Space in His Heart Page 8

  To her credit, she didn’t push. Just ran a finger over his lips and requested that he call her.

  Ten minutes later, his Corvette slowed as it passed the blue and white house on Sea Park Road where Jessica lived. It was pitch-black inside. He studied the darkened windows and thought of how she’d sauntered out to the patio in those white pants and clingy yellow top. Long legs and inviting curves. Her hair shining in the party light and her eyes glistening when she caught his gaze. Until he cornered her in the hall.

  He couldn’t stay away from her. As much as he had wanted to ditch the party, he’d gone anyway. As much as he had wanted to avoid her all night, he’d sought her out. Good God, she was trouble.

  His body betrayed him with a sudden response at the memory of how close they had stood. How easy it would have been to follow the powerful instincts that rocked him during their little debate in the hallway.

  He threw the ’vette into second gear before his musings got too graphic. He shifted in his seat and let the house disappear into the rearview mirror. With a wry smile, he realized that just the fantasy of kissing her had more impact on him than Caryn’s very real and impassioned demands.

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica made her early morning appointment at the North airstrip of Cape Canaveral with a few minutes to spare. She parked next to a beat-up Jeep loaded down with lighting equipment and various cameras, knowing it must belong to the photographer she’d hired from Orlando, Ron Cooper. Stuart had recommended a NASA photographer, but she wanted somebody who worked with celebrities. These weren’t going to be traditional NASA headshots. She wanted an artist who could find that perfect angle that made his subject look a cut above the common man.

  Ron looked up to the sky after they’d introduced themselves. “We better do this fast. The light’s perfect.”

  “Have you met the Commander?” Jessica asked, glancing at the plane across the airstrip with one man already in the back of the open cockpit and several others milling about or working on the plane.

  “Not the friendliest guy in the world, is he?” Ron screwed up his face in mild distaste.

  Jessica shrugged. “He’s not crazy about the Top Gun role, but I’ll talk to him. Your job is to make him look earth-shatteringly sexy. I’ll see you over there.”

  She flipped her leather bag over her shoulder and started toward the plane. Leaning back on its landing gear, the T-38 looked like a slick white cat up on its hind legs, ready to pounce.

  Standing next to it in a dark blue NASA flight suit, Deke called to one of the crewmembers on the other side of the tanker. “Hey, Jack, have you checked the harnesses?”

  As Jessica approached, he knelt on the ground and pulled hard at a pin near the landing gear with a slight grunt. He never looked at her.

  “Let’s make this fast, okay?” He yanked at the metal bars between the tires and the plane. “I don’t like to be late.” He still hadn’t turned to her, but she knew when she was being addressed.

  “And good morning to you, Commander Stockard.” She reached his side and he slowly stood to his full height and looked down at her, the sapphire flight suit deepening the color of his eyes. Jeez. How did he manage it at six in the morning? The earth-shatteringly sexy part wasn’t going to be much of a challenge for the photographer.

  “You said I have thirty minutes,” she said when he couldn’t even be bothered with a greeting. “I’m taking it.”

  He ran his hand through his thick hair and squinted at her. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

  “Just do what you’re doing. We’ll get some candids. Then I’m going to have you pose.”

  “Pose?” he barked the word. “I’m trying to get a supersonic jet in the air without mishap. I don’t have time to pose.”

  Jeff Clark looked out from the rear cockpit and gave a quick wave. “Hey, Jessica. Don’t let him scare you. He’s a bear before a flight.”

  “Oh, nerves at work?” she asked.

  Deke glared at her. “No. Brains at work.” He went back to the landing gear.

  Perhaps a softer tack would work with him. “How long will all these other people be here?”

  “Everybody but the crew chief will leave—including you and your cameraman—before we fire up the engines and taxi out. Why?”

  “Well, we can do the posed shots when they’re gone, if you’d feel more comfortable. How does that sound?”

