* * *
Rush Callaghan stood on the bridge of the USS Mitchell, a pair of binoculars gripped tightly in his hands. He paused to suck in a deep breath of tangy salt air and sighed his appreciation for the clear, clean scent of it. Being on the open seas stirred his blood back to life after three long months of shore duty. He relaxed, home at last, as the huge l,092-foot-long aircraft carrier cut a wide path out of Puget Sound and into the dark green waters of the north Pacific. Rush was more than glad. He had recognized from the time he was a boy that his destiny lay on the swirling waters of the world’s oceans. He’d been born on the sea and he’d known ever since that this was where he belonged, where he felt truly alive.
Rush had dedicated his life to the sea, and in turn she had become his mistress. She was often demanding and unreasonable, but Rush wouldn’t have had it any other way. A gentle breeze carried with it a cool, soothing mist. The spray came at him like the gentle, caressing fingers of a woman riffling through his hair and pressing her body against his own. Rush grinned at the picturesque image, knowing his lover well. She was gently welcoming him back into her arms, but Rush wasn’t easily fooled. His mistress was fickle. Another time, possibly soon, she would lash out at him and harshly slap his face with cold, biting wind and rain. Her icy fingers would sting him with outrage. It was little wonder, Rush thought, that he’d come to think of the sea as his lover, since she often played the role.
When the Mitchell had pulled out of the Bremerton shipyard eighteen hours earlier, Rush had left nothing to tie him to the shore. No wife, no sweetheart, nothing except a Seattle apartment where he stored his worldly goods. He wasn’t looking to build any bridges that would link him to the mainland. He’d learned early in his career that a wife and family weren’t meant for him. If the waters of the world were his mistress, then the navy would be his wife. There’d been a time when he’d hoped to divide his life, but no more.
A quick exchange of angry words followed by an outburst of disgust from his fellow officer, Jeff Dwyer, caught Rush’s attention and he lowered his binoculars.
“Problems?” he asked when Jeff joined him on the bridge.
Jeff’s mouth tightened and he nodded. “The captain’s just ordered us back.”
“What the hell?” Rush felt a hot surge of anger pulse through him. “Why?”
“There’s something wrong with the catapults. Apparently maintenance doesn’t have the necessary parts to repair the problem.”
Rush swore under his breath. The catapults were used to launch the Hawkeyes, Intruders, Tomcats and other aircraft from the carrier runway. They were vital equipment for any assignment at sea.
Fortunately the squadrons flying in from two navy airfields on the West Coast—a hundred planes were scheduled to rendezvous with the Mitchell—had yet to arrive. As chief navigator it was Rush’s job to guide the carrier through the waters; now it was up to him to head the Mitchell back to the shipyard.
“I’ve already sent out word to the airfields,” Jeff informed him. “They’ve turned the planes back.”
Frustration built up in Rush like a tidal wave. After three months shore duty and a mere eighteen hours at sea they had to bring the Mitchell home to port with her tail between her legs.
“How long?” Rush asked between clenched teeth.
“Maintenance doesn’t have a figure yet, but if it’s as bad as it looks, we could be sitting on our butts for at least a week.”
Rush spat a four-letter word.
“My sentiments exactly,” Jeff answered.
* * *
Rush let himself into the dark apartment and set his seabag just inside the door. The way things were working out he could be here awhile. The realization angered him every time he thought about it. He moved into the kitchen and set the six-pack of cold beer on the counter. He rarely indulged himself this way, but tonight he was in the mood to get good and drunk.
Not bothering to turn on any of the lights, Rush took one chilled aluminum can and carried it with him into the living room, pulling off the tab as he went. Standing in front of the wide picture window, he offered a silent toast to the glittering lights of the waterfront several blocks below. He took a large swig of beer. Tonight something cold and alcoholic suited his temperament.
He took another long drink, sat on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. What he needed was a woman. One sexy as hell, with big breasts and wide hips to bury himself in—one who would relieve his angry frustration. Rush frowned. The crude thought wasn’t like him. He rarely allowed his mind to indulge in such primitive fantasies. But tonight, after watching weeks of planning and months of hard work go down the drain, Rush wasn’t in the mood for niceties.
Against his will, Rush remembered the look in his friend Jeff’s eyes when he’d stepped off the gangplank. Jeff had been hurrying to get home to his wife, Susan. Rush didn’t need much of an imagination to know what Jeff was doing about now—and it wasn’t drinking cold beer in a dark living room. He allowed himself to grin. Jeff and Susan. Now that was one marriage Rush wouldn’t have bet good money on. But Susan Dwyer had pleasantly surprised him. When Jeff had left Bremerton earlier in the week, there’d been no tears in her eyes, only smiles. She’d been a good wife to Jeff from the first. Susan wasn’t a clinger or a complainer; the only bonds she’d wrapped around her husband had been in his heart.
Rush had seen subtle changes in his friend since his marriage. He’d been looking for major ones. Over the years Rush had witnessed the power a woman could wield over a sailor’s life often enough to recognize the symptoms. But Susan Dwyer hadn’t been like some of the others, and Rush had silently admired her—and envied Jeff. His friend had gotten damn lucky to find a woman like Susan. Luckier than Rush…. But then Rush had given up trying.
The sound of someone moving behind him jerked Rush into action and he vaulted off the sofa. The bathroom door closed and he heard the rush of running water. What the hell! Someone was in the apartment. It had to be Steve. He moved down the hallway, looked inside his roomate’s bedroom and cocked his eyebrows in astonishment. A silk robe was draped across the end of the bed and the room was littered with female paraphernalia.
Rush released a slow, exasperated breath. He’d been afraid something like this might happen. Steve was still working his way through the pain of his divorce and it had left him vulnerable. Rush was all too familiar with the seductive wiles a woman could use to cloud a man’s better judgment. And now it appeared that some schemer was taking advantage of his friend’s generous nature, planting herself in their apartment. Apparently Steve was still susceptible to being tricked and used. Well, Rush wouldn’t stand for it. A surge of anger at the thought of someone taking advantage of his friend’s kind heart made him clench his fists.
He’d gladly handle this situation, he decided. He’d get rid of her, and if Steve asked for an explanation later, Rush had the perfect excuse. After all they had an agreement about this place and it didn’t include inviting women to move in. His mouth tightened into a narrow line. From what little he could see, this one had made herself right at home. Well, no more.
With beer in hand, he leaned against the wall, crossed his legs and waited. Within a couple of minutes the bathroom door opened and the woman stepped out. Her dark eyes rounded before she let out a soft gasp.
Obviously startled half out of her wits, the woman’s hand flew to her heart, gripping the lacy edge of her pajamas. “Who are you?”
Dear God, wouldn’t you know it, Rush groaned inwardly. This wasn’t just any woman, but one as sexy as the one he’d been fantasizing about, with nice, round breasts and long, inviting legs. One look and Rush could understand why his friend had set her up in this cozy arrangement. Lord knew she was tempting enough. Her sheer baby-doll pajamas revealed peekaboo nipples, firm hips and shapely legs. It took him a full second to realize her hair was dark and nothing like that of the blondes that usually appealed to his friend.
She continued