“Same old, same old.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
She was used to that nightmare. Psychiatry 101—she felt helpless. She got that. She could no more do anything about the images her subconscious sent than she could about certain types of childhood cancer.
“I suppose you have nightmares, too,” she began.
He tensed, and Jane wanted to smack herself. Of course he had nightmares. No wonder he rarely slept. She couldn’t imagine, and didn’t want to, the things he’d seen and done.
“I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
Bobby remained silent, but at least he didn’t move away. He was so big, and he poured out heat like a midday sun. Jane was far from small, but next to him she felt almost tiny—protected and cherished. Though she was opening herself to rejection, she burrowed closer and slipped her hand around his waist.
His skin was so warm, smooth, both soft and hard, she couldn’t keep her fingers still. She stroked him until, bit by bit, he relaxed, the incredible tension leaving his body even as the chill left hers.
“We should eat,” he murmured.
“Not yet.”
She didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t appear to mind. His hands roamed up and down her back in a soothing, rhythmic pattern.
Lucky, bored with the human chatter, jumped onto the other bed, sighed pathetically and lay down.
“I’m sorry I’m being such a…” Jane couldn’t think of an adequate word to describe her wussiness.
“Girl?” he supplied.
“Girl?” Her voice sounded a bit shrill. But really. Girl? Was that supposed to be an insult? She couldn’t tell.
“Always made my sister crazy when we called her a girl. Even though she was.”
“Crazy? Or a girl?”
“Aren’t they interchangeable?” She pinched him and Bobby laughed. “Why is it that girls don’t like to be girls anymore? What’s wrong with being soft, sweet and—”
“What?” Jane whispered.
“Feminine.”
“You think I’m…feminine?”
“Oh, yeah.”
His voice a sexy rasp in the dark of a tropical night, his hand drifted over the curve of her hip and stayed there.
No one had ever called her feminine. She was too sturdy, too tall. Of course, compared to him, she was neither. She found that notion both intriguing and arousing.
Beneath her palm, his stomach muscles fluttered, and before she could stop herself, she traced the ridges with her thumb.
He caught his breath and the muscles stopped moving. His fingers tightened on her hip, drawing her closer. His hands no longer comforting, they were also no longer on the other side of the sheet but on her skin. She didn’t mind.
Though she hadn’t dreamed about the general and his thugs, hadn’t yet rehashed every minute in their company, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t if given the chance. Jane didn’t want that chance; she wanted this one, with Bobby. If he was here, she wouldn’t have any more bad dreams. A foolish belief, but she clung to it, nevertheless, even as she clung to him.
“Don’t—” she began, and he snatched his hand back as if she’d suddenly exploded in flames.
“Stop,” she finished.
Bobby started to inch away. She clenched her fingers around his biceps and held on.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Not tonight.”
He hesitated, and she played her last card, inching back just enough so the sheet slithered to her waist. He froze, his gaze locked on her breasts, fascinated, as if he’d never seen any before.
Reaching out, he stroked first one, then the other, before lifting his eyes to hers. For the first time since he’d come to her rescue, he looked at her face, and he didn’t flinch at the sight of the bruises.
His hands were big enough to hold her in his palms, rough enough to excite her with a simple touch. Stark against her skin, their masculinity an intriguing contrast to her feminine curves.
He stared into her face, but little glances below her neck revealed what he was really interested in. Since she’d never had a man so fascinated with any part of her, not even her mind, she wasn’t sure what to do. She was sure that his timid touch excited her more than she believed such things could.
“This is such a bad idea,” he murmured.
“Seems like a good one to me.”
“There are things you don’t know—”
“I don’t want to.” She took a deep breath and admitted the truth. “I just want you.”
He blinked. No doubt he’d never met a woman so forward. Or maybe so desperate.
Her face heated; she was terrified he’d turn her down. She almost jumped up and ran back to her room, then he smiled, touched her face and whispered, “Me, too.”
Pushing her back on the bed, he slid his fingers over her with a reverence she wouldn’t have believed he could possess. Her eyes drifted closed as she waited for the heat of his mouth on her breast, the moist flicker of a tongue along her nipple.
Instead, his lips brushed her abdomen. Her eyes flashed open as he traced a moist path to her navel, then took a fold of her skin between his teeth and suckled.
The sight of his dark head at her belly, his mouth against her, made her shift with uneasy excitement. His palm cupped her hip again, holding her still, and he glanced all the way up her body.
“I’ve been wanting to taste you, right here—” he pressed his lips to the fluttering muscles of her stomach “—since you tore apart your shirt.”
She’d thought he was fixated on her breasts. She had to admit they weren’t bad, but they’re weren’t big. Didn’t guys like big?
What difference did it make? Especially when he was practically worshipping her in ways she’d never imagined could be so erotic.
