Desert Rose

by Laura Taylor

  "I’m a Charger fan."

  "Amazing! A woman who actually likes football."

  She grinned. "Sam calls me a salmon. He thinks it’s unnatural for a woman to appreciate contact sports."

  "I think Sam’s a tad cynical where you’re concerned."

  Emma laughed aloud. "Sam’s plagued with an incredible intellect, but he has to work at not being a sexist twit. He’s not really that bad, just annoyingly overprotective."

  "Maybe he loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurt."

  Something about his gentle tone of voice told Emma that David’s thoughts had returned to his family in Montana. "You’re thinking about your sister, aren’t you?"

  "Bingo!"

  Sensitive to the emotion that she heard in that single word, Emma quickly reverted to their original topic. "From what I know about linebackers, they’re broad across the shoulders, narrow at the hip, and they usually stand well over six feet tall, so how do you manage to fit into the cockpit of one of those little jets?"

  "Snugly," he teased. "Since you're obviously lusting after my bod, are there any other vital statistics you’d like to know about?"

  "Your ego’s totally out of control, Major Winslow, but I still like your hands."

  "They’re really pretty beat up, especially after all those years of working on the ranch and then playing ball."

  "They might be beat up, but they’re the hands of a man who would never use his physical superiority against a woman," she said.

  "An observation like that makes me think that you’ve seen far too much of the cruelty in our world."

  "I've seen enough to know that the work I do is valuable, and I’ve experienced enough to know what I want and what I won’t tolerate in my personal life."

  His fingertips came to rest on the underside of her wrist. Her pulse accelerated even more. Emma froze, carnal images suddenly flooding her mind. His fingers on her body, his hands smoothing down her back to her hips, molding her lower body to his hard loins before he brought his hands forward and finally filled them with the weight of her aching breasts. A coil of desire tightened deep inside her. Her skin tingled. Although she knew the absurdity of her fantasies, she felt a riot of sensations explode into her bloodstream.

  "Emma…"

  She registered his surprise in the stark manner in which he said her name, not just in the hesitation of his callused fingertips the instant he encountered her racing pulse. Embarrassed and certain he considered her response to him pretty much over the top, she waited for him to pull away. He shocked her by grasping her wrist even more securely.

  "Babe?"

  "Yes?" she whispered. She felt his tender strength glide over her skin like currents of sultry tropical air.

  "Do I make you nervous?"

  Startled more by the seductive tone of his low voice than by his actual question, she insisted, "Not at all. Being in jail, however, isn’t exactly a tranquil experience."

  "Whatever you say."

  Turning her hand, she laced their fingers together. "Please don’t let go of me, David."

  His grip tightened, warmth flowing from his fingers to hers. "I don’t intend to, but I have to admit that your grip shoots my cream–puff theory all to hell."

  She grinned, some of her tension easing. "I think I like the sound of that."

  "I have a confession to make."

  "Be my guest," she quipped, anxious to divert his attention away from her racing pulse.

  "Touching you is incredibly arousing."

  Emma drew in a stunned breath. "But all we’re doing is holding hands."

  "I know. Shocking, isn’t it?"

  "You’ve been alone for a long time, David."

  He exhaled so heavily that he sounded as if he was groaning. "It’s more than that."

  "How can you be certain?"

  "Not just any woman would suit me," he insisted. "I’m more discriminating than you seem to think."

  "I wasn’t trying to insult you, but two months of enforced celibacy can’t be easy on a man, especially a man like you."

  "A man like me?" He sounded both startled and offended.

  Emma grappled with her own fluctuating emotions and the desire still flirting with her senses. "David, I’m not numb. Nor am I stupid. You’re obviously a very sensual man."

  "I’m not into sexual conquests."

  "Let’s change the subject. This conversation is academic anyway."

  "Is it?" he asked quietly. "You may not want to believe it, but there’s something happening between us, and it’s nothing so mundane as simple biological urges. I’m drawn to you, babe. I’m not sure why or if I even like the feeling, and I don’t understand it anymore than you do."

  She tried to tug free of his fierce hold, but she quickly discovered that he didn’t intend to relinquish her hand. "We need to concentrate on the basics. You know as well as I do that anything else is impossible."

  "I still want you, Emma. I don’t think that’s going to change."

  She trembled. "Maybe holding hands isn’t such a good idea after all." She tried again to ease her hand from his grasp, but she failed.

  "Please, don’t pull away from me. I need… I need you right now. There’s been precious little goodness in my life in recent years, not to mention the last few months."

  She ached to reassure him when she heard the raw emotion of his strained voice, but she still felt haunted by the accusations of inadequacy she’d endured from her first and only lover. She gathered her courage for an admission that she knew she needed to make. "I’ve never been very good at meeting other people’s expectations."

  "I don’t have any real expectations where you’re concerned, only fantasies," he said tiredly. "Just be yourself, Emma. Nothing more, nothing less. I already like you too much to try to force you into being someone or something you aren’t."

  "Are you sure you can accept me as I am and not as you’d like me to be?" She waited for his reply, struggling for calm and for an understanding of the chemistry flowing between them.

  "Very sure."

