Behind Enemy Lines (4 page)

“What would you like to talk about?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice even.

“The apartment’s free of bugs?”

“Well, it’s got a cockroach problem, but I’ve laid in a good supply of bug spray.”

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at her with that saber-sharp stare of his. Suddenly he looked very much like the trained killer she knew him to be. And she was alone with him in a grungy apartment in a foreign city. A flippant attitude probably wasn’t the wisest choice right about now.

She cleared her throat. “No bugs. What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me everything.”

Everything.
Like how she’d nearly killed him? Like how she’d broken his bones and caused him weeks of suffering? Like how she was responsible for deciding his life was less valuable than her own? No way. She didn’t have a death wish.

“‘Everything’ covers a lot of territory. Could you be more specific?”

“When and where did you first see me?”

“On the helicopter pad at the American embassy seven weeks ago.” A glimpse of a heat blob on the infrared radar didn’t really constitute
seeing
him.

“What exactly did you see?”

“You, lying on the ground with a steel cable wrapped all around you. One of the marine guards cut you out while Dr. Clark and one of your men did some fancy first aid to stop the worst of the bleeding.”

“That would have been Joe Rodriguez. He’s our medic.”

“I wouldn’t know. Your men haven’t introduced themselves to me.”

He leaped on her words like a prosecuting attorney. “I thought you said they came to visit me at the hospital.”

“They did. But they didn’t exactly observe the social niceties. They’d slip in, sit with you for a while, maybe whisper a word or two to you and then leave.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

Huh? She frowned, perplexed by his comment. He must’ve caught her expression, because he explained.

“It was a risk to come see me. The government could’ve been using me as bait to draw them out. Were they disguised?”

She cast her mind back through the days and nights of her anguish and guilt to those ghostly visits by his men.

“Come to think of it, I guess they were. They weren’t wearing wigs and sunglasses, but they wore all kinds of different clothes. One of them came in limping once. I tried to ask him if he was okay, but he motioned me to be quiet before I could say anything.”

“When was the cover story for me put in place?”

“Before you left the embassy. While the doctor and your medic stabilized you enough to move, the paperwork was done.”

Skepticism laced his voice. “That’s pretty damn fast.”

“You were pretty damn hurt,” she retorted.

“So then you stuffed me in your car, drove me and my fake visa to the hospital and strolled into the emergency room?”

“More like I ran screaming into the emergency room, but you’ve got it basically right.”

“Then what?”

“Five hours of surgery to repair your kidney, set and pin your arm, fix the rest of your settable fractures and sew up the worst cuts that the doc and Rodriguez hadn’t already gotten to. Then you slept for six weeks.”

“When did my men come see me?”

“One of them came right after you got out of recovery and were put in your room. The tall, blond one.”

“Dutch.”

She nodded. The nickname fitted the guy. He was a solid six foot five of Nordic blond good looks. “He came in, read your chart, nodded at me and left. The next guy didn’t visit for about a week. After that, one of them came in every couple days to check on you.”

“That would’ve been enough time for them to establish covers. Excellent. They didn’t lose their cool and do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t think any of you Special Forces guys were stupid.”

“We’re not. But we are intensely loyal to each other. There’s always a chance that emotion will rule a decision when one of our own is hurt.”

“You guys get pretty close, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

The very flatness of his voice spoke volumes.

“Anyway, you woke up eventually, and you know the rest.”

“I remember you doing things to me.”

Discomfort blossomed inside her. She’d taken over most of his day-to-day care, not only to help out an overburdened nursing staff, but also because she’d gotten, well, possessive of him in the weeks of watching over him.

“What do you remember?” she asked hesitantly.

Surprisingly, he was the one who looked uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“You gave me massages.”

She nodded.

“And you gave me medicine. Painkillers.”

She nodded again.

“And sponge baths.”

She winced and nodded a third time.

“Damn!”

His sharp expletive made her jump.

