Guarding Aisha

by Zoë Normandie

  The snowy landscape suddenly became the packed dirt of burning Mosul. He heard gunfire in the distance. Dark, vulnerable eyes flashed before him again, pulling at his pants. Begging him to help.

  “Jake?” A sweet, sultry voice called to him in the distance. “Jake?”

  Like a goddamn songbird.

  Quickly, Jake snapped back into the cold reality before him and saw Aisha zipping herself out of the tent. That sexy, lithe body had curves in all the right places.

  “Are you okay?” Aisha’s sleepy face was full of concern. “You were standing there like you had seen a ghost.”

  What I’d like to do to those curves…

  He regained his composure, cleared his throat, and motioned to the food in the open trunk.

  “I’m good. Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Something awkward grew between them. Her eyes were downcast as she walked over to the trunk to pick up a granola bar. She stirred sugar into a cup of coffee, and kept stirring even after it was well mixed.

  Jake realized he had to say something. He wanted to smooth it over, make sense of it, but he was at a loss for words. He didn’t have much practice with apologizing.

  “About last night…” he started.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She continued looking at her cup, and seemed determined to never again make eye contact.

  “I don’t prey on women,” he stated firmly, staring her down, willing her to look at him.

  “I know, Jake. It’s not like that,” she said, finally looking up at him. It seemed like she wanted to say something else.

  But no more words came out.

  Jake recalled every special forces training program to remain calm and unemotional. “I was in the wrong,” he said.

  She gave him a questioning expression. “Are you doubting that it was consensual?” she asked slowly. “Is that what you think?”

  He kept her gaze, trying not to betray his emotions. What the fuck is she talking about?

  “It’s not about consent, Aisha. It’s about honor. I’m on the job, and I shouldn’t prey on the vulnerable.” He didn’t mean for the words to come out as commanding as they did.

  But she hardly blinked. She didn’t shrink back. She wasn’t conceding.

  So he waved his hand with a gesture of finality. “I’ve got to get back to work. We need to roll.”

  Which was true, he had work to do. He turned to the side and searched wildly for the first thing he could do that looked useful. He zeroed in on the tent. He could take that apart. He crawled inside it to begin organizing the contents.

  A feminine voice followed him in. “I wanted to kiss you. You didn’t take advantage of me.”

  Jake nearly stopped in his tracks, but forced himself to keep shuffling the mats so as to not give up his position.

  She wanted to kiss me?

  “I’m not as vulnerable as you think,” she added.

  “Aren’t you?” he demanded. “It’s not like you have anyone else to run to now.”

  That much was true, and he had to drill it into her. He felt something passionate rise inside him as he imagined her running. She was vulnerable and in his care. She needed to accept this.

  “What makes you think I need to run to anyone?” There was anger in her tone. “I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m useless, incapable—like I can’t do anything for myself. I’m not a child, Jake. I’m not a glass doll.”

  She placed her hands on her hips, looking more indignant and furious than he’d ever seen.

  Jake turned away and silently folded the blankets. She was some kind of angry. He found himself grinning.

  “I got this far alone, didn’t I?” she ranted to his back.

  “You weren’t alone,” he growled, to see how far he could push her. “Go sit down.”

  Without any response from him, her voice grew dark and threatening. “I’m capable of more than you think, Jake. And I won’t sit here and let you—or anyone—treat me like I’m anything less.”

  This is a change, he thought. Jake was silently proud of his princess. Yesterday she would have shrunk from his command. Not today. Today she was standing up for herself. He wondered what had inspired her, and hoped it was what he’d said to her. Because he’d meant it—she was strong. She was beautiful.

  But he couldn’t get soft with her again, both for his own sanity and hers. It had been a mistake last night to let her in, to let his guard down. He wouldn’t always be there to protect her. In the long run, he could give her a fighting chance only by encouraging her to toughen up. To harden.

  To fight back.

  “I said, go sit down. I think you’ve already shown me what you are capable of.” He laughed, throwing one of the mats on the pile he had created in the corner of the tent.

  She snapped, her voice shaking in fury. “I’m not going to just lie around while you do everything for me.”

  “Isn’t that what being a princess is all about?” he said dismissively as he stacked gear inside the tent. “Most women would be happy to just let me handle things.”

  “I’m not most women,” she corrected him. “And I’m not a passenger in my own defection.”

  “That’s new.” His cold laugh was perfectly calculated to set her off.

  And it worked.

  “Chelb,” she breathed quietly in Arabic.

  Understanding exactly what insult had slipped from her lips, Jake spun around and lunged at her, placing her in a bear hug with her back against his chest. It was lesson time, and she was his pupil.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she bellowed, trying to fight back. “Let me go!”

  She breathed heavily, and her ass sat perfectly on his groin. He held her tighter against his chest, enjoying her warmth. She didn’t seem scared. She seemed furious. He felt her strength. Her determination. She wouldn’t be held down. It made him want to dominate her all the more. He tried to ignore the thought and move on.

