Mackenzie's Pleasure (9 page)

He didn't say anything, and Barrie busied herself with the used antiseptic pads, which

were still damp enough to clean the rest of the disgusting muck from her feet. She longed for

a bath, but that was so far out of the question that she didn't even voice the wish.

While she busied herself with tidying up, he explored the small room, which didn't take

long, because there was nothing in it. He closed the broken shutters over the window; the

wooden slats were rotted away at the top, allowing some light through but preventing any

passersby from seeing inside.

With the room mostly dark once more, it was like being in a snug, private cave. Barrie

smothered a yawn, fighting the fatigue that dragged on her like lead weights. The only sleep she'd

had was that brief nap while Zane had been finding a way out of the building, and she was so

tired that even her hunger paled in comparison.

He noticed, of course; he didn't miss anything. "Why don't you go to sleep?" he suggested.

"In a couple of hours, when more people are moving around and I won't be as noticeable,

I'll go scrounge up something for us to eat and liberate some clothes for you."

Barrie eyed the paint streaking his face. "With makeup like that, I don't believe you're

going to go unnoticed no matter how crowded the streets are."

That faint smile touched his lips again, then was gone. "I'll take it off first."

The smile almost kept her awake. Almost. She felt her muscles slowly loosening, as if his

permission to sleep was all her body needed to hear. Her eyelids were too heavy for her to hold open

anymore; it was like a veil of darkness descending. With her last fraction of consciousness,

she was aware of his arms around her, gently lowering her to the floor.

She had gone to sleep like a baby, Zane thought, watching her. He'd seen it often enough

in his ten nephews, the way little children had of dropping off so abruptly, their bodies

looking almost boneless as they toppled over into waiting arms. His gaze drifted over her

face. Now that dawn was here, even with the shutters closed, he could plainly see the

exhaustion etched on her face; the wonder was that she had held up so well, rather than that

she'd gone to sleep now.

He could use some rest himself. He stretched out beside her, keeping a slight distance

between them; not touching, but close enough that he could reach her immediately if their

hiding place was discovered. He was still wired, too full of adrenaline to sleep yet, but it felt

good to relax and let himself wind down while he waited for the city to come completely awake.

Now he could also see the fire in her hair, the dark auburn shade that, when she stood in

the sun, would glint with gold and bronze. Her eyes were a deep, soft green, her brows and

lashes like brown mink. He wouldn't have been surprised by freckles, but her skin was dear

and creamy, except for the bruise that mottled one cheek. There were bruises on her arms, and

though he couldn't see them, he knew the shirt covered other marks left by brutal men. She'd

insisted they hadn't raped her, but probably she was ashamed for anyone else to know, as if

she'd had any choice in the matter. Maybe she wanted to keep it quiet for her father's sake. Zane

didn't care about her reasons; he just hoped she would get the proper medical care.

He thought dispassionately about slipping to the building where they'd held her and

killing any and all of the bastards who were still there. God knew they deserved it, and he

wouldn't lose a minute's worth of sleep over any of them. But his mission was to rescue Miss

Lovejoy—Barrie—and he hadn't accomplished that yet. If he went back, there was the chance

that he would be killed, and that would endanger her, as well as his men. He'd long ago learned

how to divorce his emotions from the action so he could think clearly, and he wasn't about to

compromise a mission now... But
damn,
he wanted to kill them.

He liked the way she looked. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous or anything like that, but

her features were regular, and asleep, with her woes put aside for the moment, her

expression was sweetly serene. She was a pretty little thing, as finely made as an expensive

porcelain figurine. Oh, he supposed she was probably of middle height for a woman, about

five feet five, but he was six-three and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, so to him

she was little. Not as little as his mother and sister, but they were truly slight, as delicate as

fairies. Barrie Lovejoy, for all her aristocratic bloodlines, had the sturdiness of a pioneer.

Most women, with good reason, would have broken down long before now.

He was surprised to feel himself getting a little drowsy. Despite their situation, there

was something calming about lying here beside her, watching her sleep. Though he was

solitary by nature and had always preferred sleeping alone after his sexual appetite had been

satisfied, it felt elementally right, somehow, to guard her with his body as they slept. Had

cavemen done this, putting themselves between the mouth of the cave and the sleeping

forms of their women and children, drowsily watching the gentle movements of their

breathing as the fires died down and night claimed the land? If it was an ancient instinct,

Zane mused, he sure as hell hadn't felt it before now.

But he wanted to touch her, to feel the softness of her flesh beneath his hand. He

wanted to fold her within the warm protection of his body, tuck her in close, curl around her

and keep her there with an arm draped around her waist. Only the knowledge that the last

thing in the world she would want now was a man's touch kept him from doing just that.

He wanted to hold her. He ached to hold her.

She was dwarfed by his shirt, but he'd seen the body hidden by the folds of cloth. His

night vision was very good; he'd been able to discern her high, round breasts, not very big, but

definitely mouth-watering, and tipped with small, tight nipples. She was curvy, womanly, with

a small waist and rounded hips and a neat little triangle of pubic hair. He'd seen her

buttocks. Just thinking about it made him feel hollowed out with desire; her butt was fine

indeed. He would like to feel it snuggled up against his thighs.

He wasn't going to be able to sleep, after all. He was fully aroused, desire pulsing

through his swollen and rigid flesh. Wincing, he turned onto his back and adjusted himself to

a more comfortable position, but the comfort was relative. The only way he would truly find

ease was within the soft, hot clasp of her body, and that wasn't likely to happen.