His eyes glittered in the tiny bit of light, reminding her of the times his gaze had drifted over her belly and made her yearn. She’d been longing to put her mouth on his skin almost since he’d taken away her knife. She tried to sit up so she could touch him, but when her stomach muscles flexed he rode them with his thumb, ran his tongue along the wave, and she forgot what she’d been about to do.
“Let me,” he whispered, his breath brushing the path left by his tongue and making her shiver.
He memorized her dips and curves. She had to touch him or explode, put her mouth on him or die.
Intent on learning the flavor of his skin, she bumped her lip on his bicep, and when she tasted him, she tasted blood. Horrified, she pulled back, staring at the dark streak that marred his arm.
For an instant she thought he was hurt and she hadn’t even known. Then she realized her lip had begun to bleed again. Jane frantically wiped at the mark, but Bobby grabbed her hand, stilling her movements.
“I’ve seen blood before, Jane. You have, too. Forget it.”
He brushed her hair from her face, then used a corner of the sheet to gently blot the sting from her lips.
“No more kisses for you,” he whispered, and when she pouted, he laughed. “But that doesn’t mean none for me.”
Lowering his head, he kissed from her neck down to her toes. She was tingling by the time he was through, then he showed her that he’d only just begun.
Being unable to kiss was strange, making the encounter less personal, somehow. No kissing made this all about sex, and while that should bother her, amazingly, it didn’t.
She’d nearly died, several times over. Would anything ever bother her again?
“You’re thinking too much.” Bobby pressed his mouth to the line that must have appeared between her eyebrows. The one her mother said was making her look old.
Whoa! She didn’t want to think about her mother right now. Talk about a mood killer!
“Sorry,” she murmured, letting her hands drift over his back, his arms, his chest.
He had such beautiful skin, with such big muscles rippling beneath. She could sp
end a week—and she’d like to—learning everything about his incredible body.
“Don’t be sorry.”
His mouth grazed her temple. His erection pushed against his jeans and brushed her stomach. She wanted to pull him close and hold him inside of her forever.
Reaching between them, she traced a fingertip up the solid ridge. His breath caught and he stilled. Cupping him through the material, she discovered his muscles weren’t the only big thing about him.
She tugged at the button. “Off.”
“Jane, I don’t—”
“Do.” She used her fingernail on him again, tracing a line parallel to his zipper. The darkness made her bold; the need made her brave.
“Do me,” she whispered as she worked his jeans open and slipped her fingers inside.
Hot and smooth, he pulsed in her palm. Somehow he managed to kick off his pants with very little help. She supposed he’d been trained for just about anything.
She spent some time getting to know him. Hands instead of mouth, skin to skin, her entire body hummed as it called out to his. Guiding him to her, he came without hesitation. Sliding inside, he made her feel…
She wasn’t sure of the exact word beyond better. He made her feel better.
She’d always considered sex a normal physical function performed between consenting adults. Not that she’d consented all that often. But when she had, she’d been satisfied. She’d always wanted to do it again. Maybe not right at that moment, but eventually.
After tonight, she’d want to do it all the time. With him. And that was a very dangerous thing to want. He couldn’t stay. Neither could she. This was about attraction, lust, life, nothing more, and she had to remember that.
So she focused on sensation, the brush of his leg against hers, the hardness of his hip along her belly, the drift of his mouth on her neck and his fingers in her hair.
How could she be both tense and relaxed at the same time, both energized yet lulled?
The scent of his skin was familiar. Had she only known him a few days? He filled her so completely, touched her so tenderly, held her so tightly, she felt as if they’d already shared a lifetime.
When he murmured her name and pressed his lips to the frown line between her eyes, she tightened around him, drawing both his release and her own.
His shadow rose above her, wide and strong. She was trapped by his weight, surrounded by his hands, pinned by his body. But she knew she was safe.
Instead of running from the room and her life, he stayed right where he was, as if he didn’t want to leave the shelter of her body any more than she wanted him to. The behavior went a long way toward soothing the sudden fear that he’d slept with her out of pity.
“What happened?” he muttered.
“And here I’d thought you’d done this before. Port in every storm? Or is that a girl in every port?”
“You’re thinking of the navy, and I’m not like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t sleep around. Much,” he qualified. “I’ve never been good at it.”
“I have to disagree. You’re very good at it.”
“I—we—” He broke off with an exasperated sigh and let his forehead touch hers. “This wasn’t about gratitude, was it?”
“What?”
“A thank-you-for-saving-my-life boink?”
“You think I’d—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She’d been worried about pity, and he was worried about payback.
“Did you?” he asked quietly.
She ran her hand over his hair. “I am grateful. For my life and the sex. But one had nothing to do with the other. I promise. I wanted you. I needed this.”
“Me, too,” he murmured.
“Then relax. Sleep. Okay?”
He rolled to the side but captured her fingers as he did so, making the movement more about staying than going.
“Okay,” he whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BOBBY AWOKE TO SEVERAL realizations. The sun was shining in his eyes. He was alone in bed. He’d done exactly what the colonel warned him not to do, and he hadn’t used a condom while doing it.
