Chapter 21

21

SARAH

M y father sent a car to pick me up at the dorms. It dropped me off and I took a deep breath as I looked both ways down the street. It wasn't a very happening place, but the restaurant in front of me seemed busy and trendy enough. I smoothed down the skirt of my dress—the only one I'd bothered to bring with me to Mississippi—and headed inside.

I didn't wear dresses. It wasn't my thing. But I knew my dad liked when I acted like his daughter and not the airman he was so proud of. And I could admit that it was nice on occasion. I was never going to have a closet full of little black dresses and beautiful gowns but I didn't mind it on occasion.

The hostess greeted me with a warm smile.

"Thomas." I gave her my last name.

"Right this way." She led me to a table where my father was already waiting.

He rose as I approached, ever the gentleman in his crisp uniform. "You look beautiful tonight, Sarah," he said with a warm smile and pulled out my chair for me.

"Thanks, Dad," I replied, trying to suppress the urge to fidget. I felt like a schoolgirl again. Ever since high school, we had maintained this ritual—dinner once a month, just the two of us, to catch up on life. We shared so many interests that our conversations often stretched late into the night. I had fond memories of wearing my favorite dress and getting sugar-drunk on Shirley Temples. I was happy to be here, but I couldn't shake the discomfort of being out of my usual jeans and T-shirt.

I ordered a glass of white wine, knowing my father would not approve of me drinking a beer at a nice restaurant.

"How much flying time have you logged this week?" he asked without preamble.

My glass of wine was quickly delivered. I took a sip of my pinot grigio, about to answer, when a shadow fell over our table. I looked up and choked on my wine. Standing there, looking completely out of place in the trendy restaurant, was Dean.

My father quickly moved to fuss over me as I coughed and spluttered, patting my back. "Are you okay? Do you need water?"

I waved him off, my eyes wide. "What are you doing here?" I stammered once I regained my composure.

My father clicked his tongue. "That's no way to speak to your superior, on or off base. Correct yourself."

I straightened in my chair, cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry. Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Ryker. It's nice to see you."

Dean gave me a small nod, his expression revealing nothing before he turned to my father. "Thanks for inviting me, Mo."

Mo smiled broadly and motioned for Dean to take the seat opposite me. "Absolutely. I hope you don't mind, Sarah. You know Dean and I go way back, and lately, we haven't had much time to catch up. I figured I would make it a two-for-one visit while I was in town."

I forced a smile, though I could feel the awkwardness settling over the table like a heavy fog. "Of course, I don't mind."

The memory of our heated moment outside the bar flashed through my mind, followed by the grueling drills he'd put me through. I had a thousand questions but none that I could voice in front of my father.

"So, how's training going?" Mo asked, oblivious to the tension between Dean and me.

Thank God.

"It's going well," Dean answered smoothly, his eyes briefly meeting mine before looking back at Mo.

He had a poker face. I hoped I was pulling it off as well.

"Sarah's been working hard. She's got the grit and determination that's needed for survival training."

My dad beamed with pride. "That's my girl."

Warmth rushed through me at my father's praise. I thrived on his approval.

"How about you, Dean?" Mo continued. "What have you been up to lately? We haven't had much time to talk since you got here to Columbus."

Dean leaned back in his chair, sipping the water he chose to stick with. "I've been busy with the students, making sure they're ready for what's ahead."

Mo nodded approvingly. "That's what I like to hear. It's good to have you back, Dean."

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every now and then, I would catch Dean looking at me. I tried to ignore it.

I brooded and stared at the menu while my father and Dean chatted about me. Great. Just perfect. My rare and hard-to-get father-daughter time was now being shared with the man who starred in my nightly fantasies.

We placed our orders, but I didn't know how I was going to eat. I felt nauseated. My father turned his attention to me. "So, Sarah, tell me all about how things have been going. Training, the base, everything."

I glanced at Dean, who was staring into his glass of crystal-clear water. "Dean's been riding my ass," I said, making sure to emphasize my words. "Hard." I shot Dean a look, hoping to get some sort of reaction. "He's a good teacher. I've already learned a lot from him."

I very quietly kicked off one of my heels. I was determined to make Dean look at me. Under the table, I slid my foot up Dean's shin, deciding to be a shit-stirrer for kicks. He didn't react, which only spurred me to push further. The man was like a statue. I nudged his leg more aggressively, daring him to keep a straight face.

My father chuckled, oblivious to the tension. "That's good to hear. I knew he'd be a great mentor for you."

Dean remained stoic, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. My father continued talking, unaware of the silent showdown happening beneath the table. I slid my foot back down Dean's leg and managed to get my toes under the cuff of his pants.

