Mercy and Mayhem Men of Mercy(7)

Every person other than the man with the sexy back and shoulders. He still faced away from her, and for some reason the thought of him turning around made her heart lurch in her chest like someone had hooked a giant chain into her and yanked. 

As if he had some type of telepathic connection with her mind, the man glanced over his shoulder with all the attention he would pay an annoying horsefly buzzing around his ear. He dismissed her presence just as quickly.

But not before she caught a glimpse of a five o'clock shadow the same peppery shade as his hair, and a strong straight nose that matched thick dark brows.

One of the taller men to her left-and tall in this group was an understatement; they all qualified as near giants-cleared his throat and tilted his head in her direction. "Colonel, I think the lady wants to talk to you."

Three things happened in that instant.

Anger swept straight up her torso and flushed her cheeks hot. The term 'the lady' all but discounted her.

Then it registered that the soldier had called the handsome man 'colonel,' which set her off for a different reason-her father was a lieutenant colonel.

Her third and final thought sent a new wave of heat through her, flushing her cheeks for a totally different reason that left her standing there mute like a freaking idiot. She'd felt more attraction to this man's shoulders and back than she had to any man's front in the better part of a decade.

Her senses heightened. Her skin prickled like she'd suddenly gotten a rash. As if on cue, the colonel slowly turned and stared directly into her eyes, his gray gaze momentarily leaving her mind as blank as the pocked stretch of concrete outside the plane.

The front was even better than the back.

"May I help you, ma'am?" His slow southern drawl caught her off guard-from the man's hawk-like features, she'd expected a harsh and commanding monotone rather than the easy slide of words from his lips.

His hair was just a touch longer than a close-cropped military buzz cut, and her fingers itched to touch it and see if it was as silky as it looked. He took a deep breath and the movement shoved his pecs against his already tight black shirt, making her heart flutter like she was a freaking teenager. All she needed now were her old braces and bowl cut bangs, and she'd be straight back in the '90s stuttering when the high-school basketball star looked at her for the first time.

"Ma'am?"

Someone from the right, she barely caught the movement of a blond beard in her periphery, said, "Colonel, maybe if you stopped with the interrogation stare?"

He blinked one time-as if blinking was an act of conscious control as opposed to subconscious physiology. She got the sudden impression that everything this man did had a purpose. Somehow his gaze still pinned her in place while her mind scrambled to form a logical response. She'd settle for any response right now, logical or not.

And then that steely gray gaze flicked down her body and back up. There was the briefest flash of fire and then nothing.

What was that?

That tiny movement clued her in to the fact that this colonel, whatever his name was, was actually a human being like her. In the last thirty seconds, he'd stripped her of her ability to think and react-two absolute essentials for a pilot.

Her heart fluttered again, in anger as opposed to lust, and she squared her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back. Falling back on her training, the best safety net in moments of weakness, she said, "Sir, flight check is complete. We are ready for takeoff."

Please let her voice sound stronger to them than it did to her. The operators would naturally hone in on weakness for the kill.

Plane meet lightning.

But for whatever reason, maybe it was mercy, the colonel chose not to acknowledge her thready tone and instead spoke to her like an equal. "Captain, I've heard only the best from your superiors and your equals. I'm glad to have you as my pilot on this mission. I'll have my men ready for takeoff within the next minute."



       
         
       
        

Great, he spoke in that clipped voice her father always used-the kind favored by men who were used to being in absolute control of everything around them.

Good thing Marley had dealt with that kind of command since birth. Her face smoothed into the expressionless mask she'd perfected long ago, her lips even quirking up at the corners as an added bonus. "Thank you, Sir. Due to the hostile guerrilla activity in the region, I'll be doing a rapid ascent to 8,000 feet. Once we're out of range for any surface-to-air missiles or rocket-propelled grenade launchers, I will level off. I will alert you when we are thirty minutes out from your scheduled jump."