“Shit.”
“Excuse me?”
Jane stuck her head out of the bathroom. Bobby turned in that direction and came nose to snout with Lucky. She kissed him, right on the mouth.
“Ack!”
He rubbed his face on the pillow. Even when the slobber was gone, he still felt contaminated.
Jane laughed. “For a man who’s spent eons in countries without plumbing, you’re awfully picky about dog germs.”
“Yeah, I’m funny that way.” He sat up, resting his head in his hands as he tried to figure out how to tell Jane he’d screwed up.
“Headache?” she asked. “I’m afraid I don’t have any aspirin handy.”
“I didn’t have a condom handy, either.”
The silence of the room was broken by Lucky’s joyful panting, which only seemed to exaggerate Bobby’s unjoyous announcement.
When he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, Bobby raised his head, prepared for Jane’s expression of horror. Instead she stared at him as if she could see everything about him—even the things he didn’t want her to.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“No, it isn’t. Dammit, Jane, I didn’t even think about protection until right now.”
“Neither did I.” She gave a small smile. “I could only think of you.”
He groaned and fell back on the bed, throwing his arm over his face. Not only was he a pig, but an irresponsible one at that. How could he have slept with Jane? Sadly, it had been all too easy.
Jane crossed the room, and the bed dipped as she sat next to him.
“It’s all right,” she repeated. “I’m on the pill. I have to be.”
Bobby dropped his arm and met her gaze. “Have to?”
“In my line of work, there’s no telling when I might be assaulted. Birth control pills are issued along with immunizations when we leave home.”
“You’re on the pill in case you’re raped?” His fingers curled into fists.
“Better safe than sorry.”
She didn’t appear concerned. He was terrified. “Why on earth do you do this job?”
Jane lifted her eyebrows. “The same reason you do yours. I can help.”
“And every day you live with the threat of violence?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re a man, so it’s okay?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What did you say?”
A sudden urge to pull her close and protect her forever nearly overwhelmed him. An uncommon urge, one he’d never had before. Not even with Marlie. The thought confused him so much he was dizzy with it.
Bobby took a deep breath, let it out slowly until the dizziness passed. Unfortunately the confusion remained.
“Pregnancy isn’t the only issue we need to deal with,” he pointed out.
“I was tested for every disease known to man before I came to Mexico. Since I’ve been here,” she lifted one shoulder, then lowered it. “Well, let’s just say I’m clean.”
Bobby thought about the physical he’d just taken, the condoms he’d always used—until last night. “Me, too.”
“Nothing to worry about, then.” She bounced to her feet and headed for the bathroom.
He watched her go, amazed, fascinated and just a little dazzled. Maybe they were bound by danger. Maybe what had happened had created an emotional attachment between them—one that would disappear when the danger did.
Nevertheless, she was special and he wanted her to know that.
“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he blurted.
The door closed behind Jane. Bobby wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.
“I’M NOT,” SHE WHISPERED to her reflection. “I’m a chicken-livered, yellow-bellied coward.”
Jane searched throu
gh her backpack, but she knew what she’d find. Or rather wouldn’t.
Birth control pills.
She hadn’t exactly had the time to retrieve them before Bobby hustled her out of the hut. The worst part was she hadn’t had the guts to tell him. She’d lied—by omission certainly, but a lie just the same.
“The chances he got me pregnant last night are pretty damn slim,” she told the mirror.
They always are, her reflection answered.
Jane turned on the shower and let the tepid water wash the sleep from her eyes. Too bad it couldn’t wash away the sense of guilt.
She wrestled with that guilt as she washed first her hair, then her body. Stepping out, she grabbed a towel.
“No reason to tell him until I know for certain that I’m—”
Screwed? the voice from the mirror interrupted.
Jane chose to ignore that voice.
A tap sounded on the door. “You okay?” Bobby called. “I thought I heard you talking.”
“I’m fine.”
“We need to get to the plane.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
After today, she’d never see Bobby Luchetti again. The thought brought a wave of sadness so strong her eyes burned.
“Idiot,” she muttered.
She’d been a one-night stand. For that matter, so had he. No reason to get all sentimental. Those who got sentimental about a man only got hurt.
She was smarter than that. Sex but no relationship. Child but no husband. She had a plan, remember? A plan that didn’t include soldier boy any more than his plans included her.
Jane stepped from the bathroom fully dressed to find Bobby right outside. Figuring he wanted the shower, she tried to scoot past. He captured her fingers with his and stared into her battered face. She knew what he saw. Though it didn’t seem possible, she looked worse today than yesterday.
“One more thing,” he said.
Her heart sped up. Foolish, foolish heart.
“Yes?”
Why was her voice so breathy and faint? Thankfully, Bobby didn’t seem to notice.
“We should keep this to ourselves.”
“This?”
“This.” He indicated the rumpled bed. Her. Him. “It could be a problem.”
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