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apparently picked to match his golden brown hair—must be a gift from a woman.
    Finally, her eyes settled on the man who’d pulled her from the water. This flyboy wore sport performance sunglasses, rimless and looking like something from the next century. Her gaze lingered on him. How could she not be curious about a person who’d jumped into shark-infested waters to save her?
    Now that he’d removed his helmet, she could see his angular face more clearly. Dark-haired with a standard military fade cut, he walked away from his aircraft with a lean, whipcord power. She couldn’t see his eyes but remembered the dark and vibrant energy from when he’d been inches away from her.
    Chloe figured she had at least fifteen free minutes to thank the guy before the show started. Who knew if she would ever see him again, and all embarrassment aside, she owed him a huge debt. She padded across the hot metal deck in the borrowed shoes the navy had supplied upon landing. The acres-big boat sat so still and impervious to the churning sea she could have sworn she walked on dry land.
    She stopped beside the airman who’d pulled her out of the water, and yeah, she couldn’t help but think of the soldier whose kidney now rested inside her. She really would have to keep a rein on the whole hero-worship vibe.
    “Hi, I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself before with the whole sharks and dunking deal.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Chloe Nelson.”
    “Captain Jimmy Gage,” he clasped her hand, his flight glove rasping against her tender skin.
    When he didn’t so much as crack a smile or say anything more, she rushed to fill in the awkward silence. “Thank you for saving my life.” She’d said those words so many times to different doctors, and she was grateful. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
    “No thanks necessary. It’s all in the job description.” His sports glasses hid any hint of emotion, as if to provide an extra layer of invincibility.
    She struggled for something else to say, not ready to sound the final note on a sonata that didn’t feel played out. “What’s with all the different jersey colors on the navy folks? So far, I’ve seen yellow, purple, white, blue, red, and green.”
    He shuffled from boot to boot, his head cocking toward his crew mates as if eager to leave before he finally settled into a military stance that shouted duty and mannerly protocol. “Each color stands for the different job held. That makes it easier to find the right person in the overpacked crush.”
    “Interesting.” Oooo-kay. Brilliant reply. Her summa cum laude diploma wasn’t anywhere in sight today. She rubbed her hands along her arms. “The wind’s really whipping.”
    “Do you need a fresh blanket?”
    Blanket? If only she’d managed to secure one faster in the airplane. Her skin warmed from more than the setting sun.
    “I’m all dry. You can use that megastar boom mic of yours,” she tapped the helmet/headset dangling from his grip, “to let everyone know my wet T-shirt peep show is over, and it doesn’t look like rain. Livia Cicero has already generated enough hype from her posters. Those guys don’t need to see the intimate Livia for real up close and exposed.”
    She glanced over, and sure enough, the Italian diva’s cluster of admirers had swelled near the USO’s signature banner. A pair of backup dancers—Steven and Melanie, a girlfriend/boyfriend duo—circulated to keep the crowd happy while waiting. Unless Livia did some speed-signing, the show wouldn’t get started on time.
    Jimmy Gage ducked his head into her line of sight, his shoulders blocking the view of the star and her fan club. “Did you need anything else, ma’am?”
    Ma’am? She’d been the Little Mermaid earlier.
    She wasn’t sure what she’d expected in speaking to him. A polite exchange and a quick laugh, maybe? He’d been so steady and reassuring earlier. Now it seemed her hottie savior had