  “If I had a knife, you’d be bleeding out right now,” he breathed into her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair and throat.

  She shrieked and tried to kick him, and when she failed, she cried out with a fiery passion. His cock throbbed at the sound of her exerting herself. The sensation of restraining her. This was exactly what he wanted to see. She was fierce. Much more tenacious than she thought.

  “Next time someone lunges at you, I want you to take control like this.” He maneuvered her arms to demonstrate a basic self-defense move.

  She seemed to understand his game then, and wiggled even harder against him until she realized it was futile.

  “Use the technique,” he urged.

  As she tried it on him, he explained, “You need to know stuff like this if you’re going to go it alone.”

  He released her and turned her to face him.

  “Don’t do that again,” she snapped. Her face was red and flushed, and Jake wondered if that’s what she looked like after she came. He wanted so desperately to watch her orgasm… especially if it happened to be all over his face.

  “I’ll do what I want.” He grinned insolently and returned to his work. “We leave in five. Do what you need to do to be ready.”

  He assessed her for a moment, waiting to see if she would bite. When she stood in silence, viciously seething, he grinned.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. You need me. And that’s that. Once it’s done, you’ll be rid of me.”

  She continued glaring. “Fine.”

  “So we agree, then. You are vulnerable, and I shouldn’t have done what I did last night.”

  “Fine.”

  Disgruntled and pissed off, she became a sheet of ice. He was both proud of her and worried he had pushed her too far. He never had been great at figuring out female emotions. Hell, he’d never been great at figuring out his.

  And then she swiftly exited the tent with a big fuck-you attitude.

  Jake grabbed a pile of blankets and mats and jumped out the tent door, stowing them away in the
black bag. He kept his eye on Aisha as she milled about near the trunk, doubling down on her instant coffee. At least she wouldn’t fall in love with him for his hospitality skills anytime soon.

  It didn’t take long before he had cleared the tent and covered their tracks, storing all of his emergency items in the trunk of his car. Once a SEAL, always fucking prepared. He could—and intended to—escape a zombie apocalypse with that car. It had some fucking shit in it.

  Shutting the trunk, the last tasks complete, Aisha remained pretty pissed off as she stood beside the car, waiting for Jake to say something. For a woman who’d spent the night in the woods, she was as beautiful as ever. Her black hair, though ruffled, was smoothed back into a ponytail. Her face, without any makeup, was bright and youthful, if a little puffy from the sleep deprivation.

  Watching him watch her, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. Finally, Jake did what he did best and issued orders. If she wanted to be his squaddie, then she would have to accept that he was the boss.

  “It’s time we roll, princess,” he barked, and turned to find his way to the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t call me that.” She scowled.

  “Why?” He crossed his arms across his chest to match her. “To use your favorite word.”

  “I left that name behind. I’m just Aisha now. I’ve asked you nicely, but if you do it again, there will be problems.”

  Jake supressed his desire to wave his hands in mock fear. But he couldn’t discourage her now. She was just starting to get assertive. She was coming out of her shell, gaining confidence. He knew it was in her.

  “Well maybe we should have cool code names,” he suggested with a sardonic smile. “You know, since we’re basically a black ops team now.”

  “Stop that. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He turned away while she stood there, stewing, her hands on her hips. Those fucking hips. His pants grew tighter, and he averted his gaze. He wanted to fuck her in a serious way. Could they have a cheat day? He never was one for rules.

  A fantasy took hold in his mind, unshakeable. There was nothing that turned him on more than holding a woman down, planting his face between her thighs, and drawing out orgasm after orgasm as she fought against him. The rough play was what he was all about. The more of a fight, the better. That’s why Jake was only attracted to strong, assertive women: women who knew what they wanted and could handle his game. Handle his power.

  That’s exactly why he found Aisha so fucking hot. So fucking tempting.

  They clambered into the black muscle car and buckled in. Thankfully his Shelby had big enough tires and thick enough tread to get out of the snowy area. It also had a dark enough after-market tint to keep onlookers guessing.

  Jake kept it streamlined. He was a black-on-black kind of guy. His hoodie, his gun underneath, his plate armor in the back, his tapered jeans—all black. Quietly professional, dark and menacing. Topped by black ink in his tattoos and dark-brown hair that he slicked back.

  He couldn’t help but muse how good Aisha would look on his arm. Her golden skin, kissed by the sun but fair enough to betray an aroused flush, juxtaposed nicely with her long, black hair. She kept it straight and shiny, but it curled disobediently at the ends. He loved that—it reminded him of the disobedience that lurked inside her.

  The disobedience that inspired her to flee, to defect—to fight against all odds to find freedom. Not unlike himself, if you looked at it a certain way.

  “What is our plan now?” Her question broke the stillness. “The airport?”

  He nodded. “The storm broke last night, so they should get the jet to the airport today. And we will be there—ready to get you the fuck on that plane and stateside.”

