SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (124 page)

“You don’t know how badly I want you.”

She chuckled, feeling more confident and secure in her desirability. “I have an idea.”

“I don’t have protection. It’s not something I carry on an operation.”

Stilling her movements, she frowned. “Are you clean?”

“No STDs.”

“I’m on the pill, and they’re in my satchel.” She tilted her head. “Any more objections?”

“No.” Irish dropped down to capture one of her breasts between his lips and sucked it into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the nipple and nibbled on the tightening bud. Then he shifted to her other breast and performed the same ministrations. His fingers trailed across her ribs, moving south to the triangle of hair over her mons. Slipping a finger between her folds, he stroked that tiny strip of flesh packed with enough nerve endings to shoot fiery sensations throughout her body.

Claire raised her hips, wanting more. Her hand convulsed around his cock, and she dragged him closer.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his finger continuing to stroke her there. He dipped into the dampness of her channel and traced a line of the thick lubricant up to her clit, swirling around the nubbin.

An instant later, she launched over the edge in a burst of fireworks shooting from her core outward to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

Irish settled between her legs, pressing the thick head of his staff against her moist opening, easing in a little at a time.

Impatient to have it all, Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his ass and took him into her.

He thrust inside, filling her, stretching her deliciously.

She dropped her heels to the metal bed of the SUV and pushed up, taking all of him.

Settling into a rhythm, he moved in and out of her body, the friction sending her back up the incline to her second orgasm of the early morning.

He thrust one last time, burying himself deep inside her, his cock throbbing against the walls of her channel.

To hold him there, she dug her fingers into his buttocks until the intensity of their union eased.

Then he collapsed on the floor of the SUV beside her, rolling her into his arms, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “That was insane,” he said.

She smiled, lying back on a hard metal floor, not caring that it dug into her backside. “It was, wasn’t it?” Never had she felt as beautifully replete as she did at that moment. Surrounded by the desert hills of Somalia, with the sun cresting over the horizon and cradled in the arms of a handsome, virile man, Claire could forget for a moment they were in danger and being hunted by al-Shabaab fighters.

‡

I
rish slept for
a few hours with Claire nestled against his side, her body warm, her curves fitting perfectly with his harder plains. He would have lain there all day had the sun not become too hot. They’d have to get on the move or be cooked inside the Land Rover.

Pressing a light kiss to Claire’s forehead, Irish woke the pretty doctor. “Hey, beautiful.”

She blinked several times and then stared up at him with those blue-gray eyes. “Morning already?”

“Halfway through the day and it’s going to be a hot one.” He slapped her bare ass and squeezed it. “As much as I’d like a repeat performance, we’d better get moving.”

“Umm. I want a rain check on the repeat performance.” She sat up and pushed her long, straight blond hair out of her face, her breasts bobbing with the movement.

“You’re on.” Irish couldn’t resist the temptation and bent to capture one rosy nipple in his mouth, sucking gently on the tip before letting go with a sigh. “Preferably in a nice soft bed.”

They gathered their clothing, dressed, ate the last of the granola bars and drank half of the water left in the bottles. The day would be a long one of traveling backcountry.

On the road again, Irish drove north. Without a map, he did the best he could. With the sun angling toward its zenith, he wasn’t always sure he was headed in the right direction. He only hoped their fuel would last long enough to get them back to a town with a gas station.

After driving a little over an hour, Irish noticed a flock of birds circling in the sky ahead.

“What are those?” Claire leaned forward. “Buzzards?”

Irish squinted in the bright sun, wishing he had his sunglasses. “Appear to be.”

“But there are so many.” Staring ahead, she frowned. “That’s a village.” Her voice sounded strained.

Irish slowed the vehicle as they neared the traditional mud and stick buildings with their grass roofs. The birds dipped down and rose up from a point ahead.

“I don’t see any people moving about,” Claire said. “No women or children. Like the village is deserted.”

As they passed between the first of the structures, Irish could see why. Or more to the point, he could smell why.

Bodies lay in the dirt, near the doorways, inside their homes and in the road. Bloated, picked over by the scavengers. Dead.

“Stop the car,” Claire demanded.

Irish did, but before Claire could open the door and jump out, he grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you want to get out? What if they have some disease that wiped them out? Are you willing to risk your life?”

Claire bit her lip, her fingers gripping the door handle. “I can’t just ignore this.”

Irish understood her desire to help, but these people were beyond help. “You have to. You don’t have the HAZMAT equipment to move among them. If they have a communicable disease, they could contaminate you and then you’d spread it to the next place we stop.” He pressed his foot on the accelerator, sending the Land Rover through the village and out the other side, dodging dead bodies.

Claire closed her eyes and nodded. “You’re right. There was nothing we could do, but drive on and report this to the CDC. They will escalate. If the country wants help, they will send out people.”

“And they will be better prepared.” Irish increased their speed, putting as much distance between them and the stench of death, the haunting images of people lying in the dirt, mothers holding babies with their eyes turned skyward, lifeless.

The road ultimately connected to another, sending them into a small town. There, Irish bartered the spare tire for fuel for the vehicle, keeping a close watch on the road in and out, ready to make a run for it, should trouble catch up to them. When he was finished at the pump, he climbed in and shifted into gear. “There’s a store a block from here. We can get food and water.”

Irish parked in back of the rundown building that barely looked habitable. “Much as I love it, your blond hair will draw attention.”

“I’ll stay here and keep a low profile.”

