imagining this,” he asked quietly, his handsome face serious, “am I? I mean, I know you feel this thing between us, too. It’s damn powerful.”
“There’s a definite pull,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we should throw caution to the wind and go to bed together.” She laughed in disbelief, amazed their conversation should have come this far. “You don’t even like me.”
“Not so,” Harvard countered. “You’re the one who doesn’t like me. I would truly like us to be friends.”
She snorted. “Friends who have sex? What a novel idea. I’m sure you’re the first man who’s ever come up with that.”
“You want it platonic? I can keep it platonic for as long as you want.”
“Well, there’s a big word I didn’t think you knew.”
“I graduated with high honors from one of the toughest universities in the country,” he told her. “I know lots of big words.”
P.J. desperately wanted to pace, but she forced herself to stand still, not wanting to betray how nervous this man made her feel.
“Look,” she said finally. “I have a serious problem with the fact that you’ve been treating me as if I’m a child or—a substandard man.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, willed herself not to melt from the magmalike heat that lingered in his eyes. “If you really want to be my friend, then try me,” she said. “Test me. Push me to the edge—see just how far I can go before you set up imaginary boundaries and fence me in.” She laughed, but it wasn’t because it was funny. “Or out.”
Harvard nodded. “I can’t promise miracles. I can only promise I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Good,” Harvard said. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Friends?”
P.J. started to reach for his hand, but quickly pulled away.
“Friends,” she agreed, “who will stay friends a whole lot longer if we keep the touching to an absolute minimum.”
Harvard laughed. “I happen to disagree.”
P.J. smiled. “Yeah, well, old buddy, old pal, that’s not the first time we’ve not seen eye to eye, and I’m willing to bet it’s not going to be the last.”
“Yo, Richards—you awake?”
“I am now.” P.J. closed her eyes and sank onto her bed, telephone pressed against her ear.
“Well, good, because it’s too early to be sleeping.”
She opened one eye, squinting at the clock radio on the bedside table. “Senior Chief, it’s after eleven.”
“Yeah, like I said, it’s too early to crash.” Harvard’s voice sounded insufferably cheerful over the phone. “We don’t have to be on base tomorrow until ten. That means it’s playtime. Are you dressed?”
“No.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get shakin’, or they’re gonna start without us. I’m in the lobby, I’ll be right up.”
“Start what?”
But Harvard had already disconnected the line. P.J. hung up the phone without sitting up. She’d gone to bed around ten, planning to get a solid ten hours of sleep tonight. Lord knows she needed it.
Bam, bam, bam. “Richards, open up!”
Now the fool was at the door. P.J. closed her eyes a little tighter, hoping he’d take a hint and go away. Whatever he wanted, she wanted to sleep more.
The past week had been exhausting. True to his word, the Senior Chief had stopped coddling her. She’d gotten no more helpful boosts, no more special treatment. She was busting her butt, but she was keeping up. Hell, she was out front, leading the way. Of course, the FInCOM agents were being trained at a significantly lower intensity than the SEALs normally operated. This was a walk in the park for Alpha Squad. But P.J. wasn’t trying to be a SEAL. That wasn’t what this was about. She was here to learn from them—to try to understand the best way not just FInCOM but the entire United States of America could fight and win the dirty war against terrorism.
Harvard hadn’t stopped watching her, but at least now when she caught him gazing in her direction, there was a glint of something different in his eyes. It may not quite have been approval, but it was certainly awareness of some kind. She was doing significantly better than Farber, Schneider and Greene without Harvard’s help, and he knew it. He’d nod, acknowledging her, never embarrassed that she caught him staring.
She liked seeing that awareness. She liked it a lot. She liked it too damn much.
“Oh, man, Richards, don’t wimp out on me now.”
P.J. opened her eyes to see Harvard standing next to her bed. He looked impossibly tall. “How did you get in here?” she asked, instantly alert, sitting up and clutching her blanket to her.
“I walked in.”
“That door was locked!”
Harvard chuckled. “Allegedly. Come on, we got a card game to go to. Bring your wallet. Me and the guys aim to take your paycheck off your hands tonight.”
A card game. She pushed her hair out of her face. To her relief, she was still mostly dressed. She’d fallen asleep in her shorts and T-shirt. “Poker?”
“Yeah. You play?”
“Gambling’s illegal in this state, and I’m a FInCOM agent.”
“Great. You can arrest us all—but only after we get to Joe Cat’s. Let’s get there quickly, shall we?” He started toward the door.
“First I’m going to arrest you for breaking and entering,” P.J. grumbled. She didn’t want to go out. She wanted to curl up in the king-size bed. She would have, too, if Harvard hadn’t been there. But sinking back into bed with him watching was like playing with fire. He’d get that hungry look in his eyes—that look that made her feel as if everything she did, every move she made, was personal and intimate. That look that she liked too much.
P.J. pushed herself off the bed. It would probably be best to get as far away from the bed as possible with Harvard in the room.
“Those electronic locks are ridiculously easy to override. Getting past ’em doesn’t really count as breaking.” He looked at the ceiling, squinting suddenly. “Damn, I can feel it. They’re starting without us.”
“How does the captain’s poor wife feel about being dropped in on at this time of night?”
“Veronica loves poker. She’d be playing, too, except she’s in New York on business. Come on, Richards.” He clapped his hands, two sharp bursts of sound. “Put on your sneakers. Let’s get to the car—double time!”
“I’ve got to get dressed.”
“You are dressed.”
“No,
