One more chapter after this one and we're done.
This story has been a fun "distraction" when ideas for other stories just don't pan out.
I love doing POVs when I can and it's been interesting picking at Harm's brain. :)

I did a quick edit and posted since I won't have time for a while to post it... mistakes are my own.

Chapter 21

"You think I'm not fun?" It's Saturday morning, four days since we kissed. Mac and me have come to an agreement that I must a) grovel b) fix the plumbing in her kitchen and c) cook dinner every night. For a woman who still insists we need to give one another some space, she sure likes having me around.

After that incredible kiss in her kitchen a few days ago, I simply left. While I would have loved to carry her to bed and spend the night mapping out every inch of her body, she still needed time. I understood that because no magic wand could take me back in time to the day I found Diane's letter.

At her request, I stayed away from Brumby who came in limping, with two broken ribs, a face which looked like he lost a battle to Mike Tyson, spinning some yarn about being mugged. Yeah, right.

Mac simply smiled, remained aloof but imparted a mouthed 'I told you so' that had me in stitches. So what if we bumped into one another in the break room causing Mic to spill his freshly brewed coffee all over his uniform. So what if his car keys went missing or his office was unable to open due to a malfunction of the lock. Just the rumor that Chegwidden was sending his smug ass back to Oz was enough to have me whistling in the hallway. Good riddance.

"Breakfast wasn't a requirement of my terms." She yawns sleepily and I can't get over how darn cute she looks in the morning. And yes, maybe I was early? Too early but, after a run I just couldn't relax anymore. We hadn't kissed again or done much touching either save for the time or two when her hand touched mine during dinner.

I could be the gentleman, her friend and it turns out, the evenings were not bad. We talked more than ever, she wanted to know about Diane and so I detailed things as much as I could remember. There were various nuances that I'd forgotten, each one stripping back the layers of a relationship that wasn't healthy. I realized my mother and even my Academy mates were right - she never loved me.

A woman who loves a man wouldn't dangle herself like a carrot, a prize for him to seek. She liked playing me, liked the hunt and while I was blindly infatuated with her, there was no exclusivity. She saw others, so did I - a girl in every port to her gent at every gate.

I can't see myself having that with Mac because I don't want someone else. I don't need someone else. We have things to talk about, adventures to engage in other than a romp in bed. With Diane it was sex, great sex but it left me feeling empty afterwards. I can admit that to myself now, the rose colored glasses have come off.

Making love to Mac is insanely spectacular. It's a drug I have, an addiction I never want to recover from. We fit the silken curves of her body that meld into mine. Too profound for an infatuation, I long for her, I want to be with her.

Mac comes up to her toes and places her hand on my forearm for balance. Her lips press against my cheek and my skin tingles from her touch. "Thank you for this."

I'm so smitten it's pathetic and I don't care.

We have breakfast in the living room on the new coffee table she purchased. Mac's licking her fingers from maple syrup and I stare like a perverted idiot. I really wanna kiss her again, dreamt of it and...other things...but I have to be patient and… I hate being patient!

"You are fun. At least, you can be when you're not preoccupied by your obsession."

"What if I have a new obsession?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to be obsessed with me. I've had that before, both times it turned out messy."

"Oh. Right." Dalton and Chris, of course. "When do you have fun with me?"

She raises her brow and chuckles, as much as I want to work on my obsessions, I can't seem to let this one go. "Let's see...running with you is fun. We compete, I like that you don't hold back...Mmm, the times we've gone shooting and you've let me show you a thing or two."

I enjoyed that myself, how she sets her posture, how she held my hand to teach me how not to roll my wrist. It's sexy. "I had fun there too."

"I think it's cute that you tell jokes at work, even if they border on being just shy or inappropriate. I still don't care to know about Energizer bunnies and female Marines."

I snort. She might actually find it amusing. "Was it fun to go flying with me?"

Mac pales and wide eyes meet mine. I wasn't suggesting we take a flight in Sarah but, I can still hear her laughter in my ears, the excitement from taking the stick and controlling a machine hurling through the air. She runs a hand over her thigh and I know exactly what she's thinking. "No."

"Liar. You had fun up until...You had fun."

Her lips twist up in a gentle grin which is hidden behind the brim of her coffee cup. I still see it, of course and it puts a smile on my own face. "Yes, it was fun flying her. I hate planes and even the loops, the dips, it was like a rollercoaster. I'm just not sure I want to go up again."

