Disgruntled by his own thoughts, Cam wondered how he could really “know” that about Molly. Molly… Now he was calling her by her first name. Snorting softly, Cam pulled his gaze away from her. She had looked down quickly to avoid his stare, and Cam couldn’t resist looking at her one more time. Her cheeks were stained a flaming pink, her delicious mouth was compressed. There was such softness and openness to Molly that Cam continued to stare at her like a starving man. What the hell had gotten into him? Other women officers worked at TPS in various billets. He didn’t stare at them like a slavering wolf on the prowl.
When she licked her lower lip with her tongue, Cam groaned inwardly. It was such a sensual motion. Did she do it on purpose, knowing somehow that he was still watching her? No, Cam decided sourly; Molly Rutledge didn’t possess that kind of guile. Besides, Martin’s accusation that she’d slept her way into TPS was sheer stupidity on the student’s part. No one got to TPS without damn good grades and top qualifications.
Molly wasn’t the “type” to be at TPS, Cam decided finally. He knew that someday a woman would succeed at the male-dominated bastion that was TPS. Brutally honest with himself, as he’d always been, he admitted he’d expected a more assertive type of woman to beat down the door, not this angel face. How Molly would survive here was beyond Cam. And the way she’d handled the confrontation with Martin had been all wrong. She should have nailed him right between the running lights with equally harsh words, so Martin would respect her and back off. As it was, Molly was inviting another attack.
Well, she would have to learn to protect herself. Flight testing was a world that involved brash egos, keen intelligence and plenty of macho hustle. If she indeed had what it took, then that soft exterior was either a lie hiding a shark beneath it, or a facade to throw everyone off about her true strengths. Still, as Cam sat there waiting to be introduced and give his five-minute spiel, he wondered what Molly Rutledge really was made of. It wouldn’t take long to find out—TPS began in earnest tomorrow morning. From that point on, every student was in a life-or-death struggle to come out on top of the stack. Second place would never do.
Refusing to look up at the instructors, Molly could feel Sinclair’s cool, continuous appraisal of her. He was the last to speak, and she felt it safe to lift her chin and look at him then. His carriage was proud, his spine ramrod straight, his shoulders thrown back, shouting a justifiable self-confidence. As he wrapped his long fingers around the lectern and shifted his weight to one booted foot, Molly had her first opportunity to fearlessly study Sinclair.
She didn’t listen to his words as much as their inflection, the emotion behind them. There wasn’t much of that, she admitted. As Lee had said, he appeared to be a machine with no heart. Molly didn’t want to believe that about anyone. Still, Sinclair never cracked a joke, as the other instructors had, to put the students at ease. Nor did he smile. He was the only Marine Corps pilot up there; the rest were U.S. Navy personnel. Maybe it had something to do with interservice rivalry among the branches. The Marine Corps was a branch of the Navy and paid by the Navy. Molly smiled. No self-respecting Marine wanted to admit it; they were far too independent and arrogant to acknowledge that fact.
After the welcome-aboard speeches, it was time to meet her instructor. Molly liked First Lieutenant Vic Norton. One of two flight-engineer instructors, he was short and compact, with curly black hair and a round face that was sober looking, yet friendly.
As Molly prepared to leave the room after a round of introductions with her fellow flight-engineer students, she felt an odd sensation. Turning her head, she saw Sinclair’s blue gaze locked on her, even though he was standing with a group of aspiring test pilots clear across the room. Sudden heat threaded through her, shakiness following in its wake. No man had ever had such a hpowerful effect on her.
Turning, she bumped into Lee. Her books went flying. All conversation in the room halted. Molly died inwardly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lee, and crouched down to retrieve her books. When feeling particularly vulnerable, Molly had a terrible tendency to become clumsy.
She flushed with embarrassment as Lee bent over to help. “My fault, Molly.”
“No, it was me,” she murmured. All eyes were on her, and Molly tried to blot them out. What must Sinclair think of her? Did he realize how much he’d shaken her up? He probably thought she was a brainless idiot. And why did she care what he thought anyway?
Lee restacked the books into her arms and Molly quietly thanked him. Gradually the noise level in the room returned to normal, and she retreated as quickly as possible. The library was on the second floor, and that was where she wanted to be—alone. Lieutenant Norton had given them a huge reading assignment to prepare them for tomorrow morning’s class, and she wanted to take advantage of the extra time. The library would be a perfect place to read. At least there, she could escape Sinclair’s scathing blue gaze.
* * *
“Hey, Cam, take a look at this.” Vic Norton handed him a thick file marked Rutledge, M.
Cam took the folder, gesturing for Vic to have a seat in his office. The flight engineer shut the door. “What’s this?”
“The lady’s file. Man, it knocked my socks off. Now I know why she got assigned to TPS. Take a look.”
It was normal procedure for Cam to acquaint himself with all the students’ files. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t particularly been looking forward to reading up on Molly. Opening the file, he quickly scanned the important data. His brows rose.
“She got washed out of flight school?”
“Yeah. Hung in for six weeks and then got deep-sixed. Still, the IP’s evaluation shows she’s got good aptitude, if she wanted to leave the service and go for a commercial pilot’s license. I think I’ve got a pretty good prospect in her.”
Frowning, Cam continued to page through her file. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, why?”
“She’s a cream puff, Vic.”
“Oh?”
“Look at her face.”
“Good-looking as hell.”
Cam glanced over at his friend. “Is that all you swabbies have on the brain—sex?”
Grinning, Vic shrugged. “Hey, I’m happily married, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate women. And Rutledge is definitely worth appreciating.”
Cam read some of her bio. “Comes from a well-to-do background.”
“More like a silver spoon, I’d say. Her father owns one of the hottest brokerage firms in the Big Apple. She’s got his genes. I’ll bet beneath that sweet face of hers is a real hustler. Those jet jocks think she’s soft, too, but my money’s on her to fool every last one of them.”
“She’s had it easy,” Cam remarked, handing the folder back to Vic. He wanted to hold on to it, but it would have appeared unusual. “It’s my experience that people who’ve had it easy don’t make it when the chips are down. I don’t think that face is skin-deep. She’s soft.”
“Naw, I think you’re wrong.” Vic grinned and tapped the folder against his knee. “I overheard one of your students bitching about her.”
“Martin, by any chance?”
“Yeah. He’s already bad-mouthing her to the other pilots.”
Frowning, Cam rubbed his jaw. “I saw him nail her in the hall. I’m his instructor.”
“He’s going to have to learn to keep his mouth shut, and if he’s got a problem, go to you.”
“Hmm.” Martin was one of those jet jocks who contended women were worthless—except in bed.
“Glad he’s your problem and not mine,” Vic said airily, rising. “Eat your