Danielle’s head rang with the aftermath of the hollow “clunk” that had resulted from their foreheads smacking together. The room…the Chinook’s cargo bay spun for a moment. The three round windows to either side swirled and the square portals for the M134 miniguns—two forward and one aft beside the ramp—appeared to bob and swirl as she struggled to regain her equilibrium.
When she did, she became aware that she was holding tightly to the front of Major Napier’s flightsuit. At least she’d tried to think of him that way; Pete made for far too intimate a sound inside her head.
Having a commanding officer tell you “you’re gorgeous” was a fast flash of a path to hell. She’d learned long ago that if she didn’t slam down the door, it led to unwanted gropes and casual caresses that made her want
