Camouflage Heart

by Dana Marton

  “I’m not afraid.” She ran her own finger over the tingling line his left behind. “I just don’t always know what to expect.”

  He nodded and gave her a rueful smile. “Me neither.” He looked away. “I’m not like other people. I’ve been away too long. I want to be just a man, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

  There was a tug in the vicinity of her heart. “You are everything any man could ever hope to be. You’re a hero,” she said when she recovered.

  “I’m damaged. And I want things I cannot have.”

  From the way he was looking at her, she understood what he wanted, and her blood lurched into a sprint through her veins.

  What do I want? She looked away and her gaze fell on the orchids at her feet. Him. She wanted him, scars and all.

  He stretched out on his back, his hands folded behind his head, his eyes closed. She scooted over and lay next to him on her side, watched the rise and fall of his chest in the light of the fire. Even undernourished, he was the most physically perfect man she had known. The scars that marred his skin could not detect from the strength of his body, the beauty of the muscles that carried her up the trees and pulled her out of the river.

  She touched a fingertip to a raised bump. “The bugs got you, too.” Her finger glided on to the next and the one beyond that, zigzagging over his ribcage.

  He placed a hand over hers, pressed her palm against his skin. His heartbeat raced as fast as hers did. She looked up and found his eyes open, his gaze heated. And then she was scared. Not of him, but of her own reaction. Because she wanted him, a stranger, more than she had ever wanted another man before, more than she had wanted her husband.

  She looked away, only to be confronted with the proof of his desire under the stretching loincloth.

  “Brian…” Her voice tripped.

  “Let me touch you.” He waited, giving her time to say no.

  Instead, she closed her eyes.

  She expected an intimate caress, his fingers circling her breasts, or outlining her aching nipples. But it was the back of his hand on her cheek that she felt. And when his fingers did come to play on her skin, he drew with them the line of her jaw, her eyes, her lips. He followed the curve of her neck, hesitated at the hollow spot there and replaced his fingers with his lips and tasted her. And when he pulled away, she opened her eyes and looked into his.

  “You’re seducing me,” she said, feeling as if the heat of the fire had moved deep inside her.

  “I would love that more than anything.” His sexy lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. “If I still knew how.”

  “Hey.” She grinned at him. “I might not be as experienced as the average teenager, but I still know when I’m being seduced.”

  He dipped his head to the valley between her breasts, until she could feel his hot breath through the thin material of the tanktop. “I’ll let you be the judge of things then,” he said.

  He pressed his lips to her body, dragged them over her breast until his mouth was over a nipple, then he sucked it through the tanktop. She grew damp between her legs in response and arched her back, shameless, wanting all he was willing to give.

  His fingers moved over her stomach and gripped her hips and he ground himself into her. The shock of it, the electricity that zinged through her, brought her to the edge. It was too much, too soon. She wasn’t used to it. Her body didn’t work at these speeds.

  He pulled back and scooped up the flowers, held them above her then let them slip through his fingers one by one, raining white-pink blossoms over her body. He kept one, feathered the soft petals over her lips, her neck, across the narrow strip of skin that showed between her tanktop and panties, then moved lower and caressed the soles of her feet, drawing curlicues with the orchid up her inner thighs.

  When he got where he was headed, he brushed the flower over her underwear a couple of times before tucking it into the band. She trembled as he pressed his hot palm against her.

  In a circular motion he pushed and massaged, while he bent over and fastened his lips on her nipple, her clothes still between them. He changed the rhythm then, to slower strokes, up and down, then circular again, the heel of his palm against her opening, his fingers against her swollen nub of pleasure.

  As he had pulled her up hillsides, and rocks and trees to save her life, he pulled her now to the sky, higher and higher. And then his teeth closed over her nipple and she tumbled.

  The first thing she could hear was her own harsh breathing, her body still contracting. She looked at his badly cut hair, his head resting between her breasts, her mind swimming in confusion as her body was still swimming in bliss. How could he so fast? What he had done to her? Was it even possible?

  She still had her clothes on, he’d never even gotten as far as her naked skin, let alone having any part of him inside her. Sweet heavens. The man and the way her body had responded to him took her by surprise. He singed her, turned her inside out. She loved every second of it. Audrey reached for him and ran her fingers through his hair, caressed his back.

  He pulled up and turned her with her back to him, locked her tight into his arms. His lips were pressed hot against her shoulder, but he didn’t move them, didn’t move anything, although she could feel his hard length against her bottom. There was a thrill in knowing that she affected him this way.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispered into her ear, brushing his warm lips over her lobe.

  “Brian?” She tried to turn and found herself gently restrained. “You don’t have to— I mean, I want to. I want you.”

  Lord, it sounded pitiful and shameless. Her body hadn’t even fully calmed down yet, but she did want him, again, still. How could he not know that? Or was there more to it?

  He had broken through all her defenses with amazing speed and ease. And now she realized he wasn’t about to let her come anywhere near his. The mask was still firmly in place. Was he hiding from her, or from himself?

