Kiss of Surrender

by Sandra Hill

  While the commander and Slick were directing Geek on which slides to put up next, Nicole asked Trond in a whisper, “So, is Karl your lover?”

  He didn’t flinch at her question, which was rather disappointing. Had she been expecting him to tell her it was all a joke? “Nosy little bird, aren’t you?” A slight grin twitched at his lips as he stared at her mouth.

  Was her lipstick smeared? No, she hadn’t had time to put makeup on. Maybe she had dried milk from her breakfast cereal. She licked her lips quickly to make sure.

  His grin was full-blown now.

  “Cut it out, birdbrain.”

  “Huh?”

  “Stop looking at my lips,” she said.

  Blinking with surprise, he inhaled and exhaled with an odd hissing sound, and blinked several times more.

  Crime-in-ey! Was there anything sexier than a guy with almost no hair and eyelashes like silky black fans? It made her wonder about other hair. Like, did he have a sweet Happy Trail veeing down to . . . oh my God! Her mind was out of control. She coughed to clear her throat and barely choked out, “Are you still in the closet?”

  “What closet?” Seeing the glower on her face, he concluded, “Oh, you mean is my sexual activity a secret?”

  She nodded.

  “You could say that,” he said, then muttered something that sounded like “More like nonexistent.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” She put a hand on his thigh and squeezed in a gesture of reassurance.

  “Oh no!” Almost immediately, the front of his shorts tented. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was busy with their own little conversations, and the commander and Slick were still speaking with Geek as he showed them something on his computer screen.

  She jerked her hand back and tried not to look, but it was like watching a car wreck. You couldn’t look away even when you knew you should. Tilting her head in question, she started to ask him to explain, but he beat her to it.

  “It’s a miracle!”

  Nicole didn’t believe in miracles, and the expression on her face must have told him so.

  “Don’t rub the lamp if you don’t want the genie to come out.”

  “I did not rub your . . . lamp.”

  “Well, if it’s not a miracle, maybe some cocks are dumb and blind when it comes to male or female hands,” he surmised, taking her notebook from the floor and setting it on his lap with a decided whack. He was teasing her.

  Beware of men with teasing eyes.

  “Dumb cock!” she concluded with a shake of her head.

  “For sure!” he agreed.

  “I think this is all some nefarious charade you’re pulling on me.”

  “Nefarious?”

  “You’re a liar,” she explained.

  “I never lie.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Practically a fact. Mostly a fact. Ninety-nine and seven-eighths percent a fact.”

  Despite herself, she laughed.

  He turned fully in his seat and smiled, probably thinking her laugh was a signal that all was forgiven . . . or forgotten. Not a chance!

  He smiled some more.

  Beware of men with smiles.

  It was one of those wicked, all-male smiles that women should take as a warning: Hold on to your panties, baby. The seduction is coming.

  “I have an idea,” he said, tapping his closed lips thoughtfully.

  Beware of men with ideas.

  “We should get together later and conduct some experiments.”

  That unsubtle suggestion was a bucket of cold water on her hot libido. The lying son of a gun must think I’m stupid or something. First of all, he’s purposefully carrying on this type of conversation in a crowded room, just so I’ll be wary of how I react.

  He fluttered those erotic weapons at her some more, this time in a clearly deliberate attempt at exaggeration.

  Beware of men with lashes longer than your own. “Experiments?” she asked, although by now her suspicions were on high alert.

  “You know,” he replied, waving a hand toward his notebook-covered crotch, “to see if it really is a miracle. Or—”

  Beware of men who are players.

  Hah! Two people can play games. Watch your six, sailer. I’m going to uncover your secrets. Just watch me. “Or?” she asked sweetly.

  He just waggled his eyebrows at her, a trick she’d never managed to master herself, not even in front of a mirror.

  Beware of men who can move certain body parts at will. With a bubble of laughter that had several people surrounding them turn to see what was going on, she said, “When pigs fly!”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he replied.

