“I don’t even know your last name,” she whispered, searching his face, not wanting to break whatever surreal enchantment they were under.
“Pierce.” His mouth barely moved while his gaze stayed on her lips.
“Rowdy Pierce. Not Rowdy Yates, like the guy on that old TV show?”
He huffed a deprecating laugh. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m not Clint Eastwood.”
His face transformed with adorable fan lines at the corners of his eyes, a flash of white teeth in the middle of the scruffy beard. She got a glimpse of what he might look like under the facial hair, but the truth was it didn’t matter. His eyes had meant warmth and safety when he found her in the hut. He’d treated her with gentle consideration. Something had sparked between them, maybe only because they were alone in the vastness of the desert. It made a kind of sense on a physical level, too. Rowdy Pierce was a major hunk in jeans and camouflage.
Realizing it was a big risk to escalate things, still, she lifted her hand to his face, sliding her fingers through his beard. She moaned at how much silkier it was than she’d imagined a man’s beard could be.
He stiffened, blinked once in surprise.
She grazed his lips with her thumb. Smooth. She traced the sculpted lines. He bit at his lip, his tongue swiping her thumb. She gasped, and her rapidly thumping heart told her to kiss him.
Suddenly, there was a wild look in his eyes, a questioning look.
God, she’d made a fool of herself. He didn’t feel the same powerful pull. “Oh.” Panicking, her heart pattered wildly. She was lightheaded and hot.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
The sexy growl from deep in his throat took her breath away. The spark snapped into a full-on explosion, and she found herself flat on her back, those soft, smooth lips open to cover hers. His tongue speared inside her mouth, and he kissed the living daylights out of her.
Leaning on his elbow, he cupped her head with one hand, and petted her body with the other. His palm curved over her breast, caressing and massaging, pressing rhythmically on her nipple.
Her lips opened in a gasp at the streaks of pleasure racing from her breast to her belly, and lower. Eagerly, he filled her mouth with his sweet, thick, rough tongue, pumping, tracing and thoroughly exploring every corner in devastatingly sensual glides. She didn’t know where her heat ended and his began.
She moaned, suckled his tongue passionately, gripping the strands of his beard. When his kiss took her more fiercely, she slid her arms around his shoulders, stroked fingers through his hair. She circled his nape and pulled him toward her, straining upward, wanting to feel his chest on her breasts. That solid, magnificent chest. Shaking, she gripped his robe, fingers creeping underneath. Her palms curved so naturally over his muscular pecs, over his peaked nipples.
His sheer masculinity aroused her. His big body covered hers, a heavy, muscular leg between her thighs, his knee pressing upward on her clit. The swollen, thick penis ground against her hip. Good God! Hard. He…it’s hard. Solid. Long. She rolled her hips, unwittingly massaging his cock. Her world condensed to the scorching flame generated between their bodies. Something inside her yawned, contracted, and opened again, the ache so strong she groaned into his mouth.
His hands fanned across her back, holding her tightly.
She slid hers up over his shoulders and clung.
He broke the kiss and gasped raggedly for air.
“Rowdy.” She fought for breath, not wanting the kissing to stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She gripped his face and frantically ate at his mouth. Alive! She was alive. She owed this man so much, everything. Every inch of her softer body fit against his potent, powerful frame. He felt like heaven and tasted better. It was a taste she’d never had before and knew she would never forget.
“Sara.” His whisper was hoarse.
Slippery, salty tears on her lips, on his, she gasped in a sharp breath when his hand cupped her breast again. God, yes. It was still tender from the assault in the hut, but she didn’t want him to stop. He circled his palm over her nipple, then gently pressed and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, streaking lightning through nerve endings, racing tingling heat to every distant part of her body.
“Baby.” The endearment came out in a growl as he took her hand and steered it to his cock. “Touch me.”