  He pressed his lips to her skin again, then repeated, “Go to sleep.”

  And from the strain in his voice she understood what it cost him to rein in his own passion.

  “Let me touch you, then.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Maybe another time.”

  “Tomorrow we might not be alive. You need me as much as I need you.”

  “I don’t want you to give yourself to me because I need you. Not to escape from reality, not for pity.”

  “Pity has nothing to do with it.” The fierce denial tumbled from her lips. She tried to turn again, frustrated by the arms that wouldn’t let her. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair to either of us.”

  She could feel his heartbeat against her back, slow and measured. Hers, on the other hand, was still scrambling. His heat enveloped her, comforted her, and it made her mad that he wouldn’t let her give the same comfort to him. “What reason would you accept? What do you want?”

  He touched his forehead against the back of her head and stayed silent for so long, she didn’t think he would respond at all.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice raspy and full of emotion. “I no longer even know who I am.”

  THE ARMY was in the jungle.

  Hamid leaned his back against the rough stone of the cave, trying to think through the throbbing pain in his shoulder. At least it was cool in here, although far from quiet. His men in the back made plenty of noise, arguing about the attack the night before and taking care of their injuries, cursing the Royal Malaysian troops.

  For a moment back at the tin mine, he had been certain the negotiator was bluffing. But no, his own men came across a village messenger this morning. There were soldiers not ten miles to the east of here.

  They could be the ones who had attacked his camp, returning now with the hostages. He should have been notified when they’d first entered the jungle. Anger pulsed through him. Where had the village watchers been then? An example would have to be made. But not yet. He had other things to take care of first.

&n
bsp; “I have an important job for you,” he told the man across the fire from him.

  “Anything,” Omar responded.

  A spark flew from the fire and landed by his feet, going out quickly on the cold stone.

  “You must gather your men and what’s left of mine and attack the army. We must slow them down, cause a distraction.” Enough of a distraction for him to slip unseen down the river. He had to get to a doctor—there was one near Miri he trusted, one who had helped him in the past. Then he had to get to KL in time.

  The fire popped, its flames not substantial enough to light the whole cave, but enough to show the greed on Omar’s face. He missed Jamil, even if they hadn’t always agreed on everything.

  “I will defeat this army unit, I will take their big guns, I will unite the camps. And when you give the signal from KL, I’ll be ready.” The younger man punctuated his words by bringing his fist down on his knee.

  Hamid sat straight, wanting to press his palm against the pain in his shoulder, but resisting. It would not be smart to show any sign of weakness in front of Omar.

  “You are instrumental to the success of our cause,” he said, and watched the calculating look in the other man’s eyes.

  He would have to be taken care of before he became a problem. But not yet. He still had usefulness left in him. And things were bad enough so they couldn’t be picky.

  He would let Omar handle the army unit. If the young hothead won, it would be a victory for them all. If he lost, and something happened to him…one less problem to worry about.

  The camps were more or less united, and once he succeeded in KL, the stragglers would accept his leadership. But he had problems aplenty in other areas. Having the hostages escape had dealt a blow to phase two of his plan. He had counted on the ransom money for more weapons, had a couple of surface-to-air missiles on order. He needed them to effectively fight the Royal Air Force. He needed a decisive military victory.

  “Stop by Ali’s camp once you cross the river,” he said, on second thought. “He will join you if you tell him I sent you.”

  “I don’t need Ali.”

  “You misunderstand me, friend. It is Ali who needs you. I fear your brother was trying to convince him that a major offensive was not necessary. It would be good for him to see the army, to realize they were already in the forest. It would help him understand that the war has already started, whether he wanted it or not.”

  He needed Ali’s calm reason to temper Omar’s blind courage. They both would hate working with the other, but they would make a stronger team than either one fighting alone.

  Allah willing, his line would be restored to the throne soon, the country put into the service of the one true god instead of foreign business interests. It had been bad enough when the Chinese skimmed off profits, and most businesses were owned by them, while the Malay people worked the land, peasants and servants in their own country. But at least the Chinese who lived on the peninsula had kept the profits invested in the country. They kept to themselves and respected Muslim law even if they didn’t practice it.

  The Western influx of businesses was changing the face of the country, however, and the government welcomed the Europeans and Americans, who looked at the natives as barbarians to be exploited. In its mindless quest for modernization, the government failed to protect the culture of the country and its citizens. Young Malay people worked in sweat-shops under conditions little better than slavery, making products they would never be able to afford to buy, for business owners who took the profits and distributed them to their shareholders back in the west.

  His country was under occupation, not by a foreign army, but by foreign businessmen. And to make things worse, it was the country’s very own government who held it down, allowing it to be raped.

  He was fighting in a righteous war. And he couldn’t lose. If he lived to see victory, he would be king. If he fell, he’d be a martyr for his cause, and his brother would be forced to give up his misguided acceptance of the status quo. Yes, his brother would be forced to avenge him, to take up his weapons.

