At Your Command

“So was your flight home really that bad?”

He grinned as they sped past a string of cars and cut over to catch the exit ramp. “It lasted about twenty-seven hours longer than this trip is gonna take.”

Becky downshifted and adjusted her speed to merge with the city traffic. “And you don’t have to be anywhere for a while?”

This polite chitchat wasn’t on his to-do list.

“As of ten-hundred hours this morning, I’m on leave to do whatever the hell I want for forty-two days. And you know what I want to do.” He reached over and traced a finger along the line of her jaw before winding it into her pale golden hair. The chin-length silk tumbled over the back of his hand like a thousand tiny kisses. She’d cut her hair since he’d seen her last, but one thing sure hadn’t changed. She was still icy cool to look at, but fiery to the touch. His touch, at any rate.

Her full lips pouted with a smile as she turned to kiss that finger before batting him away to keep her focus on the road. “I want that, too. I rented a room at that same hotel we stayed at after that first night at Groucho’s Pub.”

Yeah. The night they’d first met. The night they’d first had sex. The night Zachariah had first started to wonder if the bachelor’s life was all it was cracked up to be. Not when he could come home every night to something as smart, sassy and sexy as Becky Owens.

Becky Clark. He winced at the name that refused to click into place inside his head. Maybe if she’d say it. Just once.

But talking was for later. Though he’d showered and gotten some shut-eye before boarding the bus to the base, Zachariah was beat. Eighteen months on active duty, running more missions than he could count—he swallowed hard and pushed his thoughts right on past that last mission that had gone so wrong so fast—and an endless flight did that to a man. No matter what kind of fighting shape he was in.

“Stay in the moment,” Becky had said. Sounded like good advice. No past. No future. Just now. Just them. He leaned back against the headrest and let his eyes drift shut.

She’d warned him he needed to take a nap before she got him back to the hotel. He intended to do her bidding in whatever she asked of him.

But the name issue wouldn’t seem to let him be. Maybe it was his fault as much as hers that it was an awkward point of discomfort between them. “Hey, sorry about that whole confusion with the ‘wife’ thing when I was introducing you to Travis. I guess when he startled us, I kind of lost my train of thought.”

“No problem. It’s not something we need to concern ourselves with right now. I’m content to go with plain old Becky Owens. Don’t worry about it.”

Zachariah winked one eye open. No problem? Was her response to his apology just a little too glib to be sincere? Or was his weary brain reading something into the fierce grip she had on her steering wheel? “You sure? I mean, it wasn’t an intentional stumble. Becky Clark. Becky Owens-Clark. However you want to say it, I’m proud to claim you as mine.”

“I know.” Did her knuckles just turn a little whiter around the steering wheel?

Zachariah shook his head and let his eye close once more. Too much thinking. He needed sleep. He needed sex. He needed Becky. “I’m not used to saying it out loud. One minute we’re in front of a justice of the peace, and the next I’m on my way to Reagan International to catch my plane to…hell.”

Even if he was cleared to talk about Al-Bazan now, he didn’t want to say the words out loud. The memories were like poison stirring in the pit of his stomach. And he was pretty sure it was the past few months trying to sneak into his thoughts—not Becky’s speedway driving—that was making him a tad queasy.

She shifted the car and slowed for a turn. Then he jumped when she reached farther across the front seat and squeezed his thigh. “Don’t sweat it. We’re going to stay in the here and now, remember? Let’s enjoy the homecoming before we worry about anything else.”

Zachariah’s eyes popped open. There was something to worry about.

But before he could ask what it might be, her hand slid higher. Closer to the action. The electric current that had been buzzing through his body ever since that kiss in the parking lot zinged up to a higher voltage. Just like that. He was hard. He was ready.

“Beckster.” His warning was a low-pitched growl in his throat. “I can’t maneuver in this car.”

She dutifully returned both hands to the wheel. “Then you’d better lean back and relax. Like I said, you’re going to need your strength.”

With that husky promise lacing her voice, Zachariah could have damn well found a way to maneuver.

But he was smart enough to know when to advance and when to retreat. It would be a good idea if they actually got to the hotel in one piece—and without having to explain themselves to a traffic cop if they got pulled over for reckless, er…driving.

He could forget. For now.

He could wait. A little.

Closing his eyes, Zachariah leaned back against the headrest. But even with the deep breathing exercise that normally relaxed him, sleep wasn’t coming. With every inhale, his nose filled with the spice of Becky’s perfume. With every exhale, his mind filled with images of each delicious thing he was going to do with her once they reached their destination.

“Becky?”

“Yes?”

“Drive faster.”

BECKY PULLED INTO THE Wardman Park Hotel’s circular drive. It was sentimentality as much as the desire to put distance between her and the problems waiting for her back in Richmond that had prompted her to make this reservation. But a momentary glitch in her courage tried to surface as she thought back to the last time she’d been here with Captain Zachariah Clark.

Checking into the posh, discreet hotel with a man she’d just met in a bar—okay, after getting better acquainted with his hands and mouth in the parking lot outside the bar—had to be the craziest thing she’d ever done.

Correction. The second craziest.

She’d avoided dealing with number one on her crazy list longer than she’d allow any of her clients to put off such an important decision. But she didn’t intend to ruin tonight’s festivities by addressing the marriage issue now.

Squelching the nagging misgivings over the conversation she knew they needed to have, Becky parked the car. Stay in the moment. That would be her treat for herself this weekend.

No past. No future.

No family.

No clients.

No messages for the bitch who was ruining her anonymous fan’s life.

Becky shivered in the summer heat as the tension filled her, then gradually dissipated with a mental affirmation of her resolve.

She was going to do this. She wanted to do this. With Zachariah Clark she could enjoy the here and now. She could let out the sensual, decadent side of her that had no place in the rest of her life. She had a man to welcome home after serving overseas in a war zone. And from the look—and feel—of things, the big guy needed some serious welcoming.

Becky looked over at him dozing in the tiny confines of her car and smiled. She was torn between the soft tug at her heart at his deep, soft snore—indicating just how exhausted he must be after being on guard every waking moment for the past eighteen months—and the firmer tug at her libido. Zachariah was an adrenaline rush to her hormones. There was just so much of him. So much muscle. Such broad shoulders and long legs—like tree trunks. Such big hands with an amazing coordination that must reflect in his work as well as his loving. And the whole of him was in fine, fighting shape. So much man. So much to want.

Tiny muscles, deep in her belly, clenched and yearned just looking at him. She licked her lips, feeling a sudden thirst as she ran her gaze over his wide, firm mouth. His square jaw. The bump on his nose—a remnant from an old fight, perhaps? One he’d no doubt won. She visually caressed the strong brow and masculine crop of sandy-brown hair that framed his commanding, if not handsome, face.

Becky slowly exhaled, letting the warm breeze of her desire dance across his skin.

One bold green eye opened and met her gaze. “I told you I can’t maneuver in here, darlin’.”

Oh, yeah. Conversations could definitely wait. She wanted this. She stretched up and pressed her lips to his cheek in a mild hint of things to come. “Then get out. We’re here.”

Suddenly, it was a race to get checked in and carry their bags up to the room. They scrambled to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob and then locked the door behind them.

And then Zachariah had her backed against the door. The buttons of her blouse flew by the wayside. His hands were on her breasts, lifting, squeezing, flicking the nipples to attention through the silk of her bra. She gasped as the instant fire rocketed from the tips of her breasts down to the juncture of her thighs. No man had touched her like this. Ever.

Ever. She groaned aloud as he dipped his head and guided one straining peak to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the distended tip. “Oh-h.”

Becky needed something to hold on to as her knees went weak. She needed him.