"What else do you find fun?" I ask in an effort to change the subject.

She holds the mug in her hand, bites her lower lip and then her eyebrow creeps up slightly. "Dancing is fun. I like dancing with you."

And all we've ever done is dance in the proper form: my hand barely touching her waist, Mac's somewhere on my shoulder. It was nice but formal affairs require too much pomp and circumstance. A sense of propriety keeps us from touching; really touching. "Go dancing with me."

She spears a link of sausage and stops before biting into it. "Is that a request or an order, Commander? I thought you were trying to woo me?"

The twinkle in her eye, the way her lips curve up in a grin before she takes a bite, it's all a tease. But Mac does have a point because I didn't ask, only assumed. "Let me start over."

I take the fork away from her, place it down on the plate and take her hands in mine. I'm nervous and excited but a little apprehensive that she may want to keep this distance between us. So I take a breath and ask something I haven't needed to since I was a teenager. "Sarah, would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Yes, Harmon, I would."

"Tonight?"

"I'd like that very much."

Mac's the picture of radiance and elegance as she takes the three steps down from the entrance of her building and makes her way to my car. She wears a knee high pink dress with a slit up one side that comes up to mid-thigh. It's a V-neck that sweeps past the curves of her breasts and plunges down just short of being racy but exposing enough skin to make my mouth water.

I hadn't anticipated the iridescent pink sandals that click on the walkway. The high heel that make her legs go on forever with the most delicate silk looking ribbon wrapped around her ankle to keep it in place. She carries a jacket draped over one arm, a black purse dangling from her fingers and makes a show of turning around in a circle to show me the other side which has most of her back exposed.

Damn.

I've seen her in a variety of colors: blue, red, black and of course that drab Marine green. Pink is a novelty. Pink is cute. Pink is sexy. I never realized she owned anything pink and the way the material wraps around her flawless figure has me staring appreciatively. "You're gonna make every man envy me."

"Why?" Her laughter cracks something open in my chest, right around where my heart is, a fluttering feeling that I hadn't felt quite like this. I love hearing her laughter, I've missed it so damned much. Her eyes trail over my own attire, an all black suit tailor made to fit me. Her fingers trace the lapels and one hand stops right over my chest.

"Your dress."

"Oh this old thing?" Mac grabs the hem and shrugs. "Found it at the back of my closet."

Now I know why she politely kicked me out after breakfast.

Contentment comes in so many forms and for me it's mostly been the feeling of flying through the air at Mach2 in a machine that can't be controlled by many. The exhilaration of being behind the stick of a Tomcat while being shot off a carrier is incredible and very few things can match that level of excitement - until Sarah MacKenzie's lips met mine.

Dinner went well, at the tiniest bistro just outside of town where we were placed in a room at the far rear, just the two of us. The soft glow of candle light illuminated her face and I may have stared at Mac as if seeing her for the first time - which I was. We hadn't dated, not like this - just had a series of couple-ish events that never really defined what we were to each other. I bought her a single red rose from an older woman who walked around the restaurant and we held hands while being serenaded by the local musician who sang us something in another language I didn't care to understand.

My eyes were on her, laser focused on her reaction especially when they met mine. She held my gaze for what seemed like forever, a silent conversation that spoke so much more than words could say. No, it wasn't like this with Diane, a feeling of falling into the most wonderful abyss. From that moment forward I decided to stop the comparisons. She was gone forever and that tumultuous relationship we shared and splintered meant far too little. I had carried the torch for far too long and now the flame burned for someone else.

We did go dancing at a jazzy bar just a few blocks down from the quaint restaurant. She slipped into my arms easily and we found a new rhythm devoid of the restrictions formal events would shackle us to. I kissed her on the dance floor where everyone could see and that level of freedom felt so incredible I may have blushed when it went on longer than it should. We danced fast songs, moderate songs and even watched the band play - Mac sipping on tonic water with a twist and me on a double shot of bourbon. I wanted her. I wanted her so badly each time our bodies touched and the songs would slow down so much it was impossible not to hold her so close.

The night ended far too soon but, when I parked my car outside of her building, Mac kissed me.