“And I
slept
through it all?” He sounded thoroughly disgusted.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m still going to have to help you until you get your strength back. The embassy doctor wants you to stay in bed for another couple weeks.”

“Two more weeks in bed? Not a chance.”

The absolute refusal in his voice alarmed her. “Tom. You were terribly injured. You’ve got to give yourself time to heal.”

“I’m not staying in bed anymore. I’m sick of being laid out like a slab of meat.”

She wriggled underneath him. When she pushed against his chest he gave way, rolling on to his back. She propped herself on her elbow to glare down at him.

It was hard to concentrate when his hand settled in the small of her back like that. And then he reached up with his other hand to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Electricity shot through her at his touch. That hand was capable of killing—had killed—yet it touched her as gently as if she were a newborn lamb.

“Tom.” Drat. Her voice sounded as breathless as she felt. “You’ve got to stay in bed.”

“And just how are you planning to make me do that?”

Plastered alongside of him like this, she was intensely aware of how much bigger and stronger than her he was. There was no way she could forcibly make him do anything.

“What’s it going to take to keep you in bed?”

Sexy sparks lit his eyes, making them glow bright blue. “If you kept me entertained enough, I might be convinced to stay here.”

To his credit his voice wasn’t laced with sleazy innuendo when he said that.

She stared at him thoughtfully. “Entertained, huh? How do you feel about gin rummy? I play a mean game of it.”

“Hate gin rummy.”

“Cribbage?”

“Nope.”

“Strip poker?”

A grin split his features. “Now you’re talking.”

She laughed back at him. “My father taught me never to gamble with strange men, especially when clothes are involved.”

“Too bad. But he’s right.”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “Would you accept some sort of bribe to stay in bed?”

His grin widened, took on a suggestive slant. “What did you have in mind?”

“Outrageously expensive chocolate would work on me. How about you?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Oh.”

“But there is one thing I might like enough to stay in bed for…”

She perked up. “If it can be had in Gavarone, it’s yours.”

“Oh, it can definitely be had in Gavarone.”

“Name it.”

“You.”

She blinked. He sounded serious. “Come again?”

“You. If I can have a taste of you, I might be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.”

She felt hot all of a sudden. “And just what constitutes a ‘taste’ of me?”

He considered her for a moment. “A kiss.”

It was tempting. How
did
a man’s man kiss, anyway? With the prospect of finding out dangling before her, it was suddenly imperative that she do so. It also had the side benefit of keeping him in bed where he belonged.

She gazed at him narrowly. “What’s the catch?”

“Just one thing.”

She groaned. “I knew it. What?”

“I need a preview. To make sure you taste as good as I think you will. Besides, you owe me two kisses for walking out of the hospital.”

“You’ll stay in bed if I play along with this foolishness?”

He placed his mouth close to her ear to murmur, “Except for when I need to go to the washroom.”

A shudder of pure delight whisked down her spine. “Okay. Two kisses to pay you back for not making me carry you out of the hospital. Then we’re square.”

“Three kisses. You owe me one for staying in bed today.”

She did her best to sound resigned. It was better than letting on how her heart was racing like crazy and her breath was suddenly too short.

“All right. You realize, of course, that this is blackmail and you’re a bully. But I’ll do it. For your own good.”

He pushed her down gently to the mattress, looming over her, dark and potent.

“Poor little good girl,” he crooned. “Always used to getting her way. And then a big, bad sinner like me had to come along and spoil everything.”

The smile faded from his eyes, leaving them as bleak as a cold winter sky.

His mouth descended toward hers.

“Welcome to hell, angel.”

Chapter 3

T
om was lost the second his lips touched hers.

Dark fury at her swirled through him. An urge to hurt her momentarily rocked him. He set aside the violence with some difficulty. She tore away his defenses, revealed his weakness. She made him
feel,
damn her. He’d closed off that part of himself years ago.

His first impression of her was gentle, innocent even. Her lips were silky, pleasantly resilient. Against his will he tasted her.

