In the Arms of a Hero

by Beverly Barton

  Quinn leaned down and pulled a thin blanket from his backpack, spread it on the cavern floor and held out his hand to her. She accepted his hand, her fingers trembling at his touch. He led her down on her knees, then stretched out in front of her like a sacrificial offering.

  “Look and touch to your heart’s content,” he said, then when he saw the way she looked at him, he corrected himself. “But don’t torture me for too long. I’ve got some exploring I want to do, too.”

  As a child who’d been let loose in a toy store, she lowered her fingertips to his chest and grazed them over the powerful muscles. Then she moved downward across his washboard-lean belly. Placing one hand on each of his hips, she glided her open palms over and under the taut flesh, the well-conditioned muscles of his butt. Then she moved her hands around to slide over the silky hair covering his thighs.

  He groaned deep in his throat. She ran her gaze from his tightly clenched jaw, down to his balled fists and then halted at his thrusting sex. Fascinated by him, she straddled him, bracing herself on her knees.

  “Go ahead and touch me, honey,” Quinn said, his voice strained with control.

  “Yes.” She reached out. “I want to touch you there.”

  She encircled him. He groaned again as his sex throbbed beneath her fingers. With gentle movements, she pumped his shaft, using the motions he had taught her earlier.

  He grabbed her hand to stop her. “I can’t take much of that, so if you want me to come inside you, then you’d better—”

  She lay on top of him, pressing her breasts against his chest and rubbing her mound against his throbbing arousal. “Is this better?” she asked. “I know I like the way it feels.”

  “I like the way it feels, too,” he said. “But I don’t know if I can take much of this, either.”

  “The first time will hurt, won’t it? I mean, I heard the girls in college talk about what their first experience was like and some of them didn’t even like it.”

  He began stroking her buttocks with his big, hard hand. She sighed and melted into him. With his other hand, he lifted her face, then grasped her chin and brought her lips to his.

  Breathing into her mouth, he said, “The first time will be uncomfortable for you, but I promise you that you’ll like it. And I’d lay money on your loving it the second time and then even more every time after that.”

  “W-we’re going to make love all night?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, princess, we’re going to make love all night.”

  “Oh, Quinn. Thank you.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s grateful,” he said. “Thank you, Victoria, for giving me the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me. No one’s ever loved me.”

  From that moment on Quinn dominated their lovemaking with every touch, every caress, every flick of his tongue. But just as he had suspected and never dared hope to discover for himself, Victoria’s sexuality quickly reached a white-hot intensity. The more he gave, the more she wanted.

  Not one inch of her body was left unexplored. From her ears to her toes. From her shoulders to her knees. From her breasts to her inner feminine folds. He wanted to give her pleasure, to bring her into womanhood with the ecstasy she deserved. Even if he’d never done one good, perfect thing in his entire life, he desperately wanted to do this right.

  Suddenly she reversed their roles and began an assault on his body that mimicked his attack on hers. He allowed her free rein, realizing that she enjoyed exploring his body as much as he did hers.

  He’d known she’d be like this—all wild and hot and uncontrollable!

  When her mouth descended over his belly, her fingers raking a trail downward, Quinn bucked, anticipating her destination with pleasure. Holding him securely, she tasted him hesitantly at first and then stroked him with her tongue. He dug his heels into the blanket and curved his hands into tight fists to keep from grabbing her head.

  Within minutes after she initiated the ardent attention to his sex, he thought he would explode. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely and he knew he was, but he doubted she realized he was on the edge, ready to lose it.

  Reluctantly easing himself away from her intimate caresses, he gave her a couple of minutes to catch her breath, then flipped her over and took control once again.

  His fingers dipped into her waiting warmth and found her wet and hot and ready. But he wanted her more than ready. He wanted her in the throes of release when he buried himself inside her. The more aroused she was, the less likely she would be to notice his penetration.

