Explosive Alliance (14 page)

"It's what I go by." He tapped the name tag on his brown leather jacket. "But it's not my legal name."

"Why do they call you Bo?"

"Kind of like 'Bo is for beau, can I be yours?'" His half-cocked grin suggested he was joking. Or not.

Great. He really did have a player reputation. A good thing or bad since he was staying in her house now? "Really."

"Actually, no."

"Then what does it mean?"

His cobalt-blue eyes glinted with the twinkle of stars overhead. "Everybody's got a theory they like to torment me with by threatening to spread it around."

"Such as?"

He studied her for four slow creaks of the swing before stepping around the sedan door, closer to her.

"Tag insists it's because of the Rokowsky—cow—in my name. Bovine. Bo."

"Ewww. Guys can be so gross. Is that the truth?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." He leaned one shoulder against the tree. "Then there are those who say it's a package reference."

"Package?" Oh, my. He couldn't actually mean... She forced her eyes not to drop lower.

"As in, I'm the total package with a bow."

Those slightly crooked teeth sure did charm her as much as his smile. "Uh-huh. So which is correct?"

"All of them around the squadron. None of them in reality. It's a takeoff from my real first name."

"What is it?"

"I've gone by Bo for so long, nobody even remembers my real name."

"And it is?" She needed to know. Because he'd kissed her? Or because she wanted to be different from everyone else?

His jaw flexed in time with a low roll of thunder in the distance. "I was named for my father, and my call sign grew from that long before I joined the Air Force."

Her heart ached for him and the pain he still obviously carried over losing his parents.

"And his name was?" she asked gently.

Winds encircled in a band somehow far more intimate than the halo of light, the gusting growing stronger until it seemed to create a vortex with them at the epicenter.

Finally he shrugged with a no-big-deal air. "Boyd, which I shortened to Bo. I'm not much into the junior gig."

"Okay, Bo it is then." Thunder cracked again, followed by a distant snap of more lightning.

He straightened from the tree and stopped her swing with one hand. "We should probably get away from this hundred-year-old lightning rod."

"I guess so." She stood, bringing their faces close again, much like when they'd kissed on the porch.

Thunder pounded. Or was that her pulse hammering? Another second and she would hop into the car with him to search out the nearest hotel. Good God, what was wrong with her? She considered herself a healthy woman with normal urges, but she didn't like the prickly heat stinging her skin with an out-of-control need.

She sidestepped him. "Good night."

Her feet beat a hasty retreat through the dusty yard thirsty for the rain. By morning she would have her head on straight again.

"Honey." Bo's voice rode the wind to stop her.

Huh? He couldn't mean... She turned on the bottom step. "What?"

He stood by the open door of his white rental. "You asked me to name the puppy, and I chose Honey because of the color of her fur."

Bo ducked into the sedan and slammed the door.

Honey.
She rested her cheek against the porch post while taillights faded into the night. A raindrop splatted on her nose. He'd remembered their conversation, thought of her, wanted to name the puppy, and that stirred an unwelcome warmth in her heart. The burgeoning wind creaked the swing faster, thunder increasing to announce the impending storm to a woman too weak-kneed to dash inside even though rain dampened her hair.

If she expected to survive the next two weeks with her sanity intact, she needed to clear the air about this explosive attraction attacking their hormones. And definitely no more moonlit conversations.

Because who'd have thought his sensitive words would be as tempting as his kisses?

"Crap!" Bo smacked a mosquito on his arm, striding out of the hangar storing his damaged C-17.

Too bad the Base Exchange wasn't open yet so he could pick up some Off spray before he headed to Paige's for the day. He scratched the rising bite bump. The mosquitoes were having a field day with the muggy aftermath of the rare rain providing new puddles to nest and multiply, generally making his crummy mood worse.

Another sleepless night would do that to a guy. No dreams but plenty of wakeful images to torment him, such as Paige's quivering chin when he'd done a simple thing like name a puppy. This was not the kind of woman a guy boffed in a haystack.

