by Pamela Clare
Shanti knew colleagues who’d prosecuted warlords over the conscription of children. “Why did you become a monk?”
“Killing sickened me. When you take a life, you are wounded, too. No soldier comes home without injuries.”
Shanti was stunned to hear him echo the words Elizabeth had said to her just days ago. She glanced up at Connor, wondering if he would say something, but his expression was closed, his jaw tight.
“What about killing in self-defense?” she asked.
“That may be different, though as a monk I am forbidden to kill, even in that circumstance. I find peace in that.”
“I’m an agent of karma,” Connor said at last. “I find peace in that.”
Dempo chuckled. “And very well you might be.”
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, the entire length covered with paintings. Gradually, Shanti began to relax. It was a relief not to be listening for helicopters, not to be scrambling to get beneath Connor’s rain poncho, not to wonder whether someone was pointing a rifle at them and about to shoot them in the back.
And snakes—it was so nice not to worry about snakes.
“You must be very important if Naing has sent his army after you, Ms. Lahiri. The BBC says you work for the International Criminal Court.”
Shanti thought through her response, careful not to reveal anything. “I’m also an agent of karma.”
Dempo chuckled again. “Then I must do all I can to ensure that you succeed. Who am I to stand in the way of ripening karmic fruit?”
At last, they came to some stairs. Up and up they climbed—Shanti lost count somewhere after one hundred twenty—until they came to a small, underground room with five doors in its walls, one dark set of stairs winding upward.
“From here, one can use any of these tunnels. This area is off-limits to all but the most trusted monks.” Dempo pointed. “Should you need to leave quickly, this tunnel will take you west out beyond this valley and toward the river. It is marked with a fish.”
Shanti could just make out the little fish painted above the door.
“Good to know.” Connor glanced around. “How far are we from the border?”
“Only thirty miles.”
Thirty miles.
It was both a thrill and a little scary to be so close—and still so far away.
“I’ll take you up the back stairs to my private quarters so that no one will see you. Being an abbot has its advantages.”
Connor started to speak, but Dempo cut him off. “There is no need for you to surrender or conceal your weapons. No one will see us.”
Connor nodded. “Good.”
More stairs led them to a simple wooden door.
“I need to clear the room,” Connor told Dempo, raising his rifle, standing to the side of the door. “Shanti, stay here. If there’s any trouble, run down and get the hell out of here.”
“I assure you there will be no trouble.” Dempo pushed the door open and let Connor move past him.
Connor pivoted through the doorway, only to return a moment later. “Clear.”
Dempo gestured for Shanti to enter. “Please, be my guest.”
Shanti stepped into a small room that held a bed, a low table, a shelf with prayer beads, books, a little shrine with a seated Buddha, and a meditation cushion. There were three doors—the one they’d just come through, another that must lead to a hallway, and another that led to … “A bathroom!”
“As I said, being abbot comes with privileges. I apologize that I cannot provide you each with your own room.”
“We’ve been on the run for four days through the jungle together. We’ll manage.” Connor walked over to the only window, careful to stand off to the side, still very much in military mode, his jaw tense.
“There are soldiers out there. Do not let them see you,” Dempo warned him. “No offense, but you two do not look like one of us.”
“No offense taken,” Connor said.
“Now, you can rest. There is a nun here whom I trust with my life. She is my daughter, though no one knows that. She will come with food, drink, and clean robes for you to wear while you’re here. You may stay until you feel it is safe to move on again. Lock the door if you must. There is no lock on the outside.” He pressed his palms together again and left them.
Shanti went to stand beside Connor, saw helicopters in the sky and below, a road with soldiers and army vehicles. They would have been out in that right now if not for Dempo. “Do you trust him now?”
Connor’s expression hadn’t changed. “We’ll see.”
“God, I want a shower.” Shanti walked into the bathroom.
“Don’t get naked yet.” It wasn’t in Connor’s nature to feel secure in unfamiliar places, especially ones he didn’t control.
“You think this is a trap? He helped us escape the helicopters, let you keep your weapons, showed us how to get out of here in an emergency, and left the gate and this door unlocked.”
“That’s all well and good, but I had a rifle pointed at him.” It wasn’t impossible to imagine that Dempo had lured them here, promising them everything they needed—water, food, shelter, safety—so that he could sell them out to Naing’s soldiers.
Hadn’t he admitted to being one of them in the past?
“Can I at least take off my boots and socks?”
“Sure.” Connor stayed by the window, watching troops drive up and down the road leading into the forest.
The monastery seemed to stand on the edge of a small town, simple homes squatting along the banks of a small river, the mountains rising behind them.
A light knock.
Connor drew one of his Glocks, stepped out of the line of sight. “Open the door, but stay behind it.”
Shanti did as he asked, her pulse spiking.
A young woman wearing pink robes, her head shaven, walked into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. She showed no fear at the sight of Connor’s gun. “I am Mya, Ashin Dempo’s daughter. I have brought you tea.”
“Tea!” Shanti’s elation almost made Connor smile.