  Either way, the true line of succession would be restored soon. The KL attack would start a tide that could not be turned back.

  Chapter Nine

  Brian listened to the night, feeling every breath Audrey took, every heartbeat. She might not have thought that was enough for him, but in the past few years there had been plenty of times when he had thought he would never have another moment like this.

  She had seen where he’d been, what he’d become, and yet she accepted him. He was stunned and humbled at once. He wanted to get up, rush out into the rain and dance, twirl her around, or bang his chest and shout into the night like Tarzan in triumph. Since she was sleeping, she probably wouldn’t have appreciated either display of joy.

  He stared into the darkness, trying to get his mind around all that had happened in the last couple of days, all the ways his life had changed. He sure hadn’t foreseen this when he’d planned his escape.

  He was laying amidst flower petals, with a beautiful woman in his arms.

  It wasn’t the first time—he had once known how to woo. But it was the most significant, the one he would never forget. And not because of the extraordinary circumstances, but because of the extraordinary woman.

  He relaxed his arms, realizing suddenly how tense his muscles were. Something prickled his instincts, and he turned his attention to the outside world. He lifted his head and listened, but couldn’t hear much over the rain. Their fire had gone out long ago. He reached for their clothes, finally dry.

  “Audrey,” he whispered to her. “Wake up. We have to get dressed.”

  She came awake at once. “What’s wrong?”

  He wasn’t sure. There was now a slight tremor in the rock beneath them. Something popped in the distance, then again and again. Not gunfire. He yanked on his pants and shirt, his boots, found the papers and tucked them away. “Where are the matches?”

  “In my pocket.”

  The sounds were getting louder. A rumble, like logs rolling. Had the river risen this high? Couldn’t be. Not overnight. And then it clicked.

  “Mudslide!” He grabbed her and they half slid, half fell off the rock. “This way. Away from the river.”

  The natural slope of the land would give the mud direction. He didn’t want to get caught in its path. He couldn’t see it, could barely see a foot in front of his nose, but he knew the monster behind him. He’d seen it kill before in Haiti. He’d been part of the marine rescue crew that had retrieved the bodies. Mudslides were ferocious killers.

  They ran, giving everything to it, but it soon became apparent they couldn’t outrun the force of nature. Not in the dark, not with his bad knee. He searched for the biggest tree around, and prayed they were out of the main flow.

  “Grab on.” He latched on to a handful of vines and climbed up the tree with Audrey on his back.

  “Is it safe up here?” she asked when they were sitting in the V of a branch.

  “Safer than down there. Unless the mud takes the tree.”

  And as if to underscore his words, the monster reached them, shaking their precarious haven. He could hear trees falling all around, but theirs held. And then a thunderous crack rent the air and their branch shook as if a giant whacked his axe into the tree.

  “What was that?”

  “Probably a log hitting us.” The mud rolled everything in its path with it.

  “Will it knock down the tree?”

  “Not a log, no.”

  “But?”

  “A rolling boulder could. We should be out of the main flow though.” He put his arm around her to make sure she didn’t fall should the tree get hit again and shake harder.

  She clung to him. He was aware of every point where they touched. Her soft body seemed to melt into his. He ran his hand down her back in a gesture of comfort, and found himself comforted by her nearness.

  The rain was still coming down pretty hard, the few minutes
they had actually spent in dry clothes nothing but a distant memory. When she shivered, he held her tighter, offering her some of his own body heat. “It’ll be better when the sun comes up.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “We’re going to make it. We’re both too stubborn to die.”

  He grinned into the darkness, his arms woven around her. They waited for sunrise like that, sleep impossible under the circumstances.

  The devastation around them became apparent as soon as the first light of dawn appeared on the sky. That they could see the sky, was a telltale sign in itself. The thick canopy was gone; the trees razed where the main flow had been, thinned considerably on the edge. Their tree was one of the few still standing. The mud covered everything below.

  “How deep do you think it is?”

  He looked at the trees that had survived the night. “A couple of feet.”

  “Can we walk in it?”

  He nodded. “But it would take us too long to fight our way to dry ground. And it’s still raining. The mud might start moving again.” He stepped over to another branch so he could see all around.

  “Are we trapped?”

  He grabbed a thick vine, tested it with his weight. “Ready to go?”

  She was staring at him wide-eyed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You wrap it around one foot like this, hang on tight, and push away with the other. I’ll be right there to catch you.” He swung as hard as he could, sailed through the air, latching on to a branch on the next standing tree. “Come on, there’s nothing to it.” He threw the vine back.

  She hesitated.

  “I’m going to catch you. You have to trust me,” he called out to her.

  But his heart lurched into his throat when she did kick away and flew for a few precarious moments in the air, until he finally grabbed on to her and crushed her to him.

  She looked up at him with a smile. “It wasn’t too bad.”