by S. M. Butler
He held out his hand to Claire. They left the chow hall and walked out into the balmy dessert night, the moon shining overhead and casting them in dark blue light. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”
“You mean my box?” She laughed. “I must say, the space is a lot nicer on the inside than it appears on the outside.”
“And it beats sleeping in the dirt, or on hard metal in the back of an SUV.”
Her hand tightened in his. “I don’t know. The back of the SUV had its advantages.”
“It did, didn’t it?” Irish pulled her arm through his, bringing her body close enough he inhaled the scent of her shampoo. “You smell good.”
Her light laugh warmed his heart. “Nice pick-up line.”
Irish puffed out his chest. “I know exactly what to say to sweep the lasses off their feet.”
“Uh huh.” Though her voice dripped sarcasm, she leaned into him, resting her cheek against his arm.
God, he loved the way her body melded to his and the way she kicked at the gravel, in no hurry to leave his side.
All too soon, they arrived at the row of boxes stacked three high and stopped in front of the ground-level container she’d been assigned.
Not wanting to push her when she’d already been through so much, Irish brushed her hair off her cheek and kissed her. His tongue swept past her teeth to slide the length of hers, hungrily tasting, twisting and turning. When he broke it off, he stepped back, breathing a bit erratically, his body on fire with desire.
“Would you like to come in?”
“No. Really, you need sleep after what we went through today.”
She smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Remember that rain check you promised?”
Irish’s heart leaped at her words and the way she looked at him with challenge in the tilt of her chin. Never mind the strict rules of no fraternizing on the military installation during deployment. He was a man willing to take risks. “Darlin’, I’m all about keeping my promises.”
She turned with a sway of her hips and a sexy smile.
He held the door, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky as to fall out of a helicopter. Rather than look that gift horse in the mouth, he followed her inside.
Chapter Seven
‡
Claire had never seduced a man in her life. With Irish, the behavior came natural. Every red blood cell in her body sizzled with anticipation, desire curling at her core, sending tingles outward like a chemical reaction.
Eager to get the party started, she pulled the borrowed T-shirt over her head and tossed it over the end of the singlewide cot. Braless, she turned to face him and dropped the oversized scrubs bottoms Big Bird had appropriated from medical supply. She stood before him completely naked. Her only undergarments draped over a makeshift clothesline at the end of the room, after the thorough washing she’d given them while she showered.
Irish took her hands in his and held them wide, his gaze sweeping over her body, his eyes flaring as his gaze skimmed over her breasts and lower to that tuft of hair at the juncture of her thighs. “You’re a very lovely lass.”
“And you are far too overdressed.” She tugged her hands to free them from his grip. The longer he stared the more self-conscious she became.
“I can remedy that.” Releasing her hands, he stripped, flinging his clothes to the corners of the room until he stood before her as naked as she was.
Claire’s heart thundered and her core clenched. This time when they made love, she’d take her time, learn every inch of his body, memorizing it for when they were no longer together.
Thoughts of the future threatened to tinge her rising passion with a pall of sadness.
Irish touched a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. “One minute you’re all fire and passion. The next, you look like a puppy someone kicked. What are you thinking about?”
“I want tonight to be special.”
“Why just tonight?”
She slid her hands across the hard plains of his chest, reveling in the strength beneath her fingertips, tweaking one small brown nipple. “After tonight, you might be headed back to the States.”
“Or not.”
She gave him a weak smile and pressed her lips where her fingers had been, tonguing the tight bud. “The point is, you have your life back in the States and wherever the Navy sends you. I have my life here in Africa.” And she’d stay as long as needed to find and free Dr. Jamo. What happened after that was a mystery.
“Have you ever considered moving back Stateside?” He cupped her cheeks in his palms and lifted her face to his.
“I don’t have anyone back there.”
“No friends or relatives?”
“No one.” Doesn’t that sound pathetic?
He pressed his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. “You have me.”
Her pulse sped, her heart tripping over every beat. “We just met. You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re smart, brave and beautiful.” He kissed her again, his tongue pushing through her teeth to toy with hers.
She curled her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and drew him closer.
