by Zoe Dawson
Chry opened her eyes and looked at him, far closer to tears than she wanted to be. She held his steady gaze and tried to smile. “We might never get another chance,” she whispered.
She almost pulled it off, but something happened, and a sob escaped. She gripped his back and hid her face against his neck, fighting for composure.
Cradling her head against him, 2-Stroke used his other arm to pull her beneath him, his weight braced on his forearms as he hugged her against him. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and settled his legs between hers, securing her against him. He tightened his hold and brushed a kiss against her neck. “I need you, Chry.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the one thing she needed most to hear, and she hugged him hard, struggling against tears.
He buried his face in her neck, and Chry felt his chest expand. Abruptly, everything changed. She felt him against her, hard and fully aroused, and her breath caught on the sudden wild flutter in her chest. Closing her eyes against the explosion of need, she hung on to him, a heady weakness pulsing through her. On a soft sound of entreaty, she drew up her knees, and 2-Stroke tried to pull away.
“No, babe. No,” he whispered raggedly. “We don’t have protection and once I get inside you, it will be over.”
Shaken to the core by the agony of need in his voice, her body primed for the feel of him, she clutched at him, rubbing her pelvis against his. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I promise. It’s okay.”
2-Stroke roughly tightened his hold and made a low sound and her system overloaded with a rush of hot, surging desire. Her heart laboring, Chry stared at him.
Smiling slightly, he stroked her mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?” His voice was softer now, huskier, more seductive.
Mesmerized by the look in his eyes, she somehow managed to swallow. “One hundred percent.”
He slid his fingers along her neck, rubbing his thumb against her frantically beating pulse point, his touch making her shiver. “I have thought about this for a long, long time,” he said.
That admission did unbearable things to her heart, and she closed her eyes against the sudden fullness in her chest.
2-Stroke shifted his hold, taking her face in his hands. “Look at me, babe,” he whispered. “I need you to look at me.”
She opened her eyes, drugged by sensation, paralyzed by his touch. He stared at her, his expression strained. Then he tipped her face up and slowly lowered his head, and Chry made a helpless sound and let her eyes drift shut again. Exerting pressure on her jaw, he opened her mouth, then covered it in a deep, searching kiss that drove every ounce of strength out of her body.
He worked his mouth hungrily against hers, and Chry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All she could do was hang on and ride out the thousand sensations exploding in her. 2-Stroke caught her by the hips and molded her flush against him, his mouth wide and hot as he ran his hand under her thermal top and up her back. He emitted a low sound of approval when he encountered nothing but bare skin, and he slid his hand up her torso, cupping her breast, stroking her with his thumb.
His touch drove the breath right out of her, and she made another helpless sound against his mouth. He tightened his arm around her back and dragged his mouth away, his breathing labored.
“Damn, flower girl, you feel so fucking good,” his voice hoarse, dragging his fingers against her hardened nipple. Her whole body trembling, Chry turned her face tighter against the soft skin of his neck, hanging on to him with a frantic strength.
Pulling his hand free of her top, he slid it under her hair to cup the back of her neck. “We don’t have much room to move in here,” he whispered unevenly, his touch meant to comfort as he stroked her skin. “But I am always up for a challenge.”
“Is this a competition?”
“Um…” he said, crushing her against him when she cupped the heavy heat between his legs. “I think it’s a win/win, babe.”
He slid both hands up her rib cage and under her top, then eased away from her. “Lift your arms.”
Chry eagerly did as he instructed, her breath jamming in her chest as he stripped the garment from her. He yanked his shirt free, and she weakly rested her head against his jaw, her whole body starting to unravel.
The instant he was free of his shirt, he roughly whispered her name and pressed his body down on hers, and Chry lost any ties to reality when he rubbed his chest against her naked breasts. Catching a handful of hair, he twisted her head back, covering her mouth with a kiss that made her crazy. Adjusting the fit of his mouth against her, he absorbed the sound, running his hands up her rib cage, rolling her hardened nipples with his thumbs.
She couldn’t stand it. Fighting for every breath against the frenzy inside her, she drank in the heat of his mouth, drawing his tongue deeper and deeper, and he rolled her nipples again as a fever of need seized her. Sobbing against his mouth, she reached down to push off the thermal underwear, then ran her fingertips up his thick, hard ridge and molded her hand around his shaft.
2-Stroke grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand away, making a hoarse sound deep in his throat. He tempered the kiss as he eased away from her and pushed the material off him. His breathing harsh and labored, he rested his forehead against her, as if collecting some control, then pulled at her thermal pants. His hands splayed wide on her hips, he slowly, slowly shoved them down, his lips grazing her collarbone, the tip of one breast, her midriff.
Tipping her head back, Chry clutched his shoulders, her heart jumping when he dragged his hot, wet mouth across her belly. Then he was at the aching core of her.
