In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  "I'll help you, Manara," he promised her softly, lifting one hand to brush back long strands of her silky hair. "I'll help you get your temple back."

  Chapter Twenty

  As Manara's eyes lifted, full of unshed tears and shining gratitude, Matt knew no other woman on earth would ever compare to her. Like a flash of heat lightning, he realized he loved her. When, or even how, it happened was a mystery to him, but he suspected it wasn't a recent feeling. He'd been falling in love with her since he first met her eyes across that noisy dock in Sidon. Now, all he was aware of was the press of her softness against him, the hesitant desire in her eyes and her soft, full lips. With a small groan, he surrendered to his heart's dictates.

  "I'm sorry," he breathed, just before his mouth settled over hers. He poured all the passion, need and longing in him into his kiss.

  Manara moaned softly, sinking against him. Her face lifted to receive his probing kiss, and Matt's heart leapt in hope. Something changed. Before, Manara would never respond to his kiss in this open, uninhibited way. There was always a reserved air to her response. He waited tensely for her to back away. But not now. She was warm, pliant and holding nothing back. He was the one to draw away after a moment to meet her eyes. He had to see for himself that she really wanted this. The transparent desire in her eyes was all the answer he needed, his throat and gut tightening simultaneously as his libido skyrocketed straight out of the atmosphere. That she could trust him so completely after what he did to her... The road back had been rocky, both of them hidden behind pride and private misery. That they made it back, together, amazed and humbled him. Now, as she gave herself up to him, he sensed the gathering of power between them and his pulse thrilled to the sudden change in Manara as he covered her mouth in another scorching kiss. Gone were the walls, the almost prim distance she insisted upon maintaining since their first heated encounter in her tent. The woman in his arms now was the one he always suspected lurked behind Manara's walled gaze. She was pure fire. There was no surrender, no simple obedience to the moment or exhausted capitulation. Her lips clung and offered, freely, a passion deeper and more enduring than time itself.

  Matt changed the angle of his kiss, rocking her lips open beneath his to plumb the depths of her mouth. She groaned in answering passion, her tongue meeting and returning his exploration as one hand circled his neck, pulling him closer. Then she was turning in his arms, kneeling between his thighs, her hands on his face as they lost themselves in a kiss that bound their hearts across centuries.

  Matt brought his hands up, making short work of the buttons on her BDU shirt. He pushed the material away as he broke their kiss, his mouth moving against her jaw and throat. She moaned softly in response and then suddenly pulled away.

  Matt's eyes opened warily, afraid she was rejecting him again. He would let her walk away if that's what she wanted, even though he knew it would kill him. As he watched a seductive, mysterious smile cross her face, his heart nearly stopped and he wondered hazily what she could possibly be up to now.

  "In ancient times, the Priestess of the Temple of Ishtar danced for the King once every spring to bring the power of Ishtar into the union of land and man," she explained softly as she rose to her feet. "It was meant to ensure prosperity and good fortune for the coming year."

  Matt's breath stopped and he stared, his gaze avid, as Manara's hips started to slowly undulate. He'd spent enough time in the Middle East, and he knew belly dancing when he saw it. This wasn't it. Manara's steps were woven with an intricacy that might have long ago spawned the subtle dance most of the world knew, but hers was more graceful and much more provocative. Somehow, she managed to make the bulky BDUs seem more enticing than the sheerest negligee. Moving slowly on her bare feet, she rotated her hips in a motion that left him dizzy with desire. Her dance wove a spellbinding tale all its own, of seduction, lust and love. With each complex step, she grew less contained and more beautiful. Matt never felt so deeply aroused or acutely aware as he felt now, watching her supple body bend and weave to a rhythm he swore he could almost hear pounding in his ears.

  Slowly, her shirt disappeared, followed by the bulky pants. She wore nothing else, finishing her now-frenzied dance in bare splendor. Her final movements brought her directly over him and she dropped, sheened in perspiration and panting lightly, to straddle his lap. Her gaze, locked on his, was full of heat and need that tripped his pulse over the edge and into pure ecstasy.

