Down and Dirty

by Sandra Hill

  “We could have been having the first ever orgasm falling off Flash Mountain. Betcha we’d set some kind of record.”

  If he keeps on licking, I may have one anyhow.

  “This place got that nickname, you know, Flash Mountain, because women were flashing their breasts, not just at the waterfall, but—”

  “Waterfall? What waterfall?”

  Danny turned around then, winked at her, and gave Zachary a signal involving a circle made by a thumb and forefinger. It was no doubt something obscene.

  They entered a dark tunnel in the mountain now.

  And of course the rogue behind her took advantage. She felt two hands creep around to cup her breasts from underneath, the thumbs strumming the nipples into aching points. “How does that feel, sweetheart?”

  She did not speak, but she moaned her answer.

  “That good, huh?” He used thumbs and forefingers now to pull at the nipples and roll them till she felt a soft thrum of pleasure between her legs. “Touch yourself between your legs, sweetheart. Come on. Do it. Please.”

  She did, and within seconds she was coming apart, her lower body stiff and arched up off the seat as far as the belt would allow her to go.

  He kissed her neck and whispered, “Zip-it-he-do-dah, baby!” With the braid back in place, he said something ominous. “Prepare yourself. See that white light at the end of the tunnel?”

  “Prepare myself? For what? Oh, you louse, you were trying to distract me when you…when I…aiyeeeeeeeeeee!”

  The log shot out the tunnel into the light, then straight down from a huge height, with water spraying them from all sides. Meanwhile that blasted song was still playing.

  When the log came to rest, a crowd cheered, whilst waiting for their turn. She was soaked from the top of her head to her toes, as were others in the log, who were laughing as if it was great fun to be tossed off a mountain and nigh drowned.

  Once she was on her feet and had swept wet strands of hair off her face, she searched for Zachary. He stood laughing, like all the rest.

  But then she saw he was looking somewhere else. As were some of the men. At her chest. She looked down and saw that her nipples were standing out like sharp pebbles against the wet tea-ing shert, due to the cold water and Zachary’s wicked fingers.

  “You lecherous, loathsome, perverted, odious son of a troll!” She walked over, swung her arm like a windmill, then punched him, missing her mark on his chin and instead landing on his chest. Surprised, he lost his balance and fell flat on his back. If there were not so many people around, she would have jumped on his too-flat belly and pummeled his too-pretty face. As it was, she had already created a scene, with people all around them laughing.

  The laughter died down immediately when they became aware that Sammy was on the ground behind them trying to beat on the boy that had sat behind him in the log.

  “Raghead! Sand eater! Stinkin’ Arab!”

  “I am not an Arab. I’m…I’m…” Sammy seemed unable to come up with a description of exactly what he was. He did have an eastern cast to his features, but his eyes were blue and his cheekbones sharp, like his father’s.

  Two men who had extraordinary muscles and height, one blond, the other black-haired, rushed into the area, and one immediately held out his arms, barring people from getting closer. One of them was yelling, “Secure the perimeter! Secure the perimeter!”

  She thought she heard Danny mutter, “Good ol’ Dad!”

  Sammy’s boyling target was twice his size, but Sammy was getting in punches here and there. That was before his father picked him up by the belt, leaving the scamp to flail and kick about, using words that brought a blush to Britta’s face, and she understood but half of them.

  Meanwhile, a bald man—presumably the boyling’s father—pulled his son up. Instead of chastising him, his lip curled with disgust on viewing Sammy. The father and son swaggered off. The other boy who had been in the log shot them an embarrassed shrug of apology and went away, too.

  The black-haired muscleman followed the trio. The other blended into the crowd directly behind them.

  Zachary set Sammy on the ground then and used a white linen he pulled from a pocket in his braies to wipe the dirt off Sammy’s face and the blood off his nose and cut lip. “You okay, tiger?”

  Sammy nodded and stifled a sob. The brave little thing did not want to cry in public. She knew the feeling well.

