At least not during her reproductive years. She felt the familiar stab of regret as she thought wistfully of all she’d given up just to advance this far in her chosen profession.
Reaching for the Navy-issue towel stenciled with her name, Michelle rubbed her skin vigorously. She’d already wasted a dozen or so years thinking herself in love with Zach Prince. It wasn’t as if she’d give up flying for him or any man. And then there was the possibility of advancement to lieutenant commander; the shortlist would be out in a few months. With any luck and a lot of hard work her name would be on it.
Love. Who needed it?
Oh, but how easily Zach Prince threw that word around.
I love it when you’re riled.
You know you love me. He used that line with every female on board.
Yet he never said those three little words that mattered most.
I love you.
Did he love her? Really?
How could he when he didn’t know the true meaning of the word? Tucking the towel in place, she moved to the mirror above the sink. She swiped at the lingering condensation, then confronted her blurred image.
Did she love him?
Even though there wasn’t room in her life for anything that wouldn’t fit into her already cramped quarters, her heart wanted more. But her head insisted a man wouldn’t be worth the complications. So why bother?
Zach, on the other hand, liked the idea of being in love. He liked the whirlwind emotions of falling in love. So he fell hard. And often. But he wasn’t the kind of guy to be in it for the long haul. He’d get bored and restless…
…and when things got really tough, he wouldn’t be there at all.
If she was smart she wouldn’t waste another day on him. Or so she kept telling herself over and over. She had her career to think of, a future all carved out that didn’t, couldn’t, include a hotshot pilot like Zach Prince.
Besides…
With her flight physical coming up next month, if she didn’t start watching her weight now, she’d be over the maximum for her five-foot-six-inch frame and be given the “NAMI whammy” by the Navel Aerospace and Operational Medical Institute. The slightest imperfections, such as headaches, bad dental work or a few extra pounds, and a pilot would be grounded.
She took great care of her health. She ate right. Exercised. And still carried around an extra ten pounds despite her best efforts. Cover-girl beauty might not be important in the greater scheme of things, but she still realized she didn’t have a face that would launch a thousand ships.
Finger-combing her hair, she held it back from her face and gazed at her reflection with a critical eye. “Look at you. Your hair is dirt brown. Your nose is just…there.” Not to mention the freckles that made her look about twelve. She attempted a seductive pout, vamping her way out of puberty straight to old maid. “And you look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon.”
Why would Mr. Tall, Dark and Top Gun want you? If she knew the answer to that, maybe she’d believe in his sincerity.
Michelle let go of her hair. It fell past her shoulders to her waist in a cascade of damp waves. Some might think her vain for not cutting it. Short would be so much easier. It would dry faster, too. But short hair required maintenance. And styling products. Not to mention frequent trips to the ship’s barber. In the long run, longer hair was the hassle-free choice.
Too much trouble was also the excuse she gave herself for not wearing makeup or perfume, or an assortment of other feminine accoutrements meant to attract men. But then, it wasn’t the spotlight she wanted. It was respect.
She wanted the other pilots, especially Zach, to take her seriously. And how was anyone supposed to do that if she spent all her time primping in front of the mirror, instead of poring over flight manuals?
Michelle ran a brush through her wet tangle of hair and secured it in a damp but functional bun, using only a rubber band—stray bobby pins tended to play havoc with a plane’s control systems. Now she felt more like the pragmatic woman she was.
Moving away from the mirror, she dismissed her image.
Ironic, really, that a woman confident enough to fly multimillion-dollar jets for the military could be so insecure about her appearance.
Of all her unremarkable features, her eyes were probably the only thing she liked about her looks. They were intelligent and hazel-brown. Zach had once remarked they sparkled the exact color of root beer. They’d been kids then and she’d been thirsty for his affection, so she’d foolishly believed him.
Michelle shook her head at the memory, seventeen and wearing her heart on her sleeve. What a mistake.
But she’d learned a lot since that summer.
Such as the only way to keep Zach Prince close was to keep him at arm’s length.
THROUGHOUT THE PREFLIGHT briefing in the ready room, Michelle listened intently to Captain Greene, commanding officer of the USS Enterprise, as he outlined the upcoming mission for their squadron. She took diligent notes, but occasionally her gaze wandered across the aisle to Zach.
He sat slouched in the comfortable theater-style leather seat, long legs sprawled out in front of him. His slightly lowered eyelids with their thick black lashes gave the impression of boredom. But she knew better. Beneath the facade he remained alert and ready for anything.
As per his usual preflight ritual, he popped a piece of Bazooka in his mouth, the only brand of gum he chewed. Fliers were a superstitious lot and Zach was no exception. He showed the comic strip to his RIO, Ensign Steve Marietta, who went by the call sign Magician. They shared a chuckle. And Michelle felt a twinge of something in the pit of her stomach.
Jealousy?
She loved to fly with Zach.
They’d been through the academy together. Flight school. Then Fighter Weapons School. And currently assigned to squadron VF-114 out of Miramar, California, as part of the Air Wing assigned to the Enterprise.
But her ambition wouldn’t allow her to take a back seat to anyone. So it had been a long time since they’d piloted a plane together.
Zach caught her looking at him and winked.
She rolled her eyes with practiced indifference. But the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He took a piece of bubble gum from his upper left pocket and tossed it to her. Disguising the smile, she offered a wry grin in return. He knew she didn’t chew the stuff.
She started to stow it in a pocket.
“Open it,” he mouthed.
So that was it—he wanted her to read the joke. Occasionally he tampered with the cartoons to make them X-rated, although he usually didn’t share those with her. Probably because he understood she wouldn’t appreciate that brand of humor.
Michelle opened it only to find the cartoon unaltered. Nothing the least bit risqué. She looked at him with a puzzled frown.
His eyebrows drew together as he trained those perfect baby blues on the strip of paper from across the aisle. He turned to Steve and snatched a still-wrapped piece of Bazooka out of the ensign’s hand, then tossed the confiscated gum to her.
Michelle raised a questioning eyebrow at his odd behavior.
“Open it,” Zach mouthed again.
“Passing notes in class, Prince?” Captain Greene asked.
Heat rushed to Michelle’s cheeks. All eyes turned toward her. Skeeter offered a sympathetic smile, but the rest of the room rumbled with male laughter.
She hated the feeling of being under a microscope. As an admiral’s daughter she’d lived