  He yanked the bar again, forcefully. “It sounds stupid, like everything about this stunt. I don’t care if they’re here, just make it fast.” He looked over at a few guys comparing notes on a clipboard. “Okay, yeah. We’ll wait until they leave.”

  While Ron set up his equipment, Jessica imagined the stunning photos they’d get as she watched Deke climb in and out of the plane, studying the gauges of the cockpit, talking softly to Jeff, and delivering instructions in a calm voice to the rest of the ground crew.

  When Ron started snapping, Deke glanced up from his inspections, but then ignored them as he completed his routine. Finally, he stepped back and gazed up at the sky, apparently judging the conditions.

  She took a chance and interrupted his reverie. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He looked down her, still squinting. “What?”

  “Can you explain what you’re doing? I’d like to be able to write accurate photo captions.”

  He looked intently at her for a minute, then indicated the back of the plane with a tilt of his head. “I’m going to check the intakes and exhaust.” He walked around the aircraft and gestured for her to follow, pointing at oversized metal rings that resembled the inside of a vacuum cleaner to Jessica’s untrained eye. Ron snapped away.

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” An unexpected tenderness crept into Deke’s tone. “This is one of my favorite planes. I guess because it’s a trainer. You always love the one you learn on.” Click.

  He stepped forward under the wing and bent down on one knee. “C’mere,” he said, holding out his hand.

  When he gently guided her next to him, he patted the side of the plane. “See the way the fuselage is curved?”

  The magic of the curve was lost on her, but not the pure pleasure of being tucked under a plane holding his hand. Her heart quickened as she searched for a response better than, “Uh huh.” None came.

  “This is one of the most elegant machines ever built. This angle is my personal favorite.” He placed her hand on the white metal, covering her fingers with his as he glided her palm over the contour, as sensuously as a caress. “Feel that slide?”

  She didn’t feel anything but heat, friction, and about a hundred hummingbirds take flight in her stomach. “Yes,” she lied.

  “That’s why it flies supersonic so beautifully.” He looked down at her, his face inches from hers, the steel of the plane as warm as the palm of his hand. Click.

  “It’s lovely,” she finally agreed.

  Awareness flickered in his eyes, a quick connection sparking between their barely parted lips.

  Then his mask went firmly into game face as he stood up and let go of her, an unexpected chill that she felt down to her toes.

  While most of the ground crew packed up and left, Ron continued snapping candids, then Deke grabbed a helmet with an oxygen mask dangling off the side.

  “Can we get the modeling gig over with?” He asked, nothing but impatience in his voice. “I’ve got an appointment at Johnson in an hour.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to be in Houston in an hour?”

  He grinned and pulled on the helmet. “We go real fast.”

  “I bet you do.” She pointed a finger at his head. “Take it off, Deke. No hat hair in your publicity shots.”

  Rolling his eyes, he yanked the helmet off and shot the photographer a vile look. “Let’s move it.”

  Ron jumped right in, instructing Deke on where to stand, how to hold the helmet, but each instruction was met with a disgusted sigh as Deke crossed and uncrossed his arms, shifting his weight.
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br />   Jessica watched from a few feet away. “Come on,” she finally urged. “I thought you were good at everything, Stockard.”

  Deke shot her a threatening look, then surprised her with a hearty laugh. Ron caught the moment and then everyone magically seemed to relax.

  Ron captured Deke in dozens of different poses and various states: smiling, serious, helmet in hand, leaning on the plane. Delighted, Jessica stood back with her hands clasped under her chin. He was perfect.

  “All set, Commander. That’s a wrap.” Ron shook his hand, then Deke pulled the blue NASA helmet back on with a determined snap.

  “You all finished?” he asked Jessica.

  “Yes. Thanks. You were great. I know it was…” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I know it wasn’t your idea of fun.”

  “No.” He climbed into the cockpit and winked at her. “But this is.”

  The Plexiglas canopy slowly lowered and locked into place over the cockpit and the crew chief climbed up to check it. Jessica backed away, her gaze still on him. She finally turned to the photographer.