He lowered his weapon, watched as Mya carried the tray to the low table, knelt, and arranged the pot and the cups.
“You must be weary. Soon, I will bring you food and robes. Please refresh yourselves.” She stood, pressed her hands together in front of her chest like her father had done, and left them.
Shanti sat beside the table, poured tea into both cups. “Would you relax?”
“Does it have caffeine?” He left the window, walked over to where she sat.
Shanti raised her cup, sniffed it. “It’s green tea, so, yes, it does.”
He sat, set his rifle down beside him, took the cup she offered.
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes, sighed.
He took a sip, the warm, earthy taste preferable to even one more sip of the orange-flavored beverage. He tossed it back.
“It’s not whiskey.” She poured him another cup.
“I’m thirsty.”
“You know, apart from being abducted, and the helicopter crash, and having to hide every five minutes from soldiers, and scary rope ladders, being shot at by the river, and seeing snakes and disgusting spiders and bugs, this has been a big adventure.”
“If I subtract all of that, what’s left? Sleeping in a tree house? The stone porn temple? Eating MREs?”
She smiled over the rim of her teacup. “You.”
Connor’s heart gave a sharp thud, what she’d said yesterday coming back to him.
Fireworks. Passion. Excitement.
Yeah, there were red flags all over this. Was she getting attached to him? She shouldn’t. She deserved better than to get mixed up with a man like him. Still, he’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t gratified.
A knock.
Mya came in with a tray laden with food, the scents making Connor’s mouth water. She knelt beside them and set each dish on the table between them. “Rice. Fish and rice noodle soup. Vegetables and herbs. Chicken
in curry.”
“Thank you, Mya.” Shanti gave the woman a warm smile. “After the past few days, this is a feast.”
Mya lifted a strap from her shoulder, setting a large cloth bag on the floor. “Here are robes to wear while I launder your clothes. You will also find all you need for the cleansing of the body.”
“You and your father are very kind.”
“If you would put your garments in this bag and set it outside the door, I will launder them and return them to you tonight. And don’t worry—if anyone sees your clothes, I’ll tell them they belong to tourists here for a retreat.”
But Connor had other concerns. “Where is your father going to sleep? Won’t the other monks wonder if he doesn’t return to his room tonight?”
“My father has told us all that he plans to chant and meditate through the night for the healing of this world. They know he will be in the Great Hall, and some plan to join him. I will tend to you. No one misses an insignificant nun.”
There was no deception in Mya’s brown eyes, no hint of a lie.
“What’s below us? If Dempo is in the Great Hall and someone hears us moving around up here…”
“My room is below yours. No one will know you are here.”
Connor was starting to believe this was real—a sanctuary in the middle of hostile territory. “Thank you, Mya.”
She stood, pressed her palms together, then left them to eat.
Connor and Shanti washed their hands in the bathroom and went straight for the spoons, neither of them up for figuring out how to make rice balls with their fingers.
Shanti moaned at her first bite of the chicken curry. “It’s so good.”
“Don’t eat too fast, princess. You’ll make yourself sick.” Connor took a bite, the mingled flavors of chicken, garlic, ginger, and turmeric exploding on his tongue.
The soup was good, too, and the fresh vegetables and herbs—cucumber, carrot, cilantro leaves, and sugar snap peas—helped to make up for days of MREs.
“Do you trust him now?”
Connor knew what she was truly asking. She wanted to know whether he believed the two of them were safe. “We need to be on our guard. All it takes is one slip, one mistake, one person seeing or overhearing something they shouldn’t. But, yes, I think we can trust Dempo and Mya.”
When she had finished eating, Shanti stood, drew down her zipper, peeled off her jeans and panties, and left them on the floor. “I’m getting naked and taking a shower.”
Connor let his gaze travel over her slender legs to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, hunger replaced by an altogether different appetite. “Mind if I watch?”
Shanti drew her T-shirt over her head. “I’d rather have you join me.”
She dropped her shirt on the floor then unclipped the front clasp of her bra, the heat of Connor’s gaze making her nipples tighten. She dropped her bra, too, then reached for the bag that Mya had left them, taking out the robes—maroon for Connor and pink for her—and setting them on the bed. Then she carried the bag into the bathroom. She took out the toiletries, calling back to Connor. “There are toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, a comb, a towel, and—”
Warm skin pressed against her from behind, Connor’s naked erection hard against her lower back, his hands on her hips. “And?”
Her thoughts scattered, her breath catching. “A… a razor.”
“They thought of everything, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, except for condoms.”
Connor chuckled.
There was no shower stall, just a drain in the floor, but compared to bathing out of a bucket and under a freezing waterfall, it seemed a luxury.
Connor reached over, turned on the water, adjusted the temperature. They stepped under the spray together.
He peeled off the strips of moleskin he’d stuck to her shoulders where her handbag strap had rubbed her skin raw. “You’re bruised and scratched up.”
“That’s nothing. You’ve been shot.” Shanti carefully removed the bandages from his temple and his shoulder.
“What can I say? It’s been a rough week at the office.”