He nodded. “Along with the low profile, keep your eyes open for any men carrying guns.”

With a serious expression, Claire saluted and ruined it with a grin. “Yes, sir.”

He shook his head, leaned across to kiss her and climbed out of the SUV. “I’ll hurry.”

As soon as he entered the small store and couldn’t see Claire anymore, Irish’s gut clenched.

Far enough away from the al-Shabaab fighters, he felt certain they would be relatively safe, but they’d left an angry Umar nursing his wounds. Based on intelligence, the man carried a grudge and wielded a pretty big stick that extended across the small country of Somalia, as well as into Ethiopia. The sooner they made it into Djibouti, the better. He spoke briefly to the storeowner, learning the border was closer than he’d thought, within an hour’s drive.

Somewhat relieved, he made his purchases of bottled water and uncut fruit. He threw in a colorful shash, a headscarf Somali and Ethiopian women wore over their heads, and a plain brown kaftan. After paying for the items, he stepped out of the store and rounded to the back.

At first glance, he didn’t see Claire in the passenger seat. His heart skipped several beats until he remembered she’d said she’d keep a low profile. Picking up the pace, he crossed to the vehicle and peered in the window.

The passenger seat was empty.

Irish tossed his purchases into the back, and stared around the parking area and street beyond. Where had Claire gone? His heart thumping against his chest, he moved past the vehicle and ran to the edge of the building.

He found her there, crouched in the bushes, looking beyond to the main road passing through the little hamlet. Dropping to his haunches beside her, he stared through a gap between the branches. “What’re you doing here?”

She nodded toward the street where a truck pulled to a stop and eight armed black men climbed down and scattered in different directions.

He grabbed her hand. “Time to go.”

They raced back to the Land Rover and climbed inside.

Irish eased out onto a secondary street, hoping to bypass the men carrying the guns. He traveled several blocks and ultimately pulled behind the ruins of a building. The only way out of the small town was on the main road headed north. Staying put wouldn’t be an option, either. If the men searched hard enough, they’d find the Land Rover.

“For safety’s sake, let’s get away from this vehicle,” Irish said.

Claire nodded. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”

“They could be. The owner of the gas station saw us and so did the guy at the market. Anyone else might point out where we’ve been and which way we were headed.” He reached into the back where he’d stowed the purchased clothes and handed them to Claire. “Put these on.”

She studied the kaftan and scarf and quickly pulled them over her clothing and hair, wrapping the ends of the scarf around her face, hiding as much of her hair and pale skin as possible. “What about you?”

“I’ll stick to the shadows.” He removed his military gear from the back of the vehicle, stashed it beneath the crumbled masonry, and then he pulled the bolt out of the weapon he’d taken from the Somali rebel, rendering it useless.

Claire stuffed the water and food into her doctor bag and slipped it over her arm. It wasn’t in keeping with her outfit, but they didn’t have time to worry about that fact.

“Stay here for a minute.” Irish slipped away, hugging the shadows, heading back toward the truck and the gunmen. He stopped a block short and counted seven of the eight spread out on the street, talking to residents. They turned and pointed to the store where he’d purchased water and food.

Parked at the side of a street a few blocks north stood a weathered farm truck half full of green bananas, the driver squatting on the ground, drawing figures in the dust, talking to another man.

One of the armed men shouted to them.

The men straightened and waved toward the truck.

The gunman nosed around it, peered inside the cab and into the back where the fruit was piled high. When he’d satisfied himself there was nothing of interest in the truck, he moved on and the men squatted again to their drawings in the dust.

Irish had an idea and hurried back to where he’d left Claire.

She rose from her position in the shadow of the ruins and hurried to meet him. “Are they still there?”

“Yes, and from what I saw, they’re asking about us. It won’t be long before they’re directed to this location. We have to leave the Land Rover. Driving it out of town with the men on the main road would be too dangerous. But I have another idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Follow me.” He led her through the alleys and less-traveled streets, backs against the walls, moving from building to building. When he neared the road where the banana truck was parked, he paused. The driver stood, nodding to the man he’d been talking with and headed for the driver’s door.

“It’s now or never.” He grabbed Claire’s hand.

“We’re riding in a banana truck?”

Irish took off running, pulling her along with him. The truck’s engine grumbled and coughed, spewing a thick black fog of diesel fumes, perfect to provide a modicum of concealment as he lifted Claire, bag and all, and set her in the truck.

He leaped up beside her and pulled her close to the stacks of bananas, dragging down several heavy stems to place behind them.

“Lie flat,” he whispered.

Claire dropped to the bed of the truck and made herself as small as possible behind a growing stack of banana stems bunched with bananas.

The truck engine settled into a loud roar and jerked forward. Irish dropped down beside her, flattening himself behind the bananas as the vehicle pulled out onto the main street.

Through a gap in the bunches of bananas, Irish spotted a few of the armed men rushing in the direction he’d driven the Land Rover. Four remained in the street, shouting at the residents, brandishing their guns.

Leaving the Land Rover had been a risk. He didn’t like being without dedicated transportation, but he hadn’t had much choice.

“Think they will catch up and search this truck?” Claire whispered.

“Maybe. But one of the men already searched it. With only an hour to the border, I’ll bet this truck is going to Djibouti.”

“Could we cross the border in the truck?”

He heard the tension in her voice and kept his calm. “They’ll be checking the cargo. We’ll drop out of it when we get close.”