Brennan turned, blue eyes full of mischief, a twist of a smile on his face. It was the trim beard that had thrown her. But she’d recognized those sky-blue eyes that promised storms and lightning.
The noise of the terminal faded to nothing. The crowd did too, becoming shadows without substance, a tide that parted for her as if by magic.
Her feet carried her towards him as if they had a will of their own.
His hands were in her hair, strong fingers pulling her up towards his mouth, their hearts resonating through the fabric of their clothes. His scent—oh, she’d missed that clean, man-smell so much—floated around her.
Their lips and tongues met—collided, dueled, renewed their acquaintance—and then retreated. He trailed a kiss down to her neck, tucking his head into the bend above her shoulder.
“I’ve missed you so,” he whispered, the sound of it rumbling against the hand she had on his chest.
Wrapped in the safety of his arms, her doubts and fears melted away like tears in the rain. It was what he did. Made her feel safe and loved and valued in a way no one and nothing else could. It was a different kind of “safe” from the one that she could create for herself.
Yes, power was an aphrodisiac, alright. The nature of power, however, remained tenuous, undefined … raw.
Read the rest in Men in Uniform.