  Beware of men who surprise you. “You’ve seen pigs fly?”

  “Sweetling, I’ve been called a pig more than once,” he told her, and on that strange note, he stood and walked up to speak with Max, his erection no longer erect, she noted. He turned at the last moment, though, and winked at her.

  All she could think was Huh? Immediately followed by He is no more gay than I am. And I am feeling decidedly nongay at the moment.

  In her head, she could swear she heard angel voices sing, Hallelujah!

  And she thought, Hallelujah, my ass! You are dead meat, Easy. And it is going to be so . . . easy.

  Devils to the right of him, devils to the left of him, devils everywhere . . .

  Chomping on a ham and Swiss sandwich he’d grabbed from the chow hall, Trond walked back to his room. He had a half hour to do twenty things before returning to the command center for the afternoon planning session, and all of them important. Top of the list, contact the VIK and get them out here ASAP, or at least some of them.

  With his free hand, he punched in the programmed number on his cell phone for his brother Mordr and soon filled his brother in on what was happening. Trond and his six brothers were each guilty of one of the Seven Deadly Sins. While Trond’s transgression had been sloth, Mordr’s had been wrath. No wonder, him having been a berserker back in Viking times.

  “This mission reeks of Jasper,” he concluded, after outlining all his concerns, “especially that Najid asshole.”

  “I agree,” Mordr said. “I’ve seen TV clips of his sudden appearance on the international scene. Reminds me of Rasputin. You know what I mean. You were there with me when we tried to save the Russian bastard, to no avail. The monk could present different personas to different people. Two-faced, he was. And diabolical.”

  “Diabolical? Funny you should say that. I watched a short video of one of Najid’s speeches this morning. Is it possible the man might be a Lucie himself?” The hairs on the back of Trond’s neck, what few were left after the last head shaving, stood out in alertness.

  “Holy shit! This may be bigger than anything we’ve seen in years.”

  That’s what Trond was afraid of. And only him and Karl here to fight what might be legions.

  “Listen, I’m in Cuba at the moment. Don’t ask. And, no, I won’t bring you back any cigars. I’ll be there in California tonight, hopefully with a few karls and a dozen other vangels.”

  Like ancient Viking society, the VIK was organized below The Seven into jarls, comparable to earls; karls, high but not necessarily of noble standing; ceorls; apprentices; and thralls. Trond and his brothers had been Viking jarls; now they were Viking vampire jarls. Same thing, sort of.

  Mordr continued, “I’ll contact the others and see who else is available.”

  “Maybe you should just come yourself or with one or two others, for now. Until you get the lay of the land,” Trond suggested.

  Mordr agreed and added, “Someone should probably contact Mike, too. Not that he won’t already know. But he likes to be kept in the loop. Remember the time you failed to—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, let someone else loop him. If he comes here, he’ll dig up more energy-sapping things for me to do.”

  Mordr laughed. “Let’s plan on getting together later toni
ght, after midnight when the base is quiet.”

  Trond nodded, a habit he had trouble breaking when on a phone. “You better bring a blood ceorl with you. Karl’s in bad shape, and I’m in need of a feeding myself. It’s been three months since I’ve been able to take blood from a saved human.”

  By the time Trond clicked off his phone, he was back at the BQ, where he ran into Karl coming out. No doubt Karl had come back here over the lunch break to sneak a cigarette, although his half day of exercise was over and he could even leave the base. That was, until Trond had volunteered him for this operation, which the commander had approved a short time ago.

  He explained to Karl all that was happening.

  It was true that Karl was fluent in the Arab languages. In truth, vangels could understand any language in any time period; they had these internal translators, he supposed. Writing the many languages was another thing altogether, something Trond had had centuries to master, while Karl had been a vangel only for a mere forty years.

  Karl was as excited as he to go on active duty. If there was anything a Viking loved, even a lazy one like him, it was a good battle.

