Deadly Promises

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

"I don't think anything's broken," he said gruffly, and he quickly applied the salve from his backpack. "Now we need to move this to the cot, before the natives start questioning my motives."

  And before the swelling action in his pants embarrassed her even further.

  CARRIE ROSE SLOWLY from his lap, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance. She was anxious to get some distance from his probing, yet she was reluctant to move even a few inches away from him. What if she'd gone off the deep end and this was all some cruel fantasy, and the minute she broke contact he disappeared?

  But he'd felt real enough, she thought, walking the few steps to the cot. His body had been hard and hot beneath hers. His hands had felt strong and rough even as he'd taken care not to hurt her.

  When she'd leaned into him his heart had beat like thunder against her breast. His breath had been warm and scented of whiskey when he'd whispered in her ear. And while she knew he hadn't intended for it to happen, she'd felt him grow hard against her hip.

  She flushed hot, thinking about it as she sank down on the cot'sthin mattress. After a deep breath, she made herself look at him when he sat beside her. Big. Imposing. Strong. If he wanted to, he could overpower her in a heartbeat.

  Thank God this seduction scene was just for show.

  And thank God he was real. Real and here and... "I don't even know your name."

  He turned the most intense dark eyes on her. "Sorry. It's David. David Cavanaugh." He smiled then, and all she could do was stare as it transformed his face.

  Wyatt sent one of People magazine's hundred sexiest men alive to save me.

  She almost laughed at her absurdity, but it was true. With that dark hair falling over his forehead and the smile that was a little bit reckless and a lot rogue, she couldn't shake the image of Johnny Depp with a little Hugh Jackman thrown in for good measure.

  And he'd just seen her naked. Just touched her bare skin.

  "My friends call me Cav," he added. "Now lie back and let the sex fiend indulge in his twisted foot fetish, while I take a look at those poor battered tootsies of yours."

  She smiled, as he'd no doubt intended, and her opinion of him rose even higher.

  She tried to remain covered as she lay back and he lifted her calves over his thighs. Her best efforts, however, couldn't keep the coarse blanket from parting at mid-thigh and separating slowly by degrees. Seeing her problem, he reached for the ends of the blanket, folded it over her legs, then tucked it tight beneath the outside of her thighs. Seen from outside, the action could have been misinterpreted as an unwrapping.

  She felt like a mummy, a little bit pampered yet a lot intrigued. She watched his face as he administered to her foot with gentle, sensual hands. So sensual that anyone seeing their shadows would have assumed he was caressing her in sexual foreplay.

  She gasped in pain and surprise when he probed an open sore on the bottom of her heel.

  "Sorry," she apologized, her voice tight, then let loose of another yelp when he probed deeper into the cut.

  Cav hated that he'd hurt her but couldn't let it sidetrack him. He didn't like the look of that cut.

  "Make all the noise you want." He notched his chin toward the tent wall. "The louder the better. Convince 'em we're having a party in here. It'll be good for my image."

  She went so still he realized he'd embarrassed her again.

  "You do have very tender southern sensibilities, don't you?" he teased, charmed by the flush on her cheeks.

  "I passed tender about five days ago."

  He hadn't meant to sound like he was discounting all she'd been through. Then she smiled, and damn if he didn't feel a whole new level of respect for her.

  "Yeah. I imagine you did." He reached into his backpack, powerfully tempted to reach for her. "I need to do some deep cleaning on this cut."

  He came up with a plastic packet of antiseptic wipes, then made a big production of running his hands up the length of her calf and caressing her foot. "This is going to sting like blazes."

  "Man of your word," she said through clenched teeth as he squeezed antiseptic liquid directly into the cut, then held the wipe against the wound before cleaning it.

  "Sorry. I'll dress it with ointment, bandage it, and hope it'll see you through."

  "I'll be okay."

  He finally looked at her. Ever since she'd lain down on the cot he'd had a damn hard time not looking at her.

