by Cindy Dees
She curled up on the couch, as graceful as a newborn colt with her long legs folded beneath her. He was careful to sit on the far edge of the bed, well out of arm’s reach of the temptation she represented. But he couldn’t help imagining her sprawled on satin sheets beneath him.
As she lost herself in thought, her features relaxed, became more vibrant. Youthful. He blinked. And stared. An absolute certainty came over him. He’d seen her sit just like that somewhere before. But where? It tickled just beyond the edges of his consciousness. The way the light was playing across her skin…the dreamy expression in her eyes…damn! Why couldn’t he remember?
What was it he’d blocked out with the help of all that booze? For surely that night ten years ago he’d drunk himself into a stupor with the intent to forget something.
A chill of foreboding rippled across his skin. Why was he suddenly afraid of the gaping hole in his memory?
A dull headache began to throb at the back of his neck. It beat a painful rhythm in time with the lust still demanding release elsewhere in his body. He felt crazy enough to climb the walls and hang cackling from the ceiling like a madman.
If she weren’t sitting there, he’d be pacing the room like a caged lion. Of course, if she weren’t sitting there, he wouldn’t have reason to pace. He wouldn’t be rock hard with no prospects in sight for some seriously gnarly sex to relieve the discomfort.
He shoved to his feet and growled, “I’m gonna go take a shower. You know the drill. Don’t open the door for anybody.”
When he emerged, blue with cold and only marginally less randy, Julia was curled up on the bed, reading a magazine. He picked up a day-old newspaper, but didn’t see a single word of it as he surreptitiously watched her.
When she finally retired at midnight, the thought of her in bed beside him all but broke him. He headed for the minibar in the refrigerator and tossed back a double shot of vodka. It burned a modicum of sanity into his brain. For about a minute. And then he did give in and pace. As her breath settled into the steady rhythm of deep sleep, he prowled back and forth restlessly.
She was the one who’d set up this meeting in the first place. Why, almost as soon as she met him, did she change her mind and try to get away from him? Surely it wasn’t his threat to kill her. She had to have known before she ever picked up the phone to contact him that he would blame her for his brother’s death. So what changed after they met? It was damn hard for a guy not to take something like that personally.
He needed to get some rest if he was going to be sharp in the morning and stay one step ahead of both Julia and her pursuers. As much as he ought to stay on the couch, he didn’t want to.
Girding himself to do battle with his baser instincts, he pulled on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt and joined Julia. Her slim shape barely disturbed the covers in the bed, and her breathing was soft and steady in the dark. The warmth generated by her body wrapped around him under the covers and the sleepy, sexy scent of her wafted over him.
He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. But eventually, he fell asleep.
He was the forward sniper, which meant he’d been lying under a gillie net for almost two days, motionless. His nappie, as the undergarment was fondly called, was almost full. The next time he took a leak, his leg was gonna get wet. Despite drenching himself in bug repellent, the effects of the chemical were wearing off, and gnats pestered him incessantly. It was an exercise in sheer torture not to reach up and swat them from his face.
Night had fallen and the relentless heat of the jungle had begun to ease, but under his mesh blanket woven full of grass and leaves, he still sweltered. Miserable work, but he’d get the first shot at Eduardo Ferrare.
And tonight was the night, here at Ferrare’s plush, South American estate. Security conscious and crafty as hell, he’d been a hard man to find, let alone kill. Without Julia’s help in pinning down his location, they’d still have been back at square one.
Captain Folly’s whispered voice came over Dutch’s headset. “Movement on the road.”
He eased the sight of his sniper rifle to his eye, only a few inches, but it took upward of a minute to complete the motion. A limousine sprang into focus. Four men stepped out. The smug, smiling face of Eduardo Ferrare moved into the crosshairs. Bingo. Dutch began a slow, steady squeeze on the trigger, cold and precise under his index finger.
And then all hell broke loose.
The jungle lit up around Charlie Squad with muzzle flashes from all directions. There must be twenty positions firing at them! A moment of indecision—did he move and reveal his position or hang his life on his gillie net, concealing his location?
If Ferrare’s thugs were using IR equipment—infrared scopes that painted heat—he was toast. Screw it. He rolled and fired behind him at the black-green wall of jungle over his shoulder. Dammit, the whole place was lit up! How the deadly carpet of lead had so far missed him was a mystery.
A cry over his radio. “I’m hit. Gut shot. I’m in trouble here…”
The nightmare spun away from Dutch, lost in the mists of his subconscious. Who in the hell was hit? He struggled to recall the dream, to pull it back into the front of his mind. He had to know! But it slipped away from him like a mysterious whale, only partially glimpsed, sliding slowly and majestically into the blackness of the abyss, where no man could follow.
Hell, they’d all been hit that night. Not a single man on the team had escaped with less than two gunshot wounds. He’d brought out four lead slugs. He didn’t have to remember that part. He’d seen the scars he and his teammates bore from that ambush.
A hand touched his shoulder. He jumped, ready to take out bare-handed whatever bastard of Ferrare’s had found him.