“Uh, yeah,” she whimpered, tentatively tracing its length as he softly groaned. God, it was a sexy sound. She slowly closed her hand around him, caressing the length. Fingering the tip, she felt moisture seeping all the way through his jeans. “Rowdy—” Her moan was short-lived before he crushed his lips down on hers again.
Her heart beat so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move her head. “No,” she moaned. He didn’t stop, his fingers trailed down her center, lower, until his palm flattened on her mound. She squirmed, but not in pleasure. In panic. She groaned, “Nooo.”
He stilled. Heat poured off him, his breathing labored.
Her eyes squeezed tightly shut to close out the memory of her near rape. “Stop. Please stop.”
Chapter 3
Rowdy lurched to his feet, heart pounding, cock aching. What the fucking hell are you doing? Your job is to rescue her, not finish the rape. He had to clear his throat. “I’m sorry.” She lay on the ground at his feet, eyes wide in panic and fear, hands covering her mouth. Her blonde hair shimmered in the brilliant moonlight and spilled in disarray over her shoulders and into the grass. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than her soft, kissable mouth.
He didn’t mix business with pleasure. Didn’t break his own rules. Hadn’t fucked anything but his fist in a long time. But who said his rules were written in stone anyway? Sara Stewart was stronger than her fragile façade indicated. She’d started it, and horny bastard that he was, he took advantage. She was sweet. So sweet. Sparks popped inside his eyelids as he squeezed them closed.
Son of a bitch, he was in over his head. He was personally and unprofessionally in over his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “That won’t happen again.”
* * * *
This time Rowdy mounted and pulled her up behind him. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to hold her in his arms any longer. They made their way out of the oasis, headed north again. He soon realized his mistake. He’d pulled her arms around his middle and told her to hang on. The blood in his brain raced to his dick, and the hard-on that hadn’t eased off since he first held her, pulsed and ached the minute he pulled her body against his back.
Her hands clasped around his waist, her fingers locked together. Through the abaya, he could feel her brush his belly with her thumbs, feel her breasts crushed flat on his back. The breasts he’d caressed for too short a time.
Was she as turned on as he was? That thought seared him all the way through even in the cool desert night. Heat started deep in his belly, flooded his cock, curled with lust around his heart. Adrenaline still raged through his veins. He wanted to spread her slim thighs and drown his cock inside her feverish, delicious pussy. She’d be wild and wet…
Rowdy shuddered. She’d been kidnapped, beaten, almost raped. God damn it, you’re an animal.
Hell. The ’vette. That was the only thing he could think of that would take his mind off her body and what he wanted to do with it. Willing the blood flow back up to his brain and away from his cock, he hoped concentrating on switching out the alternator would change the direction of his thoughts.
Well, hell. That didn’t work. Everything about her, every place her body hugged, kept him stiff and throbbing. He concentrated on his compass, on making sure they weren’t being followed, on doing the job he was being paid for. Nothing interfered with business. He kept that in focus right up until he spotted the pickup point on the horizon.
* * * *
They’d stopped, the cessation of the bouncing horse being Sara’s first hint. She jerked her head from his back and failed at stifling a moan. Exhausted, she was still amazed she’d fallen asleep riding a horse. R
owdy’s back, while padded with muscle, was not a particularly soft man-pillow. Blinking and looking around, a sliver of gauzy white light lay across the horizon to the east as backdrop to three Bedouin tents.
“We’re here,” he announced, lifting his leg over the neck of the horse and sliding smoothly off.
“What is this place?” She was too sleepy for more than a groggy whisper in the stillness of the dawn.
“A staging area. Come here.” He raised his arms to help her off.
On the ground, she clutched his shoulders, telling herself it was because she needed steadying, not that she wanted to be in his arms again. Then she straightened up and attempted to step back from him. Don’t be a fool. You’re almost home. You’ll never see him again. She panicked at that thought. It’s only gratitude. That’s natural. He’s your hero, and you’re grateful.