  "I know you will," he said. "I know you're going to be just fine."

  Six

  Carrie's heart kicked up.

  "I know you will. I know you're going to be just fine."

  She heard more than simple conviction in those few words. She heard a world of respect. Felt it in the way he gave her foot an affectionate squeeze before he dug in his pack for the bandages.

  She swallowed back a lump of gratitude along with the sudden threat of tears as he finished with the dressing. For the past several days she'd been treated like a mongrel dog. No dignity. No hope. Above all, no respect.

  He'd just given it all back to her. And as she watched his amazing face in profile, his head lowered over her feet, she realized that he'd also made her feel something like a woman again.

  It was a feeling she'd lost even before she'd been arrested. Yes, she'd had altruistic reasons for coming to Myanmar. She had a good life and she wanted to give back. But she'd also left her mundane routine because, frankly, she'd always had a thing for Wyatt Savage. When he'd come home for a visit a year ago, she'd made that clear to him.

  Only Wyatt didn't love her. He'd made that clear to her. He'd been very kind, but the truth was he loved someone else. Loved her so much he'd married her last spring.

  That had broken her heart a little, just enough that she'd needed to shake things up.

  Well, she'd shaken them up, all right.

  She forked her hair out of her eyes and glanced at David Cavanaugh, wondering at her lack of disappointment that Wyatt himself hadn't come.

  She still couldn't believe that this man--this stranger--was actually here to save her. She was really getting out of here.

  And that's what she thought about when he lowered her foot, then planted his hands on either side of her ribs and leaned in close.

  "You need to get some rest," he whispered, lowering his mouth to the corner of hers, "but we probably ought to make this look good."

  Her reaction was instant and knee-jerk and embarrassing. She reached between them for the blanket and tightened it over her breasts like a schoolgirl. "How much longer do we play out this charade? When can we leave?"

  He brushed his lips along her jaw line. "Patience, Miss Granger."

  She was out of patience. And all this pretend love play was driving her out of her mind.

  "So are we going to steal one of the vehicles? Is that how we're getting away?" She needed a distraction from the physical contact as much as she wanted to know what he had planned.

  He shook his head. "We'd never get past the checkpoints. I was blindfolded but I could tell they were heavily fortified."

  "They're all manned by at least a dozen armed guards." When they'd trucked her up here with the others who had been "convicted" at trials, there had been several roadblocks. "All barricaded by trucks that don't move unless they get a chain-of-command clearance to proceed."

  "They've got a lot to protect. Wouldn't do for the wrong eyes to see the rubies or the slaves."

  "What is the plan?" What if they couldn't get out? What if they were caught trying to escape?

  "You do have a plan, right?" she pressed when he didn't say anything.

  "Sweetheart." He leveled her a smile that, if she hadn't already been lying down, would have put her right on her back. "I always have a plan."

  He saw her frustration.

  "Look, Carrie. Let's revisit that trust issue one last time, okay?" he suggested gently. "I know you're scared, but you have to trust me to know what needs to happen, and when it needs to happen.

  "And what needs to happ
en now is that you rest. Then we'll talk about whether you're up for making a run for it."

  She nodded. "I'll run barefoot over broken glass to get out of here but I can't run very fast wrapped in this blanket."

  "I've got it covered. There's a T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants in my backpack. I guessed on the size but they'll have to do."

  Another worry undercut her relief. "What about shoes?"

  He thought of her poor bruised and cut feet, thought of the guard. The one who had been so happy to hit her with the whipping stick and prod her down the rough trail without any regard for how difficult and painful it was to walk across the jagged rocks.

  "You will by the time we leave," he promised her. The bastard's sandals would fit her just fine.

  CARRIE WAS TRYING to interpret the sudden dark look that crossed his face when she heard movement outside the tent. Suddenly Cavanaugh was lying flat on top of her, covering her mouth with his and grinding his hips into hers.

  She'd been riding the razor's edge of flight or fight for days and both kicked in with a vengeance, rocket-fueled by panic.