  “Here, I’ll help you.” She picked up a few lenses and lights and walked with him across the airstrip. They said goodbye, and as she reached her car, the powerful engines of the T-38 roared to life, piercing the morning silence with a deafening thunder.

  Transfixed, she watched the magnificent machine taxi down the narrow airstrip. The ground vibrated, grabbing Jessica at her very core. In an instant, the shimmering white machine leapt into the air. She gasped as its engines lit up the sky and Deke guided his pretty plane over the tree line. Suddenly it twisted in a perfect circular roll and then flew off at nearly the speed of sound. Stunned, she felt her heart do a matching flip.

  Inside the cockpit, Jeff Clark was just as stunned.

  “What the hell are you doing, Stockard?”

  The helmet muffled Deke’s chuckle. “Flirting.”

  * * *

  Skip Bowker locked the door of his dilapidated Toyota just as the thunder of the T-38 shook the space center. The familiar rumble seized his gut and he nearly dropped his overstuffed briefcase as he whipped around to find the source of his favorite sound.

  Right over the northern tree line, he saw Deke invert the plane into a graceful roll. Showoff.

  He watched the orange glow of the afterburners as Deke righted the T-38 and shot into the cloudless sky. Kick the tires and light the fires. God, he loved that sound.

  With an effort, he stuffed some loose papers back into his open leather case and headed toward the OPF. Sometimes the ache for the old days threatened to literally stop his heart. What days they were. Long days at Johnson, always tackling some new challenge. And long nights with Betsy, lying under the stars in the flight path of the Houston airport. Whispering about planes and machines. He loved that about her. She got it. The only woman he’d ever met who cried at the unmatched beauty of the sound of a fighter jet hitting the afterburners.

  He switched the heavy case to his other hand and struggled to find the plastic badge that would let him into the hangar. He didn’t want to think about Betsy today. He was very good at compartmentalizing that pain, like the real engineer that he was.

  A quick glance of the parking lot told him he had enough time alone to do what needed to be done. While Deke was gone and no one was breathing down his back.

  The OPF was silent except for the tiny squeak of his rubber soles on the tile. He didn’t turn on any lights and decided to forego coffee until his mission was complete.

  Scott Hayes had come up with a damn good idea yesterday. Skip dropped his heavy bag and sat down at his desk in the darkened corner of the massive facility. He powered up his computer and swallowed hard. Christ, he wanted coffee. His desk clock told him he had about ten minutes until the early risers showed up for work.

  He tapped in his password and found the file he needed. There was Scott’s memo. He read it again, nodding at the logic. A brilliant engineer, that Hayes. One of NASA’s finest. He was just so shy, he wouldn’t dare propose an idea in front of the whole team. He always preferred to run things by Skip in writing.

  In a few seconds, he was into the email program he needed. His swollen, arthritic fingers slowed him down so that his brain was always five words ahead of his hands.

  He finished the note to Scott, thanking him for the good ideas and assuring him that they would be considered carefully before the launch.

  Then he went to the shared notes file and called up Scott’s eloquent memo again. Really, really genius.

  In one keystroke, he deleted it.

  * * *

  Jessica returned to the Press Facility knowing it was time to jump-start her plan and prime the media pumps. She had nurtured contacts with reporters and editors in the biggest media offices around the country, and she called each of them to get publicity for Deke Stockard. Everyone loved the story and her office buzzed with activity as she faxed and pitched and emailed with determination.

  As she reviewed notes scratched onto a media list, a knock on her office door tore her attention from the page. The photographer from the morning session greeted her with a satisfied smile as he dropped a dozen eight-by-ten photos on her desk.

  A breath caught in her throat and adrenaline shot straight through to her stomach.

  Mouthwatering, heroic, irresistible pictures of one delicious astronaut that no red-blooded American female could resist. Call your Congressmen, ladies, and keep the rocket man in a flight suit.

  Or better, out of one.

  Ron stood still in her doorway, grinning as he watched her reaction.