Blinking against the bright sunlight outside the shadowy hangar, he slapped his neck. Mako's singing taunt followed him as the guy launched into a second chorus of the old seventies tune, "Tie a Yellow Ribbon,"

the oak tree reference catching him square on with more memories of Paige on the swing, pretty and tempting and so strong he wanted to protect her all the more.

He turned back, calling inside to Mako, "Hey, dude, have you ever considered voice lessons?"

Jet engine parts littering the concrete floor around him, Mako patted the side of the looming cargo plane.

"This old gal likes my singing well enough as it is."

"Then she needs a new hearing aid," Bo razzed right back on his way across the tarmac and back to his rental car.

The in-flight mechanic had laughed his ass off over Bo explaining he would be bunking out at Paige's place. With her brothers. And a kid under the roof. Sheesh. Talk about chaperones out the wazoo.

Hadn't made a bit of difference to Mako, but then, flight crews lived to razz each other. They played hard, joked hard, lived hard, because you never knew when the missile hit was a second away. A reality he understood well from that flight in Rubistan—a subject guaranteed to sink his mood into opaque territory.

And he still didn't know what he planned to do with the rest of his life. At least he had a firm plan for the next two weeks. Albeit, an increasingly frustrating one.

The kiss the night before only proved the obvious. He was weak as hell around this woman. A vulnerable look from her, combined with honest to God caring questions and he was ready to jump her bones. He'd barely made it into the car.

An hour later, gear stowed in the trunk, he pulled off onto the two-lane road leading to Paige's house. At least he would be flying with her brother today, making rounds and taking any emergency calls.

He slowed behind the mail carrier as the school bus chugged past, clearing the driveway—where Kirstie still stood holding her mother's hand. What was up with that?

Bo turned onto the dirt driveway, cruising to a stop under what was quickly becoming his least favorite tree in the state. He stepped out of the car and popped the trunk to unload his gear. "No school for you today, Cupcake? Are you sick?"

Kirstie stayed mute and stepped closer to her mother's leg.

Paige tugged her around in front and looped both arms around Kirstie, mother and daughter a mirror image of blond hair, glasses and wide eyes. "We thought it might be better if one of us drives her for a while."

Safer.

What was wrong with the world that the kid couldn't ride the bus with her friends? "Going with Mom's cool. You probably get to sleep later, huh?"

"Nope." Kirstie watched him unload with obvious resentment.

Hey, kids always liked him. He was a pal. Tossing aside his military-green duffel, he knelt in front of her.

"How about I take you up for a ride in the plane after we're done with work today?"

Kirstie squinted, her resentment double blaring. Yeah, kid, you're gonna have to pick. Carry the grudge

—whatever the hell the reason—or get your flight. Standing, he backed up to give her space, the seed planted. "Think about it while you're at school and we can talk more later."

Paige's pretty lips mouthed, "Thank you." Then she leaned to face her daughter. "Run and get your lunch box off the counter, punkin, or we're going to be late."

After the kid sprinted up the stairs and out of sight, Paige turned back toward him, the muggy wind playing with her hair that refused to stay constrained in a red rubber band. Memories of their kiss from the day before, a kiss they'd never been alone long enough to discuss, hung in the air between them.

Better to face it head-on and get the subject past.

Paige toyed with a drooping branch overhead. "About that kiss—"

"—that we shouldn't—" He stopped. "What?"

She waved for him to continue. "You first."

"No, you go ahead."

"Really, I'd rather hear what you have to say."

She deserved his honesty. Bo flattened a hand to the roughened bark. "I was going to say that we shouldn't spend time alone together, well, other than in the plane, of course."

"So the haystack offer has been rescinded?"

She had to be kidding. Please, sweet Lord, let her be joking. "Were you seriously thinking about it?"

Paige scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe through the mud. "Tough to think about anything else with you around."

"You were actually considering an affair with me while I'm here? Under this roof? With your brother lurking behind every corner? Forget the whole damn danger factor of him taking a shotgun to me, I owe him the common courtesy of not—" He thumped himself on the forehead. A guy wanted to do the right thing and then the fates had to twist it all around to bite him on the butt. "Are you trying to make me crazy?"

