by Lindsay McKenna - Course of Action: The Rescue: Jaguar NightAmazon Gold
“I don’t mind getting wet,” she shouted above the noisy rattle of the palms, “but I don’t like lightning. Run!”
Jack matched her stride for stride. She was soaked to the skin when they darted into the El Dorado. A shivering mass of goose pimples in the air-conditioned air by the time they reached her room. Keying the lock, she led the way inside.
“Hang loose. I’ll get you a towel.”
Tracing a wet path to the bathroom, she grabbed one of the hotel’s fluffy towels for herself and one for Jack. When she offered his, though, he used it to squeegee her hair. That task done, he looped it around her neck.
“Now,” he said as he tugged on the ends to pull her close, “I think we were right about here the other night.”
“Here” being hip to hip. And when he lowered his head, mouth to mouth.
Chapter 7
It was just like the kiss in the jungle, Charley thought. They started off cautious. Five, maybe ten seconds later, desire lit up her insides like one of the flash-bangs Delta Force operators tossed into a room to blind kidnappers before swooping in to rescue hostages. Only this hostage didn’t want rescuing. She didn’t want anything except the feel of Jack’s mouth moving over hers.
The sizzle had been there from their first meeting. She could acknowledge that now. Acknowledge the hunger, too, although she wasn’t sure how it had grown to such gargantuan proportions. God knew she worked around men like Jack every day without getting hit with this raw, ravenous need.
Correction. She didn’t work with any men like him. Didn’t even know any. None who moved with such quiet, contained confidence. Or operated with such lethal effectiveness. Or demonstrated such iron restraint. He’d had McMasters on his knees back there in the jungle, could have delivered swift, summary justice. But he didn’t.
He showed the same rigid restraint now. Although his muscles were taut and quivering under her palms, he didn’t back her against the wall. Didn’t yank off her wet blouse. Didn’t do more than slide one hand down to her bottom and draw her into a more intimate embrace.
Charley could feel his erection rock hard against her hip. Feel the thrill that spiraled through her belly at the contact even as a warning sounded in her head. Dammit! She needed to remember what happened the last time she let hormones override her common sense.
The warning had its desired effect. Just the thought of the poison her bitter ex-husband had poured into Jack’s ears dumped a dose of retardant on the fire racing along her nerves. She pulled back as far as the towel would allow and dragged in a ragged breath.
“I’m...I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
His blue eyes took a moment to go from hot and hungry to wary.
“Why not?”
“All the crap my ex spouted. Despite your apology earlier...” She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Or maybe because of it, I know that garbage is still in your head. And if I don’t call a halt now... If I let this go any further between us, I’m pretty much proving Alex’s ugly accusations.”
“Well, hell.”
He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, obviously fighting for control. She’d didn’t feel trapped or cornered or overpowered by his strength. Just torn between gnawing need and the certain knowledge she couldn’t give in to it. When he raised his head, she read chagrin and a healthy dose of frustration in his face.
“Seems to me,” he drawled, “that what we have here is a classic failure to communicate.”
“Is that what it is?”
He abandoned the towel, tossing it aside so he could tilt her chin with one hand and brush back her wet, straggling hair with the other.
“Here’s the deal, Dawson. I watched you with your crew. I saw how good you are with them, how much they respect you. But you stay on the right side of that narrow line between empathy and fraternization. And you don’t hesitate when it comes to making decisions. That’s tough for any NCO in charge of a squad or platoon. It’s got to be even tougher for a woman whose every move, on or off duty, is being second-guessed by good ole boys who don’t think females belong in the military to begin with.”
“Yeah, there are still a few of those good ole boys around.”
He framed her face with his palms. She could feel his shooter’s callus against her cheek, see the truth in his eyes.
“I’m not one of them. I recognize a real leader when I see one. I know there’s no way in hell you had to do anything but be yourself to get where you are.”
