by Jill Barnett
He walked over to her. “Please, Fraülein, sit down before you fall down.” He turned to the husband. “I will have the men get you both something to eat and drink.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. She raised her hand to her head and rubbed her forehead. She looked as if she might faint then and there. Her husband slid his arm around her, and she leaned against him.
Rheinholdt turned to Dietrich. “Get them some food and water.”
There was something possessive about the way the man held her and led her to a stool a few feet away in the shade of a truck. Rheinholdt followed and watched them together for a moment, noticing that neither of them wore rings. “I am Feldleutnant Frederich Rheinholdt.”
“James Cassidy,” the man said, squatting in front of her. “And this is Kathryn.”
“Yes, well, here comes Dietrich. You are fortunate. The supply caravan was here just days ago. We have bread and cheese and fresh water.”
“Lieutenant?”
He faced the woman. “Yes, Fraülein?”
Her head was bent down and her hands clasped in her lap. “Thank you for sharing with us.”
“Certainly. Please. Eat.” Rheinholdt turned and moved toward the tent that housed the radio transmitter.
“AUF WIEDERSEHEN”
J.R. paced in front of Kitty. “What do you think they’re going to do?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. The lieutenant was watching us very closely. I’m not certain what he was thinking. I don’t think your buddy from the Kasbah could possibly be in touch with an army unit this far away. They’re probably looking for us on the coast. This Rheinholdt really has no reason not to believe we are what I say we are.” He stopped in front of her. “That was some performance, by the way.”
“You liked that, huh?”
“Don’t get too cocky, there, sweetheart. They have no reason to hold us, but that doesn’t mean they can’t. We’re outnumbered and outarmed. They moved us to this tent.”
“He said he thought we were tired and wanted to rest and have some privacy.”
J.R. snorted. “There’s an armed guard outside.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after six. Looks like the sun’s going down.”
“So what do we do?”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
“Because someone’s coming.”
The German lieutenant shoved aside the tent flap. “You are rested, Fraülein? Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was so weak J.R. wondered if she were laying it on too thick.
“Good. You will both come with me, please.”
“Where?” Kitty asked.
“It doesn’t matter, Kathryn. Let’s do what the lieutenant asks. Come. I’ll help you up. You can hold on to me.” J.R. took her hand and slid his arm around her and followed the German outside. It was dusk outside, and everything was cast in gold from the orange ball of the setting sun.
“This way, please.” Rheinholdt crossed the edges of the camp and went around to the other side of a truck.
J.R. was trying to decide if he should take the guy on, but he noticed there was no armed guard. It was only the three of them.
The German walked over to an armored car and gestured to the seats. “Get in, please.”
Kitty froze, but J.R. pushed her forward. “Get in, Kathryn.”
He put her in the rear and got into the shotgun seat.
The lieutenant got in and started the car. He turned to J.R.
“Some officials in Morocco are looking for a young blind American woman.”
“What a coincidence,” J.R. said, ready to reach for his throat.
“Yes, however, Germany is not at war with the United States.”
“No.”
“Why, I ask myself, would they want a blind American woman?”
“Perhaps because her father is important,” J.R. said, frowning.
“Since she is not here, I do not have to worry about her. Women should not be part of war. Your wife looks tired. I cannot take you both to Cairo, but I can take you closer than you are.” He shifted the car into gear and drove across the desert.
It was dark when he finally slowed the car. It was a rough, bumpy ride.
“I cannot drive on the road here or use the lights.” They drove a few more miles, and he stopped the car and rested his arm on the back of the seat. “This is as far as I can take you. You see the lights to the west? There?”
“I see them.”
“Those are the British lines. It is not too far to walk, I think.”
“No. Not far.” J. R. got out and helped Kincaid from the car.
“The road is to your right. You stay on the road. There are mines to the north.”
“We will.” J.R. faced the German, then leaned over the seat and held out his hand. “Thank you.”
The lieutenant shook his hand. “You are welcome.” He looked at Kitty. “I, too, have a wife, and daughters, Herr Cassidy. Good luck to you.” Then he started the car, turned around, and drove back into the darkness.
“LULU’S BACK IN TOWN”
In the center of Cairo’s hothouse atmosphere, the Swiss-owned, Shepheard’s Hotel was Western sybaritism at its best: a marble lobby and huge potted palms, quality service that was obsequious to say the least, luxurious rooms with wide, lattice-paneled terraces, and sumptuous meals that were the talk of the town.
But it was the bathtub that made Kitty believe she had died and gone to heaven. With a blanket of bubbles clear up to her sunburned chin, she lay in the tepid water, squeaky clean, her skin pickling, eyes closed, listening to the soft ticking of the ceiling fan and the traffic noise of civilization coming up from the street below. There was a light tapping on the bathroom door. “Hekmet? Come in.”