  She bucked, she rolled, she pulled his hair and rammed her knee up hard into his groin.

  "Whoa. Whoa now," he said around a mean laugh, like he was enjoying the fight as he easily grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand.

  She finally came to her senses. Came back to the fact that he was not the enemy and that there was method in his actions.

  He turned his head and looked over his shoulder as he worked his shirt buttons with his free hand. "She's a wild cat," he said, and she realized the general had arrived unannounced.

  "I'm always up for a party, but I prefer to handle this on my own." He shrugged his shirt off one shoulder and, fumbling for his belt buckle, lowered himself over her again in a clear indication for the general to leave.

  "My apology," the general said, and he walked back outside.

  Her heart beat like thunder as Cavanaugh pressed her into the mattress. Broad chest. Thick biceps. Intense brown eyes. Eyes that were regretful and something else. Something that kicked her heart rate even higher.

  "Sorry," he whispered against her mouth. "The pervert wanted to make this a threesome."

  Oh, God. She was suddenly aware of the hard rise and fall of her breasts, which had been bared by her wild struggle. By the pounding of his heart against hers. And by the irrational thrill of the thick erection against her belly.

  CAV NEEDED TO get up and off of her. He never let anything distract him from an op. Never. Yet it would be damned easy to get sidetracked by her. Practically naked, frightened, and alive like fire was alive.

  He damn sure needed to get up.

  Only he couldn't--not yet.

  First, the general was clearly distrustful, and Cav was certain he'd left someone nearby. There would be... expectations.

  Second. Carrie Granger had knobby knees and they'd connected with her target. The boys were not happy, and he wasn't certain he could walk just yet.

  "Sorry," he gritted out again and tried to shift some of his weight off her while reaching between them and making a careful adjustment to his package.

  Bad move.

  Very bad move.

  The warm, naked flesh of her belly pressed against the back of his forearm. The heat of her mons and the sweet cleft between her parted thighs cradled the back of his hand. With only the most minor of adjustment he could be there. Right there. Inside her. And his stupid dick was totally on board with the idea.

  Fuck.

  Screw caution. Screw pain. With Herculean effort, he shot up off the cot and turned his back to her, giving her a chance to cover herself.

  Giving himself a chance to get it the hell together.

  He reached for the lone lightbulb and yanked the damn string. The tent went dark, providing anonymity from spying eyes. Only then did he shrug back into his shirt and start working the buttons, his fingers shaking.

  Jesus.

  He walked to the table and reached for the whiskey bottle, then poured a shot glass full with an unsteady hand.

  He didn't get it. Didn't get why he felt not only responsible for her but also inexplicably drawn to her.

  He'd known a lot of women. Seen them at their best. Seen them at their worst. Never, though, had he seen one this vulnerable--and never had he felt such an intense and visceral reaction to a woman because of that vulnerability and her utter determination not to give in to it.

  He slammed back the whiskey. Savored the burn.

  He couldn't explain a thing about his reactions to her. They'd barely exchanged words. She was in a state of shock. Her responses were propelled by desperation and fear, and her actions spoke less about who she was than about what had happened to her.

  But there was something in those eyes... those all-American-girl blue eyes when she'd stared up at him... something that touched places inside him he'd never let anyone have access to before.

  So why is she getting to me?

  Because Carrie Granger was a woman of substance, that's why. Her courage, as she had endured yet one more humiliation, told him just how much strength she really had.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. That didn't mean he could afford to let this escalate. And for damn sure it didn't mean he could break his own rules.

  Never get involved.

  Never let things get personal.

  Just do the job.

  Rules he lived by. Rules that had kept him alive in the past, and rules that would get them both out of this alive now.

  "I'm going outside," he said without further explanation.

  Just like he didn't have an explanation for what had almost happened on that cot.

  Seven

  If there was a God, Cav thought twenty minutes later as he headed back for the tent, the distracting, delicious, and distressed Miss Granger would be dressed when he stepped back inside. The olive T-shirt and camo cargo pants ought to go a long way toward drabbing her down.