Damn! He’d just paid her the kind of compliment everyone in uniform, man or woman, wanted to hear. She would not go all girlie and sniffly because it meant twice as much coming from someone who could write the book on dedication and professionalism. Not even when a slow, crooked grin followed the compliment.
“It’s just my luck that this particular leader happens to come with flaming red hair, chocolate-brown eyes and a killer smile. You’ve had me tied in knots from the moment I spotted you in the airport, Dawson.”
Sighing, she gave up the battle. “Same goes, Halliday.”
“So...?” His thumb brushed her lips. Once. Twice. “What do you think we should do about our particular situation?”
The door slammed on the last of her doubts. “I think we should loosen some of our knots.”
“I agree.” His thumb made another pass before his hand dropped to the drawstring at the neck of her blouse. “Starting with this one.”
The soaked cotton clung to her shoulders and the slopes of her breasts. Jack seemed to take great delight in peeling down the wet fabric inch by inch.
Each newly revealed swath of skin received an appreciative male inspection followed by an equally appreciative kiss. His mouth tasted her. His tongue tested her warmth and texture. The rasp of his teeth made her crazy. By the time he had the blouse loose enough to drag up and over her head, she was a quivering, shivering bundle of nerves.
“Damn,” he murmured, eyeing the view presented by her half bra. “Good thing you weren’t wearing something like this when I watched you sluice down on the riverbank. I had a hard enough time walking back to camp as it was.”
He thought her modest cleavage was impressive? He should see what filled her view as she worked the buttons on his shirt. She spread the flaps and drank in the sight of what looked like an acre of hard planes and sculpted contours, all dusted with golden chest hair. His tight little man nipples just cried to be licked and swabbed and sucked.
Contorting, Charley answered the call. She feasted on his damp flesh until she got his shirt halfway down his arms and found herself eye to eye with a rattler.
“Let me guess,” she drawled, studying the tattoo that circled his biceps. “A sidewinder?”
“Right the first time.”
Grinning, he flexed his arm. The biceps bulged, and a set of fangs appeared.
“Very impressive. Now,” she purred, waggling her brows, “let’s see what other tricks you can perform.”
The snap on his jeans gave on the first pop. Her fingers slid down the flat planes of his belly and delved through the wiry hair at his groin. When they closed around his shaft, he was hot and hard and pulsing against her palm. Consumed with hunger now, she stroked him.
“Whoa!” He pulled away, his muscles quivering every bit as wildly as hers had just seconds ago. “Before I totally embarrass myself, we’d better get horizontal.”
Who was she to argue? Especially when he scooped her into his arms and aimed for the bedroom? It took only seconds for him to have her completely naked. A few seconds more for Charley to reciprocate. She didn’t exactly start panting at the sight of his lean, muscled flanks and his sex rising rampant and eager from a nest of gold groin hair. She came damned close, though.
She might have spread her legs and welcomed him then. She was already riding so high on the wild passion he’d stirred that she almost—almost!—threw all caution to the winds. Enough common sense remained for her to make a breathless plea.
“Please tell me you brought a
condom.”
“I did.” Somehow he managed to look both sheepish and smug. “More than one.”
“How many more?”
Laughing, he sheathed himself and joined her on the cool sheets. “Let’s just say we won’t have to make a trip to the pharmacia anytime soon.”
* * *
The first time was surprisingly slow and deliciously sensual. If Charley had ever bothered to paint a mental image of a bedroom romp with a Delta Force operator, she would have added cartoon captions like WOW! and BAM! and KOWABUNGA! Never in a million years would she have dreamed Jack could use his mouth and hands so slowly and deviously.
He explored every inch of her. Each curve and angle. Each scent and taste. His skin was damp on hers, still carried the sharp, clean scent of rain, while his fingers worked magic on every one of her erogenous zones. Even a few spots she had no idea were erogenous! But his mouth...
Dear Lord, his mouth!