  Glancing over at Danny, she saw that he appeared equally touched by the scene.

  Zachary made a silent signal to someone in the crowd, presumably the blond muscleman. Then he did just the right thing. He swung his son up into his embrace and forced the bloody face into the crook of his neck. He made soothing sounds, like “Forget about them.”

  “They were jerks,” Sammy choked out.

  “Yeah, they were. You want me to go beat the crap out of them, the kid and the father?”

  Sammy raised his head and grinned at his father. “Would you?”

  “If you really want me to.”

  After a moment, Sammy shook his head and allowed his father to kiss him on the cheek. But then the boyling followed up with, “I still hate you.”

  “I know,” Zachary said. “Wanna go over to the arcade? Betcha I can win you a few prizes. You, too, Muhammad Ali,” he said to Britta. “I’m pretty deadly with the rifle game.”

  So, still carrying his son, Zachary extended a hand to her. Danny looped an arm over her shoulder from the other side. As they walked away, they could have been mistaken for a family.

  And something deep in Britta’s soul stretched and sighed.

  Chapter 12

  Like sand through an hourglass, or some such crap…

  It was only a matter of time.

  Samir knew he would be leaving this country and his father shortly. If he hadn’t been certain before, he was now, after seeing Hakim and Daoud, his grandfather’s men, hovering behind the merry-go-round, watching for an opportunity to grab him.

  That was why he started fighting with that boy. Not that the jerk didn’t deserve a beating, but Samir sensed that the two Afghan men were about to pounce. This way Samir drew a crowd, preventing them from taking him without notice.

  But Samir was no dummy. The time would come soon.

  And his grandfather was going to be so maaaaad. He would blame him for leaving the country. He would say that he could have fought his father and escaped. He would say he was a stupid American. He would say his father was a killer and his mother a whore. What would his punishment be this time? No food for days, probably. Much shouting and insulting, for sure. But the whip? Would the whip be used?

  He shivered.

  “Hey, kid!” his father said, still holding him. “You’re shaking. It’s over now.”

  For a brief moment, Samir allowed himself to be held, nestled against his father’s broad chest, his face buried against his neck, which smelled of shaving cream and soap. Then he pulled away and said, “I’m hungry.”

  His uncle Danny groaned behind them, then tousled his hair. “Kid, you must have a tapeworm.”

  “I am hungry, too,” Britta said.

  Sammy smiled at the lady who was big as a tree but told good stories.

  “So, what’ll it be this time?” his father asked, setting him back on the ground.

  He pulled at his shorts and wiggled his butt. Those stupid underpants were up his crack again.

  “Cotton candy,” he and Britta said at the same time.

  If you think that’s crazy…

  Britta and Sammy had eaten so much cotton candy, they were probably going to piss pink.

  But it had been a good day, Zach decided as they left the Disneyland park. Even if he hadn’t gotten to screw Britta’s brains out, as had been his original plan.

  There was hardly room for anyone to sit with all the stuffed animals and other crap he and Danny had won. He’d earned some Dad points with Sammy when he showed him how to hold a rifle at the pigeon-shooting game. That was,
until the owner kicked them out for winning too many times.

  He’d lost a few points with Britta when he rocked their seat at the top of the Ferris wheel, asking, “Do I rock your world, baby?” She didn’t punch him that time, though. And he did please her when he won her a gold heart on a chain; it was junk, but she kept looking at it as if it were some precious jewelry. Note to self: Buy Britta something nice.

  It was barely five o’clock as he drove back toward San Diego, but Britta, Danny, and Sammy were dozing. A long day in the sun. And a lot of walking. He wouldn’t offer to stop for dinner. Hell, in addition to a ton of cotton candy, they’d had hot dogs, cheeseburgers, French fries, waffle cakes, pizza, popcorn, fudge, and ice cream in the course of their day. He wasn’t a gung ho health nut, but he hadn’t eaten so much junk food since he was a kid.

