by Susan Cliff
He glanced up at her, his jaw tense.
“Sorry,” she said, releasing him. Before she could step back, he slipped his arm around her waist.
“Are you?”
She was startled by his sudden movement. His expression revealed hunger, not anger, but she had to be careful with him. His injuries hadn’t made him weak or slow. If he wanted to overpower her, he could.
“Are you sorry for touching me? For getting too close? Or for holding me against my will?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not.”
He arched a brow at this claim. When she tried to twist away, he pulled her closer. She braced her palms on his biceps, her pulse racing. Maybe he could sense her excitement, as well as her deception. Because she liked his arm around her, strong and immobile. She liked his taut face and hard body. She could lie to him, but she couldn’t lie to herself.
He lifted one hand to her face. “Let’s make a deal.”
Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. He didn’t want to help her. He wanted to regain control of the situation by any means necessary. Although she might enjoy his methods, she couldn’t let him manipulate her.
“I take you across the mountains, and you take me however I like.”
“I rescued you,” she choked. “You owe me.”
“This isn’t a rescue. It’s forced labor.”
“We help each other. It is fair.”
“No. If you want my services, you have to buy them.”
“I can’t pay you.”
He brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “Sure you can.”
Arousal coursed through her, unabated. Her body didn’t care about his motives. It longed for a respite from grief and pain. One sensual interlude, to make her forget her troubles.
“You’re not free until I am,” he said in a low voice. “You can walk away from my deal as soon as I can walk away from yours.”
She couldn’t acquiesce to his demands, no matter how tempted she was. She couldn’t allow him to gain the upper hand. He seemed excited about turning the tables on her and giving her orders. A flash of intuition told her he wanted freedom, not sex.
“Fine,” she said, feigning defeat. “Take me.”
His gaze darkened. “What?”
“Do your worst.”
“My worst is the best you’ve ever had, guaranteed.”
A thrill shivered down her spine at his boast, but she summoned a bored look. “Go ahead, if you must.”
He stood abruptly, lifting her off her feet. In the next instant, she was on the bed, flat on her back underneath him. He pushed her arms over her head and pinned them against the mattress. She didn’t protest. He stared at her for a long moment, breathing heavily. She stared back at him, calling his bluff. He wasn’t the dumb brute she’d expected. He had brains, as well as brawn. He thought he could pressure her into releasing him. What he didn’t realize was that they were both prisoners here. The only way out was over those mountains, together.
His grip on her wrists loosened. He collapsed, burying his face in her neck.
She experienced a strange mix of emotions. Sorrow, relief, guilt, sympathy...disappointment. And kinship, maybe. He didn’t want to help her, but they were connected. They shared a common enemy. They’d both suffered the traumas of war, even though he’d done so by choice, not because of a direct threat to his home and family.
She raised a hand to his hair, tentative. It still felt nice. So did his body, for that matter. The heavy weight of him reminded her of past pleasures, long forgotten. She stroked the nape of his neck lightly.
He lifted his head, his expression incredulous. She knew she was playing with fire, and she didn’t care. She raked her nails through his hair, encouraging him. She thought he might shove her away in anger, but he didn’t. His half-lidded gaze lowered to her lips.
Then his mouth descended.
The first contact was electric. She parted her lips under his, breathless. She’d wanted this from the first moment she set eyes on him. He was battered and bruised. He’d been in a dark place. So had she. Maybe that was what drew her to him. He needed comfort, and she ached to give it. He was her captive, her patient, her only hope.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking what he wanted. He tasted like mint and soap and male heat, a tantalizing mixture. She clutched his hair and moaned. He feasted on her mouth the same way he devoured plates of food, without finesse. She reveled in the possession.
Had it been this way with Khalil? This urgent?
She couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. Hudson kissed away those thoughts and inserted himself back into them. His tongue delved deeper and his body pressed harder. She could feel the exciting length of his erection. Desire pulsed between her legs. She shifted her hips against him.
He groaned against her mouth, his big hand squeezing her waist. It roved to her hip and back up again, covering her breast. This simple pleasure seemed to undo him. He broke the kiss and fumbled for a way underneath her clothes.
She might have let him continue, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped her to her senses.
Ashur.
He was coming down the hall.
Hudson heard it, too. He turned his head toward the open doorway, his hands still. They were about to get caught.
She pushed at his shoulders and he shifted to one side, allowing her enough space to move. She scrambled off the bed in a panic. He sat forward and folded his arms over his lap while she straightened her tunic. When Ashur appeared in the doorway, she made a face like a scolding auntie.
“Where have you been? I need a broom to sweep up this hair.”
Ashur muttered something about cleaning up after swine and went to do her bidding. It was his typical attitude, so she didn’t think he’d noticed her dishabille. She leaned against the chair, weak-kneed. When she glanced at Hudson again, his eyes were sharp.