  Still uncertain despite his assurance, Emma waffled about how to respond, but her honesty triumphed. "David, I know there’s more between us than our physical proximity to each other. It’s just that a lot’s happened to me in a very short time, and I am nowhere near to coming to terms with it all. Not yet, anyway."

  "Believe it or not, I do understand what you’re going through."

  "I know you do. That’s why I trust you to respect my feelings."

  She felt him shift his upper body. His fingertips slid across her palm, prompting fiery sensations to flit over her nerve endings once again. She fell silent, her thoughts drifting through a bewildering maze of uncertainty and desire.

  David asked, "Did they take your jewelry?"

  A startled Emma jerked back to reality. "What jewelry?"

  "Your watch, rings, necklace, earrings, that kind of thing."

  "Just my watch."

  His soft chuckle reached her. "You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?"

  "Ask what, David?"

  "Are you engaged? Or worse, married?"

  "Oh, no. Neither. Who in the world would put up with my travel schedule?" She hesitated, stumbling over the fact that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that David might be involved in a relationship. "Are you? Married, I mean."

  "I was until a couple of years ago. She hated the lifestyle."

  "Children?"

  "None. You?"

  "Not yet, but I want them very much."

  "Me, too, but I haven’t found a woman who’s willing to tolerate the constant transiency of military life. It’s not an easy way to live."

  "I don’t imagine it is for some people," she mused, "although I’ve always believed that a woman, or a man, could tolerate just about anything under the right circumstances and with the right person." She privately doubted that a life with a sensual, compassionate, and intelligent man like David would be at all difficult. "How o
ld are you?"

  "Thirty–five… last week."

  "We’ll have a party when we get out of here," Emma promised.

  More relaxed now, he chuckled softly. She sensed his surprise at her offer. She also appreciated the fact that he didn’t question her motives. Growing inside her, she realized, was a profound need to bring pleasure into the life of David Winslow, but the impulse was too new and far too disconcerting to share.

  Other than her family and the children served by Child Feed, Emma rarely invested herself in other people’s lives. She simply didn’t have that kind of free time. A fluke of fate, however, had altered her entire world, shrinking it in some respects, but expanding it in others.

  David moved unexpectedly, and Emma felt his secure clasp on her hand loosen. Suddenly panicked, she grabbed for him before they lost contact altogether.

  "Sorry. Just trying to get more comfortable."

  She took a breath and willed her heartbeat to slow.

  "Emma?"

  "I’m alright."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "I didn’t mean to pull away or scare you, but I’ve got a cramp in my shoulder."

  "Then maybe we should…"

  "We’ll have to fairly soon," he cautioned.

  "Just warn me before you let go."

  "You’ve got a deal, babe."

  She relaxed when she heard his teasing tone. "You’re hopeless."

  "So I’ve been told."

  "I guess I’m stuck with that ‘babe’ stuff, aren’t I?"

  "It’ll be our secret."

  She warmed to the intimacy of his low voice. "Promise?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Then I’ll try not to cringe every time you use that abominable word, although it makes me think of Paul Bunyan’s ox."

  "I suspect you’re prettier."

  "I certainly hope so!"

  "I've been wondering what you look like," he confessed.

  She shrugged. "I’m presentable."

  "Define presentable."

  "Well, you already know that I’m five–nine and have dark hair."

  "It’s really long, isn’t it?" His question contained a hint of seductive sensuality.

  "Down to my waist. For the sake of convenience, I usually keep it braided."

  "And your eyes?" he prompted.

  "Blue," she answered. "I inherited my Mom’s Irish complexion. Dad’s northern Italian, and I share his penchant for good food. As a result, I’m always dieting."

  "I like a woman with meat on her bones."

  She laughed. "My hips express their deepest appreciation, Major Winslow."

  "You sound perfect."

  "Far from it, although I suspect that every woman wants to be viewed that way by at least one man."

  "You also sound healthy and just as I imagined you’d look. Most women starve themselves and assume that men like having sex with a stick."

  "Not an issue for me. I have too good of an appetite."

  David suddenly tightened his hold on her hand.

  "Your shoulder again?" she asked.

  "I’m afraid so."

  "The one the guards dislocated?"

  "One and the same."

  His voice reminded her of a long stretch of rough gravel road, but she’d also heard the regret in his voice and it soothed her. "Maybe we should both try to get some rest now."

  David squeezed her hand before withdrawing his own. Emma kept her arm extended for a moment, reluctant to be separated from him.

  "Are you alright?" she asked.

  "I will be. I guess a dislocated shoulder takes awhile to heal."

  "Next time, tell me."

  "I was fine until a few minutes ago."

  She finally drew back, moved out of the cramped corner, and sagged against the wall. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, sadness and a renewed sense of isolation creeping into her heart as she listened to David pace the adjacent cell.

  "I’m sorry, Emma."

  Pushing her long hair away from her face, she straightened and returned to the bars at the front of her cell. She wished she could ease his pain, just as much as she wished that she could walk straight into his arms and remain there. Holding hands had reassured her, but it had also aroused more profound needs.

  "Don’t apologize, David. It’s really okay. I’m going to get some sleep. You’ve been wonderful and very patient."

