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between his knees while he studied the patternless carpet. "I'll start the paperwork this morning. You'll have orders in hand by close of business."
    Victory mingled with a chilly twist of loss as she stared at his weary broad shoulders that, because of her, wouldn't be resting anytime soon. "Jack, thank—"
    Slowly he looked up, eyes hard, unrelenting. "Don't thank me. I have conditions."
    Uh-oh. He wouldn't actually ask her to sleep with him after all? Dread and, damn it, arousal pulsed through her.
    "You don't leave my side while we're there."
    "I'm not sharing quarters—"
    "Fine."
    Man, he gave that part up easily. She punted aside ridiculous disappointment. "What do you mean, exactly?"
    "Whenever I'm on the ground and awake, you're right there with me. And no Lone Ranger crap riding in to save your sister solo. You're only there as a part of the medical team to assess the hostages and tend any wounded afterward. We have medics for the battlefield."
    Her toes curled in her boots. His conditions chafed since they wouldn't have applied to anyone else, but this was his show. He made the rules. "Okay. Anything else?"
    Jack stood, took one step, another, until he stopped chest to chest with her in the small room. A single deep breath would press her aching breasts to him. What had she just committed herself to?
    "Jack?" She pushed his name free, not sure if she was asking or begging.
    "That's it, Monica." His mouth pulled up at the corners in a slow smile that creased his eyes without reaching them. "Now get the hell out of my room, because we both know it wouldn't take much effort for me to talk you into this bed after all."
    Inching away to grab her bag, she didn't even consider answering. No need since, damn his sexy smile and tender sweet foot massages, he spoke the total truth.
    "Crew, feet wet," Jack called through his headset. "Crossing out of U.S. airspace."
    The Atlantic rippled below and ahead of him, the mission under way with Monica on the roster and flying in the plane behind him. Her voice filled the radio waves as she spoke with one of the other planes in formation. Filled his ears. His mind.
    They hadn't been alone together in the thirty-six hours following their confrontation. Not that it made any difference since she'd blasted back into his life.
    Multiple voices drifted through the headset, calls from his crew, from other planes in formation. Just his luck, he had the radio toggled up to Monica's frequency. While she wasn't a pilot, as a flight surgeon she could ride up front in the jump seat, complete with helmet and headset, had in fact flown with him often in the past.
    Before he made the dumb-ass, drunken mistake of marrying her.
    Now she flew with Joker's crew. Talked. Her sandpaper drawl riding radio waves. Exchanging crew dog camaraderie and laughing at something Joker said. Irritation—ah, hell, who was he kidding—jealousy chewed his hide. Joker, for crying out loud, the least funny man on earth, his call sign a sarcastic commentary on his somber mood.
    Already she was a great big distraction and they hadn't set foot in Rubistan.
    Jack scanned the altimeter, adjusted his airspeed to compensate for a headwind as clouds dusted his windscreen. At least he'd salvaged something from the conversation with Monica. Hell, yeah, he preferred to keep her away from Rubistan, but he didn't doubt for a minute she would go with or without him.
    So he was stuck with her.
    He'd wanted more time after their impulsive quickie wedding to see where things went, but not this way.
    Monica had insisted staying married would make a further mockery of what should be sacred vows. Well, she had him there.
    Problem was, he hadn't wanted something more than a one-night stand with a woman in a damned long time. He found the idea of wanting Monica again—and again—difficult to cut loose.
    No question she packed a hefty dose of brains under that silky head of hair. However, she underestimated his patience and persistence. He