“Are you married?” he asked in a hard voice.
“No.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if the question had left a bad taste in it.
“I’m a widow,” she said. “A recent widow, still in mourning.”
His expression didn’t change. “How recent?”
“Two years.”
“Two years is a long time.”
“In my culture, some widows stay in seclusion for the rest of their lives. Most do not remarry or keep company with men.”
“Is that your plan? Never remarry?”
It wasn’t what Khalil would have wanted, but she hadn’t imagined moving on. She also hadn’t imagined kidnapping an American and allowing him to take liberties. She didn’t recognize the woman she’d become.
Ashur returned with the broom, saving her from responding. He swept up the clumps of hair, his eyes downcast. She wondered what he’d done to make Hudson wary. Ashur was so full of grief and fury. He blamed all Americans for destabilizing the country. He blamed Hudson, in particular, for his father’s death. She couldn’t afford to get caught kissing the man. It might send Ashur over the edge.
“Do you require anything else, Queen Aunt?” Ashur asked.
She gestured for him to go. He did an exaggerated bow and left the room. She didn’t think it was funny, but Hudson’s lips quirked with amusement. She crossed her arms over her chest, studying him. “Are you married?”
“I’m divorced,” he said. “It’s what we do in my culture.”
“It is not uncommon here, either.”
“Really?”
She nodded and turned her attention to the map on the table. She was curious about his past, but she needed to focus on the journey ahead. “I can pay you after we reach our destination.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She didn’t ask what he wanted. She already
knew. “Please, look at the map. Crossing the Zagros is not as dangerous as attempting to travel within Iraq.”
“Why can’t you stay here, in this village?”
“The Yazidi have offered a temporary meeting place, not a permanent refuge.”
He stood and joined her at the table, his brow furrowed.
She pointed to a tiny dot on the map. “We are here.” She traced the edge of the mountain range with her fingertip, until she reached the outskirts of Turkey. It wasn’t her final stop, but he didn’t need to know that. “I want to go there.”
“What about the Kurds?”
“What about them?”
“They won’t help you?”
“Kurdistan is not stable, due to border conflicts with Turkey and Iran. They have also taken Assyrian lands in the guise of protecting us. They are your allies, not ours.”
“This country,” he muttered.
“What about it?”
“It’s a goddamned mess, that’s what.”
“Yes, it is. We live in rubble left by the US intervention.”
He made a sound of skepticism. “Your wars go back centuries, before the US was even founded.”
“Before your ancestors stole land from the natives, you mean?”
He tapped the surface of the map. “There’s snow and ice on those mountains. We need special gear for that.”
“I have gear.”
“Do you have crampons for everyone?”
“Yes. Come see.”
She escorted him to another room. She had tents, canvas packs, climbing rope, crampons for icy terrain, and a pile of boots in the corner. He picked up a boot, arching a brow. They were desert-style castoffs from a US military base. Or perhaps stolen. She’d bought the gear in bulk and not asked questions.
“These aren’t for snow.”
“They are all we have.”
He pulled out one of the tents and studied it. “What about sleeping bags? We’ll freeze to death at night.”
“We will use wool and sheepskin, like the nomads.” She showed him her stack of sheepskins. There were two rectangular pieces for each hiker. One covered the front of the torso and one covered the back. There were ties at the shoulders and on the sides. “This can be worn and used as a sleeping mat.”
“How?”
She laid the two panels flat on the ground. The sheepskin offered warmth and padding. “The wool cloaks are versatile also. They become blankets.”
“What if they get wet?”
“I have ponchos.” She found the plastic hooded ponchos. “See?”
He rifled through one of the packs, studying the gear. It was a mix of modern, traditional and low-budget items, all painstakingly collected. She had stainless steel water containers that could be used for cooking. Food rations in sealed tins. He tossed out whatever he deemed unnecessary. When he was finished, he lifted the pack with one hand to test its weight. His bulging biceps mesmerized her.
He dropped the pack with a thunk.
“Is it too heavy?” she asked.
“How do you expect that old man to strap on a fifty-pound pack without falling and breaking a hip?”
“Ibrahim is not coming. He returned to his home in Telskuf.”
“No old people? No kids?”
“Only Ashur. He will have a lighter pack.”
Hud grunted in response, his gaze moving down her body. “You don’t know what you’re in for. Grueling fourteen-hour hikes. No rest stops. Elevation sickness. Dangerous terrain. Bad weather.”
“I walked across the Syrian Desert for sixteen days. I think I know.”
“This won’t be like that.”
“It is a journey my people have taken before.”
“Yeah, who?”
“My mother and father. They guided Assyrian refugees from other countries into Iraq when they were young.”
He cursed under his breath at this revelation.
“We will make it. I am confident.”
“Do you have guns?”
“Of course.” Those were easy to get here, unlike climbing gear. “As many Kalashnikovs as you like.”