  He petted her. She lifted her hips, seeking closer contact with his talented fingers. He spread a line of kisses from her waist, across her navel and down into her damp red curls. The moment his mouth closed over her, she cried out. As his tongue pressed and retreated, then rhythmically repeated the intimate dance steps, Victoria melted into a fiery puddle. With each stroke, the fire sparked higher and higher, until her whole body burst into flame.

  While she burned with desire, her body wild with pleasure, Quinn rose above her, lifted her hips and silenced her cries of completion by covering her mouth with his. She clung to him as he deepened the kiss and at the same time inserted himself into her wet, pliant sheath. Inch by slow inch, he penetrated her.

  When she grew impatient with his gentleness, she took the initiative by whispering in his ear. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

  For a few minutes the discomfort overrode the sheer joy of having him inside her. But despite the distraction, she urged him to continue. Her encouragement destroyed the last vestiges of his control. With each deep lunge of his sex, Victoria’s body adjusted to the fullness inside her.

  Just as a tingling sensation began building between her legs, Quinn’s big body tensed, then he groaned as if he were in pain when release claimed him. He trembled from the force of his climax. Exhausted and sated, he rested on top of her for a few moments. Then he rolled over onto the blanket, pulled her close to his side and possessively laid his hand on her hip.

  Quinn woke to utter darkness and the sound of distant artillery fire. While they’d slept, night had descended upon Santo Bonisto and thrown the cave into a thick black fog. Pressing the button on his watch, he checked the time. Ten-thirty. They had slept for hours. He couldn’t see Victoria, couldn’t even make out the outline of her body, but he felt her curled up against him. He took her in his arms, lifting her so that he could find her mouth in the darkness. The moment he kissed her, she moaned.

  “Quinn?”

  “Who else?”

  She laughed softly. “It’s so dark in here. I don’t like it. It’s almost frightening.”

  “Then I’d better do something to take your mind off the darkness.” He caressed her breasts, then pinched each nipple.

  She sighed. “I like that,” she said. “Just what else do you have in mind?”

  “Something like this,” he said as he rolled her over on top of him. “You’re a cowgirl, aren’t you, born and raised in Texas? You know how to ride a bucking bronc, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never ridden a wild stallion like you before.” She encircled his shaft, then brought it up and into her body. “But I sure would like to.” Sinking over him, she took every inch of him inside her.

  She set the pace of their lovemaking, but allowed Quinn to guide her. His hands tutored her lunging hips. His mouth tormented her breasts. And all the while Victoria experienced only pleasure. Their second lovemaking concluded in shattering climaxes, first for her and then for him. When the aftershocks faded from their bodies, she fell asleep on top of him. Later, he rolled her over onto her side and warmed her body with his.

  True to his word, Quinn roused her again during the night and then for the final time at daybreak, just as sunlight shot through the cave opening and illuminated the cavern where they slept. They made love with a tortured madness, born of the knowledge that death might claim them both before day’s end.

  Afterward, they dressed, ate an orange
apiece and shared the precious water in Quinn’s canteen. Then Quinn explained that he would have to leave her for a short period of time. Unless he went outside and checked on the situation, there would be no way to know what was happening.

  She clung to him, not wanting him to risk his life, but nodded her head and smiled sadly. “Please, be careful.”

  He removed a 9 mm Ruger from his backpack and placed it in Victoria’s hand. “It has a fifteen-shot magazine, but if you have to use it, make every shot count.”

  “I’ll wait right here until you come back,” she said, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

  “If for any reason I don’t come back, you’ll have to leave this cave and try to find some government troops.”

  “You will come back!” Gripping his shirtfront in her hands, she wadded the material tightly.

  He kissed her quickly, then jerked free of her tenacious hold and headed out the narrow entry. She waited until she couldn’t see him, then crawled toward the entrance to the cave. Searching the surrounding area, she saw no one. Quinn had already disappeared into the woods.

  Waiting was slow torture. Her imagination kicked into overdrive, filling her head with a hundred and one death scenarios. She had no idea how long Quinn had been gone. The minutes seemed like hours and the hours like days.