  Britta moved restlessly, and she turned to look at him through slitted eyes. “Are we almost there?”

  “Pretty soon.”

  She shocked the hell out of him then by reaching over and lacing her fingers with his.

  A bit choked, he said, “I’m crazy about you, babe.”

  She frowned. “Dost mean I turn you demented?”

  He laughed. “You could say that.”

  “Then I am crazy about you, too.” With those words, she closed her eyes and fell asleep again.

  And thus a thousand-year-old woman managed to rock his world.

  He lured her with the ultimate female temptation…

  Britta was sitting at the scullery table, playing a game called poke-her with Danny, whilst waiting for Zachary to take her back to the base. He was upstairs putting an exhausted Sammy to bed.

  “How long have you known my brother?” Danny asked the question, then took a drink from a long-necked amber bottle of mead. She was sipping from a glass of the same substance, Danny having told her that ladies usually drank from glasses rather than long-necked bottles, because the bottles gave men wicked ideas. Whatever that meant! And was it not odd that glass was squandered in this country for mere drinking vessels, when a horn or wooden mug would do as well? It must be a prosperous country, indeed.

  “Um, two years, but I have not seen him in all that time till this past sennight. I have three of those asses. Are they worth more than your three kings?” They played games in her country, too. Dice and the board game hnefatafl, but ne’er had she heard of games using hard parchment “cards” with pictures and numbers on them. They would wear out too easily to last long, she would think, but then this was a wasteful country.

  “It’s a-sez, not asses,” he said, smiling at her. “But, nope. Kings beat a-sez. I win.” With a mischievous grin, he drew the round chips toward his already impressive pile and began to shuffle the cards again. Then he studied her for a moment, as if an idea had come to him, unbidden. “Aha! So, you’re the one.”

  “Which one?”

  “Zach hasn’t been the same since he came back from Norway two years ago.”

  For some reason, she felt pleased at that news. “How is he different?”

  “For one thing, he’s more selective in…” He let his words trail off, mayhap having second thoughts about disclosing such intimate details about his kin.

  “More selective in which women he swives?” she finished for him.

  Danny choked on his mead, spraying the table. After he got a cloth and wiped the table and the cards off, he studied her with speculation. “You talk peculiar.”

  “Hah! Methinks you are the one who talks peculiar.”

  “Touché! No, I wouldn’t say he was more selective about who he got involved with. He was always picky that way, and let’s face it, with a face like his, he always gets the pick of the crop. No, he cut way back on…um, relationships, period.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “Surely you are not saying he became celibate.”

  Danny laughed. “Hardly. But he stopped setting world records.”

  “As if that is an achievement to be lauded!”

  “You’re pretty hard on Zach. Why is that?”

  “My father and brothers were evil fornicators. They tupped every girl or woman who caught their eyes, willing or not. Bastards abounded, so many I lost track years ago. In their opinion, women were property, their only worth in the breeding of heirs and coin from prospective husbands.”

  “Wow! And you place Zach in that same category?”

  “Well, nay, but ’tis best for a woman to steer clear of comely men with the morals of a goat.”

  Danny laughed and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Babe, you are gonna be so good for my brother. Don’t be hard on him, though. There’s a good reason why we’re both so screwed up. We come from a dysfunctional family.”

  “Diss-what?”

  He smiled. “Screwed up. Broken. Our mother, divorced long ago from our dad, and our grandmothers are like female Attila the Huns. Our grandfather is a pole-up-the-ass rigid military man. Our father has been married five times. Right now he has a girlfriend who’s practically a teenager.”

  Britta shrugged. “The more Danico. Many wives. We have that in my country, too. I knew one Viking jarl who had four wives, eight concubines, and ten female thralls to serve his needs.”

  Danny’s eyes went wide. “Not all at once. My father divorces one before marrying another. Geez, where are you from?”

  “The Norselands,” she answered, though she could see it was not explanation enough for him. “So, mayhap Zachary has learned his lessons from his father?”

