Debbie Macomber Navy Series Box Set. Debbie Macomber

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      “Rush,” she called out again, in case she’d missed him somehow.

      His name fell emptily into the silence. Oh well, he’d hear her good news soon enough. She went into her bedroom and changed into jeans and a soft pink ten-button Henley shirt, pushing the three-quarter length sleeves up past her elbows. She reached for her purse and as an afterthought scribbled Rush a note that said she was going out to buy thick T-bones, and when she got back they would celebrate.

      By the time Lindy returned from the Pike Place Market, Rush was on the lanai and the barbecue was smoking.

      “Hi,” she called out, and set the grocery bag on the counter. “I got the job.”

      “I didn’t doubt for a minute that you would.”

      Rush looked wonderfully relaxed in casual slacks and a light blue sweater that set off the color of his eyes to a clear cornflower blue. The sun glinted through his dark hair, and when he turned to smile at her, his face fairly danced with happy mischief, as if he’d known all along she’d do well and was as pleased as she that she had gotten the job. And exceedingly proud.

      “Well, you might have shared some of that confidence with me,” Lindy told him with mock disgust. “In case you didn’t notice, I was a wreck this morning. Imagine leaving two hours before an interview.” She could chide herself about it now, but she’d felt as if an army of red ants had decided to use her stomach as a place to dig their farm.

      “I was confident enough to buy a bottle of champagne to celebrate,” he informed her, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He brought out the bottle and set it on the counter with all the ceremony and flair of a wine steward.

      “Oh Rush, we can’t drink this,” she whispered, reverently examining the bottle. This wasn’t the normal cheap champagne Lindy was used to drinking at Christmastime, but an expensive French variety, decorated with a gold seal and a fancy blue ribbon.

      “Why not?” His brows shot up.

      “It’s too good…. I mean, I can’t even pronounce the name of it.” She tried, her tongue stumbling over the French vowels. In high school she’d taken a couple of years of the language, but she could never be considered fluent.

      “You can’t say champagne?” His voice dipped with sarcasm while tiny pinpricks of light shimmered in the depths of his eyes.

      “Oh stop. You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

      Already he’d peeled away the decorative top foil. “If anyone has reason to celebrate, it’s you.”

      Lindy sighed and nodded, utterly content. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am.”

      “You don’t need to,” he teased. “Anyone within a five-block radius could feel your happiness.” His gaze held hers briefly before he dragged it away and started working to remove the cork.

      Lindy felt strangely breathless and dizzy with joy. She was truly happy, when only a few weeks before she’d doubted that she’d ever experience elation or excitement again. Now she felt as though destiny had finally caught up with her again, and she was riding the crest of a wave, surging ahead, grabbing at every good thing that came her way. And lately, since she’d met Rush, there seemed to be so much to feel good about.

      The sound of the cork popping and the bubbly liquid spraying into the sink caused Lindy to gasp, then giggle.

      “Here, here,” she cried, handing Rush one of the tall narrow glasses he’d set out. She didn’t want any of this precious liquid to be wasted. God only knew how much Rush had paid for the bottle.

      “A toast,” Rush said, handing her a glass and taking his own. Tiny golden bubbles popped to the surface as if to add their own congratulations. “To Lindy Kyle, computer expert,” Rush murmured, completely serious.

      “I’m not really an expert.”

      “Are you always this argumentative, woman?”

      “All right, all right,” she laughed and licked the moisture from her fingertips. “IBM owes everything to me. Mr. Wang himself calls me his friend.” Her eyes were laughing, her joy and enthusiasm exuding with every breath, because it was impossible to contain them.

      “Mr. Wang?” Rush asked her. “What about Mr. Callaghan? Is he your friend?”

      “Oh most assuredly. The very best kind there is.”

      “Good.”

      Lindy thought his voice sounded slightly husky, pleased, but before she had time to analyze it or study him further, Rush poised his glass next to hers. Gently they tapped the delicate rims together and Lindy tasted a sample. The smooth liquid was wonderfully light and mellow and so delicious that she closed her eyes to properly savor it.

      “This is marvelous stuff,” she said, taking another sip.

      “I thought you’d like it.”

      “I bought us steaks,” she said, suddenly remembering the sack. “And enough vegetables to open our own fifty-item salad bar.”

      Rush chuckled. “You get the salad together and I’ll manage the steaks.”

      “That sounds like a workable plan.”

      “Good grief,” he chided, unwrapping the thick T-bones from the white butcher paper. “You’re already using office lingo.”

      Lindy resisted the urge to swat his backside as he returned to the lanai, and turned her attention to the variety of fresh vegetables for the salad.

      She finished before Rush did, and taking her champagne glass with her, joined him outside. It had rained for part of the week, but the sun was out this afternoon and the breeze was fresh and clean.

      “The coals aren’t quite hot enough yet,” he told her, leaning against the wrought-iron railing, looking at ease with himself and his world.

      Perhaps it was the champagne or the fact she’d stood too long in the sun. Lindy wasn’t sure which to blame. But standing beside Rush she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to have him kiss her, the overpowering desire to glide her moist lips back and forth over his and taste the champagne on his tongue.

      “Lindy?” He was frowning at her, and for a moment she was sure he’d read her thoughts. “What is it?”

      “Nothing.” She shook her head for emphasis, pushing down the impulse. It was insane, stupid, wrong. And yet something kept driving her. Something primitive and completely unmanageable. Before she could change her mind, she took both their wineglasses and set them aside, her hands shaking.

      Rush watched her like a man in a trance.

      She leaned forward and planted her hands on his shoulders, her intense gaze holding his.

      At her touch, she felt a quiver work its way through his lean, hard body. He stiffened, his shoulders at attention as though a visiting admiral were passing by for inspection. But still he didn’t try to stop her, didn’t gently push her away as she thought he might. His hands bunched into tight fists at his sides.

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