  He should have been back by now, she told herself. Something must have gone wrong. Had he run into trouble?

  Sitting hunched over at the cave entrance, she heard the sound of artillery fire in the distance. Another battle. And not far from the cave. Parting the shrubs that hid the entrance, she peered outside, but could see nothing more than the grass and trees.

  As the battle raged on, the sounds of gunfire growing closer and closer, Victoria held the Ruger tightly to her chest and prayed that Quinn would return to her unharmed.

  The noon sun warmed Victoria’s face. The sounds of battle grew faint, then suddenly stopped. What was happening? she wondered. Where was Quinn? If he didn’t return soon, she’d go crazy!

  The thicket to the left of the cave entrance fluttered. Victoria gripped the Ruger tightly. Then Quinn burst through the bush, the M-16 draped over his bloody shoulder. Staggering as he made his way toward the cave, Quinn clutched his stomach with his hand. Blood oozed through his fingers, coating them a bright red.

  After pocketing the Ruger, Victoria lunged through the shrubs that concealed the cave entrance and raced to Quinn’s side. She lifted the M-16 from his shoulder, draped it over hers, then placed his arm around her neck.

  “Oh, Quinn!” Tears streamed down her face as she led him toward the cave.

  “I’m shot up pretty bad, honey,” he admitted.

  “I’ll take care of you.” She eased him down and into the four-foot high entryway to the cave. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Halfway through the entrance, Quinn grew noticeably weaker. Without hesitation, Victoria dragged him the rest of the way into the cavern. Once inside, she ripped open his shirt and barely stifled a gasp when she saw his wounds.

  Oh, God! Oh, God! Please help me to help Quinn. But what could she do for him, with no operating instruments and no medical supplies? At best, she could try to stop the bleeding. If this man had been anyone other than Quinn, she would have accepted his fate and made him as comfortable as possible while waiting for him to die. But this was Quinn, her Quinn, the man she loved. She wouldn’t let him die. She wouldn’t!

  Quinn lifted his hand to her face and wiped the tears from her cheek. “President Juarez’s Nationalist soldiers are pushing the rebels farther and farther back from Gurabo.” He coughed several times, then turned his head and spit up blood.

  Victoria ripped a piece off the hem of her shirt, then wiped Quinn’s mouth. “Don’t talk. Don’t try to explain. Save your strength.”

  She hurriedly checked his wounds. The best she could do under the circumstances was stem the bleeding and pray. She tore off the bottom half of her loose shirt and used it as an absorbent pad. Covering the seeping wound, she hovered over him, longing to ease his suffering.

  Cupping her chin in the cradle of his hand, he ran his finger across her lips. “I want you to take the rifle and leave. Now.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t stay here. The rebels will be looking for places to hide. They’re bound to discover these caves. If we did, they will.”

  “But I won’t leave you!”

  “You have to. It’s your only chance.” He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her down for quick kisses on both cheeks, then shoved her away from him. “Give me the Ruger and that flask of whiskey in the backpack, then you take the backpack, the M-16, the map and the compass and head due east.”

  “No, Quinn. I won’t go!”

  “Watch out for rebel soldiers. Don’t stop and think about what you’re doing. Shoot first and worry about it later.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Make your way toward the main road that leads into the capital. I think the Nationalists have complete charge of the roadways now. And the minute you see a government soldier, hand over the rifle and tell him you’re a World Health Institute nurse from Palmira and you need to get to the American consulate.”

  “You aren’t listening to me,” she yelled. “I told you that I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Victoria. There’s no reason for you to stay with me. I’m dying and we both damn well know it!”

  “I love you, Quinn McCoy,” she screamed at him. “Don’t you know I’d rather stay here and die with you than leave you here to die alone!”

