Under the King's Command

by Ingrid Weaver

  * * *

  Sam eased the balcony door closed behind him and paused for a full minute to listen for any sign that his presence had been detected. Nothing stirred in the shadows. No sound disturbed the silence other than the whisper of the ceiling fan. Dawn was thirty minutes away. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, then cautiously moved forward.

  The layout of the suite was similar to the one he'd been assigned—an oblong sitting room with a door that led to a small bedroom and attached bathroom. Like the other rooms in this former hotel, it was decorated with a Mediterranean flair, heavy furniture, plenty of dark wood embellished with carvings and gilt-framed oil paintings on the papered walls.

  Sam did a thorough survey of what was visible. Other than the books that covered the desk and the briefcase that rested on the floor, there were no traces that someone had lived here for seven months. No snapshots or little mementos cluttered the surfaces. There weren't any homey touches like flowers or potted plants—it was clear the resident was merely passing through. He had a moment of doubt whether or not he had the right room, but then he spotted a pair of discarded running shoes near the door that he recognized as Kate's.

  He slipped the straps of his backpack off his shoulders and moved silently to the bedroom doorway. Kate slept on the left side of the double bed, her knees curled and one arm dangling over the side of the mattress. One pillow was on the floor, and the sheet was wrapped around her legs. The pale nightgown she wore was twisted in taut folds across her breasts. By the looks of things she'd had a restless night.

  He hoped she'd been dreaming of him.

  An aircraft rumbled overhead, rattling the windowpanes. Sam reflexively glanced at the window. He knew the plane that carried his team had left hours ago, yet he still felt a dull pang at the thought of being left behind. All the more reason to finish this mission—and everything connected with it—so he could get on with his life.

  He'd done a lot of thinking since he'd left Reilly and his team after the briefing. He'd lain awake for hours, twisting the sheets almost as badly as Kate had. Twenty minutes ago, he'd come to a realization. Which was why he'd just broken into a fellow officer's quarters and was standing at the foot of her bed while he held a backpack laden with breakfast.

  Kate stirred as the noise from the plane faded. Her forehead creased as she pulled her knees more closely to her chest and drew in her arm, yet she didn't awaken.

  Sam hooked a small table with his foot and slowly dragged it from its place near the wall to a position next to the bed, keeping one eye on Kate all the while. She had always been a heavy sleeper. He'd enjoyed waking her up. She used to greet him with a smile and open arms as she welcomed him into her body.

  But he wasn't here for that, he reminded himself. Sure, he'd taken to carrying condoms in his pocket again like he used to do, but he wasn't here to seduce her. At least, not right away. Not unless it was at her urging. The primary reason for this unconventional visit was to get a chance to talk, and this was one way they could be guaranteed some uninterrupted privacy.

  He switched on the bedside lamp, opened his backpack and began to withdraw the items he'd brought. Paper rustled softly as he unwrapped two pastries. He arranged them on a plate, then opened a flask and poured the contents into two mugs. The aroma of warm cinnamon and sweetened coffee drifted through the room, and Kate stirred again, making a low sound in her throat.

  Sam smiled and squatted beside the bed to bring his face level with hers. "Good morning, Kate," he whispered.

  She frowned, her lips moving in what looked like a silent denial.

  "Hey, sleepyhead."

  Her eyelids flickered. She groaned, wrapping her arms around her knees as she curled into a ball.

  Sam's smile faded. He put his hand gently on her shoulder and found her cotton nightgown damp to the touch. "Kate?"

  Her body jerked, and a sound like a sob escaped her parted lips.

  It was obvious to Sam that she was dreaming. And from the looks of her, it wasn't about anything pleasant. His hand firmed on her shoulder. "Kate, wake up."

  "No." Her voice was hoarse, a rasping exhalation. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. "No!"

  "Kate, it's only a dream. You're all right."

