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realize how close I am to snapping? Just being in this room together has me thinking about finding you waiting for me six months ago when I landed in Germany. And five months ago when we got stranded in the Azores with a busted plane and two full days in a VOQ with nothing to do but order delivery food and make use of the bed, the floor, the shower."
    She swayed, three and a half months of being without him chipping away at her with the reminder that they would never make more memories in the shower. On the floor. The bed.
    He cupped her shoulders, steadied her while rocking her control. "You remember, too."
    "Of course I do." That and more. Not that she planned to throw those images out there in a tangle of arms and legs and so much want.
    How could she not remember with his scent and hands all over her? Knew she would continue to remember, ache even after his hands and scent slid away. His breath fanned over her, his mouth right there for the taking. Recalling his kisses, anticipating more, was almost as arousing as having them.
    She allowed herself the bittersweet pleasure—the risk—of touching him, cupping his face. "My going along to Rubistan is the right thing. Make it work, Jack."
    His bristly jaw flexed under her palm. Stubborn, stubborn man.
    Her hands fell away. She forced herself to think of how much she'd hurt him by not being the kind of woman he needed although she wanted more than anything to languish in the memory of smiles they'd shared. "Okay, you want to play the tough guy role? Fine. I've been hanging with the big boys long enough to play just as rough." She backed up but not down. "I'm going to Rubistan. No matter what. If I have to take leave and fly on a civilian airline, I'll make my way over there to my sister."
    She hadn't hauled herself out of Red Branch, Texas, by giving up every time someone told her she set her objectives too high. Maybe she was a little like her mama after all, just with different, more practical goals.
    Reaching past Jack and doing her damnedest to keep her breasts from brushing the implacable hulk of man in front of her, she hefted her duffel off the end of the bed.
    Jack tore her bag from her hands and pitched it on the floor. "Damn it, Monica, you're going to get yourself killed flying off half-cocked."
    Something in his tone tugged at her more than his words. Right or wrong in his assumptions on her ability to protect herself, he really was concerned about her. "I understand you're worried about my being there. I worry about you, too."
    He mumbled, "You have a damned odd way of showing it."
    She deserved that. Even at her angriest, she realized he'd been hurt, too. If only she'd held firm to her refusal when he'd first asked her out, followed her gut that told her fireworks could blow up in a girl's hand sometimes. But he'd been persistent and charming and so full of determination she'd thought maybe...just maybe she could have practicality and dreams. "You drive me insane, Jack, no question. But you still get to me, too."
    His eyes rose, slowly, brown heating to black. "Are you trying to talk me into your bed?"
    Probably. She shook her head. "Sorry, and I really do mean that, but no. I'm trying to make a point. We might be history, but we also have history. And because of that, yes, there's still a lingering... attraction.
    Even some feelings. But that history also means you know I'm dead serious about going to Rubistan. Won't you worry less knowing I'm under the military's protective umbrella?"
    She'd won. She could see it in his eyes—angry but resigned. Scrubbing his hands over his face, into his hair, he dropped to the foot of the bed.
    He really was exhausted, sore from shots and weary in his heart over her sister, too. Over the end of their relationship, as well?
    Out of the blue a memory filtered through the anger and pain, of the times he'd rubbed her feet after a long surgery. How could she have forgotten that?
    His hands slid from his face to clasp loosely