  He reached to touch her bare shoulders, her skin as soft and supple as he remembered. Slowly, he slid his hands over her shoulders and down her back, tangling his fingers in her long, dark hair as he buried his lips in the warm hollow of her neck. He heard her gasp and moan as she pressed closer, as greedy for sensation as he. He breathed in her scent, life-warm and feminine, touched with that spicy fragrance she claimed to be frankincense but he knew only as Manara.

  Manara's eyes closed on a soft moan as Matthew's hands on flesh sensitized by her temple dance sent shockwaves of sensation she could neither contain nor explain through her body. Her breasts were tight and heavy, and a dull, needy pain circled inside her belly. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands everywhere, his mouth on her skin. She wanted to touch him, to feel warm skin where there was only soft cloth. Frantically, her fingers pulled at the cotton of his shirt, the material tearing in her haste.

  "Easy," Matt murmured as he lifted his head to look into her eyes, a slow, sexy smile inching across his face.

  She didn't want easy, Manara thought rebelliously as her pulse kicked up another notch. She wanted fast and frantic. She wanted to know nothing was capable of halting this, least of all her own foolish fears. Matthew must have read her intentions in her eyes because his touch suddenly changed, softly stroking, calming even as he aroused.

  "It's all right, sweetheart," he murmured as he trailed light kisses across her face and neck. "We're all alone out here. I checked everything when we got here, remember? And I don't have any other plans." His gaze narrowed on her face. "Do you?"

  Not if her life depended on it, Manara decided with a delicious shiver as Matthew's fingers played gently over the peak of her left breast. Smiling tremulously, she reached to help him out of the ripped tee shirt, running her hands softly over the smooth, hard planes of his chest. He was built like she imagined a warrior would be -- all muscles, angles and virile strength. His skin was sleek beneath her hands, his heartbeat fast. His eyes were near closed in desire as he returned her playful explorations with his own more knowledgeable caresses. Tears stung her eyes as, in the half-light, she traced the thin white lines of old scars across his chest, knowing that each one cut straight through to his noble, loving heart, and the dull red ridges that ran to the gnarled scar on his abdomen, a painful reminder of his sacrifice in Lebanon. Hesitantly, she bent to press soft kisses along each scar, hoping to replace their pain with new joy. She heard his growling moan, felt his hands tangle in her hair, and knew she would do anything to release him from his nightmarish past. She loved this man, battered heart and all.

  Matt gently drew Manara away as his control frayed and he feared he could hurt her with his passion. It'd been too long and he needed her too badly. Matt drew a deep breath of chilly night air to regain control of the needs and desires clawing at him. He hadn't expected her gentle, loving kisses, and each one sent a spike of pure, tender desire ricocheting through him. He didn't want to lose control. Not yet. Staring into Manara's passion-glazed eyes, he knew he had to make this good for her. She might want him, heart and mind, but that didn't change the fact she was still a virgin. Pulling her against himself, he covered her mouth with his own, pouring his passion into that tender assault as he rose up, and lowered her swiftly but gently onto the sandy floor.

  Manara's breath exploded from her lungs on a small cry as Matt transferred his mouth to the sensitive peak of her breast. She strained toward him, her fingers clenching against his head and shoulders. Her legs came up, anchoring around his waist and Matt fought
down the urge to take what she offered so blatantly. He tried to back off a bit and slow down, but Manara clearly had other ideas. Her small, capable hands clutched his ass as she ground against him. Her head tossed in defiant need as he reached to gently disengage her legs.

  "Easy, sweetheart," he whispered, smoothing his hands over her bare thighs and hips. "You've got a ways to go yet."

  "Matthew," she begged breathlessly, her body fretting restlessly as he moved away enough to gather his control. Good God, she was more fire than he ever imagined!