  “For a guy who hated his assignment, he sure looks like he was having fun.” She laughed a little as she selected a daring headshot for closer inspection. “Wow.”

  At the bottom of the stack lay a shot of Jessica and Deke, kneeling under the wing of the T-38, his hand over hers, looking directly into her eyes. The intimacy of the captured moment punched her in the gut as she remembered his passion for the plane and the warmth of his hand.

  “Why did you print this?” She tried to sound annoyed.

  “I liked it,” Ron shrugged. “It shows a different side of him.”

  It sure did. A side Jessica... liked.

  She set that print aside. But after she picked the photos and wrote captions, Jessica slipped the shot into her briefcase, hers to keep and savor later.

  She worked the West Coast media until long past nine and by the time she got home, she forgot about the picture in her briefcase. Drawing a warm bath, Jessica let the water run through her fingers, remembering the thrill of the T-38 rolling off into the sunrise.

  He was right about one thing. That was fun.

  She bit her lip, amazed how easily she felt the most feminine reaction to him.

  For a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself imagine what it would be like to kiss him, then twisted the hot water faucet off with a jerk. R&C had unambiguous rules about relationships with clients. Wouldn’t someone like Carla Drake, looking for every opportunity to seize the upper hand and capture a coveted promotion, just love to see Jessica break the rules?

  After her bath, Jessica sank into a patio chair with a glass of wine and cordless phone. Please be home, Jo.

  “Hey, I need you.” Jessica blurted the confession as soon as her friend answered.

  “I can be there tomorrow. What’s the matter?”

  Exhaustion mixed with the reaction to the dry, potent wine to form an achy lump in her throat.

  “Oh, Jo, I don’t know. I’m so homesick and lonely and tired. And I heard a rumor today from someone in New York that Carla Drake is making a great impression on Dash Communications.”

  “Please,” Jo chuckled. “The real rumor is that you’ve hit the jackpot with this guy and the media wants everything on him. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “I’ve got Carla Drake to worry about.”

  “Get a grip. She’s nothing. She’s your shadow. She’ll never be Jessica Marlowe. It k
ills her and entertains the rest of us endlessly.” Jo’s unique brand of pragmatism and love spread as swiftly as the wine, dulling pain and lifting spirits.

  “Okay. I feel better already. Tell me what she’s doing.”

  “No,” Jo refused. “She’s boring. And skinny. And simply not as much fun as you are. Let’s talk about your Space Man.”

  “He’s absolutely…” Infuriating. Gorgeous. Hot. Sexy. “He’s kind of…”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s just that I…” Want him in the worst possible way. “Think he’s a little…”

  “Okay, I get the point. Is the attraction mutual?”

  Jessica laughed, relieved to have it out. “It might be. It shouldn’t be, but there’re definitely a lot of… sparks.”

  “Okay. So he turns you on. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re both free.”

  “No. Yes. I think he has a girlfriend who is absolutely stunning, and anyway, he’s a client.”

  Jo snorted in response. “Stupid ancient rules.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jessica continued. “He’s not interested. Frankly, he hates me. At least, he hates my assignment.”

  “Funny how work always prevents you from having a relationship.”

  Long ago, after many late-night conversations at the office, Jessica had admitted to Jo that she simply had abandoned any ideas of creating a family life of her own. She just didn’t have the role model. Jo had dismissed that with a wave of her hand.

  “Some were born to breed, Jo. I was born to work,” Jessica reminded her again, sipping the wine and searching the night sky for familiar constellations.

  Her father had told her that. Like her mother, he said, she was Saturday’s Child… she works hard for a living. So Jessica emulated the mother she never knew. Then she didn’t feel quite as guilty for getting all tangled up in that umbilical cord and ending her mother’s life.

  “But in this case, he is your work.” Jo mused.

  “He’s a daredevil, Jo,” Jessica told her. “A guy who flies supersonic and thinks nothing of climbing onto a metal tube filled with liquid hydrogen that will take him a million miles into space. He loves danger and risk and speed.”