It hit Shanti again how close Connor had come to being killed—first on the helicopter and then near the river. “You’ll have scars because of me.”
“It’s not your fault, Shanti.”
Desire turned to tenderness, Shanti overwhelmed by all this big, beautiful man had done to keep her alive, standing between her and Naing’s army, putting his body and life on the line for her. Yes, it was his job, but that didn’t make what he’d done less dangerous—or less heroic.
While he washed his hair, she smoothed soap over his body from his shoulders to his toes, aroused by the feel of him—the strong beating of his heart, ridges of muscle, soft skin, the rasp of his body hair against her palms, the weight of his testicles, the hard length of his erection.
He rinsed away both shampoo and soap and then quickly shaved, his face ruggedly handsome. “That’s a relief. The damned stuff itches. Your turn.”
He took the soap from her, big hands moving gently over her breasts, her shoulders, her back, her bottom, her belly, her thighs, her calves, as if to smooth away the fear of the past few days, the concern on his face making her heart melt. “What have you done to me, Shanti? I can’t get enough of you.”
Excitement trilled through her.
He massaged shampoo into her hair, his fingers caressing her scalp, her nape, her temples, his touch both sensual and soothing.
She ducked her head under the spray to rinse the shampoo away, feeling truly clean for the first time since the morning she’d been abducted.
He turned off the water, and they stood for a moment, wet skin to wet skin, his muscles against her softness, the nearness making Shanti deliciously aware of the differences between them.
They dried each other with the towel. Then Shanti took his hand, led him to the small bed, and drew him down onto the mattress beside her.
Connor cupped her jaw with one hand, his gaze searching her face, the intensity in his eyes making her pulse skip. “Shanti.”
She was about to ask him what he was thinking when he claimed her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss.
Yes.
She slid her fingers into his damp hair and surrendered to him, long days of deprivation and worry melting away as his mouth plundered hers. She’d never met a man who kissed like this, tongue and lips and teeth a coordinated assault on her senses, the excitement stealing her breath, making her heart race.
He dragged his mouth from hers, his lips coming down on the sensitive skin of her throat, one big hand moving to cup her breast, his fingers finding her nipple.
She was already aroused from her shower, little darts of heat shivering through her, making her ache. “Oh, yes.”
He raised his head, looked down at her, the knowing smile on his wet lips and the lust in his eyes telling her he knew exactly what he was doing to her. “Remember, stay quiet. I don’t think monks are used to hearing women scream.”
“I don’t scream when I come.”
A dark eyebrow arched. “Is that a challenge?”
Another dart of heat.
Then he lowered his mouth to her breast, flicking her aching nipple with his tongue and nipping it with his teeth before sucking it into the heat of his mouth.
Her exhale became a moan, her fingers fisting in his hair, the sweet ache between her thighs making her hips shift, her body already seeking release.
He shifted to the other breast, licking, nipping, suckling her, the fingers of his free hand making circles over the skin of her belly, caressing the curve of her hip, tickling its way up her inner thighs. Where his hands went, his mouth soon followed, his lips spreading fire over her skin, making her burn, covering her with goosebumps.
He rose up onto his knees, moved down to the foot of the bed, catching her ankles and lifting her legs. “I want to taste you.”
She sucked in a breath, her pulse skittering as he parted
her with his fingers, lowered his mouth to her, and tasted her with a long, slow lick, two fingers sliding deep inside her. “Oh!”
He played with her for a while, licking and teasing her, his fingers driving her crazy, then he drew her into his mouth, suckling her clit like he had her nipples, his fingers stroking that special place inside her.
She moaned, the combined sensations staggering. Her fingers found their way to his hair again, digging in, holding on, pleasure coiling so tightly inside her that she thought she might break. “Connor.”
She shattered, biting back a cry as climax took her, bliss shaking her apart.
He stayed with her, maintaining the rhythm until her orgasm had passed. Then he settled himself between her thighs and buried himself inside her with a slow thrust, his cock wonderfully hard. He drove himself into her, his gaze locked with hers as he pushed her over that bright edge once more, catching her cry with a kiss.
But this time he was right there with her. He pulled out, spilled himself on her belly, breath hissing from between clenched teeth. For a moment, he sat between her thighs, the two of them breathing hard. Then he wiped her clean with the damp towel, put it in Mya’s bag, and set the bag outside the door.
Shanti was almost asleep by the time he crawled into bed beside her. He drew her close, and she snuggled against him. Soon, they were both asleep.
19
Connor woke from a dreamless sleep, Shanti curled against him, her dark hair covering them both. The world outside the window was dark, the sound of chanting coming from somewhere below. Not wanting to wake her, he lay there, just watching her, overwhelmed by an unfamiliar sense of tenderness.
He ought to be angry with himself. He’d broken Cobra’s rules. He’d broken his own rules about unprotected sex. He’d gotten himself in over his head with a woman who deserved someone far better than him. Instead, he felt … peace.
Where had she come from? What was it about her that did this to him? He had kissed every inch of her, tasted her, drowned himself in her—and still it wasn’t enough.