The camp was already busy. A Humvee roared off past them down a road, sand kicking up from the tires. A man in black cargo pants and T-shirt greeted Rowdy and said to her, “Welcome, ma’am. Glad you’re back safe.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled. After the man took the horse away, she asked, “Is this place yours? Do these people work for you?”
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand to acknowledge another man climbing into a jeep. Then his breath bathed her ear. “Come on. You can rest until the helo gets here.”
He guided her to the tent in a formal, possessive way, with his palm at her back. Tired and confused, her body hummed with tension. It was all coming to a close now. She’d been so aroused until—until he’d climbed on top of her at the oasis. Part of her wanted to run like hell, and another part wanted to stay here with him and have wild, animal sex. Good Lord, what had gotten into her? He wasn’t at all like the sophisticated, polished men she was used to back home. Of course, his long hair and beard could be cut.
He raised the tent flap and motioned her in. Before he could disappear, she touched his arm. “You’re coming back?” She held her breath.
“I’m just going to get some wash water.” He gave her a brief glance, and the expression in his hooded eyes didn’t give any hints about his thoughts. “You’re safe now. The helo will be here any minute, and you’ll be on your way home. You can rest.” He pointed toward a rickety looking cot.
The flap closed behind him. It was almost over. She’d never see him again, and she didn’t want to leave without—without what? He wanted her, she could tell by his every movement, by the way he looked at her, fierce and baffled in turn.
She was a free spirit, an artist. Artists took risks. Coming to Egypt was more of a risk than she’d intended. Being with a man like Rowdy was another risk. He’d saved her life, and she was grateful. But there was more.
His sense of responsibility, strength, protectiveness attracted her. He was so serious, and that translated into intense, passionate lovemaking. She’d probably never know anything like it ever again. At least thank him for saving your life. A moan slipped out. Good one. You just plain want him. In the still heat of the tent, she removed the abaya, tossing it on the cot. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she closed her eyes in anticipation of his return. He had no idea how aroused she was.
She heard the rustle of the material. Her head snapped up, and there he was, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Her heart hammered. She sucked in a breath. It was obvious he’d tried to fix himself up. He still had the beard, but his hair was wet and slicked back. He couldn’t do much, though, about the bruises turning colors around the warm, golden, green glow of his eyes. Baggy-in-the-knees cammies clung lovingly to his hips and flat belly. A clean T-shirt stretched tautly across his chest and shoulders. The first time she’d seen him, she thought he was as ugly as the man who had tried to rape her. Boy, had she been wrong.
He stared intently at her, indecision clear. Oh, he wanted her. His pants weren’t baggy enough to conceal an erection. She opened her arms, he put the bucket of water on the ground, and he stepped into them. She wanted to hold him, to taste him, to memorize the smell of the combination of his musky sweat and the soap he’d used to wash. She wanted to luxuriate in the heat of his body, to rest her head on the safety of his chest, rub herself like a cat against his hard, well-earned muscles. No effete, upscale health-club-type Chicago businessman, he was the kind of man who would not only hold a door open for a woman, he’d hoist her over his shoulder and carry her through.
His chest lifted with a deep breath, and her ear tingled with the sensual question, “You’re sure now?”
She answered with her body, sliding her hands up his spine, undulating her belly across his. She pressed her mound against the thick, rigid rod of his cock and wanted to growl every one of those luscious descriptive words aloud. Moaning frantically, eyelids at half-mast, she stretched up and took his lower lip between her teeth in a controlled bite.
He groaned, curled his fingers around her bottom, and squeezed, bringing her tight against his penis.
She sobbed and tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it out of his pants and pushing it up. Skin. She wanted to finally feel the muscles layering his chest. She trailed a fingertip from one male nipple across to the other and placed a kiss in the center of his chest. Her fingers itched to press downward, but before she could grasp him, he bent his knees and picked her up.
“Put your legs around me, Sara,” he whispered just before he took her lips in a hard, searing kiss.
