Rear Admiral “Tombstone” Magruder slung one arm around his wife’s shoulder and stared down at her fondly. “This enough like a honeymoon for you?”
Commander Joyce “Tomboy” Flynn Magruder stared up at him, a rapt expression on her face. “It ought to be — we’ve been waiting long enough for it.”
“Two years.” He pulled her close and turned to face her. “But I’m planning on making up for lost time on this trip.”
She nuzzled up against him. “Two years. I can’t believe it.” She pulled away slightly and smacked him lightly on the chest. “What would you say if one of your staff officers told you he made his wife wait that long for a honeymoon?”
He sighed and pulled her back in close to him. “I’d say he was a damned fool, if his bride was anything like you. But then, most women aren’t.”
“Aren’t what?”
“Like you.”
“Hmmm.”
Tombstone knew immediately he’d struck the wrong note, and tried to make up for it. “And there were a few other things that interfered as well, if you’ll recall. Blame the Chinese and the Russians, not me. You were there — you know what we were facing.”
He felt her head nod against his chest, her breath ruffling the hair on his chest. “Some things I won’t ever forgive them for.”
“And it’s not like we had much of a choice, did we?” he continued. “I mean, you understand what being an officer is all about. That’s one way you’re different.”
“From Pamela, you mean?”
“Among other people, yes. Pamela would be a very good example of what I’m talking about.”
“Pamela.” This time she did pull back, and Tombstone could see the storm clouds gathering on her face. “Let me get this straight. We’re on our honeymoon, said honeymoon having been delayed for two years — six months longer than a normal command tour — we’re in Hawaii, at perhaps the world’s most romantic tropical resort. You would agree with those facts?”
“Yup.”
“Now, given all that, what in the
Tombstone stared down at her, amazed at the transformation her face had undergone. He’d seen it before, that legendary redhead temper, but only occasionally had been on the receiving end of it. Her brilliant green eyes were narrowed to mere slits, and the golden-red hair seemed to halo her face like lightening. Her eyebrows were drawn down toward her nose, and her normally full and luxurious mouth had narrowed down to a thin line.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he said, still confused about what exactly he’d done wrong — hell, he’d been
No matter that his darling wife, the love of his life, was perhaps the best backseater he’d ever flown with, male or female, and a front-running officer in the Tomcat community. No matter that she’d seen her share of combat, both as a regular member of a fighting squadron and in command of a squadron as well. It didn’t even seem to dawn on her that he’d picked her over Pamela Drake, breaking an engagement of sorts that spanned nearly a decade to marry the diminutive RIO now virtually spitting her words at him.
No, this was definitely not the time to point those items out. The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was arguing with her, and the fastest route to resuming their honeymoon — He glanced at his watch. Just barely enough time before dinner if he could clear this up now — was to simply shut up and apologize. Later, when she’d calmed down, he could figure out what he’d said wrong.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he said again, putting all the conviction that almost three decades in uniform could bring to bear. “It’s
“As opposed to who else’s?”
No, he’d missed the window of opportunity, he could see that now. Once Tomboy started spinning up like this, it was damned hard to cycle her down. An apology worked, but only if you could get it in play fast enough.
“As opposed to living my entire life alone, miserable without you.” He drew her in close to him and felt his body surge in response. “Have I told you in the last five minutes how wonderful you look in that swimming suit? And how much better you’d look out of it?”
She planted her hands squarely in the middle of his chest and shoved. Not hard, but hard enough to make her point. “No. You haven’t. And it won’t get you out of this one so easily, Stony. Don’t even try.” She turned and stalked off.
He followed her into the luxurious penthouse suite that had eaten up a good portion of their savings. “Why are you mad at me?”
“Why?” she echoed, her back still to him. “You start rambling on about Pamela Drake, and you have to ask me
“You brought her up,” Tombstone said, now resigning himself to the fact that there wouldn’t be a sweet session of lovemaking before dinner. Indeed, if things progressed much further, there wouldn’t be any afterward either. “I was just saying — ”
“You were thinking about her, weren’t you?” she shot back. “Don’t lie to me, Stony. Don’t even try.”
He sighed. The bitch of it was, she was right. He’d been watching the sun trek down toward the ocean, wondering whether or not they might see the fabled green flash just as the sun disappeared into the Pacific Ocean, idly considering whether or not he could slip the maitre d’ a few bucks to get them a seat next to the window so they could watch for it, wondering how much time they had left before dinner, letting his mind wander through a few sexual fantasies and
And she’d heard him. It was spooky sometimes, how she seemed to read his thoughts.
Well, if she was going to read his mind, she ought to at least have the courtesy to read the entire thought, not just pick out one name at random that happened to pop up.
But maybe there was still a way to salvage the evening. He looked pointedly at his watch. “Hey, about time to eat, isn’t it? Hungry? I’m starving.” He mustered up his most winning smile and prayed.
For a moment, he thought it wouldn’t work. Then he saw it, the beginning of the frost melting off of her face. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Cut that out,” she said, her voice warm and intimate.
“Cut what out?”
“That. You know.”
Safe now, and only because of a quirk of facial muscles that his mother told him he’d inherited from his father, some odd sort of smile that seemed to be his ultimate weapon. “How about this?” he said, stepping close and running his hands over her body. “Should I cut this out as well?”
She moaned softly. “Maybe.”
“And this?”
She pressed up against him. “Only if you want to be on time for breakfast.”
Come to think of it, he wasn’t
When the hotel management had learned who would be staying with them, the manager had insisted on upgrading them to the best suite in the hotel. He’d also evidently had a word with the restaurant staff — Tombstone and Tomboy had never had to wait for a table.
After dinner, Tombstone ordered a bottle of champagne. He waited while their glasses were charged, then held his up. “To us. And to a honeymoon every moment we’re together.”
She clinked her glass lightly against his. “To us.”
