Before the older kid had a chance to respond, the younger boy let out a squeal and bounced a couple times. “Really? Really? We’re gonna ride a hellcopper? Can I—”
The beat of the rotor as the bird closed on them drowned out the boy’s question. Dust began to fly. Through the gray film he saw Amy press her youngest son’s face against her abdomen. Zane drew the hem of the older boy’s T-shirt up over his mouth.
The Jayhawk settled to the ground twenty feet ahead. Jude jogged over, crouched as he neared the blades, and dragged the cargo door open. On high alert, Mac and Cosky covered the bird while Zane and Jude boosted Amy and her two youngsters inside. Once their civilians were stowed safely away, Jude and Zane boarded. Mac followed suit, with Cosky right behind him. The bird lifted as they pulled the cargo door shut. After one quick glance to make sure Amy and the kids were settled, Mac took a seat next to the cargo door and stared out the window.
Amy’s brother grew smaller and smaller as the dust bowl and hillsides spread out beneath them. He scanned the entry road as they flew over it. Nothing. It and the surrounding hillsides sat in frozen, unoccupied stillness. No vehicles. No men waiting to ambush them as they exited the rendezvous site.
He exchanged confused glances with Cosky and then Zane. Unless the kids’ clothes had been bugged, they’d massively overestimated the interest in Amy and her children, which left an unsettled, sour feeling spinning around in his gut. As well as the distinct feeling that the other boot was about to drop in some unknown direction with devastating consequences.
* * *
Chapter Five
* * *
NOW DARLIN’.” RAWLS caught Faith’s gaze and shot her an encouraging grin, but the smile faltered at the emotions boiling in her eyes. The uncertainty and awkwardness he’d expected—he intended to tease that out of her. But the desire and sexual awareness . . . hell, those caught him totally off guard and tied his tongue up good and proper.
A burst of sticky heat swept him. Coughing the sudden dryness from his throat, he dropped his gaze. Big mistake, since it latched on to her mouth. Her moist, slightly parted, far too enticing mouth. Her bottom lip was naked and plump, with the sexiest indentation in the middle. The urge to taste it, suck it—tame that sassy dip with the tip of his tongue—hit hard and fast. When the fit of his jeans tightened, he groaned beneath his breath and wrenched his eyes to safer territory.
The safety lasted all of three seconds, which was how long it took him to wonder if those cinnamon freckles stretching from cheek to cheek tasted sweet or spicy. The impulse to lean down and trace the light brown flecks with his mouth damn near swamped him.
He pulled back, his heart drumming in his ears, the tempo building with each throb of his cock. As he dragged his gaze from her face, it fell on her chest and the milky white crescent of skin between her waistband and the hem of her blouse—beneath which his hand, along with the tubing and diaphragm of the stethoscope, disappeared.
It wasn’t his heart beating a mile a minute, it was hers.
He could feel it pounding beneath his fingers, hear it throbbing in his ears. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his head and zeroed in on her face. A dusky rose invaded her cheeks, but it wasn’t the red of embarrassment, rather the sultry heat of sensuality. Her eyes simmered with hunger, and as he watched, her blue eyes darkened until they looked black.
A web of sexual tension enveloped them, cinched tighter and tighter, while they sat there, staring at each other, his hand pressed to the warm, satin smooth skin above her galloping heart.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Doc. The bed’s right there. She’s asking for a good hard screwing. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
It took a second for the words to hit home, but when they did, he recoiled from the bed like he’d just discovered he had hold of a black mamba rather than a stethoscope. Pachico’s raucous laughter followed him as he took a few giant steps back for good measure.
What the hell is wrong with you, hoss?
Besides his reluctance to entertain his obnoxious troll of a ghost, this wasn’t the girl to get down and dirty with. Innocence and awkwardness rode her like a threadbare blanket. He didn’t want to hurt her. But getting involved with her, while his head was good and scrambled, would end up hurting her—for sure emotionally, possibly physically. Hell, it could end up killing her.
He was smarter than this. He was—damn it.
“I’m gonna—” The words were raspy and borderline breathless, so he coughed to clear his throat and tried again. “I’m gonna go wrestle up your meds.”
Avoiding her face, and what he might find there, he backed right out the door.
“Smooth, Doc, really smooth,” Pachico said dryly, following him down the hall and across the cabin’s living room.