  "You make it easy, babe."

  "Sleep well."

  "You, too."

  Emma retrieved her wool cape, wrapped it around herself, and sank down onto her pallet. Using her tote bag as a pillow, she curled into herself and closed her eyes. She conjured up the image of a large–boned, ruggedly attractive man—a man who possessed a ready wit, a deep reservoir of compassion, a disturbingly sensual voice, and the ability to make her feel secure in a prison cellblock on the wrong side of the globe.

  With David Winslow strolling across the landscape of her thoughts, Emma soon drifted off to sleep.

  4

  As she sat on the pallet in her cell and stroked a brush through her hair, Emma reflected on the stillness of the predawn hour. She had been incarcerated for over a week now, and she’d come to appreciate this particular time of the day because of its peacefulness.

  These few hours gave her a reprieve from the constancy of air–raid sirens, exploding bombs, and anti–aircraft fire, the agony–filled cries of prisoners undergoing interrogation and torture, and the intermittent rifle fire that echoed in the courtyard adjacent to the cellblock. Although often terrified, Emma had discovered within herself the courage to hope for freedom and the strength to face each day. She periodically doubted David’s assurances that she alone would determine how she handled imprisonment, because she considered him to be the primary source of her optimism.

  Emma heard David stir in the adjoining cell, but she remained silent and concentrated on braiding her hair. She then continued her morning routine by dipping a small section of the hem of her blouse into the inch of water that remained in her battered tin cup.

  As she dabbed at her face and neck with the damp fabric, she longed for a luxurious soak in a tub filled with hot water and scented bubbles. The simple pleasures she’d always taken for granted, such as brushing her teeth and wearing clean clothes each day, now constituted a fantasy.

  Emma welcomed the familiar sound of David’s footsteps. After shedding her cape, she also paced her small cell. She walked for over an hour, swinging her arms vigorously as she adjusted her steps to his long–legged stride. Her western–style boots and his heavy leather flight boots quickly synchronized, giving the impression that only one person moved briskly back and forth across the hard packed dirt floor.

  Invigorated by the exercise, she returned to her pallet. She picked up her tote bag to search for her notepad and pen. Somehow, both items had worked their way down to the bottom. Pawing past a pair of socks and a soiled San Diego State University t–shirt, Emma encountered a narrow, foil–wrapped rectangle.

  Puzzled, she fingered the item. Shock immobilized her for a long moment, and then hope sparked within her as she recalled her layover in Zurich and the purchases she’d made at the airport’s duty free gift shop. She hurriedly upended the tote bag, spilling the contents onto her lap. She grinned then, disbelief and pleasure lighting up the vivid blue of her eyes as she stared at the candy bar.

  "Chocolate." She handled the confection with complete reverence. "I found a candy bar!" she exclaimed once she convinced herself that she wasn’t hallucinating. Scrambling to her feet, Emma raced to the corner of her cell. "Did you hear me, David?"

  "I’m not deaf."

  Her smile faltered, but she refused to let his terse reply rob her of the joy of her discovery. She knew he expected her to observe their rule of silence during the early morning hours, but Emma couldn’t remain quiet. "It’s still wrapped in foil, and it’s in perfect condition. I can’t believe I missed it. Nor can I believe the guards missed it."r />
  "I told you those guys were inept. I still have my watch. They overlooked it when they searched me."

  "We’ll share, David."

  "I don’t like chocolate, so just eat the damn thing and shut up."

  Startled, she fell silent. Then, comprehension slammed into her a few seconds later. She knew David well enough now to understand the motivation behind his lie. She probably knew him now almost as well as she knew herself. They had progressed from strangers trapped in life–threatening circumstances to intimates who shared their thoughts, dreams, fears, and desires without a moment of hesitation.

  Emma caught her breath as tears filled her eyes. Only David would pretend to hate something he thought she needed more. Only David would put her needs before his own.

  She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. "Quit being a hero. It isn’t necessary. There’s plenty here for both of us, so stick out your hand. We’re sharing this little treasure. I won’t have it any other way."

  "You need the energy, babe."

  "And you don’t?" she asked, her tone teasing so that she wouldn’t betray her constant worry over his survival. And then there were all of the emotions he inspired in her. Emotions she kept locked in her heart for fear of becoming an even greater burden to him. Emotions that made her realize she could easily fall in love with him.

  "I’ll get by. Give me a break, Emma, and just eat the damn thing."

  "I refuse to take one bite of this chocolate bar if we don’t share it."

  "You’re getting on my nerves, Hamilton."

  "And you’re behaving like a mule, Winslow, so shut up and get over here. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll give it to one of the guards."

  He muttered a harsh expletive, which Emma ignored as she waited to hear the sound of his footsteps. She heard, instead, the desert wind as it whistled in the eaves above the small barred window at the top of the rear wall of her cell. The bleak, lonely sound snapped her patience.

  "I’m putting you on notice as of right now. If you don’t meet me at the wall, then I’ll be forced to toss this candy bar in your direction and hope you can reach it through the bars of your cell. You should know, though, that I don’t pitch worth a damn."