  He nodded cordially to the guard who stood near the tent with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Then he tipped a finger to his forehead in an amiable good night to the other guard who had shadowed every step of his stroll around the dimly lit perimeter of the camp.

  For all they knew, he'd just stepped out to relieve himself, get a little recovery time, and was heading back in for another round. Security was very present... but it was also very slipshod. These guys weren't the best trained soldiers; discipline was on the low side. He liked that.

  It was still a long way from midnight, but the heavy cloud cover made for a nice, dark night. Only a haphazardly strung set of lights illuminated the mining area, and the shadows outnumbered the lighted areas.

  The dark night, the feeble electrical generator, and the loose security were three very high marks on the plus side for their escape attempt.

  The tent was still dark when he ducked back inside. He stood still for a moment, letting his eyes acclimate. The generator hummed in the background, making it difficult for him to pick up any sounds inside the tent. Difficult for Carrie to discern that it was him, too.

  He decided to risk it and groped above his head for the light string. With a soft snick the bulb flicked on--and there she was.

  Dressed--Thank you, God--but crouched in a corner, eyes wild and wary, ready to defend herself.

  Both hands were wrapped around a three-foot length of wood that was cocked over her shoulder like a baseball bat, and she was ready to swing.

  He grinned, only then noticing that the table that had held their food and his whiskey lay on its side, missing a leg. God bless the woman for her resourcefulness.

  Guilt quickly undercut his amusement. Damn his stupid hide for leaving her alone and undefended, all because he hadn't been able to deal with his physical reaction to her.

  "Fuck," he muttered and went to her. "I'm sorry." He crouched down in front of her. "I'm sorry I left you alone and afraid."

  "I... I wasn't sur
e you'd... come back."

  Aw, God.

  He was a clueless bastard to have forgotten the desperation he'd seen the first time he'd looked into those blue, blue eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered again as he reached out and very deliberately pried her fingers off the table leg.

  Her white-fingered grip relaxed by slow degrees until he finally relieved her of her weapon. Still as tense as a piano wire, she rocked forward to her knees, lowered her head, and propped her open palms on her thighs. She was shaking hard and working even harder to pull herself back together.

  Disgusted by his stupidity, he tossed the table leg aside and drew her against him in apology. In reassurance. In near desperate need for forgiveness.

  Her body was ramrod straight and unbending as he folded his arms around her.

  Then her breath rushed out on a sigh and she melted into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and clung.

  And there they stayed. On their knees on the straw mats covering the hard dirt floor.

  Overhead the lone bulb flicked. Hot, humid air surrounded them. Misery and pain permeated the tent, the entire camp.

  But all Cav was aware of was the softness of her body pressed against his, the amazing silk of her hair beneath his hand, and the undeniable forging of a bond he no longer wanted to question or analyze.

  He lowered his face into the curve of her neck. Inhaled her warmth and her courage and the essence of this very soft yet formidable woman.

  "Try to rest now." He made himself pull away from her. "Just for a little while."

  "I couldn't sleep if you drugged me."

  "Humor me." He helped her to her feet, led her to the cot. "Give it a shot."

  Because she was a good southern girl she lay down.

  Because his mother had raised him right he didn't.

  At least not next to her. He found a spot on the floor and sat down. Then he tried like hell not to think about the way she looked in the cargo pants that fit her fine butt like a glove and the T-shirt that was a size too small. Could not think about the gentle sway of her full, unbound breasts or the tight buds of her nipples pressing against the stretchy cotton.

  Drab her down? No such fucking luck.

  He checked his watch. They needed to wait a short while before checking out of Hotel Hell. On a determined breath, he stretched out on the floor, folded his hands behind his head, and made himself a promise: she was hands off until he got her safely gone from here. But when they got out of this fix he was going to find out a helluva lot more about Carrie Granger before he let her walk away.