Desert Rose

by Laura Taylor

  At least an hour passed before the two women jumped into action once again. She watched in horror as one of the women fashioned a leash with a length of rope. Lifting her chin in a gesture of defiance, she refused to cower as the leash was looped around her neck and she was jerked forward. Then, she was quick–marched through a large kitchen. When an old man surreptitiously shoved two oranges into the folds of the still wet clothing she carried, she nodded her gratitude. She thought, maybe they aren’t going to hang me right away.

  She was shoved into a storeroom, a deadbolt grinding into position after the door slammed shut, and left alone to languish. Huddled on the floor, she stared at the two oranges the old man had given to her as the minutes ticked by—minutes that turned into hours. Darkness finally fell, casting the windowless room in deep shadows.

  She rested her forehead on upraised knees as she endured the darkness. The rustling sounds of small rodents in the depths of the storeroom and the periodic pounding of booted footsteps as men raced up and down the hallway beyond the door made rest impossible.

  She tried to sustain herself by imagining a future beyond the threat of being hanged in some media–designed circus. When that failed, she tried to imagine a future with David, but all she saw in her mind was an endless black void. She struggled then, really struggled not to abandon herself to complete despair.

  Despite her hunger, she couldn’t summon the ability to eat even a small piece of the fresh fruit she’d been given. What kept her sane as the hours unfolded was her determination to share this windfall with David.

  6

  Don’t forget me.

  As if I could ever forget you, Emma, he thought as he prowled his cell like a beast deprived of his mate.

  Torn between hope that her release had finally been arranged by Child Feed or the United Nations and his anxiety that Emma was being subjected to another interrogation session—or something far worse—he paced his cell as endless hours transpired. Even when his common sense surfaced to protest the futility of his behavior, David ignored it and his aching body.

  Guilt gnawed at him. He wanted her out of harm’s way, but he also craved her continued presence in the cellblock. He needed her, but he wanted her safe.

  Exhaustion finally forced David to lower himself into a seated position on his pallet. He stared at the floor as the puddle of light from the window at the top of his cell slowly shrank into oblivion. His anxiety for Emma escalated as darkness consumed the cellblock.

  Don’t forget me.

  Her words continued to echo in his mind. He leaned back, rested the back of his head against the wall, and wondered not for the first time how she could think that he could ever forget her. He dreaded being without her, and he loathed not knowing what was happening to her. David wondered if she even understood the complexity of his emotions where she was concerned.

  He’d feared for both his life and his sanity before Emma’s arrival in the cellblock. She’d given him the gift of hope. He treasured her confidence and faith in him, although he doubted that he deserved them. He savored the vulnerability she revealed when they shared information about their lives, her tender way of viewing those she loved, and the explosive attraction that sent desire streaking through his body whenever they touched or when he dreamed about her during those sporadic hours when he actually slept.

  He desired her in the same way that any healthy man desired the woman who aroused his passion and stirred his imagination, but he longed for her in numerous other ways, too. She fed his soul with her sensitivity, made him laugh with silly jokes, eased his loneliness with her compassion, and nurtured whatever courage he possessed with her belief in him.

  Emma had helped him to rediscover his ability to feel, perhaps to even love again. In the years since his divorce he’d closed himself off to all emotional involvement, but in just three weeks Emma had opened his heart and expanded his world. She’d become the center of both. But nagging at him was his worry that she was clinging to him out of fear. Did he simply represent a safe haven, or could she truly care for him, even love him, if they weren’t facing the threat of execution on a minute by minute basis?

  Although he felt reluctant to speculate on what might happen between them in the future, he desperately wanted the freedom that would allow them to know each other as a man and a woman. David closed his eyes to the darkness. He understood her need to feel safe, but his past cautioned him not to discount the possibility that she wouldn’t want or need him once they were free.

  His emotions frayed, he sought comfort in his thoughts and fantasies of Emma. Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he fell into a restless doze with an ethereal mental image of Emma walking naked out of a bank of swirling mist. Seconds later she stepped into his embrace, but when he closed his arms around her, she disappeared.

  David Winslow cried out in protest as he slept.

  ** ** **

  The scrape of rusty metal as someone slid open the adjacent cell’s barred door jolted David awake several hours later. He remained on his pallet until the footsteps of the retreating guards faded. Then, the hinges of the cellblock door shrieked closed.

  David recognized the distinctive sound of Emma’s pacing. He pushed up to his feet and moved to the corner of his cell. Several silent seconds passed as his despair that she hadn’t been released warred with his relief that she’d been returned to him. "Emma?"

  "I missed you."

  He frowned at the flat sound of her voice, his worry spiking that she’d been cruelly handled by their captors. "What happened? Are you alright?"

  "I am now." She sighed, the sound weighted by her obvious fatigue.

  "What happened?" he pressed again.

  "I’m not sure."

  "Emma, talk to me. Christ! I’ve been worried sick about you."

  "Touch me, please. I need you to hold my hand more than anything right now."

  He reached out, and they connected.

  "What do I smell?" he asked, his senses alert to both the tremors of anxiety shaking her body and the scent drifting up from her skin.

