“Oh, wow, military guys are seriously hot.”
Kaci shushed them. “What’s it matter to him if I fire your cannon?” she asked the Confederate soldier.
“Man seems to have his heart tied up in it, miss.”
Lance stood at parade rest, legs spread, hands tucked behind his back, straight-faced. A well-trained specimen waiting.
Waiting for what?
For her to kick a boot up his rear end?
Or for her to launch herself at him andnever let go?
Because if her heart could’ve laid out her future and written her destiny, she’d be in his arms, breathing him in, touching him, tasting him, never letting him go again.
But he was still in that danged flight suit, still in his military uniform, still acting every bit the military man.
She was stuck in a tug-of-war between her heart and her self-preservation. And by the way that swollen organ was knocking around her chest, she was pretty sure her heart was winning.
“I’ll fire it for you, Dr. Boudreaux,” Zada whispered.
Kaci’s legs moved on their own. She wasn’t marching—no, this time, she was wobbling.
He wasn’t here just to torture her.
Was he?
The closer she got, the more clearly she could see that Lancewasn’tin his militarybest. His blue hat was crooked. Out-of-regs stubble dotted his cheeks and chin. And his uniform wasn’t entirely right—was it his rank? Or was he missing a patch somewhere?
He pressed his lips together.
She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze.
Oh, she felt his gaze. Seeking her. Demanding she come closer. Pulling her in.
When she stopped in front of him, she could barely breathe. Her chest was tight, her heart defying some laws of physics, her eyes hot and wet.
He’d left.
Miss Higgs had died, he’d left, and she’d had to get on that airplane by herself.
And she’d survived all of it.
But she wasn’t sure she could survive finding out why he was here.
He licked his lips. Ducked his head. Lookedat her again. “Don’t think the cannon can put them into orbit, but I was hoping you’d help me chuck some MREs anyway.”
Her pulse tripped. If he wanted to chuck military rations out of a cannon, did he mean he wanted to get out of the military? Or just that he was tired of eating bad food while he was gone?
“Don’t play with me,” she whispered.
“Volunteered to be an IP. Here. Got three years without deployments while I teach new officers to fly 130s, and I can ask to stay another four back in the 946th after that.”
Seven years.
He could stay here, at Gellings, right down the road from James Robert College, for the next seven years.
She curled her arms around herself. “And then?”