  "I know, sweetheart. I know," he murmured, trailing kisses down the inside of one raised thigh. Closing his eyes, he prayed for control as he never prayed for anything in his life. If he never did another thing right, he had to get this right. This woman owned his heart and probably his soul, and she was a virgin. Dear God, what was he doing? It was like some twisted test, pitting the darkest soul with the cleanest to see if one would taint the other. He'd never slept with a virgin before. Hell, he hadn't realized they still existed with all the teenage pregnancies out there. God help him, he wasn't strong enough to resist Manara -- he never had been. He wanted to touch, to taste, to fill himself with her sweetness and trusting beauty while he could. As his lips reached the soft delta of her thighs, he felt her body stiffen, then soften with a whimper of pleasure and knew, no matter what, he couldn't fail her.

  She had never felt sensations like these. With his clever hands and mouth, Matthew took her somewhere she had never been, rising on a spiral of need higher than Babel's Tower until she was certain she would die. She opened her eyes, staring into the flickering shadows of firelight dancing across the hut's ceiling as he took her over the edge of sanity and into soul-shattering ecstasy.

  She had barely begun to recover when he rose over her and paused, looking down with a worried frown belied by the mingled tenderness and need of his gaze.

  "Manara," he breathed her name through teeth clenched in painful desire. "I need you... but I don't want to hurt you."

  She smiled softly at the painful uncertainty in his eyes. Love blossomed, deep and enduring in her heart. This was the man she would always love, no matter how wrong it was for her to give her heart to him. She knew the darkness in his past, now, and it no longer frightened her. No matter his threat, or his fear, Matthew would never harm her. Her womb warmed and spasmed as she stared into his eyes, and her own heart, then ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, tugging lightly as she whispered, "I trust you, Matthew."

  With that, she raised her hips and felt the first nudging of his flesh parting hers. He stiffened with a choked groan and then sank into her in one swift, smooth slide. There was barely even a twinge of pain and none of the discomfort she expected; just a completeness that bordered on all-new ecstasy as she shifted to take him fully.

  "Manara," he gasped her name like a prayer of salvation, and the tremor of their joining settled deep inside her. His eyes opened then, and he looked down at her with a glazed, concerned look in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. So... sorry."

  She shifted against him, and sensation flashed inward. She gasped, and arched into the slow thrusts of his body. "Love me, Matthew."

  His hands grasped the backs of her thighs, lifting them as he filled her again, deeper than before. She gasped, reaching for him as he set a rhythm made to take them to the stars. Her earlier show was merely a dim shadow of this older, more primal dance. Their mingled breathing melted to moans, whispered promises and endearments that shuddered across the pages of time. Insanity returned to Manara as she strove toward ecstasy. Then, with a cry, she was there and her eyes opened as her body embraced his, watching his eyes go blind for one shatteringly perfect moment in time. As Manara slowly melted into the cool sand, she understood at last why love was the greatest magic in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Someone called her name. With a soft smile, Manara surfaced from dreams to the awareness of Matthew's voice. His warm fingers gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. She stretched languidly, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down for a sleepy kiss.

  Matthew broke away after only a second, bringing Manara fully alert. Opening her eyes, she stared up at him in confusion, noting brownish-red smears on his face.

  "As much as I'd love to continue, sweetheart, we've got a... situation." His eyes were grimly worried. Her gaze sharpened, Manara identified the stains on his face and clothes for what they were... blood. Instantly, she was up, pushing him down.

  "Where are you injured? Are you dizzy? Where--?"

  "Manara!" He caught her hands, halting her frantic motions with his steady, reassuring gaze. "Calm down, sweetheart. It's not my blood."

  She stared at him, confused. If it wasn't her blood, and it wasn't his, either, then... "Where--?"

  "Get dressed. As much as I hate to do this, it's better if I show you."

  Manara's brow remained furrowed as she followed his instructions. She didn't like the sound of this. He called it a situation. What kind of situation bloodied a man's face and clothes while sealing his lips?

