Soldier of Fortune

by Diana Palmer

  "Gabby," he murmured as he tasted the softness of her cheeks, her forehead, "that stiffness.. .have you felt it before with anyone?"

  It was a casual-sounding question, nothing to alarm her. "No," she murmured. She liked the soft, slow kisses he was pressing against her face. She felt like a child being loved.

  "Would you like me to make it worse?"

  She opened her dazed eyes to ask what he meant, and his open mouth crushed down on her lips. She gasped softly, letting her eyes close again. His mouth felt odd; it was warm and smoky tasting and very, very expert. Her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into wrinkles. She stood quite still, her body tense with hunger, feeling the slow persuasion of his mouth grow rougher.

  He lifted his mouth away from hers, his face so close that she couldn't see anything but his lips. "Who taught you that it was impolite to open your mouth when a man kissed it?" he whispered softly.

  Her eyes went dazedly up to his dark ones. "Is it?" she whispered back, her voice sounding high-pitched and shaky.

  "No," he breathed. His thumb gently tugged on her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open. "I want to taste you, Gabby. I want to touch you.. .inside..."

  She started to tremble at the sensuality of the words and of his touch. His mouth eased hers open and slowly increased its hungry pressure. She felt the tiny bristle of a half day's growth of beard around his mouth and felt the hardness of his tongue slowly, delicately, penetrating her lips.

  A tiny moan trembled in her throat.

  "Don't be afraid," he whispered, his own voice oddly strained. "It won't hurt."

  She did moan then, as the implied intimacy and the penetration all washed over her at once, and she drowned in the sensation of being possessed by him. He tasted of smoke and coffee, and her nails dug into his shoulders. She pressed her body into the hard curve of his and heard him groan.

  "No," he said suddenly, pushing her away. He turned, walked off and lit a cigarette.

  Gabby clutched her purse to her and stood staring helplessly after him, trembling all over. She'd never dreamed that it would feel like that!

  Around them, a group of tourists was just entering the end of the Forum, which they'd had momentarily to themselves. Gabby got a glimpse of colorful clothing and heard murmuring voices as J.D. smoked his cigarette for several long moments before he turned and rejoined her.

  "I shouldn't have done that," he said quietly. "I'm

  sorry."

  She was struggling for composure, and it was hard won. "It's all right," she said. "I know you're worried about Martina..."

  "Was I looking for comfort, Gabby?" He laughed mirthlessly. His dark eyes swept up and down her slender body.

  "I'd rather it was that," she murmured, "than you needing a woman and having me get in the way."

  "It wasn't that impersonal, I'm afraid," he said, falling into step beside her. He towered over her. "Gabby,

  I'll tell you something. I've done it in every conceivable way, with a hell of a lot of women. But up until now, I've never wanted a virgin."

  She stopped and looked up at him, puzzled.

  He glanced down at her. "That's right," he said. "I want you."

  Her face flushed.

  "You'll have to remind me at odd intervals that you're a virgin," he continued, smiling faintly. "Because I'm not really out of the habit of taking what I want."

  He was angry and frustrated and probably trying to warn her off, she thought. But she wasn't afraid of him. "If you seduce me," she told him, "I'll get pregnant and haunt you."

  He stared at her as if he didn't believe his ears. And then he threw back his dark head and laughed like a boy, his white teeth flashing in his dark face.

  "Then I'll have to be sure I don't seduce you, won't I?" he teased.

  She smiled up at him, feeling oddly secure. "Please."

  He drew in a long breath as they walked, sighed and took another drag from his cigarette. "I thought this was all going to be straightforward and simple," he murmured. "Maybe I'd better put you on a plane back to Chicago, little one."

  "Cold feet?" she muttered.

  "Not me, lady. But you might wish you'd stayed home. I don't know where my mind was when I dragged you over here."

  "You said you trusted me."

  "I do. Totally. That's why I wanted you with me. The way things are turning out, I'm going to need you more

  than ever. When we get to my friend's finca," he said quietly, "someone has to stay behind to handle communications. We'll have powerful walkie-talkies and we'll need updated information. The finca we'll be staying at is only miles from the one where Martina is being held."

