by Amy Brent
He got off the plane, a small private jet provided by our benefactor, Tremaine Industries, and headed straight towards me with a purposeful stride. He had a lot of swagger for a white boy, stalking across the tarmac with his jacket slung over his shoulder, a fine pair of Costa Del Mar shades covering his eyes. He had dark hair and a square jaw covered with a few days' stubble, and he moved like someone who knew how to handle himself, scanning the area as he walked for any possible threats. His resume listed him as a formal Navy SEAL, so I figured he knew his business. Why he was working private security now, I didn't know, but I was glad to have him along.
“Ms. Harris?” he asked, offering me his hand. “Jack Carmichael.”
“My pleasure, Jack,” I said, giving his hand a quick shake. “And it's Camille. We're gonna be working together, might as well be on a first name basis.”
“Works for me,” he said. He had a roguish smile, almost cocky. Though I liked a little confidence in a man. “I assume you have a car waiting?”
“Right this way.” I led him through the airport to where our rental car, also courtesy of Tremaine Industries, waited in the parking lot. There were only half a dozen other vehicles there. We'd chosen an isolated airstrip to reduce the chances of running into any trouble. Not that our job here was all that dangerous. But terrorists had blown up a few temples and other historic sites over the past few months, all as part of their religious war. They considered statues and graven images to be idolatry, and they hated with a passion anything that went against their extreme view of Islam. My group had been sent here to retrieve as many historic and religious artifacts as we could, in order to save them from destruction and relocate them to museums in less disputed territories.
I walked over to the driver's side door and opened it, but Jack thrust himself in front of me and blocked the door. “I should drive,” he said. “Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. He seemed awfully paranoid for a white boy, but I guessed that he was right. “Fine,” I said, circling around to the passenger side of the car. It was a large, all-terrain SUV, ideal for our job here since we'd be venturing off the beaten path to get to some of the excavation sites. I was just glad that the car we'd been given was roomy enough. I was a big girl, after all, and it was no fun squeezing into a tiny compact car in a hot, sweaty day.
I eyed Jack as he drove us to the hotel, not even trying to hide the way I was checking him out. My mama always said a girl should never have shame in admiring a man, no matter what anybody had to say about it. This man was built, with firm muscles straining against his tight black t-shirt. The navy didn't take scrawny boys or scrubs and turn them into SEALs. For them it was only the finest of the finest. And believe me when I say he was fine.
A smirk crossed his lips when he caught me looking. “Like what you see?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm,” I replied, pursing my lips. “You got it going on.”
He laughed, and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to release. “I hope we can have a good working relationship, Ms. Harris...Camille. I take my work very seriously. I wouldn't want to see any harm come to you or your team.”
“You really think there's any danger?” I watched him out of the corner of my eye, studying his reaction. If he tried to coddle me just to ease my worries, I planned to catch him in the act. “There hasn't been any activity in this area for a while now, at least according to the reports Tremaine gave us.”
He shrugged, keeping his attention on the road and watching the other cars we passed, alert for any possible trouble. “I'm cautionary by nature, Camille. I'd rather be over-protective if it helps reduce the risk to all of us. Americans in this part of the world aren't treated well when they cross the wrong sorts of people.”
A shiver went through my spine at that. I'd seen the news reports. There had been people out here who'd been captured, tortured, even beheaded. The artifacts we were here to retrieve weren't really all that valuable, beyond their historic significance. It sure as hell wasn't anything worth dying for. And I had never had any silly ideas about being some sort of Indiana Jones, and not just because being a large black woman, I wasn't exactly much like Harrison Ford.
“Let's just get the job done,” I said, “and get home. I ain't planning on winding up on the news.”
Jack patted my knee. His touch was firm and sure of himself. “I like a woman who keeps an eye on her goals,” he said, winking at me. “I can see why you were chosen to lead this expedition. There are plenty of other archaeologists with your credentials, but a task like this takes someone with some moxie.”
“Mr. Tremaine chose me because I'm the best woman for the job,” I said. Not that I'd ever met the mysterious billionaire. He had funded several expeditions I'd been on, going back all the way to my college internships. I'd worked hard to make a name for myself in the field, working under several prominent archaeologists on digs all around the world. This was my first time leading my own expedition, and I had Mr. Tremaine to thank for it. Though all I knew about him was what the news said: that he had a strong interest in preserving historical artifacts, and that he spend a generous portion of his vast fortune trying to save priceless artifacts from destruction. Though those stories were mixed up with news of Tremaine industries performing hostile takeovers and laying off workers by the thousands, so sometimes I wasn't sure what to think. I never knew for sure how secure my job was, so I made sure to be the best that I could, so that I'd be an invaluable resource.
I doubted that I'd ever meet Tremaine himself, but as long as he kept signing the checks and funding our supplies and travel expenses, that was just fine by me.
“I'm confident that Mr. Tremaine made a fine choice,” Jack said. He looked almost amused as he said it, though I couldn't be sure why.
