LITMIR.BIZ

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didn’t surprise Travis any more than their fierce protectiveness. He’d known from day one that Kate and her two friends were closer than most sisters. Different personalities, different family backgrounds, but so many shared interests and experiences that they could finish each other’s sentences.

      And as different as they were physically, each one spelled trouble for the male of the species. With her auburn hair, vivacious personality and lush curves, Dawn drew men like a magnet. Callie was quieter, more reserved, the kind of attentive listener who made men think they were a whole lot smarter than they really were.

      But it was Kate who’d sparked his interest that snowy November day. She’d been bundled into a bulky jacket, her brown eyes barely visible above the scarf muffling the lower half of her face, her curly blond hair streaming from a colorful knit stocking cap.

      Her lower half hadn’t been as bulked up as the upper half. Her snug jeans had given Travis plenty of opportunity to admire world-class legs above calf-high black suede boots, trim hips and a nice little butt. Yet he’d sensed instantly the whole was so much more than the sum of those enticing parts. Maybe it was the intelligence in those cinnamon-brown eyes. Or the smile when she nudged the scarf down with her chin. Or the way she countered Aaron’s teasing with a quick quip.

      Whatever it was, by the time Travis headed back to UMass, he was halfway in love and all the way in lust. He’d plunged in the rest of the way in the two years that followed, a hectic time crammed with weekend visits to either his campus or hers and shared summer adventures. Then had come USAF officer training school, followed by the thrill of being accepted for flight school. When Kate flew down to pin on his air force pilot’s wings, he’d capped the ceremony with an engagement ring. Between her grad school and his follow-on flight training, it had been another two years before he slid the matching diamond-studded wedding band on her finger.

      He’d caught the sparkle of that band when she tossed the coin a few minutes ago. The sight had given him a visceral satisfaction that sliced deep. His rational mind understood a wedding band was merely a symbol. A more primal male instinct viewed it as something more primitive, more possessive. Kate of the laughing brown eyes and lively mind was his mate, his woman, the only one he’d ever wanted to share his life with. And knowing she still wore his ring only intensified Travis’s determination to see she didn’t take it off.

      That would take some doing. He couldn’t deny their marriage had hit the skids. He knew his frequent deployments had strained it to the breaking point. Knew, too, that he hadn’t sent a strong enough hands off signal to the young captain who’d mistaken his interest in her career for something a lot more personal. Travis still kicked himself for not handling that situation with more finesse. Especially since she’d reacted to his rejection by putting a fanciful but too-close-to-the-truth post about her involvement with a certain sexy C-130 pilot on Facebook.

      He’d had no excuse for letting the captain get so close in the first place. None that Kate had bought, anyway. And it didn’t help that his wife’s intelligence and quick smile came packaged with a stubborn streak that would make a Kentucky mule look like a wuss in comparison. She took her time and weighed all factors before making a major decision. Once she did, however, that was it. Period. Finito. Done.

      Not this time, he swore fiercely. Not this time.

      Under Massachusetts law, a divorce didn’t become final until three months after issuance of a nisi judgment. That gave Travis exactly two weeks to breach the chasm caused by so many separations and one exercise of monumental stupidity. Determined to win back the wife he still ached for, he issued a challenge he knew she wouldn’t refuse.

      “Too scared to share a bottle of wine, sweetheart?”

      “What do you think?”

      The disdainful lift of her brows told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but Travis held his ground.

      “What I think,” he returned, “is that we should get out of this crowd and enjoy the really excellent chianti I have waiting.”

      The raised brows came together in a frown. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Kate debated for several moments before turning to her friends.

      “Why don’t you two go on to the Piazza Navona? I’ll catch up with you there. Or,” she amended with a glance at the shadows creeping down the columned facade behind the fountain, “back at the hotel.”

      “We shouldn’t separate,” Callie protested. “Rome’s a big city, and a woman alone makes a tempting target.”

      Travis blinked. Damned if the slender brunette hadn’t just impugned his manhood, his combat skills and his ability to fend off pickpockets and mashers.

      “She won’t be alone,” he said drily. “And I think I can promise to keep her out of the line of fire.”

      “Riiiight.” The redhead on Kate’s other side bristled. “And we all know what your promises are worth, Westbrook.”

      Jaw locked, he heroically refrained from suggesting that a woman who’d left two grooms stranded at the altar probably shouldn’t sling stones. His wife read the signs, though, and hastily intervened.

      “It’s okay,” Kate told her self-appointed guard dogs. “Travis and I can remain civil long enough to share a glass of wine. Maybe. Go on. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

      The still-aggressive Dawn would have argued the issue, but Callie tugged her arm. The redhead settled for giving Travis a final watch-yourself glare before yielding the field.

      “Whew,” he murmured as the two women wove through the crowd. “Good thing neither of them was armed. I’d be gut shot right now.”

      “You’re not out of danger yet. I haven’t had to resort to any of the lethal moves you taught me to take down an attacker. There’s always that first instance, however.”

      Travis figured this wasn’t the time or place to admit those training sessions had generated some of his most erotic memories. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bedded down in yet another godforsaken dump of an airstrip and treated himself to the mental image of his wife in skintight spandex, sweaty and scowling and determined to wrestle him to the mat.

      “I’ll try not to become your first victim,” he said as she started toward the café.

      Without thinking, he put a hand to the small of her back to guide her through the milling crowd. As light as it was, the touch stopped Kate in her tracks. He smothered a curse and removed his hand.

      “Sorry. Force of habit.”

      Kate dipped her chin in a curt nod. One she sincerely hoped gave no clue of the wildly contradictory emotions generated by the courteous and once-welcome gesture.

      Swallowing hard, she threaded a path through the crowd. His innate courtesy was one of the character traits she’d treasured in her husband. He’d grown up in a grimy Massachusetts mill town still struggling to emerge from its sweatshop past. Yet his fiercely determined mother had managed to blunt the rough edges he’d had to develop to survive in the gang-ridden town. In the process, she’d instilled an almost Victorian set of manners. A full scholarship to UMass followed by his introduction to the hallowed traditions of the air force officer ranks had added more layers of polish.

      And there was another irony, Kate mused as her husband held out a chair for her at one of the rickety tables set under a green-and-white-striped awning. The magna cum laude grad and the thoughtful, courteous gentleman seemed to have no problem coexisting with the gladiator honed by street brawls and the brutal training he’d gone through to become a special operations pilot.

      The thought spawned another, one that made her chest hurt as she waited for Travis to claim his seat. Loyalty was another character trait she’d always believed went bone-deep in her husband. He was part of an elite cadre chosen to fly the HC-130J, the latest version of the venerable Hercules transport that performed yeoman service in the Vietnam War. Dubbed the Combat King II, this modern-day, technically sophisticated version of the Herc was the only dedicated personnel recovery platform

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