  Ten

  Outside the temporary safety of the cave, a maelstrom of combat noise exploded nearby. With each passing minute the sounds of battle drew closer. Victoria had settled several feet inside the entryway, the M-16 balanced on the backpack, to await the inevitable. She occasionally glanced over her shoulder to check on Quinn, who alternated in and out of consciousness. Their only chance of survival was if the government soldiers found them. But even if that happened, what were the odds that Quinn would live long enough for a rescue?

  Pushing negative thoughts from her mind, she focused all her attention on the entrance to their hide-away. If rebel soldiers invaded the cave, seeking refuge from the battle, she and she alone stood between them and certain death for Quinn and her.

  Time dragged by, each minute punctuated by the bass drumbeat of her heart. Moisture coated her palms. She released the rifle, wiped her hands on her pants and then gripped the M-16 once again. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and upper lip. Sweat trickled down her back and her belly.

  Suddenly she heard voices. Loud, panicked voices. Men speaking rapidly in Spanish. They had found the caves! Oh, dear, merciful God! Her breathing became erratic. Her hands trembled. Her stomach knotted painfully.

  The voices drew near and she realized that there were only two men speaking. She could handle two random soldiers, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if a whole troop was preparing to descend upon her.

  The shrubs blocking the entrance quivered. A dark head poked through the brush. Thin shoulders appeared in Victoria’s line of vision. She followed the length of shoulders down long, slender arms and on to bony hands that held a rifle.

  Blinking the sweat away as it dripped off her forehead and into her eyes, Victoria recognized the cap of a Nationalist solider sitting atop the head that thrust through the protective shrubs at the cave entrance. A pair of black eyes surveyed the interior. Victoria realized that his vision hadn’t had time to adjust to the darkness. There was no way he could see that she was a woman—an American woman! He raised his rifle and prepared to fire at what he probably assumed was a rebel soldier holed up inside the cave.

  “Don’t shoot,” she cried out in Spanish. “I’m not a rebel solider. I’m a World Health Institute nurse from Palmira. I’m going to back up into the cave and then you can come inside. If you’re really a government soldier, you have nothing to fear fr
om me.”

  “I am Lieutenant Macario Romero, señorita, and if you are who you say you are, you have nothing to fear from me and my men.”

  Fifteen minutes later, both sides assured of each other’s identity, Victoria gave orders to the two soldiers assigned to remove Quinn from the cave. She noticed the young lieutenant’s sad expression when he took in Quinn’s condition.

  “We must get him to Gurabo to the hospital as soon as possible,” she said. “If we don’t hurry, he could die.”

  “Señorita, it will be a miracle if he lives, but I will give you a Jeep and one of my men to take you to Gurabo.”

  “Thank you!” Tears she had held inside her for hours threatened to explode. Not now, she pleaded silently. Not yet. Quinn still needs me to be strong. The tears shimmered in her eyes, but she willed her fear under control.

  Victoria sat in the back of the Jeep, Quinn’s head nestled in her lap. He had lost consciousness before the soldiers had removed him from the cave and hadn’t come to since then. His stomach wounds had begun to bleed again and nothing she did appeared to help him.

  The trip into Gurabo along a bumpy roadway seemed endless. Along the roadside, bodies lay scattered, just one of the many signs of battle they encountered. Victoria prayed that she’d never see the horrors of war again. She had been a naive fool to have stayed in Palmira as long as she had. She only hoped for the hundredth time that Ernesto and Dolores hadn’t been forced to pay a high price for her stupidity.

  The capital city hummed with military life. The hospital was filled to capacity and Victoria was told there were no surgeons available to operate on Quinn immediately. She demanded the soldier who had driven her to Gurabo wait with Quinn while she asked to make a telephone call.

  The American ambassador seemed overjoyed to hear from her. “Ms. Fortune, I’ve been on the phone with your father this morning. He’s greatly concerned about you. He’ll be—”

  “I need you to use whatever influence you have to get Mr. McCoy, the man who rescued me, into surgery as soon as possible. Pull strings. Make threats. Offer bribes. I don’t care what you have to do, just do it!”