We arrived at the hotel without incident, though we still got plenty of looks from the locals as we made our way through the lobby. Americans in general weren't too common in these parts, and I doubted any of the people here had ever seen a white man and a black woman together in the same place at the same time. Though there were plenty of neighborhoods back in the States where we would have gotten even more looks, all things considered.
We met with the rest of my team in a cramped little conference room on the hotel's second floor. It was hot, it was sweaty, and there was a bit of a rank smell coming from somewhere I couldn't place. Worse yet, there was no air conditioning, just a few old, rusty ceiling fans stirring the air from above. The rooms we were staying in weren't much better. It wasn't that Tremaine Industries wouldn't have footed the bill for a nicer place. We were just in such a remote region that staying in a five-star hotel wasn't really an option.
“This is Jack,” I said as we entered, introducing him to the rest of the team. “He's gonna watch our backs over the next couple of days. Make sure we all get home in one piece.”
Jack took a look around the room, checking the windows and looking under the table and behind the old, dusty paintings on the walls. “I'd appreciate if everyone checks in with me before going out anyplace on your own,” he said, his tone all business. “I'm not keen on having one of you wander off and getting yourselves kidnapped or something.”
“Is that a thing?” William, one of the younger members of the team, asked. “I mean, is that a thing we need to worry about? Kidnapping?”
“Not while I'm around,” Jack said, exuding confidence. Seeming content that there were no bombs or hidden cameras in the room, he threw himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the table, crossing one ankle over the other. Suddenly he looked less like an expert in personal security, and more like he owned the place.
“It's good that you're sure of yourself, Jackie boy,” I said, smirking at him. “But do you mind keeping your filthy boots away from my maps?” I knocked his feet off the table, then brushed the dirt off the maps spread out before us.
“My apologies,” he said, giving me a wry smile. He pulled over a spare chair
and propped his feet up on that, acting as if nothing had happened. I had to give it to him, he didn't miss a beat.
“I guess the Navy doesn't teach manners,” Tracy said. She was our expert on Middle Eastern history. She also had a bit of a chip on her shoulder.
Jack ignored the jab and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and flashing Tracy a smirk. I eyed him for a moment, surprised at his poise. Most men I knew would have a quick comeback or pointed remark waiting for a woman who mouthed off to them. Jack didn't seem to feel the need to defend himself. It raised him up a notch in my estimation. Bickering could get so petty sometimes.
The team and I spent the rest of the afternoon going over the details, plotting out where we'd be heading, what to expect, and how to handle ourselves while we were here. What we were doing wasn't strictly legal, though it fell into a bit of a gray area. We had to make sure we didn't draw the wrong kind of attention to ourselves. Though most of our work would be in isolated areas. These sites had been well-preserved before the conflict in the region started, but now a lot of them were surrounded by wartime ruin.
Jack observed the meeting with detached interest, only chiming in when he had a security-related concern to bring up. The meeting ran smooth as can be, and around supper time we called it a night, with plans to head out first thing in the morning.
After dinner I wandered into the dusty little bar just off the lobby of the hotel. The lighting was dim and a few shady characters lounged at tables off in the corners, while a slender man with a thick mustache polished the bar. A few lazy ceiling fans spun overhead, but they did little to stifle the heat.
I was surprised to find Jack there, sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. I sauntered over to him and asked, “Mind some company?”
The corner of his mouth perked up in a grin and he nodded to the stool next to him. “I always enjoy the company of a lovely lady.”
I took the stool, laughing. “Lady?” I shook my head. “Baby, I ain't no 'lady.' I am a woman, and proud of it.”
He looked me up and down, his eyes roaming over my generous curves. “You are, at that,” he said.
I ordered a whiskey sour, and Jack's eyebrows went up when he heard my order. “Definitely not a 'lady' drink,” he said. He raised his glass to me and took a long drink of it.
“I like my drinks like I like my men,” I said. “Tall, cool, and hard.”
He laughed and took another swig of his drink. We had a few rounds, all on Tremaine's dime. One of the advantages of working for a billionaire was that he didn't look too closely at the expense reports. “So tell me,” he asked once we'd had a chance to loosen up, “what brings a woman like yourself traipsing around the globe, running errands for a billionaire like Tremaine?”
“I ain't no errand girl,” I said. “I do it for history.”
“For history?” He arched an eyebrow, looking at me quizzically.
“History deserves to be preserved.” I finished off my third drink and ordered a fourth. I was just a bit light-headed, but it was a nice, gentle buzz. “My family lost our history. It was stolen from us.”
“Slavery?” he asked, his voice grim.
“What else?” I shrugged, tapping my fingers against my glass. “You ever see that movie, Roots?”
He nodded.
“Well, the guy who wrote it, who wrote the book it was based on, that is, he did all kinds of research. Traced his family history all the way back through their time as slaves and on back to their original tribe in Africa.” I took a slow sip of my drink, savoring the cool burn. “But the thing is, it wasn't all right. I loved that movie, and it was the first book I ever went out and read on my own as a little girl. I always wanted to find my own roots.” I shrugged, running my thumb along the edges of my glass. “But later on I learned that the author messed up a lot of his facts. That doesn't mean the story isn't true, in a manner of speaking. But he couldn't get everything right.”