  She flung out her arm, her fingers stretching as if she were trying to reach for something. "No—no—"

  Sam caught her hand. "It's okay, Kate. Wake up."

  Her fingers stiffened. Her body jerked as her chest heaved with another sob.

  Sam wanted to lie down beside her and shelter her from whatever nightmare was tormenting her, but he didn't want to risk frightening her and making it worse. He rubbed his thumb lightly over the back of her knuckles and leaned closer. "Kate, it's me. Sam. I'm right here."

  Her eyes flew open. She looked around blankly.

  "That's it, Kate," he said softly. "Let me see those baby greens."

  Her gaze swept over his face. Sobbing, she propelled herself into his chest.

  Sam caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her to hold her on his lap as he sat on the floor. "Hey, there. It's okay. You're fine."

  Her hair rubbed his chin as she burrowed into his embrace. Her body was still tightly curled, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  Sam wasn't accustomed to feeling helpless, but that's how he felt now. He wanted to comfort her, drive the nightmare away and turn her into the teasing, carefree Kate he used to know.

  He shifted her on his lap, twisting on the floor to prop his back against the side of the bed. He brushed a kiss over her forehead, then stroked her hair from her cheek. His fingertips came away wet.

  Something knotted in Sam's chest. Kate was crying. Except for the times they'd watched old movies, he'd never seen her cry. He passed his thumb under her eyes, wiping away her tears. "Want to tell me about it?"

  She turned her face against his neck.

  "I want to help, Kate. What can I do?"

  Her lips moved at the base of his throat. The tip of her tongue tickled his skin.

  "Kate, I know you're upset. Maybe—"

  She grasped his chin in her hand and yanked his face down to hers.

  Sam could feel her lips tremble as she kissed him. She was experiencing the aftereffects of her nightmare, he told himself. She was vulnerable and still half-asleep, so she probably didn't realize what she was doing.

  Her kiss firmed as she brought both hands to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. She drew his lower lip into her mouth and stroked it boldly with her tongue.

  He shuddered as a shaft of pleasure shot through him. It sure felt as if she knew what she was doing. He dropped his hand to her thigh and dragged her nightgown upward until he encountered bare skin. He groaned, digging his fingers into the curve of her hip.

  Her hands fell to his shoulders, then slid to his back as she twisted her upper body and pressed her breasts into his chest.

  The shift in weight sent them over on their sides. Their feet struck one leg of the table where Sam had laid out their breakfast. Coffee splashed in a warm, aromatic arc.

  Kate stilled. A moment later she gasped and pulled back her head, breaking the kiss.

  Sam paid no attention. He kissed her throat, then slid down her body, licking the dark spots where the coffee had spattered her nightgown.

  She started to wriggle away. "Sam?"

  He slid farther down, hooked one arm behind her knees and licked a droplet from her thigh.

  Kate made a strangled noise.

  He rolled her to her back and was rubbing his forehead along her inner thigh in search of more spots to taste when he felt a hard smack on his shoulder.

  He looked up.

  Kate was staring at him, her eyes wide. "What..." She took an unsteady breath. "How..."

  He'd been right the first time. She hadn't known what she was doing. He sighed and sat on his heels. "Good morning, Kate."

  Kate rubbed her eyes, hoping for a wild moment that Sam might be part of her dream, but
when she looked again, he was still there. He was dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt. The clothes clung to his body, outlining tensed muscles, making him look hard and dangerous. But his hair was standing up in endearing little tufts, and his lips were moist from the kiss they'd shared. And the desire to fling herself into his arms was the most dangerous thing of all.

  "You had a nightmare," he said when she didn't respond. "I was trying to help."

  Yes, she knew she'd had a nightmare. It was the same one she'd had for five years. She'd lost her baby yet again.

  Except this time, it had been different. Sam had been there to comfort her. He'd held her. He'd pushed the pain away. Their passion had sent the dream in another direction altogether. And just as when they'd kissed on the boat, she'd felt herself come alive...

