Space in His Heart (4 page)

She chose her words carefully. “Commander
Stockard has an amazing biography and he’s obviously an articulate
spokesperson.” She couldn’t resist a saucy grin. “And he looks
pretty good in a flight suit.”

“Sex sells,” Colonel Price shot back with a
knowing nod.

“We’ll keep it dignified, sir. But, yes. It
does.”

The older man stood and stepped to his
window, his arms locked behind him. Jessica stole a glance at
Stuart, who shook his head slightly, silently telling her to say
nothing and wait for the decision. It didn’t matter. She knew no
compelling argument would sway this man. All she could do now was
wait for a verdict.

Colonel Price turned slowly before he spoke.
“You can have him on a very, very limited basis, Miss Marlowe. You
must accomplish this campaign with as little of his time as
possible. No lengthy media tours and he only travels for emergency
situations.”

Like an appearance on
Oprah
. “Of
course, Colonel.”

He tapered his gaze to underscore his point.
“If, for any reason, we have to stop the program, you’d better have
another tactic at the ready. Is that understood?”

She nodded, imagining all the military
underlings who’d flinched in the face of Colonel Price’s demands.
She wanted to ask why they might have to stop mid-way, but he
picked up his phone to make a call, indicating that the meeting was
ended.

She stood and thanked him, following Stuart
out the door. He shot her a smile both sympathetic and knowing.
“About that backup plan…”

“Do you think we’ll really need one?” she
asked.

“At NASA, we live by them. Everything has a
redundant system, in case one fails. You’ll get used to it. Anyway,
would you care to officially meet your guinea pig now? I can take
you to Deke’s office.”

Jessica slowed her step. She wasn’t prepared
for another encounter with Mr. We-Are-Explorers-Not-Movie-Stars
just yet. “I think I better get to my own office and call the team.
They could start working on our ‘redundant system’ in case mine
fails.”

But it won’t, she thought as she followed
Stuart to the Press Facility.

Failure is not an option
.

A few minutes later, Jessica stuck a
fingernail in the chipped edges of the metal and Formica desk in
her new office, briefing Bill Dugan on the Colonel’s
instructions.

“We’ve got him for now, but Price made it
clear our time is tight and we need to have a backup plan in case
he has to stop. Do you have any idea why that might happen?”

“Not a clue.”

She could imagine the twisted frown on Bill’s
thin face as he adjusted his glasses and tried to look as important
as he had somehow managed to become. He’d never had much visibility
in the agency until recently, and now, because he headed the NASA
account in Washington, Jessica reported to him. At least for the
next three months.

“What about our Naval aviator hero turned
astronaut?” Bill asked. “Have you met him yet?”

She turned away from the open door and
lowered her voice. “Yes, I met him at the briefing. He’s a little
less than enthusiastic.”

A response came from the hallway. “That’s an
understatement.” She spun in her chair to see the man in a familiar
blue flight suit: tall, dark, and still not smiling.

Chapter Three

Deke heard her slight intake of breath when
she realized she’d been caught. He leaned against the doorway,
keeping his scowl firmly in place, even though he felt a tug of
sympathy when pink stains of embarrassment colored her cheeks.

“Bill, I have a meeting starting. I’ve got to
go.” As soon as she hung up, she stood and reached out her hand.
“We haven’t been formally introduced.”

He saw her study his face, appraising her
choice, no doubt, for the idiotic campaign she’d cooked up. He
steadfastly refused to meet her phony PR smile with one of his
own.

Still, he couldn’t help noticing how the
smile, phony or not, softened her pretty features and revealed
straight, white teeth. With a will of its own, his gaze continued
down, over the open-neck collar of her blouse and finally stopped
at the pink-tipped fingers she extended toward him.

He took her slender hand and nodded. “I wish
I could say it’s a pleasure.” Her hand was damp. And very soft. He
considered holding it a moment longer, but she pulled back
immediately as though she’d been shocked.