  She felt uneasy as she studied his hard face. "You're not going in there alone?"

  "No—with those old friends I was telling you about."

  "Couldn't you stay behind at your friend's finca?"

  "Worried about me?" He laughed. "Gabby, I've dodged a lot of bullets in my time. I was in the Special Forces."

  "Yes, you told me," she grumbled. "But that was a long time ago. You're a lawyer now, you sit behind a desk..."

  "Not all the time," he said, correcting her. His eyes studied her quietly. 'There are a lot of things you don't know about me. About my private life."

  "You could get yourself killed."

  "A car could hit me while I'm standing here," he countered.

  She glared at him. "I'd be without work. One of the unemployed. Everything I'd do for the rest of my life would be horribly boring."

  "I'd miss you too, I guess," he agreed, laughing. "Don't worry about me, Gabby. I can take it as it comes."

  "Do I even get to meet this man you call Dutch?"

  He shook his head. "You'll meet enough odd characters in Central America. And Dutch hates women."

  "You aren't Mr. Playboy yourself," she muttered.

  "Aren't you glad?" he asked, turning to look at her. "Would you like a man who had a different woman every night?"

  The question shocked her. She struggled for an answer, but he'd already opened the door of the rental car and was helping her in.

  The rest of the day went by in a haze. She went back to the hotel with him, her eyes full of ruins and Romans and maddening traffic. She had a bouquet of flowers that J.D. had bought from an old woman near the Fountain of Trevi. She couldn't wait to get into her room and press one of the flowers, to keep forever. She buried her nose in them lovingly.

  Across the room, J.D. was speaking fluent Italian with someone on the phone. He hung up and turned back to her.

  "I have to go out for a little while," he said. "Lock the door and let no one in, not even room service, until I get back. Okay?"

  She studied him quietly. "You won't go getting into trouble while I'm not around to rescue you, will you?" she said, teasing him.

  He shook his head. "Not a chance. Watch yourself."

  "You too. Oh, Jacob!"

  He turned with his hand on the doorknob. "What?"

  "Thank you for the flowers."

  "They suit you." He studied her face and smiled. "You look like one of them. Ciao, Gabby."

  And he was gone. She stared at the door for a long time before she went to put her flowers in some water.

  CHAPTER THREE

  J.D. DIDN'T COME BACK UNTIL late that afternoon, and he was strangely taciturn. He shared a silent supper with Gabby and then went out again, telling her tersely to get some sleep. She knew he'd found out something, but whatever it was, he wasn't sharing it. Apparently his trust in her had limits. And that was disappointing. She climbed into bed and slept soundly and without interruption. Part of her had hoped for a nightmare or an earthquake that would bring him running into her room. All her wild fantasies ended with him running into her room and catching her up in his hard arms. She sighed. This was certainly not the trip she'd envisioned. It was turning into a wild tangle of new emotions. A week before, she couldn't have imagined that he would tell her he wanted her.

  THEY FLEW TO MEXICO the
following morning. Several hours into the flight Gabby shot a worried glance at J.D. He'd hardly moved in his seat since takeoff, and she'd busied herself looking at clouds and reading the emergency instructions and even the label on her jacket out of desperation.

  He seemed to sense her searching gaze and turned his

  head to look down at her. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

  She made an odd little gesture. "I don't know," she said inadequately.

  His eyebrows lifted. "I'll take care of you."

  "I know that." She let her eyes fall to the vest of his gray suit. "Will we stay in Mexico City?"

  "Probably not. We're supposed to be met at the airport." He reached over and took her slender hand in his big one. The contact was warm and wildly disturbing, especially when she felt his thumb moving slowly, sensuously, against her moist palm. "Nervous?" he taunted.

  "Oh, no. I always go running off into the dark unafraid," she replied with a grimace. She glanced up. "I come from a long line of idiots."