Charley withstood the torture as long as she could before she recognized the warning signs. Her heart hammering, she hooked her calves around his and canted her hips.
“Now, Jack. Now!”
He obeyed the urgent command. His knee pried hers wider apart. His fingers probed her hot, wet center. With a muffled grunt, he filled her.
Even then he was maddening slow, infuriatingly deliberate. Charley’s head went back. Her neck arched. She tried futilely to stem the waves that swirled low in her belly but they rushed up, overwhelmed her, tossed her head over heels into a whirling sea of white-hot sensation. Groaning, she locked her thighs around Jack’s and pulled him into the riptide with her.
* * *
Charley figured even leather-tough Delta Force operators needed time to recharge. Particularly if they’d been up most of the night, then had every ounce of energy drained out of them. God knew she needed a little time! Which was probably why she dropped into a doze and didn’t stir until Jack rolled out of bed. One eye open, she watched him pad barefoot and bare-assed to the bathroom. The sight of those wide, muscled shoulders tapering to a trim, tight butt stirred her sluggish brain cells.
“When do you have to get back to base?” she asked when he returned some moments later.
“No set time. Bear will contact me if he needs me.”
He slid back in beside her and eased her into his arms. Curling against his side, she pillowed her cheek on his shoulder. They were a good fit, she mused lazily.
The thought brought a small frown. The hard, cold truth was they didn’t fit. Not really. She was navy, pulling this eight-month rotation in South America. He was army, on call to take off for God knew where at a moment’s notice. At best, they’d have a few days together. Maybe a week. Not that she’d expected more.
Her frown deepened. Did she want more? Did he?
* * *
She got the answer to that when she blinked awake some hours later. She’d dropped off again, this time into a sound sleep. She had no idea how long she’d been out, although the fact that the only illumination came from the bathroom light Jack had left on suggested their lunch date would soon include a late dinner.
The heavy breathing stirring the hair at her temple told her Jack was out, too. Carefully, she inched her head back far enough to study his face in the light from the bathroom.
Even asleep he looked like someone a careful man would think twice about tangling with. Gold bristles were starting to fuzz his cheeks and chin again. His face was lean, too lean she thought, and his years in Delta Force had left their mark in the grooves bracketing his mouth and the squint lines carved deep into his tan.
His body matched his face. She angled her chin, letting her gaze sweep the hard pecs with their dusting of gold hair, the flat belly, the heavily muscled thigh exposed by the sheet. If he carried a spare ounce of fat anywhere on him, Charley sure couldn’t see it.
What she did see was that he’d come awake during her brief survey. The evidence presented itself in the bulge that appeared under the sheet in very close proximity to the thigh she’d just been admiring. Angling her head back, she found his blue eyes open and lazy with amusement.
“Do I pass inspection, Chief?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The response deepened the smile in his eyes. “Good to know. My turn now.”
A slow tug dispensed with fold of the sheet draped across her front. To her chagrin, Charley found herself blushing as his gaze ambled from her face to her throat to points farther south.
Jack sensed her sudden discomfort, saw it in the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. That didn’t stop him from enjoying the view. Her face, throat and lower arms were as tanned as his. Everywhere in between was lean and trim and creamy...except where it was interspersed with intriguing patches of color. Like the coppery hair between her thighs. The rose-red nipples. The tattoo on her left hip.
“Guess I should have expected at least one tat,” he commented.
“Guess you should have.”
Grinning, he traced the outline of an anchor and chain. “Navy all the way, huh?”
“Roger that.” She gave a huff. “Thank God I had the sense to refuse a heart with a certain world-class jerk’s name inscribed on it.”
“Is that what your ex wanted? Hearts and flowers?”
“What he wanted was to put his brand on me.”
Jack couldn’t blame him for that. If he had a woman like Charlene Dawson, he’d damned well want to mark her as his, too.
The thought stirred something deep and primitive in his gut. Along with it came the realization that there weren’t many women like Charley. None that he’d crossed paths with, certainly. Chewing on that thought, he tuned back in to her disgusted commentary.