The door opened and she heard the quick padding steps of the personal maid supplied by the hotel. “The clothing from Cirurel’s was delivered, madame. I have laid some of them out on the bed. Your linen and nightclothes are in the drawers of the dressing room as madame asked.”
“Thank you. I’m going to stay in this bath a while longer. I won’t need you for at least another hour.”
“Yes, madame.” And she left.
Kitty sat up and flicked on the warm water, then lay back again, ignoring the gurgling, sucking sound of the overflow spill. She wanted the water up to her neck. She closed her eyes and lay back again, soaking, her arms flung over the rim of the tub and the spicy-sweet scent of jasmine floating inside from the clay pots on the terrace.
The maid tapped again.
Service was uppermost at this hotel, but this was the third time the maid had bothered her in less than an hour. Kitty just wanted to loll around in the tub, without the sun beating on her, without having to walk anywhere, without fleas or flies or sand.
“Come in.” The maid opened the door and Kitty started, “Thank you for looking after me so well, Hekmet. I really appreciate your help, but I don’t need anything else right now.” She paused, then added, “Well, perhaps a glass of water with ice would be nice before you leave. Then please don’t come back for an hour. Take a break, a rest . . . something.”
“I don’t have any water, sweetheart. How about an icy cold beer and hot dog?”
“Cassidy? Dammit!” She grabbed a towel and draped it over the tub. “What are you doing in my room? My bathroom?”
“You said come in.”
“Stay back.”
He walked over to her. “Here.” He put an ice-cold bottle of beer against her cheek.
“Good God, that’s cold.”
“Hold out your hand.”
She huddled under the towel. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“No.”
“At this point I suppose any modesty on my part is a lost cause.”
“You’re a smart woman.”
“Okay, then.” She held her hand out over the top of the towel and heard the thin paper crinkle before she felt wha
t it held. “That feels like a hot dog. It even smells like a hot dog.”
“It is. Complete with mustard and sauerkraut.”
“Where on earth did you get a hot dog in Cairo?” She lifted it to her nose, and her stomach growled.
“For the right price, you can get anything in Cairo.”
“God, that smells good.” She unwrapped it and took a bite. “It’s wonderful,” she said with her mouth full.
He sat down on the dressing stool. “Did you get in touch with your family?”
She nodded and swallowed. “Not my father. He’s in New Mexico, but I spoke with one of my brothers. He said they already received three wires that I was safe and sound and here in Cairo. The wire we sent, the British Army’s wire, and the U.S. State Department’s wire.” She took a drink of the beer. “We were certainly burning up the telegraph services. My dad will call me here tomorrow.”
“They’re sending a transport out from Gibraltar sometime tomorrow to fly us back the next day.”
She finished off the hot dog and washed it down with another swig of cold beer. “I don’t think anything in my life has tasted as good as that just did.”
“I’m glad. Are you still tired?”
“I shouldn’t be. All I did yesterday was sleep in that bed and wash my hair, seven times. I used a whole bottle of shampoo and I think I still have sand in it.” She rubbed her scalp.
“What do you say we paint the town tonight? Celebrate our escape. Dinner, music, something?”
“This is Cairo, isn’t it? Cabarets and exotic night life. I heard Rommel is only a few hundred miles away. Who knows when, if ever, I’ll get back here.”
“Do you have to talk yourself into this?”
She laughed. “No. I’d love to go out.”
“Okay, then. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.” He stood and walked toward the door.
“Cassidy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the hot dog.”
“Sure.”
“And the beer.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Well, yes. Please tell me the bubbles are some protection.”
“Bubbles? What bubbles?” And he closed the door laughing.
“I DOUBLE DARE YOU”
“I can’t find my key.” Kitty was rummaging around in her small evening bag. “Oh, wait. Here it is. Look.” She pulled out the key and held it up.
He took the key from her hand. “I’ll do it.”
“I bet you sure do do it,” she murmured. Oops. She’d had too many gin fizzes.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She heard the click as he unlocked the door. “Well, I’d invite you inside, but I don’t have a thing to drink.” She moved past him and stood in the doorway, her hand on the jamb. “Dinner was wonderful, and I haven’t danced like that . . . well, ever.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for tonight.”
He didn’t take her hand.
She waited for him to do something. Anything. Kiss her, that was what she expected. What she wanted. What she had wanted all night.
His hand closed over hers and he shook it. “You’re right. Tonight was fun.”
She was so surprised she just stood there for a moment. What the heck was going on?
He didn’t say anything more. He just dropped her hand. “Good night, Kincaid.” He turned and walked down the hall toward his room, whistling.
She closed the door tightly before she leaned back against it and swore every word she knew. Thanks to her brothers, it took a few minutes.
Still annoyed, she shoved away from the door and crossed the room, tossing her bag and wrap in the vicinity of the sitting room sofa as she stalked into the dressing room and began to undress, mumbling to herself. “We’re in the desert and he’s sure full of innuendo. Mister hot-shot hero, with his glib tongue, which was, by the way, halfway down my throat when we found that road marker.”