“Julia.” He sagged back to the mattress and his hands fell away from her neck. He was soaked in sweat and breathing like a marathon runner. The aftermath of the nightmare receded slowly, reluctant to give up its thrall over him. But gradually, awareness of his present surroundings overtook the heat and darkness of that elusive jungle. The violence remained, though. And the unreasoning terror.
Julia lay half across him, her small breasts smashed against his chest and more out of the top of her nightgown than in it. Her hand smoothed his hair, and she murmured a string of soothing nonsense sounds. Her raven hair fell in a dark curtain around them, blocking out the rest of the world, narrowing down his reality to her smoky, dark eyes and the husky murmur of her voice.
He watched her lips move, moist and full, mesmerized by the dark magic she spun around him. He reached up. Pulled her head down to him. Took her mouth more roughly than he should have. But she just moaned deep in her throat and gave way before the raging storm he unleashed upon her. Like a willow, she bent but did not break, beneath his onslaught. He rolled over, pinning her beneath him, expecting fear from her but unable to control the fury ripping through him. Instead, she smiled. And reached up with her slender arms, twined them around his neck and opened her thighs to cradle him against her.
Earth magic flowed from her, warm and welcoming. It embraced his rage, containing it but not quenching the fire. Like a drowning man, he stared into her eyes, clinging to the thread of hope she’d thrown to him. Fist by excruciating fist, he hauled himself back from the void, up the lifeline she anchored. And when he finally saw light once more, his spirit soared. For a split second, he knew infinity as all of Nature came together in her.
He drew a shuddering breath, and the beast within retreated. Just like that nightmare colossus, it pulled back slowly into the depths of his mind. He gazed down at her in silent awe. Her mouth curved into a smile, without a doubt the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
“Welcome back,” she murmured.
He rolled onto his back and flung and arm over his eyes. “Christ, I’m sorry.”
She rolled over, propping herself up on his chest. “Whatever for? You had a nightmare and woke up a little disoriented. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
He pulle
d his arm down to stare at her. “I damn well do owe you an apology for nearly strangling you, not to mention kissing you.”
“But you didn’t hurt me,” she whispered with aching gentleness. “Maybe you need to lose control more often.”
He snorted. “You have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he felt his whisker stubble abrade her delicate fingertips. “You might be surprised, James Dutcher,” she murmured.
“Trust me, you couldn’t handle it. I’d hurt you.”
Her eyes gleamed with warmth and inner strength. “You didn’t hurt me just now.”
“Yes, I did. You’re lying to be polite.” He carried her palm to his mouth and kissed it. “I’m sorry.”
A dimple winked in her cheek. “I’m telling you, you didn’t hurt me. But, if it’ll make you feel better, apology accepted.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled gruffly. He cleared his throat. “And about kissing you—”
She cut him off. “I’m not accepting any apologies for that. Period. Got it?”
He grinned at her and stroked back her silky hair. “Got it,” he murmured.
Lord, he wanted to make love to her right now. Not slick, slamming, sheet-tangling sex, but something slow and easy. Sensual. A give-and-take. The mere thought of it sent a shiver of anticipation up his spine. This was a woman to savor like a fine wine.
What was he thinking?
Julia spoke into his shocked stillness. “It’s pretty late. We probably ought to get a little sleep. Lord only knows what tomorrow will bring.”
He closed his eyes for a pained moment, forcing back his lecherous thoughts. She was right. And he was a horny bastard. He pulled her down into the crook of his arm and tucked her head on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow will take care of itself,” he growled. “We’ll worry about that in the morning. Sleep now.”
She snuggled against him like a sleek, contented kitten, and promptly went back to sleep. He sighed and settled in for a night of unfulfilled lust, but surprisingly, found himself relaxing into peaceful slumber.
His last thought before he went unconscious was that he and Julia were racing down the fast track to disaster. But who the hell cared? It was going to be one incredible ride.
Chapter 7
They slept late, and Dutch awoke to a gorgeous, sunny morning, refreshed from a no-kidding, decent night’s sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those. Only a faint residue of his nightmare remained, tainting the bright light of morning with its ominous shadow. He’d been trained in how to deal with violent thoughts and memories, and with a little work he was able to put the horror of his nightmare into perspective. However, the exercise left behind a deep restlessness within him.
They got in the SUV and he drove like a man on the run from something that scared the hell out of him. Truth be told, he was scared. Scared of what Julia did to his head.
And of what she did to his heart.
He drove until late that night, heading west this time, into New Mexico. The first order of business was to ditch whoever was following them. Then he’d worry about getting Julia access to a secure computer and an Internet connection.
What was it about those snippets of memory that had him so freaked out? He knew the high points of what he was starting to recall already. It’s not as if any big shocks awaited him. Too damn many unanswered questions were floating around in his head, and not only about his lost memories. He was ready for some solid answers.
He felt like a runaway train, gathering more and more speed as he rolled toward a terrible calamity. Since this crazy mission had begun, it seemed as though the only glue holding him together was the gentle, frightened woman beside him. Frustration rumbled through him. How could she be the cause of his problem and the cure? It made no sense.