Dean finally shifted in his seat, causing me to freeze as he discreetly moved his leg away from mine. His eyes met mine briefly, a flicker of warning in his gaze before he smoothly continued the conversation with my father. I bit back my smile and stretched my leg until my foot connected with his leg once again.

As I continued to press and tease, Dean's jaw tensed ever so slightly. His gaze flicked down toward the table then back up at me again. His facial expression remained unchanging, but his eyes were stormy with warning.

I pressed my foot harder against his shin, a silent challenge. His glance shifted back toward my father, resuming their discussion about the old days when Dean was a young pilot in training. They laughed and reminisced, with Dean occasionally throwing in a comment or two. I scrutinized his every move he made along with the tone of his voice, trying to decipher any sign that he was affected by my provocation.

I got nothing except for the occasional flare of his nostrils or clenched jaw.

Our meals were delivered, and I finally gave him a break. But after a few minutes, I missed the contact with his leg and found my foot sliding back over to him.

Dean sighed, a soft, barely audible sound that had me grinning into my plate of food. I sensed victory just around the corner. I kept my gaze fixed on my dinner, feigning complete ignorance as I continued toying with the man.

My father was too engrossed in his steak, chewing and savoring each bite, to notice anything out of the ordinary. After swallowing another mouthful of food, he asked about a few people I had never heard of. They continued talking about this person and that. I was quickly bored.

When my father excused himself to use the restroom, Dean's head whipped around, pinning with me an accusing gaze.

"Stop acting like a child," he snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"I'm anything but a child, and you know it," I retorted.

"You put that foot on me again, you're not going to be walking out of here," he warned.

"You've checked me out six times since you sat down," I said, a smirk playing on my lips.

He didn't deny it. "You look good in that dress. Sue me."

I savored the compliment, but I wasn't about to let him see it. "I didn't wear it for you."

"No shit. You didn't know I was coming. Maybe I should tell your father what a manipulative little?—"

He broke off abruptly as my father returned, sitting down and fanning his napkin over his lap. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just talking about training."

Dad seemed satisfied with that and launched into a story about an old friend from his flying days. I half-listened, my mind still buzzing from the heated exchange with Dean. I probably should have known better, but I couldn't resist teasing Dean a little more. I was tempted to check out his level of arousal but wasn't sure if my dad would be able to see my foot stroking Dean's cock. That might be a bit of an issue.

After I finished my meal, I stood up to use the ladies' room. When Dean got to his feet in a show of good manners, I didn't miss the fact he kept the napkin that had been draped across his lap casually hanging in front of his crotch. I almost burst into laughter.

I excused myself with a polite smile and a not-so-polite glance at his crotch. I walked away, making sure I swayed my hips. I knew he was watching and wanted to make sure he knew exactly what he was missing out on.

I looked in the mirror in the bathroom and tried to see what he saw. Tonight, I looked feminine. I felt pretty. Sexy. Dean had to be attracted to me. If he could be turned on by me when I was hot, sweaty, and beet red from a workout that nearly killed me, this had to be doing something for him.

I lifted and squeezed my breasts, making sure the girls looked their best.

When I walked back to the table, Dean was engaged in deep conversation with my father. His eyes flicked to me as I approached, dark and unreadable. I slid back into my chair, feigning innocence, even as I angled my foot to brush against his leg once more beneath the table.

He stiffened slightly but maintained his composure, keeping his attention split between my father and the interaction under the table. I watched him with a perceptive gaze, delighting in the subtle squirm of discomfort he tried to conceal. It was a cat and mouse game, only this time I was the cat and he was the unfortunate mouse.

"I ordered dessert," Dad announced.

"Great." I smiled. "What did you decide on?"

"Tiramisu," Dad replied.

"Perfect."

Dean cleared his throat when my toes brushed his upper, inner thigh but he continued the conversation with my father without missing a beat. His fingers tightened around his glass of soda momentarily before relaxing again.

This was why he was an amazing pilot. He could block out everything and focus. I admired that. And maybe it was the wine or the lack of sex for months, but everything the man did turned me on.

As the tiramisu arrived at the table, my father and Dean engaged in a lively discussion about the latest advancements in aviation technology. I tried to participate, but my mind kept drifting back to the clandestine game I was playing under the table with Dean. My focus was on something else entirely. I wanted him.

I took a bite of the dessert, savoring the creamy sweetness on my tongue as I dared to let my foot wander even further up Dean's thigh. His hand twitched slightly, betraying a hint of arousal that sent a rush of excitement through me. I could feel the heat building between us and wondered how crazy I could drive him before he cracked.