Explosive Alliance Read Online Free PDF

choice but to attribute the off-kilter feeling to something—or someone—else.
    Given a choice, Bo knew Paige Haugen wouldn't have joined him at the air show for their tour today. So he'd left her no choice by offering in front of her daughter.
    Lounging against the Thunderbirds booth, Bo searched the milling crowds for Paige. Wind battered the inflated toy planes dangling from the wooden crossbar. He swatted one from in front of his face for a clearer view. Would she blow him off and not show up? She was already—he shoved his flight-suit sleeve away from his watch—three minutes and forty-seven seconds late.
    Irritation nipped, along with more of those atomic mosquitoes. He might not have the best dating record in the world, but he never stood anyone up.
    Dating?
    This was not a date. They were just going to crawl around in a few jets and helicopters, watch the aerial acrobatics, down some of those hot dogs steaming the air. Besides, there was that other guy who stole her cupcakes.
    Bo rolled his sleeve back over his watch. Sure he was attracted to her, but the last thing he needed was to tangle up her life with his. Even if she didn't live clear across country, even if her husband hadn't pointed a gun at his head, he would not risk upsetting Kirstie's world. The kid had enough to handle without getting attached to a string of her mama's boyfriends only to watch them walk away.
    All moot points because he would only be around for two weeks, three tops. He would keep this and further meetings light, uncomplicated and definitely with no sexual undertones. If she even showed up.
    He checked his watch again, trying to ignore his grumbling stomach only made worse by those steaming hot dogs two booths over. And the turkey legs.
    And coconut?
    His nose twitched. Bo turned to find Paige weaving her way toward him and, oh, yeah, this day would be a torturous exercise in self-control, if he could smell her even from this far away. His hands might not be able to take her, but he allowed his eyes to feast their fill for a few indulgent seconds. Jeans never looked so good as they did riding low on Paige's luscious hips, right where his hands itched to hook. Would the heat of her skin warm the perpetual ache in his reconstructed fingers?
    Whoa. Danger zone.
    Back off those thoughts pronto, pal, and just keep enjoying the view. Instead of a hair band, today she swept away blond strands with one of those small bandannas tied behind her head, sort of a peasant-handkerchief style with tiny yellow flowers to match her shirt pattern. She sure made the pale color come alive.
    Lifting a foot, he shined the top of his boot against the back of his calf. He caught himself midpolish. Not a date, damn it. He slammed his boot to the ground just as Paige dodged another tourist to stop in front of him. Kirstie tucked against her mama's leg like an unshakable wingman.
    Bo shoved away from the booth. "Ready for your tour, ladies?"
    "Yes, thank you." Paige folded her arms over her breasts.
    Only looking, he reminded himself. No harm there. Or was there?
    He shifted his attention to Kirstie and tousled the kid's hair. "Good afternoon, Cupcake. Have you eaten lunch yet?"
    "Nope." She eyed the hot-dog booth with longing.
    Paige knelt to tie her daughter's pink-and-red tennis shoes. "You ate a second breakfast at eleven."
    "Not lunch, though, and maybe he didn't get to eat yet, neither."
    "Right you are." He extended his hand for Kirstie to take. "How about a hot dog?"
    The kid eyed his hand warily. Because he was a stranger? Or because of the thin scars lining his skin?
    They provided him with constant reminders of the day his fingers had been crushed by a Rubistanian warlord who didn't appreciate attitude from a prisoner.
    Paige's gaze skimmed down to his hand, bare of a flight glove today. A whisper of a puzzled frown slipped across her face, gone as fast as it appeared.
    Bo let his arm fall to his side. "How about you hold on to your mama. Wouldn't want