  He smiled at her. It was a shock to realize that he'd smiled more at her in these two days than he had in two months back at the office. Her eyes searched the deep brown of his, and the airplane seemed to disappear. He returned the look, his smile fading. His nostrils flared and the hand holding hers began to move slowly, his fingers probing, easing between hers. It was so sensuous she felt herself tremble. His hand was pressed against hers, palm to palm, fingers tightly interlocked, and when it contracted it was almost an act of possession.

  Her lips parted in a soft gasp, and his eyes narrowed.

  "Bodies do that," he whispered under his breath, watching her reactions intently. "Just as slowly, just as easily."

  "Don't," she protested brokenly, averting her face.

  "Gabby," he chided gently, "don't be a child."

  She ground her teeth together and struggled for com-

  posure. It wasn't easy, because he wouldn't let go of her hand despite her token protest.

  "You're out of my league, Mr. Brettman," she said unsteadily, "as I'm sure you know. Don't.. .don't amuse yourself with me, please."

  "I'm not." He sighed and turned sideways so that his head rested against the back of the seat. Then he coaxed her face around to his. "You've never known the kind of men you'll meet when we get where we're going. I thought," he continued, smiling at her stunned look, "that it might be easier for you if we got in a little practice along the way."

  "What do you mean? What will we have to do... ?" she began nervously.

  "I mean, as I told you in Rome, that we'll have to be inseparable for the most part. We have to look as if we can't keep our hands off each other."

  She stopped breathing, she knew she did. Her eyes wandered quietly over his face. "Is that why, at the Forum...?"

  He hesitated for an instant. "Yes," he said deliberately. "You were far too jumpy with me to be taken for my lover. It has to look convincing to do us any good."

  "I see," she said, fighting to keep her disappointment from showing.

  He studied her eyes, her cheeks, and then her mouth. "You have the softest lips, Gabby," he murmured absently. "So full and tempting; and I like the taste of them all too much..." He caught himself and lifted his eyes. "You'd better remind me at intervals that you're off-limits."

  She was so aware of him that she tingled, and the

  thought that he might kiss her again made her go hot all over. She smiled strangely and looked away.

  "What was that about, that tiny little smile?" he asked curiously.

  "I never used to think of you that way," she confessed without thinking.

  "How? As a lover?" he probed.

  She lowered her eyes quickly. "Yes," she said shyly.

  She felt his long fingers brush her cheek and then her neck, where the pulse was beating wildly.

  "Oddly enough, I've hardly thought of you any other way," he said in a deep, gruff whisper.

  Her lips opened as she drew a sharp breath, and she looked straight into his eyes. "J.D....?" she whispered uncertainly.

  His thumb brushed across her mouth, a tiny whisper of sensation that made her ache in the oddest places. His own breath wasn't quite steady, and he frowned, as if what was happening wasn't something he'd counted on or expected.

  His eyes dropped to her parted lips and she heard him catch his breath. In a burst of nervousness, her tongue probed moistly at her dry upper lip and he made a rough sound in his throat. "Gabby, don't do that," he ground out. His thumb pressed hard against her mouth, and his head bent. "Let me..."

  In a starburst of sensation, she felt the first tentative brush of his hard lips against her own.

  And just as it began, it was suddenly over. The loudspeaker blared out a warning for passengers to fasten their seat belts, and the delicate spell was broken.

  J.D. lifted his head reluctantly, his eyes almost black

  with frustration, his face pale. "The next time," he whispered gruffly, "I'll kiss the breath out of you, the way I wanted to at the Forum."

  She couldn't answer him. She was swimming in deep waters, hungry for him in an unexpectedly desperate way. Her hands fumbled with her seat belt and she couldn't look at him. What was happening to them? she wondered, shaken. Just the morning before, they'd been employer and employee. And in a flash, they were something else, something frightening.

  His hand caught hers, enfolding it. "Don't, please, be frightened of me," he said under his breath. "I won't hurt you. Not in any way, for any reason."

  She glanced at him. "I'm all right," she said. "I'm just...just..."

  "Stunned?" he asked wryly. "Join the crowd. It shocked me too."