“In retrospect I probably should’ve insisted Alex get my name tattooed on his penis. Although I doubt even that would’ve kept it in his pants.”
So that’s how it went down. Jack should’ve guessed as much. Charley had kept her course. Her ex obviously hadn’t.
Jack was ready—more than ready—to dispense with further discussion of her cheating husband. With a need that was as selfish as it was proprietary, he wanted her focus on him. Almost as much as he wanted to hear her groan when he drove her to another climax.
Rolling over, he pushed up on one elbow. “Speaking of penises...”
* * *
This time was fast and hard. Charley had barely gone from lazy to aroused before she was on her knees, her hands locked on the rattan headboard. Jack knelt behind her, his fist buried in her hair. He tugged her head to the side, baring her throat to his teeth, while she bucked her hips back to meet his thrusts.
It was a wild mating. So wild she hoped to heck the room next to hers was unoccupied. If not, chances were damned good hotel management was about to receive a noise complaint. Then Jack’s hips slammed into hers a final time, and Charley echoed his long, low groan with a yippy little scream.
The explosive orgasm left her head spinning and her muscles limp. Breathing hard, she collapsed to the mattress in a boneless heap. Jack followed her down and was just untangling their limbs when a phone buzzed.
“I knew it! All that banging against the wall. Someone called the front desk.” She buried her face in the pillow. “We’re busted.”
“Can’t think of a better reason to be busted, but that’s not the hotel phone.”
She raised her head and watched him flip on the bedside lamp before scooping up his discarded cargo shirt. He fished a cell phone out of one of the pockets and glanced at the number displayed on the screen.
“Yo, Bear. What’s up?”
The change in Jack was so swift, so startling, that Charley blinked twice before she could take it in. One moment he was loose-limbed and relaxed. The next, he’d sprung to his feet and was gripping the phone with a white-knuckled fist.
“When?” A short pause. “How?”
Another pause, with Jack’s eyes going to ice.
“I’m on my way.”
He slapped the phone down and
snatched up his shorts. One look at his face brought Charley scrambling to her knees. She dragged the sheet with her and breathed the question she suspected she already knew the answer to.
“McMasters?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed grimly, reaching for his jeans. “He’s out.”
“Out? You mean, like on bail?”
“Not hardly. He’s escaped.”
“Good God! How?”
“That brig of yours?” he bit out as he stamped his feet into his boots. “The one you think is so secure? It’s not.”
She swallowed the swift retort that the prison on the Iquitos Naval Base was neither her property nor her responsibility and scuttled off the bed. “Wait. I’m coming with you.”
He shook his head, already halfway to the door. “I need to get to the base ASAP. McMasters killed one guard and carved up another. Bear says the man may not make it.”
Charley didn’t try to stop him again. Mostly because the door slammed before she could get out another word. But she was in uniform and charging through the El Dorado’s lobby less than fifteen minutes later.
Motokars jammed the street outside the hotel. She picked one at random and offered the driver fifty extra sols if he got her to the navy base in record time. He did his best to oblige, zigzagging through traffic, flinging Charley from side to side on her canopied perch. With every teeth-rattling jounce, she wished she was on her boat and cutting through clean water instead of banging across potholes the size of a small kingdom.
Her cell phone pinged just as the putt-putt was pulling up to the gate. The hope that it was Jack calling with good news lasted only until she spotted the number on the screen. Tapping the answer icon, she accepted the call from her gunner’s mate.
“This is Dawson.”
“Where are you, Chief?”
“Just arriving on base. We have a situation in progress.”
“Yeah, I...I heard about it.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“On the RCB. I, uh, wanted to check Lemur sight on the aft gun. It’s off a half a degree.”
A half a degree didn’t sound like a significant variation until you considered the fact that the 12.7 mm gun shot rounds a mean distance of six hundred yards.