The Top Gun's Return

along one shoulder. 'Guess you were havin' a nightmare, huh? Wrestlin' around and fightin' the covers. Didn't seem all that bad-really.' A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. 'And I didn't touch you, swear to God.'

He groaned. 'And I managed to pop you one, anyway.'

She sat up, yawning unabashedly as she lifted her arms in a luxurious stretch. He watched her, enjoying the simple wonder of her waking-up routine as she combed through her hair with her fingers…raked it all back, then gathered it up in both hands…lifted it and briefly held it piled high on her head. For one sweet moment her neck was bared for him…graceful curve lightly furred with velvety swirls of fine golden down, like something newly born, before she released her hair and it tumbled down in a silken curtain to hide that tender part of her from his view. And he was left with a kick of desire under his rib cage that took his breath away-and for the first time understood why, in some cultures, the nape of a woman's neck was considered her body's most intimate and private place.

He must have made a sound of some kind, because she swiveled toward him, an unspoken question in the lift of her eyebrows, lips barely parted. Her breasts, more voluptuous than he recalled, moved with her body as she turned, swelling and thrusting beneath the drape of the oversize T-shirt that served as her nightgown, and he was suddenly swamped by tactile memories-recent memories-of the way those breasts had felt…the way she'd felt, filling his hands-of himself pushing into her tender body…her warmth enfolding him. Heartsick, he groaned and folded both arms across his face to hide from her his overwhelming guilt and shame.

'Tris? Honey, what is it? What's wrong?'

He felt her touch, light on his shoulder, and heard the lilt of fear in her voice, but couldn't comfort or reassure her. How could he, when he didn't know what was wrong with him? He threw himself away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, where at least, with his back to her, he wouldn't have to see her face. 'Last night,' he breathed, rocking himself, muscles tense and quivering. 'Last night I didn't-'

'Well yes, darlin', as a matter of fact, you did.' Her tone was droll, but he wasn't fooled.

'It was the beer,' he muttered, his voice tight with self-loathing. 'I drank too much. I'm not used to it. I should have known better. Don't know what I was-God, Jess. I'm sorry-'

'So, we made love. Big deal.' The bed rocked violently as she left it. 'Hey-I'm pretty sure I'll survive the torture.'

He snaked out an arm in time to catch hers as she tried to sweep past him on her escape route to the bathroom. She resisted him, tugging angrily against his grasp, and to his surprise and pleasure he felt desire blossoming again in the part of him that had been dormant for so long. He pulled, testing his strength and will against hers, and felt a surge of all-but-forgotten triumph when she began to move slowly and reluctantly toward him. When she was close enough, he let go of her arm and put his hands on her hips. Sliding his hands and the fabric of her T-shirt over that gentle curve and lightly kneading the firm-soft textures underneath, he lifted his eyes to hers. He wasn't surprised to find tears shimmering there.

'Jessie…' He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close and whispered brokenly against her breasts, 'I didn't mean-It's not the way I wanted to make love to you. Not the way you deserve to be…'

He felt the breath sigh from her body and her fingers come to sift gently through his hair. 'So it wasn't perfect,' she said, trying for steadfastness in a voice that was as uneven as his. 'Big deal. The main thing is-' and he heard a smile come '-I guess you found out everything still works.'

His laughter was painful…and healing. Her words didn't do a thing to ease the guilt he felt for what he'd done to her, or lessen his shame for his lack of self-control. But now, in the most secret part of himself he felt a small but growing ember of triumph. Yes, by God, everything still works.

'I'll make it up to you,' he said, the embers of his new triumph burning fiercely in his eyes as he looked deep into hers. 'That's a promise.'

'I'll say you will,' she said, giving his shoulder a slap. And then she sighed and added reluctantly, 'Not right this minute, though. We have to catch a train.'

* * *

Not right that minute, nor anytime soon. The next two days were an exhausting blur of meetings and phone calls and tests and reporters and being shuttled from one crowded place to another, beginning when they arrived at the guest house in Landstuhl that evening to find Major Sharpe waiting to take Tris back to the hospital for a last round of tests and debriefings.

Jess spent the night alone, tossing and turning in the great big bed, her body restless and itchy, her mind ricocheting between erotic thoughts and worried ones. We found out everything still works… Yeah, okay…physically. She had no fear that eventually Tris's body would heal from the abuse it had endured. It was the rest of him she wasn't so sure about.

The next morning, Lieutenant Commander Rees picked up Jessie and took her to join Tristan and an assortment of doctors and military dignitaries for the long-anticipated press conference. She recognized several of the reporters in the crowd from the impromptu briefing in front of the guest house two days before. They seemed a little surprised when she smiled and greeted them like old friends, apparently not understanding it was just the natural way where she'd been born and raised.

Tristan was wearing a borrowed flight suit for the occasion. It was the first time she'd seen him in one since before his last deployment, and there was a guilty stab of fear mingled with the pride that misted her eyes as she gazed at him, standing erect and composed before a backdrop of a gigantic American flag, alongside all the officers and doctors in their dress uniforms, with their ribbons and buttons and braid gleaming in the camera lights. The truth was, her emotions were a whole stew of things right then. If she'd had to say what they were she'd probably have been able to name the pride, but for the rest…the best she could come up with was a kind of poignant bewilderment.

She kept searching his face, still so handsome it made her throat ache to look at him. And there was a new dignity there, now, too, in the silvery shadings at the temples of his dark hair, in the somber hollows of his cheeks, the gentle furrows in his brow…the quiet presence that can only come from having faced the worst the world can throw at a man and survived. But though she kept searching, and even though he was wearing the familiar flight suit, she couldn't seem to find a trace of the fearless young flyboy she remembered, with that cocky and arrogant grin and dark aviator's sunglasses hiding the laughter in his eyes.

The press conference began, as was apparently the customary procedure, with prepared statements from senior military and hospital personnel, outlining Lieutenant Bauer's rescue and recovery, his physical condition and medical treatment. Jessie only half listened to the dry and droning recitals; Lieutenant Commander Rees had already told her all this, in much more detail, and she was preoccupied with her own thoughts, both anxious and eager to hear what Tris would say. He'd told her so little-almost nothing-about what he'd been through. What would he reveal now, with the whole world watching and listening?

Tristan's opening statement was brief but obviously heartfelt. He thanked the brave members of the special forces team responsible for his rescue, the doctors, nurses and med techs who had taken such good care of him during his stay, first on the hospital ship, then at the medical facility in Germany, and everyone else who'd helped to ease his transition back into the world. He expressed his gratitude for his country and family, thoughts of whom had helped sustain him during his captivity-especially those of his wife. His voice broke when he said Jessie's name, and she was instantly struggling to hold back tears. He finished by saying how much he was looking forward to going back home to the U.S.A., being reunited with his daughter and his dad, and getting on with his life.

'How about having dinner at the White House and meeting the president, Lieutenant Bauer?' someone called out.

'Well, yeah, I'm kind of looking forward to that, too,' Tris said with a flash of his old grin, and everybody laughed.

Then the questions began. Most of them were directed at Tristan, naturally. The media had had enough of technical data; they wanted the personal story.

'How are you feeling, Lieutenant Bauer?'

Tris gave them his best gung ho grin. 'I'm feeling good-getting stronger every day. Just give me some more good home cookin' and I'll be good to go.'

'Where were you kept? What were conditions like?'