She tossed her shoes in the closet and put her satin evening dress on a padded hanger, then hung it up. “We almost die together . . . minefields and airplane crashes and flash floods, and now, here we are, a perfect evening, and he doesn’t take the bait.” She put her hands on her hips. “And snakes! I forgot all about the snake.”
She grabbed her silk robe off a hook and shrugged into it. “We walk through the desert together. We almost died together like . . . like Shakespearean lovers.”
She yanked hard on the belt and pulled the pins and the hair pick from her hair. She turned and set them on the dressing table, then sat down and began to vigorously brush her hair. She stopped brushing and shook the brush in the air. “What is wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Cassidy?”
“You forgot your key.”
She could just imagine him standing right there in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, probably holding up her key like some kind of prize.
Oh, God . . . How much had he heard? She spun around and threw her brush at him.
“Ouch! Damn.”
She stood up and crossed the small room, her hand out until she found him standing there.
“You hit me in the head. How did you do that?”
“Blind luck.”
“You know, Kincaid. That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Oh . . . I sure do hope so.”
A heartbeat passed. One of those split-second strokes of time where you wonder where your nerve came from. She would have given anything to be able to see his face.
His hand touched her cheek, then, slowly slid to her jaw.
She tilted her head back. Just for a second she thought he wasn’t going to kiss her. “Kiss me, Cassidy. Before I fall down.”
“Oh, baby . . . ” His mouth was on hers.
She grabbed his shirtfront in her fists and pulled him against her.
His hands slid down her to her bottom, and he lifted her up, deepening his kiss as he walked with her to the bed. He set her on her feet but kept his hands on her butt and slowly began to wad up the robe higher and higher and higher, until he could slide his hands over the bare skin of her bottom, squeezing it as he ate at her mouth.
The last time she’d kissed him he’d had a beard. She lifted her hand and drew it along his square jaw. She could smell the soap on his skin. It smelled clean and male and just wonderful. She easily opened every button on his shirt, pushed it off his shoulders, and ran her hands over the muscles and bone and contours of his arms, drew a finger over the indentations, amazed at how they were sculpted.
So different from her. So hard. In the strength of those arms was the soldier, the man. She wanted to give him the gift of her body.
His fingers moved to the cleft of her buttocks, then inside, stroking her in places dark and forbidden. She moaned and rubbed against him, felt the robe split wide open, and her nipples rubbed against the thin cotton of his undershirt. He was kissing her jaw. She reached down and cupped him through his slacks.
His lips were on her ear, his tongue inside. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“Hmmm. Am I?”
“Yeah, baby.”
She laughed and pulled at his belt. “Less than you.”
His hands left her butt and tore at the robe; it fell off her shoulders. He jerked away the tie belt. “On the bed.” He shoved her backward, out into the bedroom and then onto the bed. “Now.”
She heard the sound of his belt, then his zipper, the thud of his shoes. She lay there naked, exposed to him.
He wasn’t moving.
She could hear his breathing. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
“Not fair. I have to use my hands to see you.”
“Yeah, and you were doing such a good job of it, you were about to see more than you planned.”
“Like what?”
“Me losing my pride and shooting off like I was fif
teen.”
“I wouldn’t care.”
“I would.”
She lay there, wondering how long before he touched her again. “I want your hands on me, Cassidy. Please
He stood between her legs, which were bent and hanging down from the bed; he pushed them apart. His hands stroked her inner thighs, and she sucked in a deep breath.
“God, but you’re beautiful . . . ” His finger separated her; the air was cold on her.
She was so wet it was embarrassing. She made a noise when he rubbed her. “Wait.”
“Shhhh.” He knelt down and put her legs over his shoulders. He grabbed her bottom and pulled her toward him, open, exposed, his head between her thighs. Just the barest tip of his tongue flicked her.
She moaned and quivered. “No, don’t. Please.”
His only answer was to lick her again. Then he blew on her.
“Please . . . ”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t.”
“Please don’t what?”
“Please don’t. . . stop.”
His fingers went back to her crack and stroked her. He licked her, blew on her, stroked her, again and again.
“It feels so good.”
Her legs began to shake, small shivers, and she raised her hips higher and closer.
“Come, baby, come against my mouth.”
And she came apart for him.
“I’M IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE”
He’d never had a virgin. Always thought of virginity as a nuisance. He was wrong. She was all over him, with an innocence he found refreshingly fun.
Four times. Hell, maybe he was a hero.
They lay sideways in the bed, the sheets somewhere on the floor, her legs tangled in his and her head resting on his chest as she combed her fingers through his chest hair and he played with her hard nipple. The window was open, but the air was warm and the room still steamy and smelling like sex. It made him want her again.