  Her eyes locked on their clasped hands. "But I thought you kissed me to—how did you put it—make it look better for the men?"

  "I did. And to satisfy my own curiosity about you. And yours about me." He tilted her face up to his. "Now we know, don't we?"

  "I think I'd be better off not knowing," she muttered.

  "Really? At least now you've learned how to kiss."

  "You have the diplomacy of a tank!" she shot at him.

  He smiled, his teeth white against that olive tan. "You're spunky, Gabby. I'm glad. You're going to need spunk."

  His words brought back the reason for their trip, and she frowned. The plane started to descend and she clung to J.D.'s strong fingers, wondering if in a few weeks this

  would all be nothing more than a memory. He'd said they'd have to seem involved; was this just a practice session? The frown deepened. She realized quite suddenly that she didn't want it to be. She wanted J.D. to kiss the breath out of her, as he'd threatened, and mean it.

  They landed in Mexico City, and Gabby's eyes widened as they walked into the terminal. She smiled, dreams of Aztecs and ancient ruins going through her mind—until she remembered poor Martina, and the fact that they weren't here to look at tourist attractions.

  She looked at J.D., standing tall and quiet at her side with a smoking cigarette in his hand. He stared slowly around the terminal while Gabby shifted restlessly beside him, their two small carry-on cases beside her.

  After what seemed like a long time, J.D. began to smile as a tall, devastatingly attractive man strode toward them. He was wearing a beige suit and leather boots, and he looked debonair and a little dangerous— like J.D.

  "Laremos." J.D. grinned as they shook hands.

  "Did you think I'd forgotten you?" the other man asked in softly accented English. "You look well, Archer."

  Gabby's eyebrows lifted curiously.

  "Archer," the man explained, "is the name to which he answered many years ago, during our...acquaintance. You are Gabby Darwin, no?"

  "Yes." She nodded. "And you are Segnor Laremos?"

  "Diego Laremos, a sus ordenes," he said formally, bowing. He grinned. "A dish, Archer."

  "Yes, I think so myself," J.D. said casually, smiling at her as he drew her unresisting body close to his side. "Did Dutch phone you?"

  The smile f
aded and Laremos was at once something else, something out of Gabby's experience. "Si. Drago and Semson and Apollo are here now."

  "No sweat. How about my equipment?"

  "Apollo got it from Dutch," Laremos said, his voice low and intent. "An Uzi and a new AK-47."

  J.D. nodded while Gabby tried to decide what in the world they were talking about. "We'll need some RPGs."

  "We have two," Laremos said. "And eight blocks of C-4, rockets for the RPGs, assorted paraphernalia, jungle gear, and plenty of ammo. The border is a massing point for the guerrillas these days—you can get anything if you have the money and the contacts."

  J.D. smiled faintly. "Dutch said First Shirt has both. You made a smart move when you put him in charge of your ranch security."

  "Si," Laremos agreed. "It is why I survive and many of my neighbors have not. The finca above mine was burned to the ground a month ago, and its owner..." He glanced at Gabby. "Forgive me, senorita. Such talk is not for the ears of women."

  "I don't even understand it," she said, studying both men. "What is an RP.. .whatever it was? And what do you mean, rockets?"

  "I'll tell you all about it later," J.D. promised. "Got the plane?" he asked Laremos.

  The other man nodded. "We will have to go through customs. I assume you have nothing on you that it would be embarrassing to declare when we land; otherwise you would not have made it through Mexican customs."

  J.D. chuckled. "Even with you along, I doubt they'd

  look the other way if I boarded with the Uzi slung around my neck and clips of ammunition hanging out of my pockets."

  Laremos laughed too. "Doubtless they would not. Come. We are gassed up and ready to go."

  "Uzi?" Gabby queried as they followed him.

  J.D. pulled her against him briefly. "An Uzi is an Israeli-made weapon. It's classified as a semiautomatic."

  "Did you use one in the Special Forces?"

  He laughed softly. "No."

  "Then how do you.. .and why.. .and what...?"