Sweet. Musky. Feminine. He’d forgotten how good a woman could taste. His anger drained away.

He sampled again at the nectar of her. So very long he hadn’t allowed himself this pleasure. It was like…coming home.

She was a lush woman, but she was small against his frame. He supported his weight carefully on his left elbow, ignoring the ache under his cast. He tried to pull back to keep from crushing her, but she followed him, curling into him, kitten-like. He couldn’t bring himself to draw away from her. Everywhere she touched him he burned—his chest, his belly, his thighs. Ahh, yes. The feel of a woman.

Memories of jungles and rebels, of death and the hunt, fell away from him like so many discarded bits of useless trivia. The razor edge of his habitual tension dulled, softened. Escape ceased to matter. Anything ceased to matter but this moment.

One by one his senses reawakened as she called forth memories from him of man and woman together. Slowly, reluctantly, he emerged from the chrysalis he’d lived in for so long. Too late he realized the damage was done. His cocoon was pierced, light already seeping in, calling to him to come out and fly. He could no more deny its summons than the butterfly.

Reluctantly he surrendered to their kiss, taking Annie with him, up, up into unfolding currents of air and warmth. He was exquisitely aware of the softness of her mouth, of her gossamer fragility.

He felt her shyness in the way she hesitated, in her awkward movements. He’d caught her off guard. His training and instincts urged him to capitalize on her weakness, to press his advantage. But he restrained the hunter in himself; he let her come to him.

She unfurled gradually beneath him, relaxing inch by inch. He massaged her neck with his right hand, kneading the knotted muscles there. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and on a sigh she gave in to the pleasure he offered.

His breath caught in his throat, forgotten in the enjoyment of her. He renewed their kiss. She came to him readily this time, trusting without question. His mouth opened against hers, asking for—and receiving—permission to take more.

This time she arched up into the embrace, her arms tightening around his neck. Her abandon spun him around like a carnival ride. A chuckle, or maybe a growl, rumbled in the back of his throat, and he loosed the hunter, closing in on his beautiful prey.

His arms formed a solid cage on either side of her, and he used his weight to trap her in place. His mouth slanted across hers, his tongue plunging and exploring at will. The sheer force of his abrupt desire startled him.

She turned her head to catch her breath, and he followed her, stalking her, granting her no escape. Surprisingly, she didn’t evade him but rather met his pursuit head-on.

Annie gasped for air, stunned by the intensity of their kiss. This was no tentative, first-time exploration. This was lust, greed, covetousness and gluttony all at once. A single thought pierced her consciousness.

If this is hell, let me burn here forever.

She reveled in the surrender, gloried in the sensation of being the hunted one, weak and feminine for a change. So much of her life was spent in a man’s world, being strong, suppressing her gender, quashing her feelings in the name of professionalism. But this. This was the epitome of being female.

She turned to her man, seeking his unyielding hardness. Seeming to understand her impulse, he drew her close in a protective gesture.

His lips wandered across her cheekbones, her eyelids, her chin, nuzzled her ear and nibbled her neck. His mouth returned to hers, confident this time, settling upon hers in a perfect fit.

In those endless nights beside his sickbed, she’d wondered sometimes what it would be like to kiss him. She couldn’t fail to notice that, beneath his injuries, he was a gorgeous guy. Even unconscious, he’d radiated an aggressive male aura of sexuality. But her idle fantasies hadn’t even begun to match the reality.

His neck was a warm, muscular column beneath her fingers. Enthralled by the feel of him, she caressed the short hairs at the back of his neck. The tendons beneath her palm tensed as if he would rise away from her, and she tightened her grip. He sank back into her once more, relaxed this time.

His mouth moved across hers with finesse, enjoying her as he would a fine dessert. Annie returned the favor, savoring the warm, male taste of him. After a delicious eternity, he lifted his mouth. She blinked and opened her eyes, gazing up into the loveliest blue-gray gaze she’d ever seen.