She moaned as he licked her with a searing stroke for several moments, the sensation tightening her with spiraling pleasure. Seemingly ruthless in his quest to make her come, he closed his mouth over her and plunged his tongue deep. The pleasure was sharp and riveting and stole her breath. A low throbbing began in her belly, then spiraled down to her sex, and she grabbed handfuls of his hair wanting more, needing more…
The sleek, gliding pressure of his thumbs caressing her soft lips and stroking her rhythmically, combined with his wicked tongue working its own seductive magic, was the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced. The man knew what he was doing. Unable to hold back, she let out a cry and arched sinuously against his mouth as she came in a burning wave that shook her entire body.
Feeling as if she was drowning in the thick, pulsating sensations, Chry shivered as he worked his way back up to her neck, his touch turning her boneless.
He took his time, savoring her neck, the hollow behind her ear, the sensitive part under her jaw. Then he returned to her mouth, kissing her with a thoroughness that went on and on and on. He shuddered and turned his head against hers, finally breaking the kiss, the muscles in his back bunching as he flexed his hips against her.
It was too much. Chry cried out his name and arched against him, her body tightening, tightening as she clutched at his back and lifted her hips. 2-Stroke snaked his arm under her hips and shifted, and then, with an agonized groan, he buried himself in her swollen, wet heat. His whole body went rigid, and he roughly adjusted his hold. Gathering his strength, he thrust into her again and again. Then his thumb was on her aching center, gliding over her with agonizing pleasure. She came apart in his arms, the tightness converging into one throbbing center. With one deep, urgent thrust and the perfect pressure against her center, her core exploded, and convulsions ripped through her again, making her arch and cry out. Clutching her head against him, 2-Stroke locked his arm around her hips once more, thrusting again and again. He made a ragged sound and shook violently in her arms, his release as powerful as hers.
Chry hung on to him and turned her face against his neck, crying—she felt raw and in a million pieces. 2-Stroke shifted gently, holding her with such tenderness that it made her throat close up all over again. He could turn her inside out, and God, how she loved him.
He held her for a long, long time, until his breathing leveled ou
t and she stopped shaking, until the aftermath softened into something less intense.
He dragged his arms out from under her and braced his weight on his forearms. Cupping her face, he wiped away the traces of tears with his thumbs. Then, with a heavy sigh, he lowered his head and gave her the sweetest, softest kiss. Releasing another sigh, he lifted his head and gazed down at her, a glint of intimate amusement lighting his eyes. “Fuck me, flower girl, you are freaking awesome.”
Swallowing against the clog of emotion, she tried to blink away the tears and smoothed her hand up his long, muscled back. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you call me that nickname again.”
He smiled, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. “Old habits do die hard it seems.” He was silent for a moment. “What were you rolling around in that sweet brain this morning?”
She gently caressed his mouth with her fingertips, her voice even more husky than his. “I was thinking how very much I love you, Neo.” He tensed and his expression went guarded as a muscle twitched in his jaw.
She pressed her fingers against his mouth before he had a chance to speak. “I know you didn’t want to hear that,” she whispered, “but I had to say it, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t change how I feel.”
He stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes and thrust his hand deep into her tousled hair. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but there’s so much crap going on and there’s so much we need to talk about.”
In spite of his words, his hold on her remained fierce and unrelenting, just like he was. Chry closed her eyes, trying not to give way to the suffocating tightness of suppressed tears. Long moments passed before 2-Stroke smoothed his hand across her hips, then whispered unsteadily into her hair, “It’s like ten years ago, how I feel about you.”
That brought a spark of humor to her, and she looked at him, her laugh husky. “Great. Ten years ago you were fourteen with a lot of raging hormones and a huge chip on your shoulder.”
Some of the seriousness left his face, and he gave her such a wry, boyish grin. “Nothing’s changed.”
She shifted position, setting her hand against the sleek muscles of his chest, and he turned to his side. “I knew exactly what you had in mind, Neo,” she said as she slanted an amused look down at him.
“Your granny would have cut off my balls, Chry.”
Laughing softly, she looped her arms around his neck. “I inherited her indomitable spirit.”
He winced. “That doesn’t scare me,” he said.
Her teasing tone turned wistful as she slowly stroked his bottom lip. “Sure. You got some land in Florida you want to sell me?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “No, just a bridge in Brooklyn.”
He reached up and brushed back her tousled hair, his touch light and lingering. There was something in his eyes that was open but uneasy, poignant.
With immeasurable gentleness, she caressed his taut face, trying to smooth away the worry. “I don’t expect anything you can’t give,” she whispered. “But I do love you, Neo, and nothing will change that.”
He finally met her gaze, his own contemplative. “There’s more to us than friendship, more than partners…more…” he whispered. “But we need to get out of all of this before we can talk about anything that includes the future.”
His gaze was unwavering, and her voice was steady as she answered softly, “That’s fair. I guess we better get going.”
He nodded. They dressed hurriedly and in silence, eating the last two sandwiches, washing them down with a cup of hot tea. Bless Alek with his little heart of gold. She gathered up their stuff as he left to tend to the horses.
He paused at the mouth of the cave on his way out, his tousled chestnut hair on fire, his dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw. His heavy-lidded eyes gave him a dark and dangerous look.
