Seeing Red by SecondGuess

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Danziger thought he was probably losing his mind.

Scrubbing at his gritty hair with frustrated ferocity, he ignored the stinging as a droplet of shampoo suds ran into his eye. What was wrong with him? What on earth would possess him to just sit there…caressing her hand like that? He’d forgotten himself, pure and simple, and the incident had frightened him deeply.

Recently, it had been harder for John to keep his cool in the presence of Devon Adair, and as his emotions ran rampant it seemed his imagination was never far behind. He’d begun noticing things about her he’d just as soon remain blind to, and it was getting to the point where they were becoming all he could see.

He’d caught himself studying the soft curl of her eyelashes in the Nav Tent a few hundred clicks back, startled to find himself lost to the desire to feel them brushing across his lips.

Since that first slip it had been happening more and more often.

The worst thing was, he saw no rhyme or reason to these sudden swellings of lust that plagued him. Hell, she could be right in the middle of chewing him out and he’d discover himself completely focused on the small beauty mark on her collar bone; the chips of sapphire in clear blue eyes; the strain of a shirt button.

On the Roanoke she’d been primped and pressed--perfectly tailored suits and intricate chignons frozen in place. Utterly untouchable. The last few weeks before the unscheduled launch, Danziger would look up to catch her blotting her lips or straightening her collar at the other end of a metal hallway. It had been immensely satisfying for him to witness these little moments of imperfection; but after the third or fourth jacket tug John had grown suspicious.

Though it didn’t make a lick of sense, John began to wonder if this constant primping was taking place for the benefit of his watchful eyes.

Not that he’d been watching.

It was the total abandon of her previous persona that amazed Danziger during these times, when he caught himself watching the curve of her back as she sat slumped with her charts or smiled wide enough for him to count her small, white, perfect teeth. She’d blossomed with the rush of the wind, grown infinitely more beautiful with nothing but the sun painted on her face.

With a derisive snort Danziger dove under the crisp, clear water and furiously shook the lather from his curls. When the hell had he suddenly become such a shankin’ romantic? It scared him to think that the old Devon Adair, President of the Adair Industries that he’d signed his life away to, could ever become such a free, natural woman.

For months he’d subconsciously known that trying to resist his attraction was a loosing battle, but now it seemed his body was no longer willing to look the other way.

Bursting out of the water, he took a deep breath and settled back down until the water was at his chin. He wondered where Devon was bathing, suddenly feeling stupid that he’d purposely stormed nearly a click south east to avoid even the slightest glimpse.

Somewhere, she was wading into the coursing shallows, the wind off the water blowing back her auburn hair.

He’d never seen such a rich shade of red on a woman, and being a man of certain taste he’d chased after many a redhead in his day. He flexed his left ‘hook’ reflexively, musing for a moment over the fresh-paint longing that still stirred at the resurrected memory of Corrine’s strawberry curls, bitter that the damn virus couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Elle’s hair had been luminous, the color of a pale flame, a yellow star glowing with crimson heat. Just the sight of her made him think of caution signs; it made him taste chili power on his tongue and raised the hair on his arms. Even after years together, just being in the same room with her would cause him to ignite. There was absolutely no subtlety in their attraction, because they didn’t give a shank about anyone, or anything, but themselves.

Devon was a different kind of redhead all together; more mysterious, Devon’s particular shade of red was that of a woman who kept secrets; secrets she would probably never tell, but that she wanted you to know she had. It was meticulous, modest but sensual, and it had slowly but surely glowed its Danziger’s thoughts like an obsession.

Danziger dunked himself again, blowing exasperated bubbled out of his nose. Damnit all, he still didn’t quite know just who Devon Adair was. And he was already falling in love with her.

Shit.

He was starting to question his taste in women.

Maybe he should abandon this whole pursuit all together and take up with a nice, bubbly brunette with wild curls and a miserable husband how didn‘t appreciate how beautiful she was. That girl…he wanted something better for her. She was so intuitive and smart, so full of spirit despite that moron’s attempts to crush it. She was one of his favorite people in the entire universe, and Danziger wanted her to be happy.

Still, he’d known from the instant he’d met her that he didn’t deserve Bess anymore than Martin did.

Maybe a blond with a brilliant mind who was beginning to regret overlooking intellect for looks in choosing a bunk mate. Lonz was a great guy, and he was a kick ass pilot, but he wasn’t much of a conversational companion.

Breaking the surface, Danziger shook his head furiously and scoffed at the idea that anyone could be Julia’s intellectual equal. She’d figured that out for herself long ago, when she realized she’d have to spend her life settling for appeal rather than substance, but she’d confided in John that it wasn’t really knowledge that mattered so much to her.

John had been out scouting with Julia one day, heatedly debating for the zillionth time the intellect of Grendlers. Julia had been adamantly insisting that it was their ability to learn that made them intelligent, not what they didn’t already know, when he less-than-tactfully stated they’d already met several Grendler’s that were smarter than Alonzo.

It wasn’t something for which he was particularly proud, but he’d just lost a bet with Walman- via gear- because Lonz had quoted him the wrong odds. Fly Boy deserved a little payback, and Julia deserved a chance to crack a smile every once in a while.

Danziger hadn’t expected her to readily agree. He’d thought it might be true love, for a minute there, and it had been the moment he’d completely regained his trust in her.

Taking wide strides, John savored the rush of the water for a few more minutes, trying to shake himself of these constant amorous thoughts. He supposed if anything, at least he’d proven his own theory false.

Elle and Devon might have shared the same damn hair color, but there was no mistaking his two women for each other in many more ways than hue. He was constantly looking for one woman where he would only find another; and it wasn’t just them! It was Gwen in boot camp, Corrine, it was Alex, it was his shankin’ mother…

Swinging his arms wide, he dove against the current, stronger this far away from camp, and tried to shake the last vestiges of shampoo, and women, from his hair and mind.

Or to at least focus on one.

The sun was beginning to set, and Danziger decided he’d better be getting back to camp, but the colors in the sky were so relaxing that he meandered toward the bank, observing the nature around him.

Sometimes when the light was just right, Devon’s hair would shine as if it had caught fire. If he was lucky enough to be close to her, he could see a glowing ruby halo on the crown of her head. At times like these, Danziger would admit quietly to himself, for just a few moments, that he was in love with her.

A shiver ran through him, and he figured he’s just as soon be getting back to his hormonal bundle of joy. He wanted to reconcile peaceably, realizing that perhaps his own emotional imbalance regarding Devon was contributing to the recently chilly climate in the Danziger tent. Also, he figured that was a reasonable excuse enough to hide from Adair for a few hours.

He would completely erase the entire incident with the collision from his mind. As long as he didn’t let himself think about her slender, fragile hands he’d be fine. He would just ignore the memory of how soft they'd felt against his own rough skin. The way her fist fit perfectly in his palm. The oval finger nails, perfect until this morning, and how they would feel scratching a pattern down the hollow of his back.

Glancing around to make sure no one had wandered this far from camp, he eased his way back into the deeper water. On second thought, Danziger decided he’d better not get out of the water just yet.

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