The Right Touch. Eileen Nauman
plunged through the crowd, head held high, shoulders pressed back like the wings of a proud eagle. Dev saw the women look up as he passed. A silly smile lurked on her lips. Careful, Dev, this is not a man you mess around with and come away from unhurt. She shivered with the memory of Cal’s intense, heated look. Her experience warned her that he played for keeps. No. He was a taker. What was his, was his. Excitement spread through Dev as she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be his. To belong to him. Because Major Cal Travis was an owner. Which had its darker side—one who took, who owned, could be selfish. A hunter. A stalker. Cal was dangerous, her instincts finally shouted. Dev returned her attention to the picturesque view of Hong Kong and mulled over the sudden change in their adversarial relationship.
Cal joined her as noiselessly as he had left her, which put Dev a little in awe of him. She met his unreadable gaze as he stood next to her, his elbow lightly resting near her own. The heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of him encircled her, and she felt giddy. Giddy and out of control, as if someone had waved a magic wand and the two of them were the only people in the world at that moment.
“You stayed,” he said, sipping the scotch.
“I told you I would. Fencer’s word,” she teased.
He cocked his head, studying her face for a long moment. “I don’t know anything about fencing.”
“I don’t know anything about marine jet pilots, either.”
His mouth lifted. “We’re usually called jet jockeys. Or fighter jocks.”
“Is that anything like Big Man On Campus?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ask any marine who’s the best military man in the world, and he’ll tell you it’s a marine.”
Dev couldn’t help but smile. “And along with that goes adjectives such as ‘arrogant,’ ‘self-centered’ and ‘egotistical’?”
“Touché, Dev Hunter.” Cal lifted his tumbler in salute to her and took another drink. “But be careful that you don’t confuse my confidence with egotism. There’s a difference.”
“Touché, Cal Travis. I believe the score is now two to one for you.”
He nodded. “In fencing, how many points do you score to a game?”
She laughed. “They’re called bouts, and whoever scores five points first is the winner of that match.”
Cal was feeling pleasantly drunk. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a feisty redhead?”
Dev rested her chin on her hands, smiling distantly. “Well, at our age, Cal, I’m sure we’ve both been called a few things. Don’t you think?”
He scowled. “Age? God, you make it sound like we’re both over the hill.”
“Well, in two more years, I’ll be thirty,” she said lightly.
“You’re not twenty-five?”
“No. But thank you for the compliment, anyway. Want me to guess your age?”
He shook his head. “If I don’t look eighty, I should,” Cal admitted, his face becoming tense once again. He stared off into the night. “Maybe a hundred. Hell, I don’t know.”
Dev licked her lower lip. Cal Travis was complex and changeable. Already, she had seen his cold, ruthless side, a bit of his teasing demeanor, and now that desolate expression was on his face again. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take a chance. “Cal?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you so sad? I was watching you a while ago, and you seemed so unhappy.”
He grimaced. “God, don’t tell me I’m that transparent.”
“No. I don’t think you are. Maybe just to me. Fencers are trained to watch even the most minute of movements, facial expressions, that sort of thing.”
Cal hesitated. “Listen, my redheaded witch, you don’t want to open up Pandora’s box,” he warned.
“Why not?”
“Because it would be dangerous.”
“In what way?”
The look he gave her revealed nothing. “Either you like to live dangerously, lady, or you’re being naive.”
“At twenty-eight, I’m hardly naive, Cal. You want to tell me why you’re polishing off that third drink like your life depended on it? You won’t be able to walk out of here if you do.”
He held up the tumbler. “I guess fencers do like to live dangerously.” His voice hardened. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to make it over to Wanchai when I want to.”
Dev was nettled by his attitude. “Maybe it would help if you could talk about it.”
“Maybe I think you should mind your own business. I don’t like women who think they can mother me.”
“Why, you—God! You’re really exasperating! One minute you can be nice and the next minute a real bastard.”
Cal turned and blinked at her. Her eyes were narrowed midnight fire, her hair an unruly mass around her head by now, her hands resting imperiously on her slender hips. He smiled, feeling dizzy for a moment. “I was right: you are a witch.”
“Yes, and if I had a broom, believe me, I’d knock you over the head with it! Where do you get off taking my concern for a human being as mothering?”
He shrugged, enjoying her spirit. “Aren’t all women mothers?”
She set her lips, glaring at him. “I know some men that are real mothers.”
“Like me, for instance?”
Dev burst out laughing, unable to maintain her fury when he was baiting her. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. ‘Travis, you’re a ring-tailed bastard whose mistress is an airplane and whose mother is the marine corps.’” He turned, giving her a glazed look. “Doesn’t leave much room in my life for a wife, does it?”
“Who said anything about a wife?” she asked, watching him closely. His eyes were heavy lidded, and he was almost completely relaxed. Dev wondered when the alcohol was going to fell him.
“You.”
“Me? I didn’t, either!”
“See, there you go again. Exploding. You’re more sensitive than a laser-fired rocket, you know that?”
“That’s your fault.”
His smile was devastating. “You’d make good wifely material, Dev Hunter.”
“You’re drunk, Travis. Stone cold drunk. And if you don’t sit down, you’re going to fall down.”
Cal dismissed her with a wave of his hand, feeling no pain. At last, he was free of the anguish. He felt good. Dev made him happy just by being herself. “Sure, you’d make someone a great wife. Nice body, good sense of humor—”
“You want to look at my teeth before you buy, Travis?” she snapped back, becoming truly concerned as he leaned precariously on the rail. Dev reached out, taking the tumbler from his fingers before he dropped it. She heard someone approaching and looked up. Her heart sank—two marine pilots.
“Hey, Cal, you ready to go over to Wanchai? I think we’ve punched the ticket long enough. What do you say, buddy?”
Cal tipped his head toward Dev. “Nah, you go on, Scotty. Got my hands full here.”
“You sure?”
Dev gave Cal Travis a deadly look and turned to the pilot named Scotty. “Correction: he hasn’t got his hands full of anything. He’s so drunk that he’s ready to keel