  As they walked together back to the command center, Karl let him know that he was equally enthused about the arrival of a blood ceorl. “Man, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but I am whipped. Any moment, I expect to look in the mirror and see that my skin has not only faded but it’s gone transparent.”

  “I wouldn’t have let that happen. You would have fed from me whether you liked it or not.”

  Karl’s upper lip curled with distaste but he didn’t argue. Smart guy!

  “I should forewarn you,” Trond said as he reached for one of the double doors leading into the command center, “Nicole will be on this mission.”

  “And I should worry about that . . . why?”

  “She asked me if you were my lover.”

  Karl let rip a long chortle, but then he said, and he was serious, “I don’t care if she . . . or anyone else . . . thinks I’m gay, but if you try to kiss me, I’m gonna punch you in your smirking mouth. I don’t do male tongue.”

  They were both laughing, and he was squeezing Karl’s shoulder in a comradely fashion when they entered the conference room, where the first person they saw was Nicole. Whose eyes were glued to his hand on Karl’s shoulder.

  Nine

  Sweet temptation . . .

  Trond appeared embarrassed and would have headed to one of the empty seats near the front of the room, Nicole could tell, but his “friend” Karl came directly toward her in the back row, where the most amazing thing happened. Karl looked at Marie, whom he’d apparently never met before, like she was a three-tiered birthday cake in an orphanage, and Marie looked at Karl as if he could blow out her candles anytime.

  Nicole and Trond exchanged glances of surprise.

  Karl sat down on Marie’s other side, and Trond had no choice but to take his same chair as before, next to Nicole. He must not have had a chance to shower yet because he wore the same sweaty shirt and shorts from his morning workout, and, frankly, he smelled a mite ripe. Should have turned her off, but instead it gave him an odd appeal. Which would be an asset if she was going to launch a successful campaign to prove he wasn’t gay and that there were indeed secrets behind his visit to Coronado.

  He grinned wolfishly, as if sensing her attraction to him.

  Stupid prick! “Looks like your boyfriend might be bi,” she remarked, trying to put a defensive wall between them.

  “About this boyfriend/gay business . . .”

  Here it comes, here it comes. He’s going to say he’s not gay.

  And, boy, would that would explain my inexplicable attraction to the man!

  Of course, if he’s straight, that would mean he’s been playing me, for some reason, as I’ve suspected all along.

  Bingo!

  If he’s not gay, we’re back to the secret he’s hiding. Maybe I should just go to Commander MacLean again with my concerns.

  “Yeah? About the boyfriend business . . . ?” she prodded. She needed more time to think through her plan, but she would be a fool not to grab an opportunity when it fell in her lap.

  “Never mind.”

  “What? You’re just going to leave me hanging here? You should never start to say something, then change your mind.” It drove women nuts. Men, on the other hand, could just let it go. One of the myriad differences between the two sexes. Okay, time to play him at his own game. She inhaled sharply for the courage to pull it off.

  He arched his brows at her.

  “Maybe . . . uh . . . since we’ll be working together closely, you and I could . . . um . . . get together sometime . . . to, um, talk.” Her face felt as if it was flaming. She was never that good at seduction. A devious seduction would be even harder to pull off.

  “To, um, talk?” he repeated.

  “Yes, I’m interested in the, um, Viking culture.” Oh Lord! I’m as subtle as an Abrams tank on a bike path.

  “Culture?” He wasn’t laughing. On the outside. But inside she could tell he was amused.

  “Here’s my cell phone number,” she said, writing the number on her tablet, then tearing off that portion of the page. “Call me later, and maybe we can meet somewhere.”

  “Do you do this often? Give strange men your number?”

  She should have been affronted, but she had too many other things to be affronted about at the moment. “Are you strange?”

  “Very.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you trying seduce me, Loo-ten-ant Tasso?”