  "Soap. They let me bathe. I don’t know why, though."

  "Maybe they’re getting ready to release you."

  "I doubt it. I suspect the powers–that–be didn’t want me to get too ripe, or maybe they didn’t like my Western clothes. Who the hell knows."

  "You don’t sound like you care."

  "After what I’ve just been through, I only care about one thing," she admitted, her voice ragged.

  He closed his eyes and promised himself that he would proceed at her pace despite his clamoring need to whisk her through this crisis. "What’s that?"

  "Being with you."

  David cautioned himself against reading too much into her comment. After all, who else did she have to turn to in this insane situation? He fingered the coarse fabric that fell across her wrist. "Did they take your clothes?"

  "No. They’re wet from my shower, but they’ll be dry soon. They gave me some other things to wear." She laughed, but it was a high–pitched sound that hinted at nerves stretched to the snapping point. "I’ve gone native."

  A disconcerting thought punctured his consciousness. "Were you alone when you washed up?"

  "Not quite," she said. "There were two women and… and they were armed." She paused when a violent shudder ripped through her. "It was an awkward situation, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they didn’t allow me any privacy."

  "Enjoy being clean, babe. Forget the rest."

  "I will… eventually."

  "Did they… were you interrogated?"

  "No."

  "Thank God."

  "I’m more thankful to be back with you. They locked me in a storeroom for hours and hours, and I was so afraid that I’d never see you again. I won’t leave here without you, David. I won’t!"

  His heart ached when he heard the rising terror in her voice, but he refused to lie to her. "You may not have a choice."

  "I won’t leave you. I can’
t." She started to weep. "I love you," she choked out through her sobs.

  I think I love you, too, he realized. But how will you feel, he wondered, once we’re free and it isn’t just the two of us against the world? What happens then?

  David ground his teeth together and tightened his grasp on her hand. He felt helpless, hating his inability to hold and comfort her. "We need to talk about what you’ll say to the authorities once you’re released."

  "Not now, David. I’ve brought you a present that won’t wait."

  She withdrew her hand. When she extended it again, she deposited one of the oranges into his broad palm.

  "How?" he asked in obvious shock.

  "An old man working in the prison kitchen. My guards dragged me past his work station at the end of a leash." The brittle edge in her voice revealed her fury at such demeaning treatment. "He tucked two oranges into the folds of my clothing as I walked past him."

  David transferred the precious fruit to his free hand, tucked it into one of the side pockets of his flight suit, and reclaimed Emma’s trembling fingers. The lump in his throat kept him from expressing his appreciation.

  "They didn’t hurt me, David. They just scared the hell out of me, and my imagination ran right off the rails. I’m sure you know what I was thinking while I was in that damn storeroom, but I’ll be alright, I promise."

  "You need some rest," he said, voice roughened by emotion.

  "I need you," she whispered.

  David knew he needed to make an effort to divert Emma from her thoughts. She was too close to a bout of self–pity. All too familiar with the consequences of that negative state of mind, he said, "You mentioned clothes."

  "An abaya and a burqa. Why?"

  "Once your own clothes are dry, put them on beneath the abaya. That way, your teeth won’t rattle when you get cold at night."

  She half–sobbed, half–laughed. "Yes, sir."

  "We really do need to deal with the possibility that you’ll be released first, Emma."

  She tightened her grip on his hand. "There’s nothing to discuss. I’ll tell everyone exactly where you are. I know enough about the capital city to pinpoint our location on a map. Trust me, please."

  "I do trust you, but these people aren’t complete idiots. They’ll move me."

  "Then I’ll have to get to the right people very quickly, won’t I? And I’m confident I can help your Marine Corps friends mount a rescue mission."

  He heard her determination, and he found it both touching and strengthening. "You won’t let anyone forget me."

  A statement of certain fact. Not speculation. He knew her now, knew the true depths of her stubborn, willful nature. He couldn’t have wished for a better champion than this remarkable woman.

  "Precisely."

  Whatever control he thought he had over himself snapped. No longer willing or able to conceal his emotions, he said in a low, sober voice, "I felt like hell when they took you away."

  "Believe me, I understand. I almost lost my mind when they took you away to be interrogated."

  "I want you safe, but I don’t want to lose you, either. Right now, I feel like a selfish son of a bitch."

  "You won’t lose me," she said. "You, Major, are stuck with me, so you’d better get used to it."

  He wanted to believe her. He caressed the back of her hand before slipping his fingertips into the center of her palm, stroking her skin until streamers of fire linked them. Emma grew breathless, prompting him to hope that she might be able to forget, however briefly, the terror and humiliation she’d endured that day. He didn’t need to ask her to reveal her thoughts while she’d been in isolation in that storeroom. He already knew what they’d been. Yes, he damn well knew what it was like to anticipate one’s own impending death.

  "What do you believe in, David?" she asked a little while later.

  "Us."

  One word. One truth. At least, as far as he was concerned, he realized.

  Emma smiled. "What else?"

  "All the traditional things… duty, honor, country, and family."

  "I’m glad you put us first."

  "We are first… especially in this situation."

