by Cindy Dees
Surprisingly, she didn’t blow her stack. Instead, she studied him intently, the way she had before, as if she was taking his measure as a man. He cringed to think about what she would see in him. Did the violence that had been part of his life for so long show on his face?
“Who are you, really?” she asked quietly.
Cripes! What did she see when she looked at him? “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, Sister. Where can I take you? You’re not getting out of this vehicle until I’ve deposited you somewhere reasonably safe for a nun.”
“Is anywhere in this godforsaken country truly safe?” she asked with enough bitterness to send his eyebrows sailing upward.
“Probably not. But you know what I mean.”
She fell silent and he waited her out. In his experience, very few women could stand silence for long. But as the tension stretched out between them, apparently this woman was the exception to the rule.
He was ready to squirm himself by the time she finally said cautiously, “Can I trust you with a secret?”
Something about her wimple compelled him to answer her truthfully. “Depends on the secret, I suppose.”
A frown creased her forehead. “You’re not making this easy.”
He wasn’t known for being an easy man. Never had been. Never would be. He half turned in his seat to face her more fully. “What’s going on, Elise?”
The use of her first name minus the title seemed to shock her into stillness. But then she nodded slowly to herself as if she’d arrived at a decision.
“I’m in Colombia to rescue two children who’ve been orphaned recently. I have reason to believe the family who is hiding them has a member in that Army of Freedom encampment you so effectively yanked me out of this morning. I’ve got to go back there. Find the contact. Discover where the children are.”
“No.”
She stomped her foot on the floor in utter frustration. “Don’t you understand? I promised. Whether you like it or not, I’m doing this. You can drive me all the way to Texas if you like, but I’ll turn around and come right back here.”
“No. You will not. You will die, and those children won’t get rescued at all.”
“You’re so infuriating!” she exclaimed.
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. But her revelation did complicate matters. She wasn’t going to be as easy to chase away as he’d thought. He spared a glance over at the stubborn set of her chin and truculent glint in her eyes. Make that impossible to chase away.
“I don’t see why you’re interfering with this,” she persisted. “It’s men exactly like you who make most of the orphans in this country parentless.”
No, it wasn’t. He was one of the good guys, dammit. He stopped the people she was talking about. But it wasn’t as if he could tell her that without blowing his cover.
She wasn’t his problem. And another pair of orphaned kids in this war-torn land weren’t his problem, either. But that didn’t stop his gut from twisting unpleasantly at the way she was looking at him—as though he’d already betrayed her trust.
He had a job of his own to do. He had to stay focused on that. He had to make sure Enrique passed him up the chain of command to the top brass in the Army of Freedom. And that meant he had to go back to Enrique’s camp. But there was no way in hell—or heaven—that he was letting this nun go with him.
“What if I find the contact for you?” he asked heavily. “Would you stay here and wait for me?”
“Why would you help me?”
He shrugged. Yet another line of questioning he’d rather not pursue. “Yes or no?”
“Should I trust you?” she asked reflectively.
He couldn’t tell if she expected him to answer the question or not, so he chose to ignore it. Besides, he had no idea how to answer it.
“All right. Fine. I’ll give you a day before I come back out there.”
“A week.”
“No way!” she exclaimed. “Two days.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
He nodded briskly. “Deal.”
She scowled suspiciously. Smart woman not to trust him.
“Have you got a room in town?” he asked.
“No, I’d just arrived when I met you in that park.”
“What possessed you to follow me, anyway?” He started the Jeep and pointed it at the only half-decent hotel in town.
“You knew more about the Army of Freedom than you were telling me.”
“And you knew that how?”
She shrugged. “I just knew. You’re easy to read.”
Holy Mother of God— He checked the thought sharply. Probably not an appropriate phrase in the current company.
In short order he rented a room for her in Santa Lucia’s lone hotel and installed her in the sparse, if neat, little room. Suddenly, he was frantic to get far, far away from her all-too-perceptive eyes.
“Don’t leave here until I get back, or else,” he ordered her, more than half-convinced she would disobey him and end up in some new and terrible pickle before he got back to town.
“Or else what?”
Was that a note of playful flirtation in her voice? His gaze snapped to hers, but her eyes were wide and innocent. What was wrong with him? She was a nun!
Scowling, he retorted, “Or else I’ll tell the law you stole that moped, and you’ll be thrown in jail.” Not to mention, he would seriously consider strangling her when he caught up with her.
“You wouldn’t.” She sounded genuinely horrified.
“I would.” He stalked over to the door and tossed out one last warning and order. “Stay put until I get back. Got it?”
A long-suffering sigh. “Got it.”
Why couldn’t he stay mad at her? He relented enough to mumble, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”
Elise slept badly that night, tossing and turning in the narrow bed without Drago’s scent to comfort her. How could that man make her so crazy and make her feel so safe at the same time? He was an arms dealer, which meant he was anything but safe. And yet, something about him called to her. If only she weren’t masquerading as a nun! Of course, she wouldn’t have made it this far without the disguise, but still. The restraints of it chafed. Who’d have guessed she’d bump into a smoking-hot guy out here in the wilds of the Colombian jungle?