  Where’s the nearest cliff where I can jump off? “No! Of course not!” She paused, unable to even admit she was hitting on him—a sure indication of how well her plan would go. Or how poorly. “Are you seducible? By a woman?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with what she could swear was exaggerated innocence. “I haven’t had sex . . . real sex . . . with a woman in years.”

  She wanted to ask what he considered real sex, but was afraid of what he’d answer. “Is that the truth?”

  “The God’s honest truth.” He made the sign of the cross over his heart.

  They had no chance to talk further because the meeting was being called to order. She noticed, though, that Trond slipped the paper into his shorts’ pocket, giving the pocket a pat, almost like a caress.

  Folders were passed out to everyone in the room then, and they were told to memorize every detail. Before tomorrow! There had to be fifty single-spaced pages of information about the mission.

  “Here’s your first order for this mission,” Commander MacLean said. “Everyone in this room, all twenty-four of you, are confined to base for the next three weeks as of twenty-one hundred tonight. We’re going to spend every waking moment on this project. That includes you married guys.” None of the women were married. “You’ll stay in a separate wing of the officers’ quarters, the ladies on their own floor. Does anyone have a problem with this?”

  There were lots of disgruntled faces, but no one spoke up. They all wanted to be part of what could be a historic event.

  Trond leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, “Maybe we could have a sleepover. Bunkmates, that’s what we’d be. I take dibs on the top bunk. I prefer being on top. How about you?”

  She ignored his remarks. Truthfully, she’d asked for it by suggesting that they meet, and he clearly wasn’t taking her “seduction” seriously.

  The commander was still speaking. “Actually, I’ll be heading to D.C. tomorrow, where I’ll be your liaison with the Joint Chiefs. When you’re not here or in a classroom learning every detail you can about this event, which I expect will be ever-changing as more intel comes in, or out on the grinder honing your physical stamina, you’ll spend days on the shooting range or in kill houses being set up to simulate both Najid’s home and the harem in the Davastan compound. We have diagrams of both buildings, right down to the type of doorknobs and locks, but, as you know, all the best planning can be a goat fuck in the real world.<
br />
  “Then there will be one day at Fort Bliss training in their caves. Since part of Najid’s Davastan compound involves a cave network, this could be essential. Also, there will be a day of jump practice at Fort Benning. Any questions?”

  The next three hours were taken up with more logistics on the operation. A breakdown of the various jobs, such as securing the perimeter, breakout teams to breach doors and other barriers, snipers, lookouts, hostage rescue, medical care, and communications. If Nicole hadn’t known before, she did now: SEALs were highly intelligent individuals. They had the skills of engineers, doctors, architects, and other professionals. If they didn’t know how to do something, they learned how. Not such a bunch of testosterone-oozing apes! Or at least not all the time.

  Nicole soon found out why the women were needed for this project. They were expected to infiltrate the harem and help facilitate the rescue from within.

  How were they going to manage the infiltration?

  Turned out a down-and-out, money-grubbing Arab goatherder had decided to sell his sisters and was going from tribe to tribe, where harems were still the norm. And guess who their brother was going to be?

  Yep, Trond, aka Saleem ben Abdullah.

  “At least you got the goat thing going for you,” she told him when he grinned at her. “You smell like one.” Damn, damn, damn, I have to stop insulting the man. That is no way to get him to succumb to my charms, assuming I have any for him.

  He raised an elbow and sniffed his armpit. “Whew! You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t shower for the next three weeks. To be more authentic.”

  “Or else we could roll you in goat dung when we get there.”

  “Cruel . . . you are a cruel woman.” He was still grinning.

  She was beginning to think she had the sex appeal of a prune, but she wasn’t about to give up. No way!

  The planning session ended at three, and everyone was given a break for the rest of the day so that those living off base would have an opportunity to tie up loose ends at home. Say good-byes where necessary. Put their wills in order . . . a standard ritual before any deployment.