“So you want to preserve what you can of history,” Jack said. “Make sure that people have what they need, so they can get their own stories right.”
I shrugged, not sure what point I was really trying to make. He reached over and took my hand in his. His grip was firm and strong, his hands calloused like a working man's. It felt like he had hands that would keep a girl safe in the night. Strong, but gentle. Protective. Sensual.
His fingers caressed mine. Maybe it was the whiskey, but his touch sent a thrill through me. I looked up at him and caught his eye.
“You're a fascinating woman,” he said.
“Is that so?” I arched an eyebrow, studying his rugged features. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Not at all.” He reached over with his other hand and held my hand between both of his. I squeezed his hand tight, feeling like this was a touch I didn't want to let go of. It had been awhile since I'd known the touch of a man. We'd only just met, but sometimes, that's all it takes.
I intertwined my fingers with his. The look in his eyes told me he knew what I had on my mind. “Why, Ms. Harris,” he said, a playful lilt to his tone. “I do believe you're trying to seduce me.”
“You'd better believe it, honey.” I slipped a hand around his neck, pulled him close, and pressed my full lips against his. His scruff scratched my chin, delightfully rough. His calloused hands cupped my cheeks, a solid, working man's hands. I wanted to feel them roaming over my body.
I took his hands and stood, pulling him along with me to the stairs. We slipped into my room, his lips caressing mine, his hands caressing my sides. I wanted more than that. I grabbed his hands and put them where I wanted them. He was eager to comply, massaging my breasts in his firm grip. Before I knew it he had my top off, then my bra, and I felt his rough touch against my soft, smooth skin.
We didn't take our time getting down to business. I slipped my hand down his pants, eliciting a groan as I found what I was looking for. We collapsed onto the bed, our bodies intertwined. He caressed my curves, hugging my ample hips against his, showing no shame in taking what he wanted, what I was more than willing to give. He made love the way he did everything else: careful, deliberate, and sure of himself. He took his time taking care of my every need, until I was bursting with euphoria and I felt like my body would sing.
Afterwards we lay there under the electric hum of the ceiling fan, a light sheen of sweat across both of our bodies. He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the backs of my fingers.
“That was unexpected,” he said, a soft smile on his lips.
“I know.” I laughed, still basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. “This trip is turning out to be a lot more pleasant than I'd expected.”
* * *
The next few weeks were a mix of business and pleasure. By day, I led the team on expeditions to various sites around the region. We searched through ruins and abandoned buildings, collecting whatever artifacts we could for delivery out of the country. Everything was carefully packed, tagged, and cataloged, then shipped off to be studied in greater detail at the various museums and universities that Tremaine Industries worked with in this region.
By night, Jack and I continued exploring our newfound passion. The man was as generous as he was sensual, and he had the stamina of an ox. The rest of the team could tell that there was something going on between us, though we kept our exploits behind closed doors. Once we were on the job each day, it was all business, with no time for hanky panky. Not that I would have been ashamed of anything. I was an adult and a woman in my prime, and there was no reason not to embrace passion when I found it. I just wasn't one for public displays in front of people who worked for me.
I realized something was up when I was packing away a collection of small statuary out in the field one warm, dry afternoon. I was recording the dates on the newest batch of shipping labels when I stopped, looking at what day it was and doing the math. I thought back to the packing I'd done before the trip started. When you travel halfway
around the world, you have to plan ahead, and there were certain necessities you made sure to stock up on. Tampax had been one of the items at the top of my packing list before I ever got on a plane. It wasn't like I could run to the pharmacy out here and pick some up. But I realized that I hadn't needed them yet, even though I was more than a week late.
“Damn,” I whispered, tapping my fingers on the shipping container. The healthcare system in this country had broken down after the years of armed conflict in the area, making this a place where you couldn't exactly stop at the corner store for a home pregnancy test. I realized I was stuck waiting until I got back to the States before I knew for sure.
Though a gut part of me was convinced it was true. It wasn't as if Jack and I had been particularly careful during our exploits. It's not like that I could have known in advance to pack condoms for the trip.
I was trying to decide whether to bring the subject up to Jack, or if I should wait until I knew for sure, when the sound of a revving motor filled the air around the excavation site. After a moment I realized it was several motors: a small group of jeeps driving towards us at top speed. I stared at them, wondering who it could be, considering how far we were from any populated area.
Jack came rushing up and shouted, “Get down, get down!”
A moment later, the gunfire started.
I ducked behind a stone pillar of the ruined temple we were excavating. Jack pulled me down low and covered my body with his. I clung to him, trembling. I'd never been shot at before, and the sound of gunshots in the air made me freeze with panic.
“Stay here,” Jack said. He pulled the pistol from his belt and opened fire, using the pillar for cover.
He shot several of the terrorists in quick succession, dropping them with the precision that only a Navy SEAL can possess. I watched from my hiding place, in awe of the fluid grace with which he moved. He showed no signs of fear, though I knew somewhere inside he had to be as scared as I was. He just had his fear under control, thanks to his training.