Red Tail

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His craggy features were shadowed by the starlight as he looked down on her. “No. I think something traumatic happened recently. I’ve known too many good pilots who had to bail out or lost someone in a crash to think you’re crazy.” A slight smile pulled at his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me, though. I probably rosé two feet off that bunk when you started screaming.”

Storm shakily pushed her slender fingers through her hair. “God, I feel like a fool,” she muttered. “What will the other guys think?”

Bram reached out, placing both hands on her shoulders, his fingers lightly massaging the tenseness out of them. “They were worried for you, Storm. Want to tell me what happened? I’m your copilot, remember? We’re a team now.”

She was grateful for his gentle demeanor. His hands were strong and coaxing to her taut shoulder muscles, and she longed just to fall into his arms. Hesitantly she told him about Dave Walker. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she repeated the nightmare to him.

Bram released her, then lifted his callused hands and framed her face, forcing her to look up at him. His heart wrenched in his chest as he saw the glittering gray diamonds of her eyes awash with tears.

“Look,” he said evenly, “that was a situation where no matter what you said or how you felt, Storm, Dave would have done it anyway. If he loved children that much, you had to expect that of him. He counted on the smuggler giving up the child, not shooting him instead,” he told her softly.

Huge tears rolled down her taut cheeks and Bram’s features blurred. “But—but I lost my copilot!” she cried hoarsely. “I was responsible! I should have done something more—”

Bram’s face tightened, his eyes darkening. “Listen to me, Storm,” he said gruffly in a more authoritative voice, “you did all you could. You sat with a helicopter perched on a yacht that was unstable as hell. There was no way you could shut down the 52 and go out there to help him. The helicopter might have slid off into the ocean. You accurately assessed your duties.” His lips became a grim line. “Quit blaming yourself. You’re human. You did the best you could under some hellish circumstances. You’re damn lucky those smugglers didn’t start firing at you. Hell, you could have been killed too!”

His touch was excruciating, awakening her dormant senses to an agonizing awareness. What he said was true. She knew that in her head. But in her heart—her heart was shattered with the loss of Dave. She had lost two men whom she had loved and cared for deeply in the span of a year. Dave had been like a replacement for her brother Cal, whom she adored but rarely saw anymore.

“Oh, Bram…” she whispered rawly, “I hurt so much inside for Dave’s wife and his children…”

“Come here,” he ordered sternly, and took her into his arms, crushing her against his body. He had felt her hesitate initially but then Storm had fallen against him like a supple willow. He groaned, feeling her softness yield against the hard planes of his body. He placed one hand against her silken hair, aware of her special female fragrance that thrilled all his senses. She buried her head on his shoulder, crying softly, and he held her, rocking her gently in the darkness, murmuring comforting words of solace near her ear.

Finally the tears eased and so did the pain she had been carrying in her heart. The feel of being held was overwhelmingly consoling to her ravaged spirit, and Storm nuzzled into Bram like a lost kitten beneath his solid jaw, content to remain there. Other senses were coming to life within her, though, as she became aware of his steady heartbeat, his male scent, and the strength of his arms around her body, providing her with safety. It was all so crazy. She had known Bram Gallagher less than a week, and here she was in his arms. Somehow it seemed right, and she knew he felt the same way.

Bram stroked her hair. “Better?” His voice was husky.

Storm nodded, not wanting to pull away but knowing she must. Reluctantly she placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his shadowed unreadable face. His cobalt eyes gleamed, sending a shiver of longing coursing through her.

“I’m sure you need this on top of everything else,” she said, her voice hoarse.

A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. “I don’t consider you a problem, Storm.” His arms tightened momentarily against her, and she became wildly aware of his arousal, her body tingling with an aching fire of its own. “Matter of fact, if you want the truth, it’s nice to be needed again.”

Her heart wrenched as she heard the pain reflected in his voice. He had tried to disguise it with lightness, but she had heard the inflection. Bram was affecting her sensually, and Storm fought to maintain a level of lucidity. Stepping out of his embrace, she said, “You don’t need me crying on your shoulder.”

Again that same smile warmed her heart. “How long has it been since you cried, Storm?”

Touching her flushed cheeks with her palms, she closed her eyes. “A year.”

“I’m glad you decided to put those tears on my shoulder, then,” he said, pointing to the darkened patch on his flight uniform.

She managed a partial smile. “Masochist.”

“You got it. Come on; feel like walking back now?”

Storm hesitated, her eyes widening. “I—I’m afraid I’ll wake them up again with my screams.”

Bram shook his head. He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him and urging her to walk beside him. “It won’t come back tonight, Storm.”