  “Zach is in no way like Dad, and you’re a fool if you can’t see that.”

  “Your defense of your brother is commendable. I was not being insulting, just seeking explanations.”

  “Listen, bottom line. Zach has—or has had—so many women for one reason only. He can.”

  “Are you talking about me?” Zachary said, coming into the kitchen and sitting down in an empty chair.

  Britta and Danny both smiled, not about to disclose their conversation.

  “What are you playing?” he asked.

  “Strip poker,” Danny said.

  Zachary glared at his brother, but she was not sure why.

  “Will you take me back to the base now?” she asked Zachary. “Your brother is here to watch Sammy. There is no excuse.”

  “Do I need an excuse?”

  “Um, I think I’ll go shave, maybe go down to the Wet and Wild for a little action,” Danny said, rising and making his way to the door. “If you want, I can drop Britta off on the way.”

  Zachary looked at her and took her hand. “Don’t go,” he urged. “You don’t have to muster till oh five hundred. I can get you there in plenty of time.” Meanwhile, his thumb drew circles on her palm, which caused the fine hairs to stand out all over her body, deliciously so. She felt light-headed with instant arousal.

  “How do you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me want you.”

  He smiled, one of those glorious you-please-me-sweetling smiles that would melt even the chastest maid. “Stay with me. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we won’t have any private time for the next three weeks. Because I don’t think I can stay away from you that long. Because I’ll risk my career and yours if I go sniffing after you on duty.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “See. I told you that you have a habit of sniffing.”

  He squeezed her hand in admonition for her teasing. “Will you stay?”

  As much as she wanted to, she hesitated. “I am fearful.”

  “Of me?” He was clearly shocked.

  She shook her head. “Nay. Of myself. I cannot grow too attached to you, because no matter what you or Hilda or the others say, there is always the chance I will be sent back.” Or you will move on to some other woman.

  He nodded in understanding. “Just like Sammy.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sammy tries his best to hate me, or pretend to hate me, because he’s convince
d that I’ll either send him back or that his grandfather will take him away. If he doesn’t care, there is no risk of being hurt.”

  Much as she would like to disagree, he made a point. “Ne’er have I avoided hurt,” she said hesitantly, thinking as she spoke. “’Tis a coward who would do that.”

  He shrugged, and afore he was able to mask it, she saw a gleam of victory in his mischievous blue eyes.

  “You have tricked me with your web of words,” she accused.

  “That depends on whether you’ve agreed to stay or not.”

  “We have a saying in my land. ‘Beware of rogues with lustsome charms; they lure maids with their honey words.’”

  “Honey,” he said, standing and pulling her into his arms, “we have a proverb here, too. ‘Beware, ladies, who withhold your honey; men will eat you in the end.’”

  “I like my saying better than yours,” she said on a moan. He had his hands on her buttocks, pressing her into the cradle of his hips, and he was nibbling at her ear.

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

  She was not fooled by his false submission. “I have not yet agreed to stay,” she still insisted.

  So said the fly to the spider, just before being caught. He, meaning the spider, put the final knot in her noose—uh, web—by offering her the ultimate temptation.

  “How would you like to take a bubble bath?”

  Even he had never tried THAT before…

  Zach was a regular sex machine. Or at least he planned to be. Once he got off the frickin’ phone.

  He had seven hours before he had to get Britta back to the base, and he grudgingly admitted that he would have to allow at least three hours for sleep. Otherwise, she would be dead on her feet in the grueling rotation of exercises this week.

  With his cordless phone in hand, he checked his messages as he walked Britta up the stairs. Thank God for multitasking!

  “Mayhap this is a bad idea. Mayhap I should return to the base and get some sleep. Mayhap—”

  “No, no, no! This is a very good idea. It’ll make you relax and smell good and, did I tell you, bubble baths give soldiers stamina to fight on the field? Something about proteins or minerals or extra oxygen in the bubbles.” What a load of crap!