Trouble In Tourmaline

“I think you should stay with her for a while.”

“They deliver pizza.”

With the memory of him holding her still potent, she started to refuse. On second thought, though, eating pizza with him would actually be a casually friendly thing to do. “Pepperoni,” she said.

“With sausage.”

Lots of cholesterol, but she could afford that once in a while.

“Sounds good.”

While they waited for the delivery, Amy decided to pursue her plan of covert therapy under the cover of comradeship. “What’s there to do around here when you’re not working?” she asked.

David took a while to answer. “You ever been up in a sailplane?” he asked finally.

“I don’t even know what one is.”

“You’ve heard of gliders.” At her nod, he continued. “A sailplane is a sophisticated glider, designed aerodynamically to stay in the air as long as the pilot can find a thermal.”

“You lost me somewhere along the way.”

“You’ve seen hawks soaring up and up without moving their wings. That’s because they’re in a column of rising air—a thermal. Actually, it’d be easier to show you this weekend.”

“You mean you have a sailplane?”

“Some play golf, I sailplane. Been doing it ever since I got my pilot’s license ten years ago.”

Somewhat reassured by the fact he’d been at it for ten years and so must be experienced, Amy still had a problem. “I’m not all that crazy about flying,” she admitted.

“In commercial jets, you mean?”

Again she nodded.

“There’s no comparison.”

Maybe not, but was she prepared to do something she was sure would scare her just to further her acquaintance with David so she could help him with his denial problem?

He grinned at her. “Scared?”

She bristled. As a kid, the worst insult her older brother could throw at her was that she was a scaredycat. Just to prove to him she wasn’t, she’d risked things in the past she shuddered to think of. Still, she wasn’t a child anymore, so she shouldn’t be swayed by David asking if she was scared. She might be, but she had no intention of telling him. Or backing down.

Raising her chin, she said, “Sounds like fun.”

Later, as they ate the pizza, he told her more about sailplanes than she cared to know. Apparently lots of people flew them here in Nevada where thermals were frequent.

“It’s so quiet up there, so beautiful,” he said. “You feel like a hawk yourself, endlessly soaring.”

“You’ve sold me,” she said, realizing sailplaning was something he really loved to do. To join him might make her a trusted buddy, and she did need his trust if she was going to help him. Taking a deep breath, she added, “I’ll give it a try.”

Immediately after saying it, she rose from her chair at the kitchen table. “Time to leave.” Yes, before she got talked into something else precarious. “I did enjoy the pizza, sausage and all.”

He got up, too. “Thanks for the help with the kittens.”

Which reminded her of how he’d assumed the runt was female. Why? Could be it really wasn’t important, but she’d find out sooner or later. “Glad to be of service.”

“I’ll pick you up at Gert’s Saturday morning around noon. Thermals usually form in the afternoon.”

“You said you had a pilot’s license. Do you have to be a pilot to fly sailplanes?”

“Yep. Have to learn about gliders, too.”

“So I’m safe with you, I guess.”

He was standing close to her. Too close. She ordered her feet to move away from him, but the order got garbled by what she saw in those deep blue eyes, and she remained motionless. He was looking at her like—like…

Without touching her otherwise, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. Every cell in her body yearned for him.

Safe with him? The words echoed in her head as she leaned into the kiss wanting more, needing more, even though she tried not to. Impossible not to relish the zing that ran bone-deep. Good grief, all this without even being in his arms. With a tremendous effort of will, she broke contact and literally fled from the apartment.

So much for being safe, she told herself as she climbed into her SUV. Clenching her teeth, she vowed to make sure that didn’t happen again. Friends was the operative word—not lovers.

David found himself staring bemusedly at the door she’d closed behind her and forced himself into action. Clean up the kitchen. Take out the trash. Stop thinking about how soft and warm her lips were and how they’d yielded to his. Don’t remember her taste or how she smells of flowers.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. Been too long without a woman, Severin, he told himself. And this one definitely isn’t a good choice for a quick affair. Very bad choice—your aunt’s associate. Which was true, no doubt about it, but he didn’t think it’d stop him from kissing her again, if the chance came.

On the other hand, she could be at loose ends, wanting no more than he wanted. Nothing even vaguely permanent. Just a test of how potent the chemistry was.

As he went into the living room to check on the kittens, he nodded. Start as friends, keep cool and see where it goes. Kneeling by the box, he stared down at Hobo and her brood of four, all fuzzy now as they nursed. The tiny one was completely black, the other three black and white. As he reached down and stroked the black one’s head with a gentle finger, Hobo mewed.

“Don’t worry, I’d never hurt her,” he murmured. How could he, when the sight of that tiny body reminded him so much of Sarah, one and a half months premature and so small she’d looked like a doll, not a baby.

That had been five—no, six—years ago. He shared custody with Iris, his ex, but hadn’t asked to have Sarah visit him since he’d left New Mexico last year. David sighed and got to his feet. Right now she was better off with her mother than him.

The next day, David pulled into Tourmaline’s small airfield with Amy, parking near where his sailplane was tied down. She got out of his pickup and walked around the aircraft. “It’s bigger than I thought it’d be,” she told him.

“That good or bad news?”

She frowned. “Good, I guess.”

He’d sensed her increasing nervousness as they’d driven to the field. “Aunt Gert’s been up with me several times,” he said in an effort to make her relax. “Grandfather, too.”

“Your grandfather?”

“No, not mine.”

“Well, he can’t be your aunt’s. She told me herself she’s seventy.”

“He’s a friend of ours who goes by that name.”