  A few moments later, Manara had her answer and wished she never asked. Standing beside Matthew, her eyes filled with tears and her face froze in horror, Manara viewed the carnage laid out before her eyes and fought the urge to be ill. Unsteadily, she groped for Matthew's arm, clinging to him with all the strength she possessed as she stared out over at blood-soaked stretch of land. A swatch of cloth, like a bloody flag, snapped on the stiff desert breeze from its position in the low desert brush. It was easier to look there than to see what made up its genesis.

  The pieces were almost unrecognizable as body parts from this distance. At first glance, they looked like nothing more than dust-caked red rocks. However, the carrion birds that circled and swooped in to grab up the pieces belied that illusion. Then she saw the heads. Sitting side-by-side, staring toward their home, were the bloody, slashed heads of a man and a woman. His beard was matted with blood, and her hair was hacked off and clumped near her dismembered head. Gashes slit open the skin to the bone and their eyes held matching, blank expressions of terror.

  Her stomach heaved without warning, and Manara spun away and dropped to the ground as she retched. Even the temple had not been this grotesque or without cause. Sobs folded her over long after the illness passed and she rocked back and forth on her knees, wailing for these people whose souls she was not strong enough to save.

  She sensed movement and knew when Matthew crouched beside her by the warmth of his hand on her back. With another sob, she threw herself into his embrace, and clung with all her strength to his rock-solid support.

  "How?" She cried, as fury rose up to mingle with failure and pain. "How could this happen? How could we not know?"

  "I found them this morning when I went to recon the other side of the ridge. It's not pretty over there."

  Her gaze snapped to his grim face as he spoke those quiet words. Her stomach roiled as her mind painted grotesque pictures, but she forced herself to ask the question she really didn't want answered.

  "There are more?"

  "Just goats and sheep. Animals," he reassured her quietly as he helped her to her feet, and then placed a protective arm around her as she swayed. Squeezing her gently, he asked, "Are you okay?"

  Manara's stomach heaved again. Okay? Anything but, she acknowledged queasily as she turned to stare at the carnage, which was all that remained of the goatherd and his wife. She didn't have to ask who brutally dismembered them or their herd. She already knew.

  "It was... it was like this at the temple, too," she whispered weakly as she clung to Matthew's steady support. "Bodies torn apart as if by some terrible beast."

  She took a shaky step toward the bodies before Matthew caught her, pulling her back. His expression was tender and his eyes filled with concern as he gazed down into her face. A shadow touched those muddy eyes and she realized the demon responsible for this evil had already reached across the span of oceans and
polluted another heart with such vileness it was driven to butchery. The horrible memory of Rachel Murray never left Matthew, though he hardened himself against its influence over time. But there was fear beneath that hardness. Fear for her.

  "I want you to go back to the camp in Syria," he told her quietly. "I don't want you here."

  Anger infused her spirit and pushed aside both grief and guilt. He did not understand. Now, more than ever, she was certain of her task and her destiny. She must go on. "You cannot send me back. You will need me, Matthew. What if you get hurt?"

  "I'm a trained paramedic, Manara. I can deal with almost anything." His eyes pleaded with her. "Things will happen. Things I don't want you to see."

  She had a terrible feeling she knew exactly what kinds of things he referred to, and she was damned if she would let him die in some foolish quest to prove himself a better person than Rachel Murray. She had to make him see he already was a good man.

  "There are wounds no modern medicine can heal, Matthew. And even if you should get through without wounding at all, you will not find the temple without me." She faced him down, her chin lifted bravely as she looked directly into her fate. She would not back away again. "Do not attempt to shield me from my duty, Matthew. No living creature, man or beast, can halt what must happen. I learned that at great cost to myself. I will not run now, when I stand to lose everything I love. I will go on, with or without you."

  His eyes flashed in frustration. "Would you open your eyes and face reality for once? Goddammit, Manara, this isn't about your temple or some mythic demon, anymore! This is about a madman who's slaughtering everyone and everything he can find. I don't want him anywhere near you. How would you defend yourself?"