  She sighed, her thoughts straying to a time beyond their imprisonment.

  "Don’t stop talking. I haven’t quite figured out how to read your mind, so I don’t know what you’re thinking right now."

  "Guess," she suggested.

  He heard the hint of a smile in her voice. He laced their fingers together, his grip sure and strong and very possessive—as possessive as that of a lover. "You’re wondering what it will be like when we make love."

  "How did you know?"

  "Fine minds… my brain and my body persist in going down that road."

  "Painful, isn’t it?" she observed. "I ache for you."

  David laughed, but the sound ended in a low groan. "Don’t make it worse."

  "It’ll be wonderful, won’t it?"

  "Intense. Very intense," he promised through gritted teeth as a fire raged inside him and brought his sex to life. "You’re a sensual woman, and you obviously enjoy touching and being touched."

  She cleared her throat. "This is a first for me. I’ve never responded this way to a man before."

  "Not even… your former lovers?"

  "Only one lover… and no, not even with him."

  "After the first time, I won’t be able to share you."

  "And I will not share you, either."

  "I believe you." And he did.

  "What kind of a lover are you?"

  She spoke so softly, he almost missed her question. His surprise made him chuckle. "Extremely thorough."

  "I’m glad," she whispered.

  "My father gave me some really good advice when I was about sixteen. He told me that putting a woman’s pleasure first separated real men from selfish pricks."

  She laughed. "You apparently agree."

  "My old man may have been as hard as a slab of granite some of the time, but he knew what he was talking about. He and Mom were happy, even during the toughest drought years on the ranch or if they were at odds in their personal relationship." Her silence prompted him to say, "Turnabout’s fair play. What kind of lover are you?"

  She sighed and snugged her hand more securely against his. "Inexperienced. Eager to learn… with you. The one man I’ve been with… well, let’s just say he was very impatient." She cleared her throat. "He told me that I was about as exciting as a coma patient when we had sex."

  Something stilled inside David. "He didn’t physically abuse you, did he?"

  "No, he was just impatient and, courtesy of the benefits of hindsight, I now realize he was far more interested in his own satisfaction than in mine. I always felt as though I was just along for the ride, no pun intended." She paused. "This is a crazy conversation. I think I’m glad you can’t see me right now."

  "Blushing, huh?" His fingertips skimmed back and forth across the center of her palm.

  "All over." Scalding rivers of sensation suddenly gushed into her bloodstream. Her bones felt soft enough to melt, and her heart raced. "All over," she said a second time.

  Erotic images flooded his mind. His body grew as taut as piano wire, and desire surged hotly through his veins. "I want you to enjoy what we share."

  "I’m certain I will, as long as you don’t mind that I have a lot to learn."

  "No, I definitely don’t mind," he managed through gritted teeth.

  "What’s wrong? You sound awful."

  His grip on her hand tightened. "Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that I have these fantasies in my head about us… together."

  "Naked?" she whispered.

  "Of course."

  "Breathless?"

  "You will be."

  "Passionate?"

  "Emma." He stretched out her name until it seemed to contain a thousand syllables. "You’re killing me here."

  "You do sound awful again."

  "One of the hazards," he admitted, "of want
ing you all of the time." He felt the tremor that shook her. "Your skin’s on fire, and I’m on fire for you."

  "All of me is on fire for you. All of me… every time I let myself imagine what we’ll be able to share once we’re free."

  "We will. I promise you, we will."

  Despite his body’s crying need for fulfillment with Emma, he pushed his mind beyond the torture of fantasizing about what he couldn’t have—at least, not now. The effort cost him, proving to be an excruciating second–by–second process.

  Finally, David asked, "Did anyone rough you up when they took you away?"

  "I don’t want to talk about it, so keep distracting me."

  "You’re tying me in knots, so let’s get back to reality before I die of hunger for you. Now, answer my question, please."

  "If you insist," she said. "No one physically mistreated me, but my imagination went a little crazy when they locked me in that dark storeroom." She swallowed the acid fear that filled her throat. "Other than the two teenage guards, the women who supervised my shower, and the old man who gave me the oranges, I didn’t have contact with anyone else in the prison."

  "You were lucky. At least you were kept away from the interrogators."

  "That’s something," she conceded, "but where I come from bathing isn’t done with an audience."

  He grinned at her prissy tone. "How about with your lover?"

  "Yet again, no experience in that department."

  His imagination kicked into overdrive. "Would you like to?"

  "You could persuade me," she admitted.

  A rocket and grenade attack suddenly commenced a few miles from the prison, air–raid sirens wailing in the distance. David tightly gripped Emma’s hand. Both fell silent as the pinpoint of light at the far end of the hallway flickered and then died. Total darkness shrouded the cellblock as the power died.

  "The bombing gets closer every night," Emma observed.

  David nodded. "Maybe we’ll luck out and the prison’s administrative offices will wind up on the receiving end of an incoming rocket."

  "That won’t help us."

  "Maybe not, but it sure would be great payback for the bastards who tried to turn me into raw hamburger."

  Emma heard the bitterness in his voice. "It’d be much better if someone blew out the cellblock wall."