  Aisha let out a slow breath, and he could see she was processing. They were almost fucking there. Almost. He just needed to get her on that plane.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  He thought for a second about that, trying to think of a job to make her feel involved. He had to keep encouraging her—they had finally hit a cooperative equilibrium.

  “Just keep me company so I don’t fall asleep,” he replied, less than selflessly.

  “Okay, what do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. You’re the female. Figure it out.” He grinned, drinking in her indignant expression.

  Jake couldn’t help it—he loved getting a rise out of her. Her anger and frustration turned him on. Maybe he was a depraved fuck, but at least he owned it.

  As the car rolled up the long, unplowed road that led back to the main highway, Aisha formulated a question that immediately wiped the smug look off Jake’s face.

  “Why did you leave the SEALs, anyway?” She raised her eyebrow. “Did you have a hard time getting along with people?”

  Jake laughed at her jeer, but internally struggled with the sirens screaming in his mind. Why’d he leave? Good question. But he just couldn’t fucking go there. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her—he just couldn’t open that box and lose his shit yet again.

  “Look, Aisha, I know I’m not the easiest man in the world. I know I’m intense. Opinionated. But none of that had anything to with why I left.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she muttered.

  A vibrating sensation came through the steering wheel, and he clutched harder. That better not mean what I think it means.

  “I said keep me company, not turn this drive into the Spanish Inquisition.” His grip tightening on the steering wheel, and his brows pinched in concern.

  “I do what I want,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. “As a great philosopher once said.”

  Her sassy side turned him on more than he wanted her to know. But before he could open his mouth, she carried on.

  “Of course. I almost forgot. You are a wounded hero who will never talk about it. Until one day it is too late, and it all comes out.”

  She was too close to the target, and it made him shift uncomfortably. She was wise for her years—and she saw him in a way he didn’t expect.

  Taking a pause to plot his next steps, Jake noticed that the morning sun had risen brightly, casting shadows through the tall trees as they reached the head of the backroad. The light and shadow created a strobe effect through the car window, cascading onto her face to highlight her high cheekbones.

  Jake exhaled, turning onto a main road. “There were problems.”

  “Care to explain further?”

  “No.”

  “That is the difference between me and you.” She was looking out the window at the snowy Canadian hills, but her voice rose in frustration.

  “And what’s that?” he asked absently. The vibration through the steering wheel was becoming harder to control.

  “You aren’t willing to talk about it.”

  “You have me all figured out, don’t you?” he grunted, observing cars passing by, continuing to check for signs that they’d been spotted.

  She looked back at him sarcastically. “Don’t be so cliché.”

  He retained his usual cynicism but… he was actually enjoying himself. It was good to see her coming out of her shell, and he commended himself for playing a role in it.

  She was obviously an intelligent woman, a critical thinker—a planner, a participant—and those traits played into her ability to be right there, right then with him in the car. He looked over at her again and noticed she was beaming up at him, an expectant twinkle in her eye.

  “What?” he demanded. “Speak.”

  “Nothing.” She smiled to herself and gazed into the distance at a tall ski hill. They weren’t too far from the private airport.

  “No, really. What?” He furrowed his brow. “Out with it.”

  She shrugged and kept her self-satisfied smile. He realized that she was gaining pleasure from his frustration. Have I created a monster? He smirked to himself.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said, changing the subject.r />
  “I have a sister. She’s great. You’ll like her. Parents are retired on a golf course. And I don’t have any kids.” He rattled off the highlights. He didn’t usually like to talk about himself.

  “Married?” she asked, and he could have sworn her tone was slightly higher pitched and a little strained.

  As they rolled down a plowed two-road highway that led into the heart of ski territory, he made it damn clear. “I wouldn’t have done what I did last night if I was married.”

  She smirked. “I can still ask the question.”

  “Well, I’m not. You interested?” He let out a low, sarcastic laugh. But as soon as he said it, he regretted it. He tried his hardest not to crane his neck to judge her reaction. The slightest delay in her response made his heart skip a beat. Maybe he needed an ECG at his next stress test.

  “Who wouldn’t be?” she muttered insincerely.

  He shot her a warning glare.

  “Seriously though, why aren’t you married? I thought American men got married around your age.”

  “First of all, I would really like to know what your age means.” He scoffed, looking in his rearview mirror at a black SUV that pulled in behind them from a small laneway. He reminded himself that it was normal for rich ski people to drive black SUVs. And these models were really fucking popular.

  All the same, he prepared to fight, growing increasingly aware of the pistol in the pancake holster that dug into the small of his back.

  “I haven’t met the right one yet. I thought I had in my twenties… but then work kicked the shit out of me, and she wasn’t there. So here I am. What about you? Why hasn’t daddy married you off to the Saudi prince yet?”

  “You do realize that I’m not just a caricature, right? What do you even know about my culture?”

  “I was deployed to the Gulf—I know a few things.”

  “It’s not the same in every Arab country,” she scolded him, “and it’s not as simplistic as you might think. Don’t assume you know. I’m not married because our monarchy considers it ideal for women to graduate from higher education, like medicine or law, before they marry.”