unexpected reaction, as far as Burke was concerned. As he approached, he realized that Angel Paredes, although short, didn’t really seem to be. She seemed larger than life to him. Maybe because he’d read so many of her mission reports.
More than anything, he liked her large, dark brown eyes, which seem to glimmer like a moonlit night. They were slightly tilted, giving her an exotic look he hadn’t expected. Her face was broad, her eyes wide set, with a fine, straight nose that gave her an aristocratic look. She was probably no more than five foot six, Burke realized, towering over her from his own six-foot height. His gaze dropped to her mouth—a lush, full mouth, the corners tucked upward, indicating she laughed a lot.
He liked her. More than he should, he realized. She was exotic. Mysterious. And in the Peruvian army, presently on loan to the U.S. Army. An eclectic mixture that drew Burke strongly. Instantly, he slammed the door on his heart’s interest. His personal feelings had no place in this formula. Nor did his burning curiosity to know everything about her.
Angel looked up into Gifford’s craggy, cold features as he approached. The sight of him in civilian clothes—a pair of well-worn Levi’s and a dark blue polo shirt that clearly outlined his powerful chest and firmly muscled body—made her gulp. Why on earth was she being drawn to him like this? Was it his cool gray eyes, assessing her like a predator might its quarry? That mouth, so thinned in the picture, but now relaxed and surprisingly strong? In person, this man had dynamic charisma, something that hadn’t been obvious in his photo.
Tensing, Angel felt her pulse race erratically. He moved like a jaguar, his body lean and tight. He missed nothing with those alert eyes of his. She saw his gaze flit around, felt him absorbing the energy and atmosphere of the cave and the ops activity going on around him. Her own radar was working flawlessly, and she sensed he was curious and eager. His curiosity made her feel a little too vulnerable at the moment.
Two days ago, she’d injured her tendon once again in a silly movement. This time, Elizabeth put her arm in a sling to protect her from herself while it healed. Though she was relatively pain free, so long as she didn’t move her arm much, Angel hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed by this Special Forces guy. But she was. And he was approaching her far too quickly for her to make sense of the array of feelings and sensations moving through her. Confused, Angel tried to pretend she was at ease and casual.
“Sergeant Paredes? I’m Burke Gifford.” He stopped and held out his hand to her.
“Welcome to BJS, Sergeant.” Angel proffered her own. His hand was large, lightly furred with dark brown hair on the back and thick calluses on the palm, along with a lot of small scars here and there. Gulping, she slid her much smaller hand into his, hoping he wouldn’t give her a bone-crushing shake. He didn’t. To her surprise, Gifford monitored the amount of pressure he exerted. He knew she had a shoulder injury, and simply squeezed her damp fingers warmly before releasing them. That implied he had some sensitivity. That was good.
“Thanks. This is quite an operation. I’m really impressed. I had no idea….” Burke liked, too much, the feel of her strong, soft hand in his. Her fingers were cool and damp. Was she nervous? He perused her upturned face. She was arrestingly attractive in that exotic way. Sternly, he told himself he shouldn’t care what Angel looked like. He was here on a scouting mission. To learn from her. That was all.
Angel nearly jerked her hand away when wild tingles started running up her hand, jolting her. Surprising her. She saw his straight dark brows gather at her obvious reaction.
“Thanks, Sergeant.” Quickly, Angel tucked her hand into the pocket of her coat, her fingers burning like fire itself. Stymied, she said, “Let’s go to the mess hall. They got hot coffee brewin’ and it’s a lot warmer in there than it is out here.” Even though the temperature was hovering in the low fifties, for Angel, who was acclimatized to the tropics, it was cold.
“Sure, a cup of coffee sounds great,” he answered with enthusiasm. Burke fell into step at her side, feeling giddy, elated and excited, in spite of his resolution to keep his emotions in check. Because she was short, he slowed his stride to match hers.
Looking around as they walked toward the back of the cave, Burke shook his head. “This is an incredible facility.” There were a number of Quonset huts set in the back of the cave. To one side, he saw the mouth of a tunnel, disappearing off into the mountain. Battery-powered golf carts carrying supplies and personnel zoomed in and out of it like bees from a hive. The clinks and clanks of crews working on Apache gunships and two Blackhawks echoed through the area. Everywhere he looked, he saw women. Only once did he spot a couple of men working with an otherwise all-women flight crew.
Looking down, he studied Angel’s strong profile. From this angle, she reminded him of Incan reliefs he’d seen carved in stone. He wondered how personal to get with her. Tamping down his desire to ask her a hundred personal questions, he cautioned himself to go slow and let her open up to him—or not, as the case may be. Inwardly, Burke hoped she would. He was dying to know more about the woman, the person, on whom this legend was based.
Approaching the door to the mess hall, Burke opened it for her out of habit. He saw her look up at him, her eyes narrow briefly, and then a sour smile touch her lips.
“Thanks,” she said as she entered.
“You’re down one arm,” he said. “I thought opening a door for you wouldn’t make a gender statement.”
Grinning, Angel moved on into the warm facility. When he came to her side and stood patiently, she looked up and said, “We’re a pretty independent lot down here, Sergeant. My left arm might be in a sling, but I still have a good right arm that can open doors, too.”
“I’ll remember that, Sergeant Paredes.”
Angel heard the wry tone in his voice and saw the glimmer of humor in his gray eyes, too. She turned her attention to the chow hall. The long rows of picnic tables were nearly deserted now that breakfast was over. A few pilots on duty, dressed in black flight uniforms, were huddled at one table over a last cup of coffee, but that was about it.
“Hungry, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, I am.” He rubbed his belly. “The flight down here served food that would kill a dog. I didn’t eat much.”
Chuckling, Angel pointed to the line of aluminum trays at one end of the table. “I haven’t had breakfast yet, either, so let’s belly up to the bar.”
Burke did not make the mistake of rushing ahead to get her a tray. He reminded himself of what she’d said—that she had one good hand to work with. Allowing Angel to precede him, he saw two women cooks, dressed in white, with white caps on their heads, waiting to dish up whatever they wanted from the warming trays in the chow line.
Angel was trying to balance her tray and curse her injured arm simultaneously. After her outburst about him opening the door for her, she figured she’d better ante up and do this by herself. She didn’t like feeling weak or inept. But the tray was getting heavier as the cooks piled on fluffy scrambled eggs, four pieces of whole wheat toast, a rasher of bacon and some citrus fruit.
Reaching the other end of the line, Angel chose a table and set the tray down before she dropped it and embarrassed herself. Gifford’s tray was piled three times as high as hers. Once he reached the table and set it opposite hers, she pointed to the coffee and tea dispenser at the end of the cooks’ line.
“We get our java here.” Angel went over, grabbed a thick white mug and held it under the appropriate nozzle. When Gifford followed and stood nearby, it made her nervous. He was like a big shadow looming
