A Soldier's Quest

by Lori Handeland

  Instead, he planned to rappel down the side of the building, land on the balcony and slip inside the dark, silent penthouse, then discover if Jane was in there. Piece of cake.

  No guard on the roof. What were they thinking? Of course they hadn’t been expecting him.

  By 11:20 p.m. Bobby was opening the floor-length patio doors—unlocked, morons—and stepping into the main salon of the suite. Lucky sat directly in front of the doors staring at him as hard as she could with one eye.

  “You’re more on the ball than anyone else,” he whispered.

  Her tongue hung out of her mouth when she smiled at him.

  “Good girl.” Bobby patted her bony head. She slobbered on his hand, and he didn’t even mind.

  Leaving his gear on the balcony, Bobby went first to one bedroom—empty—then to the second.

  The bathroom door stood half open. Light spilled across the carpet and illuminated Jane in the bed. His heart sped up. His throat went thick. Hair unbound and spread over the pillow, she looked like Sleeping Beauty.

  “Stay,” he whispered to Lucky, then shut the door in her face.

  His plan had been to slip in, talk to Jane, tell her what he’d learned. Instead, he found himself slipping across the floor, kneeling by the side of the bed, and then just watching her sleep.

  He hadn’t thought her pretty, even before the bruises. But now, with the swelling receding and the discoloration fading, she was stunning. Maybe there really was something to the saying that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

  Or perhaps he should fall back on the old standard: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Though his personal favorite had to be…

  Only with a kiss will she awaken.

  Leaning over, Bobby was a breath away from their first kiss when she slapped him. His ear rang; his cheek stung. But he had the presence of mind to put his palm over Jane’s mouth before she screamed.

  “It’s me,” he said urgently.

  Her eyes widened, and her lips moved. The sensation shot straight to his groin, and Bobby snatched his hand away.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Shh! Do you want them to hear you?”

  Her eyes glittered in the half light. “They’re here?”

  She sat up, and the sheet pooled at her waist. Someone had bought her a very nice negligee. Bobby couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight.

  He’d thought her flat-chested. He’d been wrong. With the appropriate window dressing her chest was anything but flat.

  “How did they get in the country? How did they get in the hotel?”

  “Huh?”

  “Soldier boy.” Jane snapped her fingers in front of his face. “I’m up here.”

  His face heated. Thankfully the room was too dark for her to see.

  “They who?” he asked.

  She made an exasperated sound. Her chest jiggled enticingly, and he lost his train of thought again.

  “You said they’ll hear. Are there more drug dealers out there?” She tilted her head and a lock of hair fell over one perfect breast. “I don’t hear Lucky.”

  “She’s fine. Is that blue?”

  He couldn’t make out the color of her negligee. Something slinky, silky, blue or maybe purple.

  He leaned closer and got a whiff of—“You smell like strawberries.”

  Jane put one finger under his chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No.”

  “Who’s out there?”

  “Lucky. And your guards, I assume. Walking the walk of the terminally stupid.”

  She laughed, then slapped a hand across her mouth. Bobby found himself smiling, too. Why did he like her so much?

  His gaze drifted lower once more. Then again, what wasn’t to like?

  “Wait a second,” Jane said. “Why are you worried about the guards? Did you sneak in?”

  “They wouldn’t let me see you.”

  Jane frowned. “They wouldn’t let me leave.”

  “I’m sure your mother and the colonel feel you’re safer in here.”

  “No one is supposed to get in but them. So what’s your excuse?”

  “What’s theirs? It wasn’t that hard.”

  “My mother is going to blow a gasket.”

  “She should. Anyone could rappel down the building and walk in through the balcony doors.”

  “Well, hoo-ah,” she said quietly. “You did that for me?”

  “I didn’t drag you out of a hut and through a jungle to let you get killed in your own bed at the Jefferson Hotel.”

  “But—” Jane’s face scrunched in confusion. It was a testament to the healing power of the human body that such an intense expression no longer caused her pain. “The bad guys are in Mexico. Aren’t they?”

  “If they are, then why the extreme, yet crappy, security?”

  “Good question,” she murmured. “So what brings you here, Luchetti?”

  The word you was on the tip of his tongue. But this was about protecting her life, not getting in her pants.

  Can’t you do both? asked the devil on his shoulder.

  “New information,” he blurted out before he listened to that devil.

  “Spill it.”

  She shifted and the negligee pulled tightly across her chest. For an instant he thought she might actually pop right out of the plunging neckline. Instead, her leg slid free of the covers—long, strong, tanned. He remembered very vividly having those thighs wrapped around his waist as he—

  “Hell.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Um. What was the question?”

  Jane’s smile was pure woman. She knew what she was doing to him, and she was enjoying it.

  “New information? Bad guys in Mexico? Or no?”

  “No. Yes. Hell.”

  “Again with the hell? Maybe we should just do it first, talk later.”

  “Do what?”

  “Luchetti, you are an idiot. The big it. Do. It. You and me.”

  “Now?”

  “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

  “But that was—”

  “An accident? A mistake? A one-night stand?”