The next day passed slowly. But the third day was maddening. She was bored to tears, sick of staring at her little room’s walls, and she couldn’t very well explain to the proprietor that she needed more than the Bible on her bed stand to distract her or she was going to lose her mind soon.
Drago said three days. Had something happened to him? Was he in trouble? Hurt? Captive? In need of rescue? Should she go after him? She was reasonably confident she could find the Army of Freedom camp again. Assuming Enrique hadn’t moved it. And what of her contact within that bunch? Would he have given up on someone coming for the children by now? Told his family to just kill the Garza kids and be done with it?
The sun started to set and red light flooded her room, turning the far wall into a sheet of blood. That was when she gave in to the panic, complete with hyperventilation, inability to form coherent thoughts and an overwhelming need to flee for her life. She was a nurse, for goodness’ sake. She saw blood all the time and it never freaked her out. But she hadn’t been back to Colombia since she lost her folks. And everything about this trip reminded her way too much of the last time she’d been here and seen a wall covered in blood.
Coming here had been a terrible idea. What on earth Father Ambrose had been thinking to trick her into coming down here, she hadn’t the slightest idea. Images of her parents flashed through her brain almost too quickly to process. Happy ones of them traveling the Colombian countryside together. Her father praying by lantern light. Her mother’s quiet strength as she worked side by side with local women, easing their lives for a few moments. And other images. Bloody. Violent. Sickening.
S
he slid down the wall, curling up in a ball on the hard, wooden floor. God, she missed them so much. If only she hadn’t been so damned young and impatient to strike out on her own and get away from them. If only she’d enjoyed them more while she’d had them, told them more often how much she loved them…
The tears, when they finally came, were hot and painful and plentiful. She cried as though she hadn’t cried in years. It was being back in this country that triggered it all. She couldn’t do this. It hurt too much. First thing in the morning, she was obtaining a vehicle and getting out of here.
Finally, no more tears came. Wrung out, she climbed into bed numbly. Three days had passed and Drago hadn’t come back for her. What had she been thinking to trust the word of an illegal arms dealer? She’d already lost too much time to him. Enough was enough. She was going home.
Sharp regret that he hadn’t kept his word disturbed her restless sleep, and maybe that was why she heard her doorknob turning stealthily sometime after midnight. How had the person on the other side of that panel gotten the thing unlocked anyway? She looked around for a weapon, and only the lamp was close at hand. She grabbed it high up by the bulb and flipped it upside down, making an impromptu club of the heavy base. Creeping quietly, she made her way over to the door. Poised to wallop whoever came through it, she held her breath and watched the knob turn by slow degrees.
The door cracked open and a narrow strip of light fell across the floorboards. With a wordless shout, she jumped forward to brain whoever was about to come in.
“Whoa there, Elise!” Drago threw up his arms and blocked his face as she swung the lamp with all her might.
She tried to stop the blow, but the lamp was heavy and she was scared. It landed with a heavy thud on his forearm and upper skull. He dropped like a rock to the floor.
Oh, God. Had she killed him? Panicked, she dropped to her knees beside him, checking for bleeding. Did he have a fractured skull or worse? A goose egg was already rising under his short, curly hair. Frantic, she pried one of his eyelids open to check his pupil.
Strong arms whipped up around her, jerking her down to his chest forcefully. Muscle surrounded her on all sides. Delicious, bulging, firm muscle. That smelled good. Lord, he made her feel small and weak and vulnerable. And oh so tempted to do something no nun would even consider.
“If you ever—” the words ground out furiously from between his gritted teeth “—hit me like that again—” a second eye opened to glare at her along with the first one “—I swear—” his arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe “—I’ll turn you over my knee and spank you until you can’t sit down.”
She gasped as fury rolled off of him, drowning her in the sheer maleness of it.
“Understood?” he bit out.
“Yes, sir,” she replied in a small, chastened voice. “I didn’t see who you were until it was too late to stop my swing. Are you okay?”
“My arm hurts. And my head’s killing me. Were you some sort of baseball player in your prior life?”
She grinned down at him, and it dawned on her that their mouths were about twelve inches apart. Almost in kissing range. And he had such a kissable mouth. Firm and generous. He seemed like the kind of man who’d take his time and be thorough about it. Warmth made her whole body go soft, and she melted against him…which made his muscular frame feel just that much more wonderful against her body. His heat and hardness were the perfect contrast to her softness.
Their gazes met in the dim light from the hallway and electricity erupted between them. Sex and sparks and sizzling heat all rolled into one incendiary look. Oh, yeah. He was as aware of her as she was of him. And he wanted her the same way she wanted him. And…nothing, darn it! She watched in dismay as horror unfolded in his eyes along with the belated recollection that She. Was. A. Nun.