He glanced over at Julia. She’d been silent for much of the day, staring out the car window, her eyes dark and troubled. If he could only get inside her head! But she steadfastly held him at arm’s length.
Which was just as well because he needed to focus all his attention on what he was doing. He wasn’t used to operating inside the United States. Most of his work took place overseas in nasty corners of the world with little or no technology, archaic telecommunications systems, and in some cases, barely any electricity. This country was a whole lot harder to hide in.
It was late, he was getting tired, and the winding mountain roads were treacherous in the dark. He was going to get them killed if he pushed too much harder. He started looking for someplace to stop for the night.
The unrelenting darkness of the mountains began to give way before the lights of civilization, and gift shops and hotels became abundant. They were getting close to Santa Fe and its dense tourist population. Perfect. He randomly picked one of the many midpriced, medium-size hotels in the area and checked in. Hopefully, he and Julia would get lost in the sheer volume of people in a place like this.
He parked so his vehicle wasn’t visible from the street and led Julia in a side entrance. He took a quick look at the layout of the building as they headed for their room. Standard H. Two long halls of rooms connected by a crossing hallway in the middle. Elevators, ice machines and stairwells in the middle, fire escapes at the end of each leg of the building.
He dumped his jacket on the bed, its pockets stuffed with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a razor he’d pulled out of his bags. Julia dropped her oversize purse, similarly loaded, and flopped down wearily on the bed beside his coat. They needed to be able to move fast from here on out, so he’d vetoed unloading any cumbersome luggage.
Though he knew he shouldn’t, he sat down beside Julia and reached over to massage her shoulders, rolling the muscles under his hands and working loose the accumulated kinks of stress and fatigue.
She groaned in pleasure as he worked his way down her back and then up each side of her spine with his fingertips.
She mumbled, “Where did you get so good at this?”
He smiled. “It’s part of my first-aid training. We get sore after some of the wilder stuff we do.”
She looked over her shoulder, grinning widely. “You guys give each other massages like this? I can’t say as I pictured that of you big bad Special Forces soldiers.”
An errant image of the guys in his squad all sitting around giving each other back rubs popped into his head. He snorted. “Hardly. But our team has a medic who’s a miracle worker at keeping us in fighting condition. I’ve picked up a few things from him over the years.”
She turned her head, giving him better access to her neck. “Well, I’m not complaining about it one bit. This is pure heaven.”
He grunted. More like pure hell. The way her skin slid like satin under his palms, the little moans she was making in the back of her throat, the sheer sensual pleasure she allowed herself to feel… Oh yeah. Definitely an inner circle of hell.
He lifted his hands away from her. “A hot shower should take care of the rest,” he managed to grit out.
“Thanks,” she murmured as she headed straight for the bathroom.
Sure. No sweat. He worked himself into unsatisfied sexual frenzies all the time for fun. No problem. He’d just go over and jump out the window now. He fell back on the bed and groaned in utter frustration.
He lay there for several minutes, doing his damnedest to think about anything except hot water sluicing down that delicious body of hers, turning her skin all rosy and forming rivulets between her breasts, heating up the flesh between her thighs… Hell, maybe he should go for the window.
After nearly a half hour, the water finally cut off in the shower. He slitted one eye open lazily and glanced toward the bathroom. Both of his eyes popped open. Julia’d cracked the door open, no doubt to let out the clouds of steam billowing forth, and he had a clear view of the bathroom mirror from where he lay. A vague, honey-colored shape moved sinuously in the foggy glass. Hello. His senses leaped to full alert. If he were a gentleman, he�
��d turn away. But he was just a soldier. And he wanted her worse than he wanted to draw his next breath.
A square of white joined the dusky reflection, gliding across the shapely form. The condensation on the mirror evaporated a bit, and he was able to make out slender arms wrapping languorously around her body as she dried herself.
More detail came into view as the fog cleared. God bless the dry, mountain air! As she bent over to towel her legs, her back was long and graceful. Black, wet hair streamed down it. His hand ached to fist itself in that dark mass and pull her down on top of him, trapping her body against his.
She turned around, and he made out the outline of her breasts. They weren’t large, but sweet Mother of God, they were beautifully made. They’d arch up into him so sweetly, with their little hard buds rubbing his skin…
Her face looked foreign, exotic, with her hair slicked back, as her high cheekbones and big, dark eyes came into focus. She fiddled with something on the counter, and then she propped a foot up on the toilet. The mirror cleared a bit more and one long, slender leg came into view. He watched greedily as she smoothed lotion over her thigh, already feeling its sleek smoothness wrapped around his waist. Her hand slid down over the shapely curve of her calf with almost pornographic appeal.
She gave the same maddening treatment to the other leg, and then she reached for another towel. She glanced into the mirror. And froze. Her gaze locked with his in shock. He didn’t look away. Couldn’t. He was a cad, but he was absolutely mesmerized by the sight of her.
