a distinct womanly scent. Clean and subtle and…just nice. It lured him unlike anything else he’d ever experienced. He wasn’t a man accustomed to the ways of women. He’d lived his life in the Navy and for the Navy, and he’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t meant to be a Navy husband.
He’d married at twenty-five and Laura had left him two years later. That had been nearly twenty years ago. His wife had walked out when she realized no amount of crying, pleading or cajoling would persuade him to resign his commission. She knew before they were married that he’d made the Navy his career, the same as his father and grandfather had. Nothing was more important to Frank than duty and honor. Not his marriage, not Laura, not one damn thing. She hadn’t been able to reconcile herself to that and he doubted any woman ever could. Other commitments took second place to military life. He’d accepted that, and dedicated himself to his career. Not once in all those years had he regretted his decision. Until now—and now he would willingly have sold his soul to keep this woman at his side. He needed her, wanted her and he didn’t care what it cost him.
Some of his fellow officers had been against letting women serve at sea. Frank hadn’t been one of them. Now he wasn’t so sure his peers had been wrong. Senior Medical Officer Alison Karas had taken up far more of his thoughts than warranted. He’d decided from their first, chance encounter to stay away from her; he wasn’t risking his career for a shipboard romance. Avoiding her was easy enough to accomplish with five thousand sailors aboard the USS Woodrow Wilson. It was just his luck that she was the one on duty. Luck or fate? He wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.
A cool hand touched his brow, followed by Alison’s quiet voice. Unable to make out the words, Frank thought it might have been a prayer. Apparently he was worse off than he’d known, although she seemed to think she had some influence with the Man Upstairs. Her constancy touched him. No one had ever done anything like that before—not for him.
The darkness didn’t bother him anymore. He was at peace, even though a vague memory, something about Alison, hovered just out of reach. She was with him. He planned to tell her how much her presence meant to him.
If he lived through this.
The next morning, the USS Woodrow Wilson was hit by a raging storm. The massive ship had turned into the typhoon, and there was nothing to do but ride it out. Thankfully, Ali had never been prone to seasickness, but a number of men were sent to sick bay. She had her hands full the first day of the storm, but things had settled down by the second. During a quiet moment, she went in to check on Commander Dillon. He was sitting up in bed, still pale and not in the best of moods.
“What the hell is going on topside?” he demanded the moment he saw her.
“We’re in the midst of a typhoon, Commander.”
He tossed aside his sheet and seemed ready to climb out of bed. “Get me out of here.”
“No.” She prevented him from moving farther.
From the way his eyes widened, Ali could tell that it wasn’t often anyone stood up to the high and mighty commander. “I’m the navigator and I’m needed topside,” he argued, his face reddening.
“This might come as a shock, Commander Dillon, but the Navy stayed afloat without you for more than two hundred years. They’ll manage to survive for another day or so. Now stay in bed, otherwise I’ll have you restrained.”
His blue eyes flared. “You wouldn’t.”
Although her heart was pounding, Ali didn’t dare let her nervousness show. “I don’t think that’s something you’d like to find out. Your orders are to stay in bed until Captain Coleman says otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”
His gaze challenged hers, but then, apparently reaching a decision, he nodded. Although he wasn’t happy about it, he would abide by what he knew was best.
Ali was grateful. Under normal circumstances, the commander wasn’t a man to cross; she’d figured that out quickly enough. And if his scowl was any indication, he was on the mend. He’d been in bad shape the first few days, but his improvement was steady. To show him how much she appreciated his cooperation, she patted his arm.
He stiffened as if he found her touch offensive and Ali quickly backed away. While he was under anesthesia, she’d touched him many times. In an effort to comfort him, she’d stroked his brow and talked to him in soothing tones. She’d frequently taken his pulse and blood pressure and let her hand linger on his arm, hoping he’d sense her encouragement and concern. Perhaps she’d grown too familiar, too personal.
“I apologize,” he muttered gruffly.
Embarrassed, Ali retreated an additional step. “No, the fault is mine—I’m sorry.” By all rights, she should turn and leave. The clinic was busy. Sailors were waiting. She should get while the getting was good, as her grandmother used to say.
“You were with me in Recovery until I regained consciousness, weren’t you?” he whispered.
She nodded, afraid they were taking a dangerous risk by acknowledging this attraction. Not since Peter’s death had Ali allowed herself to feel anything for another man. In fact, she’d been certain she never would and now…now she wasn’t sure what to think.
“Any particular reason you stayed with me all those hours?” he asked.
Ali didn’t know what to tell him. Honesty might be the best policy, but there were times the truth was better
avoided. This appeared to be one of those times. “Your appendix had ruptured, Commander. In such cases, there’s a significant chance of complications. It was easier for me just to remain on duty than explain the situation to my shift replacement.” Ali used her best professional voice, making it as devoid of emotion as she could.
He seemed to accept her explanation and answered with an abrupt nod.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, moving away from his bedside.
“Not a thing,” he replied in clipped tones, and Ali knew he was referring to a whole lot more than his medical situation.
Chapter Ten
As promised, Adam Kennedy was at the restaurant by ten on Saturday morning. Shana had anticipated this moment—no, dreaded it—all week. She might’ve been able to push the lieutenant commander from her mind if it weren’t for Jazmine, who found every excuse in the world to bring up his name. They could be discussing the migration habits of Canada geese, and Jazmine would somehow link the topic with her uncle Adam. It didn’t matter what they discussed, Adam Kennedy became part of the conversation.
Shana didn’t resent the fact that her niece called Adam her uncle anymore. It seemed natural for her to do so. What didn’t seem natural—or fair—was the way he’d infiltrated her thoughts. And, in all honesty, that wasn’t just due to Jazmine.
“Good morning,” Adam said as he marched into the restaurant with a crisp military gait that said he was ready for action. He wore black jeans and a casual denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Hi.” Her voice faltered a little. This was one attractive man, a fact she was trying hard to ignore. Nonetheless, her hands trembled as she reached for a paper towel and wiped them clean. “Jazmine brought her Rollerblades.” Thankfully it was early enough that the ice-cream parlor didn’t have any customers yet.
“I saw. She put on a show for me in the parking lot.”
“Oh.” Now that was an intelligent response and Shana resisted the urge to kick herself. She intensely disliked the way Adam made her feel like an awkward teenager. Until recently, she’d considered herself a competent professional, a woman who could cope with any social situation, and it irked her no end that this man could agitate her like this. “Where are you two headed today?” she asked conversationally, hoping to hide her complete lack of a brain.
Adam sauntered up to the cash register, apparently in