The Top Gun's Return

'You better not be apologizing,' she said, choked and breathless. Her fist poked him in the chest. 'It was about damn time you kissed me.'

He lifted his arm just far enough so he could see her. She'd raised herself on one elbow in order to look down at him, and though her words were brave, even defiant, even with the light sky behind her it was impossible to miss the evidence of his mishandling…the fear and uncertainty in her eyes…the glistening, crushed look of her mouth.

He lifted his hand and touched her lower lip with his thumb, stroking the glaze his own mouth had left there across the soft, swollen pillow. His jaws cramped and his mouth watered, and newly awakened desire coiled in his belly like a captive beast raging against fragile tethers. He took a deep breath and sat up, drawing in his feet and resting his arms on his knees as he pivoted away from her. Words fought their way through the chaos in his mind.

'That's not…the way,' he said, his voice constricted and hoarse. 'That's sure as hell not the way I wanted to kiss you. God help me, Jess, I-' he waved a helpless hand, intensely conscious of her, crouched there in wounded silence behind him '-I tried to warn you. I don't have the judgment…the control…the strength-I don't know what to call it. I just know I don't know myself…the way I am. I can't…trust myself. Neither should you.'

'You'd never hurt me.' Her voice sounded shocked…appalled. He could feel her shaking. 'You'd never do that. Never.'

He swiveled back to her, and after a long moment's silence, lifted a hand and laid it gently along her jaw. His thumb again stroked back and forth, just once and ever so lightly-a feather's touch-across her lips. 'I just did,' he said softly, and saw a tear quiver on the edge of her eyelid. Her throat moved convulsively against his hand. Cold with exhaustion, he went on gently. 'I won't ever do that to you again, I can promise you that.'

'But what-' she licked her lips and tried again '-what if I want you to?'

He gazed at her for a long silent moment before he took his hand away, shaking his head. 'You don't know,' he mumbled indistinctly as he turned.

Rebuffed, outraged and vulnerable, Jessie thought, I don't know? And you think you do? She wanted to shout at him, Look, Mr. Rip Van Winkle, you've been dead for eight years, and you're calling all the shots? What is this?

What was that? He'd never kissed her like that before-never. Not even in the first dizzy days of courtship when his slightest touch could turn her into a mindless bundle of simmering heat and thumping desire. It had scared her, sure it had. First, because it had made her feel things she'd never felt before. But-to be honest-mostly because she'd known instantly that the man kissing her wasn't the man she'd known, the husband she'd loved, the lover she remembered. It had been the most powerful, mind-blowing kiss she'd ever received in her life…from a stranger. What the hell was she supposed to do with that? How was she supposed to feel?

'We'd better be getting back,' Tris said. He was standing over her, one hand extended to help her up.

Angry, confused and bewildered, she gave him her hand and let him pull her to her feet, then stared, hot-eyed, at his back as he bent down to retrieve the camera. He dropped it into his pocket and reached for his cane, and her heart turned over when she saw his face. How gaunt and drawn he looked…there were hollows in his cheeks and deep shadows around his eyes.

Remorse and misery flooded her; she sniffed desperately and pivoted away from him before he could see her face. She felt his eyes on her but he didn't say anything, and they walked side by side down the trail to the car in shimmering, electric silence.

When they reached the car, Jessie asked Tristan in a choked voice if he wanted another sandwich. He shook his head and instead held out his hand.

'Give me the keys.'

'What?' Her head was still fuzzy-with suppressed tears, not wine-and it was a moment before she understood. Then her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. 'The car keys? No. No way. Tris, you're not driving.'

'Yes, I am.' His tone was stern, his jaw implacable; very much the old Tristan.

'But-you don't have a license. And you haven't-'

'Driving isn't something you forget,' he said grimly. 'I'm in better shape to drive than you are. You've had too much to drink. Come on-hand 'em over.'

She gave an outraged gasp. 'Too much to-I have not. What, a couple glasses of wine? Besides, I already drove-'

'Half a bottle. And you never could handle wine, remember?' His voice had gentled; his eyes caught and held hers with an unrelenting gaze that somehow both demanded and implored.

She drew a shuddering breath and said tightly, 'What about your license? And your knee?'

'My knee's fine-it's my left one, anyway. The license won't be a problem unless somebody stops us, and I've no intention of that happening. Come on, Jess.' He grinned crookedly. 'I'm gonna have to drive again sometime. Might as well be now.'

It's that grin, she told herself as she reluctantly handed him the keys to the Ford. I never could resist him smilin' at me; old behavior patterns are just damn hard to break. Anyway, I probably have had too much to drink. It's better this way.

But she didn't feel the slightest bit buzzed, pleasantly or otherwise, as she settled into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. She felt battered and emotionally frail.

Her misgivings began to fade, though, as they made their way slowly back along the river. Since they were backtracking and very little was required from her in the way of directions, she was free to watch Tristan-though surreptitiously under the pretense of sight-seeing so as not to annoy him-as he familiarized himself with the car and the process of driving. All signs of tiredness had magically disappeared; he sat straight and alert in the driver's seat, and his hands lingered over the controls with an almost caressing touch. He handled the steering wheel with the gentle assurance of an experienced mother bathing a new baby, while his eyes held a joyful light she hadn't seen in them since his release. How must it feel, she wondered as tears sprang to her own eyes, to be in control of your personal self again, after so many years?

They stopped to eat in one of the larger river towns, in a restaurant that no doubt catered to tourists during the summer and autumn harvest season. They ate on an enclosed deck overlooking the river where they were the only diners at that hour, far too late for lunch, yet early for dinner. Jessie ordered Wiener schnitzel, which was the only thing on the menu she was sure she recognized. Tristan chose something that turned out to be pork chops-huge, thick and smothered in sauerkraut and browned potatoes. He ate every bite, and part of Jessie's dinner besides, while he told her what he knew of his father's boyhood in the vineyards and on the river.

He looks so normal, she thought. Right then he seemed almost himself, even flirting with the plump middle- aged waitress until she blushed like a rose. And was it wishful thinking, or had he even gained a little weight? Were the hollows in his cheeks a little less deep? Were his eyes a little less haunted? Dared she hope it might be so easy?

Like an alarm going off somewhere in a distant room, she heard the faraway voice of Lieutenant Commander Rees. I'm not gonna lie to you…he's got a rough road ahead of him and so do you. It's not gonna be easy. The last of the afternoon's winey glow faded away, and though she tried hard to suppress it, a shiver ran through her.

Traffic was light on the autobahn, and although Jessie's heart did a little skip when Tristan moved into the fast lane first thing, she told herself it was only what she'd have expected him to do, especially after the cracks he'd made about her speed-or lack of it. She tried not to look at the speedometer, but she couldn't help it. And her heart began to beat faster as the needle crept relentlessly around the dial.

'Tris…' she breathed when it reached 130…then 140.

'Relax,' he drawled, 'no speed limit here, remember?'

'I know, but-' Her body tensed involuntarily as the speedometer needle edged up to 150. 'Tris-' This time it came out sharp and scared as another car loomed ahead, growing larger at an alarming rate. She held her breath while he calmly tipped the blinker and moved into the next lane, and went around the other car as if it were standing still. 'Tristan,' she ground out on the exhalation, 'Dammit, slow down.'

His only answer was a confident chuckle, and she threw him a furious glare. And then the anger left her like the