“Great,” he muttered. “When do we go?”
“As soon as the others arrive. Four or five days.”
“I can’t wait.”
She followed him back to his room, feeling giddy. His sarcasm didn’t bother her. It meant he was going to cooperate. She was eager to discuss the itinerary, but he stopped at the threshold, barring her entry.
“Unless you want to finish what we started, get away from me.”
She flushed with embarrassment. “Good night, then.”
He slammed the door in her face.
Chapter 5
Hud spent the next three days recuperating.
Recuperating, seething in silence and fantasizing about Layah.
He couldn’t believe she’d played him like that. He’d intended to play her, not the other way around. He thought he could convince her to abandon her half-cocked plan by demanding sex, but she hadn’t blinked an eye at his crude proposition. She wasn’t afraid of him, and she wasn’t innocent. She was a young widow, ripe for pleasure. She’d stroked his hair and rubbed her generous breasts against him.
Damn it.
All he’d gotten for his efforts was an erection that wouldn’t quit. He kept reevaluating the kiss they’d shared, searching for signs of deception. She couldn’t fake chemistry. They had that in spades. The feel of her hands in his hair had turned him into mush. When their mouths met, it was like fireworks.
She’d wanted him, in that moment. They’d been on the same page, hungry for each other. He hadn’t imagined her heated response.
Then they’d almost been caught by Ashur, and she’d jumped up from the bed in a panic, as if she might get stoned in a public square for kissing him. A cold weight had settled in his stomach at the sight, and a little voice in his head whispered: She’s married. She looks guilty because she’s married.
She’d said she was a widow, and that made sense, but he didn’t trust her to tell the truth. She was holding him hostage. She’d kidnapped him and drugged him. Lying was a minor offense compared to her other infractions. Intuition told him she was hiding something, and he’d been burned by beautiful women before.
His cheating ex, for example.
He’d searched Layah’s room at the first opportunity. He hadn’t found a cell phone or any useful items among her personal effects, which he’d inspected thoroughly. The damp lingerie in her washroom had smelled like jasmine water, clean and intoxicating. It wasn’t his finest moment of reconnaissance, but no regrets.
This morning, he’d woken up antsy. He’d paced the room, considering his options. He didn’t want to cross the Zagros with a bunch of refugees, but he didn’t want to stay in this village. It was an insecure location, nestled against the mountains. He had no local contacts. The closest military base was hundreds of miles away.
After breakfast, he tested his stitches by doing a basic captivity workout. Fifty push-ups, two hundred curl-ups, five minutes of cardio. Halfway through, he heard a knock at the door. He paused, wiping the sweat from his face.
Ashur looked in on him. “Are you sick, American?”
“No, I’m training.”
“Kill-training?”
Hud smiled at the boy’s hopeful expression. He’d given Ashur a basic self-defense lesson yesterday. The boy was an apt pupil, eager to learn more close-quarters combat techniques. “What do you want?”
Ashur entered the room and dropped a pair of boots on the floor at Hud’s feet. “Layah says we go today.”
“Go where?”
“On our journey.”
His gut clenched with unease. He hadn’t expected to leave so soon. “Have the others arrived?”
“The
others?”
“The other people in our party.”
“They came weeks ago.”
Hud dragged a hand down his face. She’d lied to him. The other refugees had been here all along, waiting for him.
“You are strong,” Ashur said. “The weather is good. We must go now.”
He tried on the boots. They were the right size, and almost new. Layah had waterproofed every pair with beeswax and oil, on his orders. He could argue that he was still too weak to climb, or simply refuse to leave, but neither option appealed to him. He didn’t feel secure here. His best option was to travel with Layah. He’d act as her guide, for now. He’d do whatever she wanted. A part of him was excited by the prospect.
A very stupid part of him that sometimes made his brain shut off.
He knew he shouldn’t touch her again. He was a Navy SEAL, and she was a refugee. He might be able to get away with seducing her as an escape strategy. Doing it for his own pleasure was a clear violation. It was unprofessional, unethical and unwise. Not to mention dangerous. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard with this woman. Bedding her would be hot, but he had to stay cool and keep his distance.
She’d been giving him a wide berth, so it shouldn’t be difficult. They’d hardly spoken since the kiss. She never came into his room. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. He smiled at the thought.
At some point, he’d get a chance to sneak off on his own. He’d have the advantage in the higher elevations. He didn’t know where they were, exactly, but they had to be close to Iraqi Kurdistan. The Kurds were reliable US allies, with an army of well-trained soldiers. They would take him to an air base.
He stood, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. His injury wasn’t bothering him. He’d done little but sleep and eat for two days straight. He could feel his body recharging, gaining back the weight he’d lost. A glance in the mirror in Layah’s washroom had revealed a stranger with sharp cheekbones and a delineated rib cage, but plenty of lean muscle. He touched his flat stomach, which was still full from breakfast.