The small room grew brighter and warmer as dawn developed into full morning. The

stone walls would protect them from most of the day's heat, but soon they would need

water. Water, food, and clothes for her. A robe would be better than Western-style clothing,

because the traditional Muslim attire would cover her hak, and there were enough

traditionalists in Benghazi that a robe wouldn't draw a second glance.

The streets were noisy now, the waterfront humming with activity. Zane figured it was

time for him to do some foraging. He wiped the camouflage paint from his skin as best he could

and disguised what was left by smearing dirt on his face. He wasn't about to go unarmed, so he

pulled the tail of his T-shirt free from his pants and tucked the pistol into the waistband at the

small of his back, then let the shirt fall over it. Anyone who paid attention would know the

bulge for what it was, but what the hell, it wasn't unusual for people to go armed in this part of the

world. Thanks to his one-quarter Comanche heritage, his skin had a rich bronze hue, and in

addition he was darkly tanned from countless hours of training in the sun and sea and wind.

There was nothing about his appearance that would attract undue notice, not even his eyes,

because there were plenty of Libyans with a European parent.

He checked Barrie, reassuring himself that she was still sleeping soundly. He'd told her that

he would be slipping out for a while, so she shouldn't be alarmed if she woke while he was

gone. He left their crumbling sanctuary as silently as he had entered it.

It was over two hours before he returned, almost time for the designated check-in time

with his men. He had a definite talent for scavenging, he thought, though outright thievery

would probably be a better term. He carried a woman's black robe and head covering, and

wrapped up in it was a selection of fruit, cheese and bread, as well as a pair of slippers he hoped

would fit Barrie. The water had been the hardest to come by, because he'd lacked a container.

He'd solved that by stealing a stoppered gallon jug of wine, forbidden by the Koran but

readily available anyway. He had poured out the cheap, sour wine and filled the jug with

water. The water would have a definite wine taste to it, but it would be wet, and that was all

they required.

While he had the opportunity, he disguised the entrance to their lair a bit, piling some

stones in front of it, arranging a rotted timber so that it looked as if it blocked the door. The

door was still visible, but looked much less accessible. He tested his handiwork to make

certain they could still get out easily enough, then slipped inside and once again braced the door

in its sagging frame.

He turned to check on Barrie. She was still asleep. The room was considerably warmer,

and she had kicked the blanket aside. His shirt was up around her waist.

The kick of desire was like taking a blow to the chest. He almost staggered from it, his

heart racing, his breath strangling in his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, ran down his

temple.
God.

He should turn away. He should put the blanket over her. He should put sex completely

out of his mind. There were any number of things he should do, but instead he stared at her

with a hunger so intense he ached with it, quivered with it. Greedily his gaze moved over

every female inch of her. His sex was throbbing like a toothache. He wanted her more

intensely than he'd ever wanted a woman before. His famous cool remoteness had failed him—

there wasn't a cool inch on him, and his desire was so damn strong and immediate, he was

shaking from the effort of resisting it.

Moving slowly, stiffly, he set his purloined goodies on the floor. His breath hissed

between his clenched teeth. He hadn't known sexual frustration could be this painful. He'd never

had any trouble getting a woman whenever he'd wanted one. This woman was off-limits,

though, from even an attempt at seduction. She'd been through enough without having to

fend off her rescuer, too.

As warm as the room was now, if he spread the blanket over her she would only kick it

off again. Gingerly he went down on one knee beside her and with shaking hands pulled the

shirt tail down to cover her. With slight disbelief he eyed the fine tremor of his fingers. He

never trembled. He was rock steady during the most tense and dangerous situations, icily

controlled in combat. He had parachuted out of a burning plane, swum with sharks and sewn

up his own flesh. He had ridden unbroken horses and even bulls a time or two. He had killed.

He had done all of that with perfect control, but this sleeping, red-haired woman made him

shake.

Grimly he forced himself to turn aside and pick up the radio headset. Holding the

earpiece in place, he clicked once and immediately heard two clicks in response. Everything

was okay.

Maybe some water would cool him down. At least thinking about it was better than

thinking about Barrie. He dropped a couple of purification tablets into the jug, in case the

small amount of wine that had remained in it wasn't enough to kill all the invisible little

critters. The tablets didn't improve the taste any—just the opposite— but they were better than

a case of the runs.

He drank just enough to relieve his thirst, then settled down with his back to a wall.

There was nothing to do but wait and contemplate the walls, because he sure as hell didn't

trust himself to look at Barrie.

Voices woke her. They were loud, and close by. Barrie bolted upright, her eyes huge

with alarm. Hard arms grabbed her, and an even harder hand clamped itself over her mouth,

stifling any sound she might have made. Confused, disoriented, in sheer terror she began to

fight as much as she could. Teeth. She should use her teeth. But his fingers were biting hard into

her jaw, and she couldn't open her mouth. Desperately she tried to shake her head, and he

merely gathered her in tighter, tucking her against him in a way that was oddly protective.

"Shh" came that toneless whisper, and the familiarity of it cut through the panic and

fog of sleep. Zane.

Instantly she relaxed, weak with relief. Feeling the tension leave her muscles, he tilted

her face, still keeping his hand over her mouth. Their eyes met in the shadowed light, and he

gave a brief nod as he saw that she was awake now, and aware. He released her jaw, his hard

fingers trailing briefly over her skin in apology for the tightness of his grip. The barely there