  "What was it about?" he asked.

  She had another wild moment. For the only time since she'd held his first letter to her in one hand and her pregnancy test results in the other, she wanted to tell him everything. The whole painful truth. She wanted to share this burden she'd been carrying alone for so long.

  What would he do? How would he react? Would he comfort her the way he'd just done? Would he understand and sympathize, help her to find closure?

  Tell him, tell him.

  The urge was so sudden and so strong, her lips parted and the words were already rising in her throat when she thought of another possibility.

  How would Sam feel to know he almost had been a father? What if he condemned her for the choices she'd made, for not telling him sooner? Would the compassion in his gaze turn to resentment? Would he kiss her tenderly then, or would he turn away?

  The moment passed, along with the last of her grogginess. She looked around. "What are you doing here, Sam? How did you get in?"

  "Second question first." He motioned toward the sitting room with a tilt of his head. "I climbed up the balconies on the side of the building until I got to yours, then let myself in through the window."

  "You what? This is the fifth floor."

  "Yeah, I noticed. My quarters are on the third. Don't worry, nobody saw me."

  "Why would you—"

  "Which brings us to your first question," he said. He looked behind him, then reached for something on a small table, the table that used to be beside the wall. "I brought you breakfast, like we agreed."

  "I never agreed to anything of the sort."

  "Sure you did. Yesterday you refused my invitation to dinner and lunch, but I distinctly remember that you didn't turn me down for breakfast."

  "Sam..."

  "Yes, that's exactly what you said yesterday when I asked." He brought his arm forward. He was holding a rose. "Sorry if this is looking crushed. I had it in my pack. It was under the pastries. I don't know what they're called, but they look as if they're mostly butter and sugar. All the major food groups."

  She must still be dreaming. This was unreal.

  He leaned over to put the rose in her palm. "Don't worry, it doesn't have any thorns."

  "But—"

  "I'm not sure how much coffee's left." He smiled. "But from what I sampled, it's pretty good."

  Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered how he'd cleaned up the coffee that had splashed on her. That part had definitely been too real for a dream. Her body still tingled in the spots where he'd kissed her. With her free hand she grabbed the hem of her nightgown and tugged it over her knees. "Sam, you shouldn't be here."

  "I'm glad I was. That was some nightmare you were having." He stroked his knuckle down her cheek, his smile softening. "How are you feeling?"

  She clenched her jaw at the urge to lean into his caress. "Fine, thank you."

  "No, you're not. You were crying."

  "It was just a bad dream. They happen to everyone. Forget it."

  Before she could voice a protest, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her back and lifted her from the floor. He deposited her on the bed so that she was sitting up against the headboard, then sat on the edge of the mattress beside her hip. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Kate. I know plenty of men who've been in combat and wake up sobbing."

  She dropped her gaze to the rose she still held. "It's not a big deal. Where did you get the flower?"

  "You're changing the subject."

  "Yes."

  "You're running again. You do that a lot, you know."

  "I wouldn't need to if you weren't so pushy."

  "Am I?"

  "How can you ask me that after you broke into my quarters?"

  He chuckled. "Point taken." He retrieved her pillow from the floor, fluffed it and put it behind her back. "I got the rose from a street vendor who was just setting up his cart across the square from the bakery where I got the pastry."

  "What time is it, anyway?" She glanced at the clock beside the bed. "Sam, it's not even six. What bakery would be open at this hour?"

  "A very accommodating one." He took the plate from the table and offered her a pastry.

  The scent of cinnamon made her mouth water. So did the white icing that gleamed on the top of the flaky crust. Normally she had fruit and whole grain cereal for breakfast. She hadn't indulged in this kind of treat since...

  Since the last time she'd awakened in Sam's embrace.

  "This is ridiculous," she said. "You know perfectly well that I didn't agree to have breakfast with you, and I certainly didn't invite you here. Sam, you have to leave."