It was unexpected although we've kissed several times throughout the night. This wasn't a chaste peck nor the restrained lingering kinds on the dance floor. She kissed me like she wanted me, deep and passionate as if she'd been holding back just as much as I had. It left me breathless, my heart beating at wild, uneven intervals that left my head spinning. And then, she kissed me again, just a peck on the corners of my mouth, a nibble on my chin as her soft voice beckoned me like a siren. "Come up...Please, come up."

"You're sure?"

"I am." I hadn't expected her to ask and I hadn't wanted to assume. The night was far too perfect to ruin but when her lips brush mine again, I realize she's serious.

It's funny how things change, how I would have beaten every man in sight just to spend an hour or two in her bed. She has this kind of sex appeal that is absolutely impossible to ignore and still, when she eagerly opens the door to step out, my hand stops her. "I'm not."

"You don't want to?"

My breath wooshes out and it's amusing to see the disappointment in her eyes. But, this was supposed to be slow. It's been a week since we first kissed again. A week where I've tried to change my perspective in reference to her. "With every fiber of my being, yes. Yes I want to."

"What's wrong?"

I know we'll wind up in bed together, this kind of chemistry between us will make sure of that. If I follow her now, I know we won't make it past the elevator door when my lips will crash onto hers, my tongue will seek entrance to her mouth and she'll moan in surrender. My hands would roam across every inch of exposed skin while I press her against the back of the elevator and explore even more of her soft curves.

The short walk down the hallway will feel long and torturous. She'll fumble for her keys when I press into her from behind and let Mac feel how hard I am. She'll chastise me for kissing her bare back, for gently cupping one breast in the palm of my hand which makes her forget there's a door to open and neighbors probably watching through peepholes.

I'd let her go but keep a light touch on her shoulders and the second we step inside, she'd be the one throwing herself on me. We'd barely make it to the bedroom, dropping an article of clothing as we half walk, half shuffle. I'd insist she keep the heels on, just the idea of her wearing them while laying in bed greatly reduces the space in my trousers.

I would want to be on top, to control our movements with her legs wrapped around my waist, and the tips of her heels slightly nicking my backside with each push and pull of our bodies. I want to hold her down when she comes with our hands tightly threaded as she quivers beneath me and I follow suit, spilling all of me inside her. And then I'd want to do it again and again and again and again and again until we can't anymore.

I WANT HER. And I always will.

"Harm? What's wrong?"

Most of my life it's been far too easy to take what women have offered without caring about repercussions or morning afters. Sex was always just sex - a mostly meaningless act for pleasure and fun that I was damned good at. I know women find me attractive and whatever looks can't fix, an officer's uniform with gold wings can.

None of that means anything anymore. I doubt it ever will again. "I've had a lot of time to think these last weeks."

"I have too...I can't imagine what you felt to see her like you did. To not say goodbye...I'm sorry. Maybe I've been insensitive about all of that...I'm sorry."

"I'm not...I'm sorry she died and I'm sorry I did what I did but...we were toxic together. We had already imploded and my last ditch effort to make it work, I don't think she wanted a forever with me."

"Harm, you don't know that."

"I do. She wouldn't have been pursuing someone else and I wouldn't have had the women I did. After the ramp strike, I saw myself getting older and alone. In my mind it made sense but, it was this desperate attempt by a man who didn't even want to commit." Given the way my mother expressed her dislike, it was clear others could see the landslide as well. "It wasn't love. We weren't in love. It was an infatuation and sex."

Lots of hot, make up sex fueled by months of not seeing one another and the arguments we always was. There wasn't passion, not in the right sense and respect for what we shared was ignored the moment we decided not to be mutually exclusive. It never bothered me to bed another woman when it should have. And it was clear that Diane had her own collection of wayward lovers - one that ultimately killed her. "I don't want this to be about sex, Mac. You mean too much to me."

One of her hands reaches out, her fingers running lightly over my cheek down to my lips. It calms my apprehension and when her own lips curve into a smile, I know we'll be alright. "So you're asking me to wait."

"I am." I'm probably the dumbest or smartest man alive; maybe both. "Not forever."

"I hope not. A girl has needs too, you know." She tilts my head towards her and kisses me. It's slow, passionate and my previous suggestion to wait, wavers a little. Oh Mac, what you do to me. It takes all of that control of mine to drive away. We kissed once more after I walked her to the entrance of the building and through the mirror I saw her standing there, waiting for me to change my mind.