His deep, gruff voice, the huff of the soft, sibilant ‘S’ of her name bathing her face sent shivers throughout her body. She’d do anything this man asked. They didn’t have much time left. Take what you want, what you need from him. Forget everything else. Nothing matters now but this. She locked her fingers around his neck, then tightened her legs around his hips, clasping her ankles over his butt. He lowered himself to the cot and, with a palm on her bottom, pressed her mound against his penis, never breaking the kiss. She thrust her hips rhythmically, frantically against his, moaning at the promise of being filled by him.
She caressed the yellowing bruise below his eye with gentle fingertips. Every inch of her skin trembled with want, her thighs quivered, and her sex flowered open, wet and ready for him. She almost laughed at the purple prose running through her mind, but that’s what she felt—an aching softening, a rush of warm cream, a pulse throbbing in her clit. She whimpered in her throat as she speared her fingers through his hair.
His breath bathed her chin, and he rasped, “I wanted you from the minute I saw you.” He took her mouth again. His hard, encompassing mouth, his thick, slippery tongue thrusting inside, filling her. He traced a path down her neck with his lips, over her collarbone, then nudged at the fabric over the round curve of her breast. “Take this off,” he demanded as he quickly unbuttoned her shirt. His shirt, the one he’d given her.
She arched, held her breath, and watched his every move. He tantalized her with slow nips closer and closer to her aching nipple. Heat bloomed. She’d never felt anything like his focus and intensity before. The sight of his big, raspberry colored tongue on the tip of her breast sent a sizzling path of lust through her veins, flooding her womb with heat, a spike of delicious desire. Big hairy face or not, she wanted his mouth on hers again.
She vibrated with the waiting, crying out when his lips finally closed around her aching nipple, working it with his tongue, nipping with his teeth. “Rowdy.” She gripped his ears. He groaned as he suckled. She caressed the side of his face as if he were a baby. The eroticism of the sight caught her by surprise, the close up of his eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows. She moaned and arched into the cushion of his face, tossing her head at the roll of his teeth, the back and forth of his lashing tongue.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, she opened her mouth to cry out, and suddenly his lips covered hers again. At first, the short, intense sweeps of his tongue, matched by hers, were a powerful massage on sensitive lips. Then, they collided in an explosion so hard their teeth clashed. Passionate, voracious, insatiable
emotions became a wild rush of desperate, frustrated craving.
More, more!
A tremendous noise battered her ears.
“Fuck.” His guttural exclamation was short and foul. “Show time, baby,” he rumbled in her ear.
It was the only way to be heard, the thwapping of the helicopter blades deafened her.
He gave her one final, deep, penetrating kiss, sipping and nipping at her mouth. “My real name is Peter.”
He brushed a thumb over her lips, her eyebrows, concentrating his passionate gaze on the separate parts of her face as if to memorize the whole. An ache, deeply embedded inside her, would destroy her if she didn’t push it back down. If only the helicopter hadn’t come. If only they’d met somewhere else, somewhere civilized. If only this weren’t over.
* * * *
Rowdy’s heart felt ripped in two. There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, to hear from her, but they’d run out of time. He allowed himself another final, private look at her beautiful face and devastating blue eyes before he kissed her for the last time, touched her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the crest of her cheek bones, and finally her lips. How could he let her go?
In his business, there was always another job to do. Time to put her on the helo and move on. He pulled her through the tent opening and led her toward the military helicopter, just landed but poised and ready for takeoff at a moment’s notice.
No time left. The ache, snaking and swelling through his body, wasn’t just from his unrequited lust. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He clasped his arm protectively around her waist as they ran straight into the noise and dust kicked up by the spinning rotors. Sweeping her into his arms, he tucked her head against his chest to shield her eyes and almost fell to his knees with the powerful hunger for the sweet, luscious, quivering woman clinging tightly to his neck, breathing hotly against his skin.
Mercenary Desires (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2