“Colonel Price seems to think we can work out
a schedule that will accommodate yours.”

“I doubt that,” he said, narrowing his eyes
in warning. “My schedule just got full. You better start
auditioning other talent.”

“I have assured Colonel Price that I will
take as little of your time as possible, Commander. We don’t intend
for our campaign to negatively affect your career.”

He sincerely doubted if this firecracker gave
a damn about anybody’s career but her own. “I bet a plum assignment
at the Cape could do wonders for yours, though.”

She paled, flecks of gold flashing in her
dark chocolate eyes. The same color combination as her hair, he
noticed. “My career has nothing to do with this, Commander.”

He needed to get his mind off her hair and
eyes and let her know who was in charge. In one swift move, he
stepped into the room and flipped a straight-backed guest chair
around before dropping into it, leaning the backrest toward her
desk. “I’m willing to bet you’re here because you think you could
skyrocket with this little stunt.”

He saw her attention drop to the lower half
of his body, wrapped around the chair, then return to his face.
“Skyrocket, Commander? Clever pun.” She stayed standing but
appeared to get some support by touching her desk.

Good. He was unnerving her. He rocked a
little on two legs of the chair. She’d be tough, but he’d faced
tougher. None as pretty, but that wouldn’t affect him. “How much do
you know about the space program, Miss Marlowe?”

She met his gaze, her fingertips splayed on
the desk. “You don’t need to question my credentials, Commander.
I’ve been thoroughly briefed, but I don’t claim to be an expert on
space. That’s your department. What I do need to know is how the
media works and what appeals to the American public.” Finally, she
rounded the desk and took her chair. “And I assure you, I know
that.”

He really needed to take her down a notch or
two. “But do you know what an orbiter is? Do you know how many
shuttle missions there have been? Do you have any idea what
experiments are being done on the space station? Do you—”

“I’m a quick study.” She cut him off and
adjusted her collar as though the heat in the room was stifling
her, but unknowingly offered him a tantalizing glimpse of the rise
of her breasts. “I’m here to handle the media, to create and
promote your image. My job is to get you recognized, publicized,
and
adored
by the American public.”

He
had
to stop looking at her body and
start listening to her words because they were frightening.
Adored by the American public
?

But before he could force his attention back
to her face, she cleared her throat.

Good God. He’d been caught ogling her like a
teenager. He stood and gently kicked the chair back to its original
position. This was no time to start a mating dance. She was here to
ruin his life, slow down his progress, and force him into
ridiculous PR stunts that he abhorred.

He couldn’t let a little cleavage—well, not
exactly
little—make him forget that.

“My schedule is extremely tight,” he said,
hearing the tension in his own voice. “I’m here this week, but I
usually spend several days a week in Houston. You won’t get much of
my time.” He glanced at the hallway, anxious to leave. “You really
should find someone else.”

“Perhaps you can do some of the work during
your flights. Reading and preparing for interviews, for
example.”

For the first time in several hours, he
laughed out loud. She was as clueless as she was cute.

“Why is that so funny?”

“I go in a T-38, that’s why.”

“Okay.” She sighed, holding her hands up in
surrender. “What’s a T-38?”

“It’s a supersonic two-seater jet that I fly
over the Gulf of Mexico.” He deliberately widened his grin. “I
don’t get much reading done on those trips.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but
suddenly brightened. “Oh, is it like a fighter plane?”

He cocked his head and used the same patient
voice he’d offer to a child on a tour of the Space Center. “Yes.
But T is for Trainer. F is for Fighter. This is a T-38. We don’t
generally fire any missiles on our way to Texas.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Does it have clear NASA
logos everywhere?”

“A few.” He didn’t like the direction she was
taking. “Why?”

“It’s a great photo op. You in the cockpit of
a little fighter-type plane, the NASA emblem blazing, an astronaut
taking off to Houston for some space business.” She tapped her
cheek with one finger. “I could do something with that.”

“What the hell would you
do
with
that?” He didn’t even want to think about the possibilities.