His arms loosened abruptly. “God, I’m so sorry. I mean, gosh, I’m sorry. I mean…I forgot…please don’t be afraid…won’t hurt you…respect the church…”
He was babbling at her. Big, bad, tough, arms dealer Drago. It was kind of cute, actually. But it was also so immensely frustrating not to be able to just lean down and kiss the big lug that she could scream! Reluctantly, she squirmed, and his arms fell away from her.
Bracing her hands on his mile-wide chest, she pushed herself up and off of him. But not before the heat of him scorched her palms. Must resist the delicious man. More to the point, she really must resist the man engaged in the criminal and dangerous activities, regardless of how hot he might be. But good grief, pushing away from him was hard.
Abruptly, his eyes glowed like hot golden embers. She glanced down with a frown and realized she was wearing only a soft cotton camisole and her skimpy bikini panties—the pink satin ones with red hearts and a sassy little bow. Emphatically not the white cotton granny panties Father Ambrose had given her to wear with her nun outfit. But nobody was ever going to see her in her underwear as a nun, right?
Swearing under her breath, she glared at Drago as his gaze slid higher, pausing on the unmistakable swell of her breasts before finally, belatedly, lifting to her face.
She snapped, “Could you have the decency to look away while I get some clothes on?” Her irritation owed a lot more to her reaction to him than his to her. The way those golden eyes had devoured her had made her feel feminine. Sexy. Fabulous.
If she had to keep her hands off the gorgeous arms dealer for very much longer, Father Ambrose was so going to owe her for her Herculean restraint. She supposed nuns everywhere would expect her to behave in a manner fitting of their vows. But good grief, it was hard! Especially with Drago sprawled out on her floor like some sort of reclining god.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he was obediently staring at the wall to his left. Who’d have guessed an illegal arms dealer could behave with any chivalry at all. For surely, what he was doing wasn’t legal. The Colombian government wouldn’t be thrilled at the idea of militant insurgents getting their hands on weapons and ammunition.
She yanked the dress over her head—she really was starting to loathe the sack-shaped thing. She silently vowed to cut it into pieces and use it to clean something really nasty when she got home. Or maybe she’d just ritually burn it.
“Can I look now?” Drago rumbled, laughter in his voice.
“I’m decent.”
“Honey, you’re a whole lot more than—” He broke off while she gaped.
She was a whole lot more than what? And he’d called her honey. Not to mention his voice had been dripping with seduction when he started to make that comment. Was he truly attracted to her? Even in this revolting getup?
“Here. Let me put my wimple on,” she said dryly. “Maybe that will help you remember who I am.”
He sat up, propping one arm on an upraised knee while he shoved the other hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry…again. I can’t seem to get it through my head that you’re a nun. You just don’t…” He trailed off, looking flummoxed.
She just didn’t what? She didn’t know who was more frustrated, him or her. She would give her right arm to hear how he’d have finished that sentence. But it wasn’t as if the nun could go fishing for a compliment, darn it.
She sighed and changed the subject. “Did you have any luck finding the guy who knows about the children?”
“You doubt my skills?” he asked darkly.
It was her turn to be flustered. “I—no—of course not—” She huffed. “So what did you find out?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me how my business deal went?”
Okay, that was a definite teasing tone in his voice now. He’d been messing with her a minute ago. Jerk. “No, I’m not asking,” she declared. “I think it’s reprehensible that you’re arming violent and lawless men like Enrique and turning them loose on the population of this country. Hasn’t Colombia had enough violence? It’s men like you who make the insurgency drag on and on and continue to put children at risk.”
He threw up h
is hands in surrender. “All right, all right, Sister. I confess: I’m a bad man. Will you forgive my sins?”
“Only a priest can grant you absolution,” she snapped. She had no idea if that was true or not, but Drago didn’t seem to know any different.
He muttered low enough that he probably hadn’t meant for her to hear, “I’d love to do a little penance with you.”
She pursed her lips. “Am I going to have to clobber you with this lamp again to knock a little sense into your head?”
Laughing, he scrambled back toward the door. “Please, no. My skull’s thick but not that thick. I think you already split my head in two.”
“Oh, come now. I can hit a lot harder than that.”
His eyes sparkled with humor, glinting like nuggets of pure gold, and her breath caught. With his features relaxed and open like this, it was impossible to believe he was a hardened criminal. “I’ll pass on the batting practice,” he chuckled.
“Do you need a couple of aspirin? I’ve got some in my bag.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ve taken a lot worse hits than that in my day.”
“Do tell.”
He rose to his feet and, in the tiny room, she was abruptly aware of just how large he really was. Not only did he tower a foot taller than her, but he had to be double her weight. And every ounce of it was rock-solid muscle.
He reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, alarming her mightily until he commented, “Worst hit I ever took was this one.” He pointed at a long scar that bisected his torso. “I got it in a knife fight in Rio de Janeiro a few years back.”
She examined the scar with a professional eye. “You almost died from that one, didn’t you?”
Surprised lit his features. “Yes, I did.”
“Heavy blood loss? Punctured lung?”
“Exactly.”
“What was the fight about?”
He jolted at her question. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised by the topic or just reluctant to tell her. But then he answered glibly, “What else? A woman.”