  He broke off an edge of one pastry and held it to her mouth. "Come on, Kate. I know you want it."

  "Sam, I—"

  He popped the morsel between her lips and grinned. "There. Good, isn't it?"

  Yes, it was. It was as warm and sweet and hard to resist as the man who gave it to her. She chewed slowly, not wanting to feel the pleasure but unable to stop. "You still should leave," she mumbled, knowing she had to protest the intimacy of the situation. "This is completely inappropriate."

  "Ah, and this has to be the first occasion in history that Navy regulations have been bent."

  "Sam, just because I kissed you on the boat—"

  "And under a tree, and on the floor."

  "—doesn't mean that we're going to repeat the past," she finished.

  "I don't want to repeat the past."

  "You don't? Then why are you here?"

  "To make some new memories." He took the rose from her hand and stroked the flower along her arm. "I've carried you around with me for five years, Kate. You've haunted me. You've spoiled me for anyone else."

  The petals were velvet against her skin, as softly seductive as Sam's words. She leaned away. "Your team calls you Casanova. That doesn't sound as if you've lacked feminine companionship."

  "They chose the nickname out of irony. We call Reilly Tiny."

  "Oh, right. Sure."

  "It's true, Kate. I've compared every woman I've met to you and never found one who came close." He brushed the rose over the hollow at the base of her throat. "I never should have made you that promise. We shouldn't have made our goodbye so final. That was a mistake."

  "But we had agreed it was for the best," she said, repeating what she'd told herself a thousand times. "We both had our careers to think about. Neither of us wanted anything more than what we had."

  "There was another alternative, Kate. We could have stayed in touch. You could have answered my letters. We could have gotten together when we were on leave."

  "For sex."

  "For company. For fun. For sharing cinnamon pastries at dawn." He moved the rose downward, tracing a path between her breasts. "And I've never made a secret of the fact that I want you. We have a connection between us, Kate. The years didn't change that."

  "But we're on a mission."

  "What we do on our own time isn't going to interfere with our duty. If anything, it's going to allow us to concentrate better." He dropped the rose in her lap and leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her hips. "Look at me, Kate."

  She hesitated, then l
ifted her gaze.

  "I'm not involved with anyone," he said. "I haven't dated, I haven't been interested in another woman for longer than I can remember. But you haven't said anything about your love life. Are you currently involved with someone? Is that why you don't want to be with me?"

  "I'm not involved with anyone, but that's got nothing to do with us."

  "I think it does. Someone hurt you, didn't they? Someone made you bury the fun-loving woman you used to be under your career."

  "People change, Sam. If the way I am now bothers you so much, nothing's stopping you from leaving."

  "Bothers me?" he repeated, his voice low. "Kate, you fascinate me. Every time I look at you I want you more."

  "Sam..."

  "Can you honestly say you don't want me?"

  It would be so easy if she could lie. She knew Sam was honorable enough not to pursue her if she said she felt nothing for him.

  But she couldn't lie about this. Not after the way she had kissed him. Not with his weight dipping the mattress at her side and his eyes gleaming golden as he held her gaze and her nightgown still damp from the spots he'd licked. She slowly shook her head. "No, I can't say that."

  "So why not give in, Kate? What harm would there be in enjoying the special bond we have between us?"

  What harm? It would mean disaster. It would mean ripping open all the old pain. She lifted her hand to her neck, reflexively feeling for her necklace, but it wasn't there. The chain was still broken. The butterfly was swaddled in cotton in the bottom of her jewelry box where she'd stored it after she and Sam had kissed on the boat.

  That kiss hadn't been painful. Neither had any of the others. Sam's embrace had blunted the force of her nightmare this morning. She'd felt good, wanted, like a desirable woman.

  Making love with Sam would be another way to escape, better than running, better than burying herself in her work—

  Oh, God, after everything she had been through, was she really fool enough to consider having another affair with Sam Coburn?