, a mother and son duo.
She looked back at Max and that enigmatic, heavy-lidded stare of his made her long to shock it off. The scent of coconut and musk and man filled her already fuzzy senses.
Stop.
If the guy wanted more from her, he knew where to find her. She needed to respect his boundaries. Darcy tipped her head up to him, her face close to his. “Hey, Max? Thanks for playing your date role so well.”
“No problem.”
Sighing, she wanted to say much more. Like thanks for understanding she needed him here tonight, just as she’d needed him after the snake attack. For a man who proclaimed himself antisocial, he tapped into her needs well.
For all the good that did her since he was off limits.
She glanced at Bo Rokowsky strumming his guitar. She couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t in the least attracted to Bo. His dark-haired perfection drew women. His sense of humor held them. He never lacked for anything to say. Problem was that Bo, a man her own age, suddenly seemed too immature in comparison to Max.
Yeah. Thanks bunches, Dr. Keagan. “You’re doing a great job keeping the clueless Romeos and matchmaking Cupids at bay.”
“Glad to help.” His finger slipped along the silver chain.
The dog tags clinked. Slid. Up. Down. Up again until she shivered, longing for the firmer caress of a warm, broad palm instead of cold metal. “Problem is, you’re doing too good a job.”
The tags halted. “What do you mean?”
“Your attentive date touches are making me hot and I’m not referring to sweat.”
“Hot?” His hand clenched around her chain.
Very. She needed space. Air would be nice, too. “Way hot. Ducking behind a dune sounds good right now, even though we both know that isn’t what we should do.”
She couldn’t keep the hint of question out of her tone. His pupils widened as he exhaled long and slow. Liquid fire raced through her veins, and she was too tipsy and too vulnerable to make a smart decision. This man’s experience outstripped her in more than years.
She gripped his hand, slowly untwining it from her chain until they were linked by their fingers and an odd friendship that ruled out an impulsive hookup. “This has been great fun. But you have emotional baggage to get past, and I’m not any good at dealing with my own baggage, much less other people’s. Please move your hand and let me up.”
Without waiting for him to act, she started to rise, a painfully arousing process. Her skin held to his, bonded by the heat and light sheen of sweat, until she was free.