She bit the corner of her lip. “Well, I’m not
thinking
Aviation Week
magazine, Commander. I could take it
to the wire services, or
Us,
or
People
.” She stopped,
a definite glimmer in her eyes. “Maybe even
The
Enquirer
.”

“
The National Enquirer
?”

She smiled slyly and moistened her lower lip
where she’d just nibbled it. “That was just payback for the T-38
comment,” she said softly.

His heart rate, damn it, actually kicked up.
“I’m glad you think this is a parlor game.”

Parlor game? He sounded like a damn
librarian.

“I don’t—”

“You can communicate with me through email or
my secretary.”

“I’ll do that, Commander. And I’ll set up
media training immediately.”

“Media training?” He spun back around,
feeling like a marionette yanked back every time he tried to exit
the stage. “No. Not necessary. I don’t need to be trained.”

“Yes, you do.” She nodded, a look of
determination in her eyes that she probably saved only for
difficult clients.
Watch out, sweetheart, I’m going to be the
most difficult of all
. “I’ve trained lots of people who thought
they didn’t need it. But they did.” She stood, reaching across her
desk for a handheld device, clicking some buttons. “When are you
available? I can do it in one afternoon. All we need to do is make
sure you say the right things when you talk.”

He tried not to choke. She was
impossible
. “I’m not paid to talk. I’m paid to fly.”

“Are you paid to be contrary?”

He grinned. “I do that for free.”

She blew out a little breath. “You know, most
people can’t wait to get their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Then you should find one of them.”

“Sorry, Commander.” She cast her eyes down at
her electronic calendar and pressed a button, her lashes long and
dark against a creamy complexion. “There are no other candidates
for this job.” She glanced up at him. “You’re perfect.”

He dropped his gaze again, letting it linger
over her body with no subtlety this time. “Far from it, I’m
afraid.”

* * *

Three days later, Jessica accepted that heat,
humidity, and perspiration were facts of life in the swamp. She sat
in an open parking lot, the icy air conditioner of her rented
Taurus blowing right in her face. The refrigerated air finally
dried the damp tendrils that invariably escaped her clip just from
the act of driving to work.

For a moment she closed her eyes and imagined
the early November chill as the last of the burnished golden leaves
fell on the cobblestones of Beacon Street. No. She refused to be
homesick already. No time for it. She had to media train the space
cadet today.

She glanced into the rearview mirror to make
sure the mascara she’d applied in preparation for her day in the
studio hadn’t dissolved into black clumps between Cocoa Beach and
Cape Canaveral. Her gaze shifted from her reflection to a low-slung
silver Corvette pulling into the parking spot behind her, darkened
windows eliminating any view of the driver.

Who owned
that
car?

In a moment she had the answer, and she
slipped lower into the front seat of the Taurus so Deke Stockard
didn’t see her. But she couldn’t resist using the side view mirror
to take a secret study of him, of the aristocratic nose and sensual
mouth shadowed by the hint of a dark beard on the square angle of
his jaw. His straight black hair was about a half inch too long for
the military, but she wouldn’t let him cut it before the first
photo op.

As if what she wanted mattered to him.

She tore her gaze away, since she’d get
plenty of time to ogle him this afternoon. And if the media
training session generated the same kind of heat as he had in her
office the other day, she’d better be prepared for more involuntary
melting. Suddenly a minivan blocked her view as it slowed down and
the driver spoke to Deke before pulling in next to her.

As Jessica climbed out of the car and reached
in the back for her briefcase, Stuart got out of the van and came
around to greet her.

“Morning, Jess.” He held his own briefcase
toward the man politely waiting for both of them. “Did you see
Deke?”

How could she miss him in his race car? She
nodded at both of them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Stuart closed the car door for her. “You two
could commute together, you know. You live on the same street.”

Her stomach twisted just a bit as she looked
at Deke in surprise. “We do?”

Deke shrugged. “NASA housing.”