Then they were prepared to go, the overcast, drizzling day ugly. But they had no choice. They were halfway to their goal.
“You ready?” He pulled her close and held her for a moment.
She nodded and they separated, the cold wet of the day pressing in on them. He mounted as she struggled with a thickness in her chest, an overwhelming protectiveness rising up in her.
“Where to?” he asked.
“There are CIA stashes all over this area.” She grinned at him.
He laughed and it wasn’t a question. “You know where they are.”
“I do. I did my homework. But keep in mind that Zasha was once CIA. She might have checked. I doubt it, but we can’t know. It could be not as secure as we hope. But I think we have to take the risk. Once we get to Banja Luka, we’ll need a safe house.”
“Clever girl.” He reached out and tugged on her hair.
“I try,” she said with a strained smile. She kicked her horse into a gallop.
They rode for most of the day until they came to a copse of trees. Chry slowed and pulled out a compass from her pocket. She consulted the dial and looked off into the distance. “Here,” she said, dismounting.
After consulting the compass again, she paced off, found some sturdy bark, and started digging. Several grimy minutes later she pulled up a long chest. She grabbed a rock and broke the lock, opening it. 2-Stroke watched over her shoulder as she took out a wad of cash, some American, some Bosnian marks, two handguns, ammo, and a slip of paper with a key attached to it. “Okay, we’re in business,” she said.
They headed back to the horses. Moonlight cast long, faint shadows through the trees, and off in the distance, a lone wolf howled. Chry shivered. The call was answered, then answered again, carrying for miles on the cool, clear air. She paused and, in the distance, she could see the bright lights of Banja Luka. They were almost there. They mounted again and started off.
They had only gone a few paces when in the distance there was an unmistakable sound, but this time it wasn’t a wolf. The distinctive whop-whop of chopper blades cut through the cold night. They wouldn’t make the city before dawn, and with the trees thinning up ahead of them, they would be caught out in the open.
She pulled together her courage. They had only one small hope: they had to make a run for the river.
8
Saint fixed the spring-loaded camming device in the crack and pulled the mechanism down, too aware that hanging on a cliff with a sheer drop below wasn’t exactly the best idea. In addition, it had been drizzling for most of the day, leaving these rocks slippery as hell.
The five of them had used the Nap-of-the-earth method to fly to just ten miles from the logging camp that the NSA satellite had pegged as the probable place where 2-Stroke and Chry were being held prisoner. NOE was a type of very low-altitude flight allowing the aircraft, a chopper usually, to avoid enemy detection in a high-threat environment. Choppers were the best aircraft to use because they had lower speeds and more maneuverability, so flying very low to the ground was a piece of cake.
The pilot, a good friend of Striker’s and a former air force pilot, had flown the chopper, keeping below enemy air defense radar and using hills and valleys and folds in the terrain to break the line of sight. They had been completely successful, fast roped out of the helo, and were now working their way up this hill to flatter ground, bypassing the valley below and all possible minefields.
The SLCD gripped the rock. He’d done this many times in training and on missions. Aella was above him, moving easily and confidently, Iceman just below her with Striker on Saint’s left, and Preacher was below them, staggered to the right between Saint and Iceman.
He threaded the loop and clipped, careful not to back-clip the carabiner, then tugged the rope tight. He reached for the fissure, fingers gripping, then searched for the footing. Ten feet left as he looked up to see Aella had made the top.
The sound of displaced rock and a grunt told him someone was in trouble. He looked up to see Iceman holding onto the edge of one of the rocks. Aella bent down over the top of the cliff and grabbed his wrist. With a mighty heave, she pulled. He helped her by
scrambling up the rest of the precipice to safe ground.
Saint was so damned impressed by this woman. She was like a freaking SEAL. Always in the battle and tough as hell…mentally as well as physically. Too bad there was no chance in hell of anything but one hot night, maybe two. When they finished this mission, she was headed back to DC and he would go back to San Diego. He intended to make sure he was skin to skin with her before she left for good. He was going to need all his Southern charm.
Too damn bad.
He didn’t miss the way Iceman looked at her. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man in his unit. Saint supposed the women went for that racy blond hair and those icy blue eyes of his. He had a brooding bad boy look about him. There was one thing Saint couldn’t refute: The man was a bona fide door kicker, one of the best ever minted. But from what he’d seen with Aella, it took more than a Tier One operator to impress her. He also liked that about her.
Ten feet and he’d be at the top. He looked at his dive watch and saw they had been at this for fifteen minutes. He hoped like hell they would find 2-Stroke and Chry up there.
The crescent moon gave off enough light to make this a little easier, especially with night vision goggles. He reached, slipped, then searched again, finally getting more footholds, and the last few feet went fast.
When the rest of them made it to the top. It was clear Iceman was sweet-talking Aella. She already had all her climbing gear off and had stowed it.
Her automatic was slung off one dark shoulder, her tac vest looking good on her. All her gear was neatly arranged and convenient for usage.