  “Yes. No. Hell.”

  “I doubt anyone else is going to break in. We’re all alone, except for Lucky. And this bed’s much better than the last one.”

  He’d almost talked himself into the belief that their relationship had been about sex—one night and they were done—but they weren’t done.

  He’d tried to convince his conscience that what he felt for Jane was lust brought on by having his ego rapped hard by Marlie. He was with Jane because he needed to be with someone, to feel wanted again. But when he looked at her, the explanation didn’t wash.

  He wanted to be with her. Not only was he attracted physically, but he just plain liked the woman. He wanted to be here more than he wanted to be anywhere right now.

  Which was such a mind-boggling thought, he wasn’t sure what to do.

  He should tell her what he’d come to say, then run all the way home to Illinois. But he couldn’t. Even before she pulled the straps down her shoulders and shrugged off the lacy negligee.

  In Puerto he hadn’t taken the time to look. Tonight he did and lost any resistance he might have had.

  The garment pooled around her waist, accenting the muscles in her stomach, the rounded weight of her breasts, the pale perfection of her skin. He wanted to run his palm over that skin, his mouth across her belly, press his cheek against her breast. So he did.

  She smelled fresh and clean—sun, wind, strawberries. He would never be able to order shortcake again without thinking of her, and maybe that wasn’t so bad.

  She lay back on the bed and he flipped the quilt to the floor, tugged the negligee down, down, down her legs, to reveal she wore nothing under it.

  As she writhed beneath his hands, arched beneath his mouth, clutched his shoulders as his tongue dipped into her navel, he traced lower and lower, teasing
, tormenting, making her shatter in his arms.

  He collapsed onto the bed at her side. Fingers entwined with hers, he listened as her breathing evened out, then she stirred, raising onto one elbow and staring into his face.

  “While I have to admit that was pretty erotic, you need to lose the gun, soldier boy. The clothes, too.”

  Bobby blinked. He was still dressed, shoulder holster in place. He still had his boots on.

  “Sorry.” Bobby scrambled off the bed.

  “Don’t be. I like it that you don’t think of anything else but me.”

  His gaze flicked to hers. For an instant he thought she was making a dig, that she knew about his love for his brother’s wife. But her eyes were open and honest. She meant what she said, and he felt like scum. Though he had to admit, when his mouth was on Jane’s skin, he wasn’t thinking of anything else but her.

  “The clothes,” she reminded him.

  He removed his shoulder holster, popped the magazine, set the gun and ammo aside, then drew his black T-shirt over his head and his black pants over his hips. Seconds later, his boots, socks and underwear followed.

  Jane stared at his body, her gaze wandering over him from top to bottom. He shifted, uneasy with her perusal. How had she managed to lie there and allow him do the same without squirming?

  Of course, a woman’s body was much more beautiful than a man’s, and Jane’s was the most beautiful he’d ever seen—taut, sculpted by muscle, yet with enough curves to make things interesting. He wanted to touch her all over again.

  “Come here,” she demanded.

  He headed for the bed at a near run.

  “Whoa.” Jane stood, stopping him with a palm to his chest. “Take a deep breath.”

  The halting hand turned into a caress as she curled her fingers, skimmed her nails over his nipples, ran a finger down his belly, then followed the path with her lips.

  When her mouth closed around him he groaned, and she chuckled, the rumble of the sound skimming along his skin, compounding the nearly unbearable sensation.

  Until just recently, he’d had sex regularly. It was amazing, or maybe not so amazing, how many women wanted to sleep with a soldier.

  However, the encounters had always been hurried, intense, and he’d left as soon as they were over. It was also amazing, or maybe not so amazing, how many women would kill an American soldier for very little money.

  But he trusted Jane completely. Enough to relax in her presence and forget about the world for a while. Enough to let her touch him in ways no one else ever had, taking him deeply in her mouth and holding him there for almost too long. Which wasn’t very long at all.

  He inched her back onto the bed, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist, he thrust inside, gritting his teeth to keep from exploding at the first slick slide of her body against his.

  The sensation of skin on skin was one he’d never experienced with anyone else but her. Condoms were a necessity and usually he didn’t mind. Better safe than dead. But this was so—

  “Good,” he said quietly.

  “Great.” Her voice was hoarse, breathless.

  “Spectacular.”

  “Symphonic.”

  “Mind altering.”

  “Mmm.”

  The desire to kiss her was nearly overwhelming, but her lip was still swollen and bruised. A split appeared to have opened, bled and healed over again. He settled for nuzzling her nose instead.

  “Now,” she whispered, and tightened around him.

  The heat, the friction, the pressure, he couldn’t think, he could only feel and do as she commanded, holding her closer.

  Now.

  JANE WAS ALL TANGLED UP in him—and she wasn’t just talking about their bodies. Her thoughts, her emotions, her needs and desires.

  Which so wasn’t good. Bobby had come here for a reason, and it wasn’t this. Though she had to say this was unbelievable. The man was the best lay she’d ever had.