"Sheesh, this isn't going the way I planned." Releasing the droopy branch with a snap that rained leaves on her head, she perched a hand on her cute round jeans-clad hip—heaven help him. "No, Bo. I'm not offering a thing other than more of your theoretical discussion to clear the air. I figured if we talked about this attraction analytically, it would be easier to laugh and move on."

"Then you really are nuts." Cold-shower alert.

Without thinking, no surprise around Paige, he swiped a leaf sticking in her hair. She instinctively backed away, caught herself and stopped. Still the telling flinch shouted a reminder.

Yeah, she wanted him, but it scared the hell out of her. He was starting to understand the feeling. All the more reason to keep his pants zipped around her. If only he could seal off temptation as securely.

A week later Paige secured the blanket under her daughter's chin, strains of guitar music drifting up through the bedroom window from the front porch. Only seven days since Bo moved in and already his presence filled her life as surely as his music filled the air—country tunes tonight, soft and low enough to soothe a child to sleep.

Or romance a woman.

Her legs folding under her, she sat on the edge of Kirstie's bed, resting back against the antique white iron headboard. Paige nudged tiny glasses to the center of the end table, right beneath the Strawberry Shortcake nightlight, and swung her feet up onto the giving comforter. She patted her daughter's back and allowed herself to listen anonymously.

Kirstie snuffled under the red-and-pink sheets with a shuddering breath that testified to another uneasy journey into sleep. Night terrors had revived over the past week, not that the child seemed to remember anything when she woke. But the mumbled word
Daddy
relayed plenty.

At least it seemed Kurt couldn't be even indirectly blamed for the break-in. An inventory showed missing bottles of Ketamine, indicating a drug-related vandalism. Lightning rarely struck twice. Right? And on the off chance it did, they'd installed a better security system and sturdier locks.

Brushing her fingers over whispery blond curls, Paige studied long lashes resting on a cherub cheek. She could stare at her child for hours like this, amazed at the miracle, awed and humbled by the responsibility of caring for this little life. How could Kurt have taken so lightly what he owed his daughter? Would Kirstie fear trusting men because of how very far her hero father had fallen?

Heaven knew, her own trust had been shaken, enough so she was scared to jump on a sure thing.

Sheesh, she had a hot guy under her roof, a guy who actually didn't seem to go for the anorexic, Hollywood type. And anytime he so much as passed the butter—or reached to touch her hair—she scam pered back like a scared rabbit.

A scared and very sexually frustrated rabbit.

She'd forgotten there were things far more intimate than a kiss when it came to living in the same house with a non-relative male. Although Bo slept in a guest room next to her in the rambling old farmhouse, there was something about the way his undeniably masculine footsteps vibrated through the hardwood floors and up through the soles of her bare feet in the morning. Even her delft-blue bedroom reminded her of his eyes, her space no longer a sanctuary.

And the way he pulled a chair out for her at the dinner table stroked at her femininity left pretty much untended these days. The way he also pulled out the chair for Kirstie touched Paige's heart, also left untended of late.

Her daughter had settled into wary acceptance of Bo's presence over the past week. A flight, followed by sing-a-longs with his guitar went far in softening up her stubborn daughter until dire predictions of measles, meningitis and ring worm—yuck—slowed.

Life was settling into a near-normal routine. She even found herself looking forward to this time of day when Bo went outside and played the guitar for himself. At first she'd thought he did it to loosen up his hands, then she'd once spied his eyes slide closed as the music took hold of him. Were his eyes closed like that when he kissed her?

A chilly breeze ruffled the curtains and raised goose bumps on her arms. Country ballads gave way to something faster she didn't recognize but found to be no less appealing. Yes, they were settling into a routine with plenty of intimacy—but absolutely
no
kissing. Wise. Safe. She was fine, damn it. She wasn't yearning for unwise and dangerous.

Was she?

Staying upstairs when she desperately wanted to walk down only proved he still had an effect on her. If anyone else played, she would join him on the porch and ask to listen. No more hiding. She wouldn't cower under her quilt like a kid. She would go outside like a grown-up, even risk a little chitchat.