  Jane flinched at her own crude thought. Even seeing it as her subconscious attempt to keep a distance, to not get hurt, she was still ashamed. Sometimes having a medical degree, with the resulting rotation through psychology, was as much a curse as a gift.

  She tried to shift away; Bobby pulled her right back.

  “Don’t,” he whispered into her hair.

  For an instant she considered pressing the issue, then gave up. She didn’t want to leave the circle of his arms. Besides, she’d been the one to suggest the sex in the first place. If he wanted to cuddle, who was she to argue? And wasn’t that an amusing gender reversal?

  “No condom again,” he murmured.

  “Still on the pill.”

  Hey, and this time she wasn’t lying, though it hadn’t been easy to replace them. Jane had tried to call the pharmacy, only to discover she was unable to access an outside line. She’d had to ask her mother to get the prescription refilled, which had been a lovely conversation. Not.

  But at least Raeanne had done what she asked, or rather seen that it was done. Jane had been unamused when one of the goons who now lived in the penthouse elevator had laid the package on the hall table.

  “I need to get out of here,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  Jane pulled back and peered into his face. He stared at her impassively. “Okay?”

  “You want out. I’ll take you. That’s kind of what I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You came here to tell me something.”

  Quickly he recounted the information he’d gotten from the man in her village.

  “You think my mother is being blackmailed?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t know my mother. The Senate is her life. She wouldn’t do whatever it is they want her to do.”

  “Exactly. Which is why she sent me to rescue you.”

  “I have a hard time believing she’d put her career on the line for me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Wait until you meet her.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I keep meaning it.”

  He tucked her head under his chin, then tossed the cover over them both. “Sleep, Jane. In the morning we’ll talk to your mother, tell her what I know, ask what’s going on. Together, we’ll work everything out.”

  He sounded so confident; Jane wished she could be, too. Unfortunately Raeanne Harker was not known for working things out.

  She fell asleep easily in Bobby’s arms, waking only when he jerked and muttered her name. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was 4:00 a.m.

  “Shh,” she murmured, and rubbed his back.

  He came awake and was immediately alert. His sharp eyes scanned the room even as he reached for the weapon on the night stand.

  “Relax.” She touched his arm, drawing his gaze back to hers. “No one here but us.”

  He pulled his hand away from the gun and began fooling with her hair, which seemed to have wrapped around them both.

  “Nightmare?” he asked.

  “You were the one jerking and mumbling. You said my name.”

  “I doubt it was a nightmare, then.” He waggled his brows.

  Jane recognized denial when she saw it. “If you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.”

  “Okay,” he said, in a voice that revealed he had no idea what she meant.

  “Sometimes talking helps the dreams fade. You give them power by holding them inside.”

  He sighed. “Jane—”

  “You don’t have to tell me. Only if you want to. You’d probably sleep better, too. If you didn’t see…whatever.”

  “The problem is, I don’t see anything.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t sleep well because I’ve trained myself to be hyperalert. Unless of course you and your mutt are creeping out of camp trying to get kidnapped.”

  Jane blushed. “I said I was sorry about that.”

  Gently he touched her bruised cheek. “So am I.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Wh
ose was it, then? I was supposed to be protecting you.”

  “If you want to assign blame, blame the man who hit me.”

  She could tell he didn’t agree. He believed it was his fault she’d been hurt, and she wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.

  “I asked you about your dreams when we were in Mexico,” she reminded him, “and you got all weird.”

  “Because I don’t have any. Or at least any bad ones. And isn’t that weird, considering?”

  He’d no doubt seen and done some pretty horrible things. Jane had never heard of a person who didn’t relive those kind of experiences in their dreams. Such was the nature of the subconscious.

  But maybe not for everyone. Just because she’d had one rotation of psychology didn’t mean she knew squat about it. That’s what psychologists were for.

  Bobby moved out of her arms and sat on the side of the bed. “I believe in what I do, and I’m very good at it. Every man I’ve killed died because he should have.”

  Once his words would have disturbed her, but not anymore. Jane had met the Little General. She’d been glad to see him die. She didn’t plan to let him invade her dreams, or steal one more moment of her life. Knowing that Bobby felt the same way only made her feel closer to him than when they’d been…what? Making love? This wasn’t about love. Intimacy? Maybe. She hadn’t truly been intimate with anyone. Ever. But she wanted to try with him.

  Tentatively, Jane reached out and touched Bobby’s arm. He flinched, but she refused to lift her hand. Instead, she scooted closer and laid her cheek against his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

  She repeated the words he’d once said to her, and he gave a short laugh. In a quick movement, he spun around, pressed her back on the bed and entered her.

  The sex was slow and sure, both sweet and sexy. Not another word was spoken, but so much was said.

  When it was over and he was sleeping again, Jane stared at the ceiling and wondered why he hadn’t kissed her.

  She touched her swollen lip. Did he find her ugly? Was this just sex for him?

  She remembered the movie Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts never kissed the men who paid to sleep with her. A kiss meant so much more than sex.

  Could that be Bobby’s take, too? Jane didn’t know, and she was afraid to ask. She didn’t want him to leave and never come back.