When Irish raised his head, he stared down into her eyes. “Claire, I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”
She laughed, the sound closer to a sob than anything else. “We might as well live on different planets. A relationship would be completely out of the question.” Even if she wanted it. And she wanted it, more than she ever realized. Working in Africa, she’d made friends among her colleagues and the people she’d helped, but something had always been missing. She didn’t have anyone she could share her joys and sorrows with. She didn’t have anyone with whom she could build hopes and dreams. Her parents had been the center of her life for so long. When they’d died, she’d thought she’d lost everything. Her grandmother’s death the following year left her with no one to call her own.
Being with Irish reminded her of all she’d been missing. Their careers put them at a distinct disadvantage.
“Perhaps the past few days together have been nothing more than a challenge we had to overcome. Whatever feelings we have for each other are a manifestation of sharing difficult times together.” Being rational would save her emotions. “If we were in a position we could date, we might find each other boring or annoying.”
Irish pressed a finger to her lips, quelling her rush of words. “You’re overthinking this.” He skimmed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, coming to rest at her hips. Digging his fingers into her ass, he pressed her against his hardening cock. “For tonight, let’s live in the moment. We can talk all we want tomorrow. But know this, I don’t plan on tonight being the end. It’s only the beginning of what could be between us.”
“You’re right,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him closer where her breasts rubbed against his chest.
His brows dipped. “About which part?”
She smiled. “I’m overthinking this. We have tonight. Let’s not waste it.” Pushing thoughts of a future without Irish to the back of her mind, Claire melted against him, loving the feel of his naked skin against hers. Sliding her leg up the back of his, she pressed her sex against his thick muscle, his coarse hairs making her crazy, wanting more.
Irish scooped her up by the backs of her thighs.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and eased down over him, taking his length into her channel.
He closed his eyes, his arms cinching around her, his cock thrusting up into her. “You. Are. Amazing…” Backing her against the metal door, he thrust into her again.
Another first for her. She’d never made love against a door, or a wall, for that matter. The cool metal on her back made a stark contrast to the fire radiating between their heated bodies. She rested her hands on his shoulders and rode him, pushing up and sliding down with each of his thrusts until her pussy clenched and a tidal wave of sensations engulfed her, sweeping her away.
One last thrust, and Irish held her hard against him, his staff buried to the hilt, long thick and throbbing.
Her mind mush, her legs shaking, Claire laughed shakily. “That was incredible.”
“Darlin’, you inspire me.” He winked and carried her to the single bed, laying her down first, and then slipping in beside her. Irish was a big man, his muscles taking up much of the thin mattress.
Claire didn’t mind. It meant they were forced to lay close together, bodies touching. She slid her hand across his chest and up behind his neck. “Kiss me,” she demanded. If this was the last time they’d be together, she wanted to pack away as many memories as she could.
In the early hours of the morning, Irish rose from the bed.
Claire blinked open her eyes. “Is it morning?”
“Not yet,” he whispered. He’d wanted to slip from her quarters without disturbing her, mostly out of self-preservation. If she woke, he would be hard-pressed to resist holding her again.
Arms over her head, Claire stretched.
Her naked body tempted the saint right out of Irish. He sat on the side of the little bed and smoothed a hand over her shoulder and down to cup her breast.
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Stay.”
He tweaked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s against the installation regulations to fraternize here. I need to leave before someone sees me.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay for one more round?” Her hand guided his to the patch of hair covering her mons. She pressed his fingers between her folds and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “Please.”
Who was he kidding? He was no match for Claire the Temptress, her body warm from sleep, her sex wet and inviting. Thrusting his finger into her, he swirled and then dragged it up to stroke that sliver of flesh that made her so very crazy.
She dug her heels into the mattress and raised her hips, urging him to continue.
He did, stroking, flicking and strumming her until she cried out, her body quivering with her release.
Irish rolled on top of her and thrust deep inside, his cock encased in her warmth and wetness. He could die now and have known perfection and complete satisfaction. Rising up on his hands, he pumped in and out, increasing the rhythm until the little cot shook, the springs squealing. One last thrust and he buried himself.
Claire wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his buttocks.
God, she felt so damned good, Irish hated when he had to finally withdraw.
Slowly lowering her legs, Claire smiled up at him. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”
“You had me at please.” He bent to capture her lips in a soul-defining kiss. “It’ll be daylight soon.”
She stretched, her stomach rumbling. “Do you have time to eat an early breakfast?”
“Until my commander assigns me a new mission or redeploys us Stateside, I’m free.”
“I’ll join you for breakfast in ten minutes.” She sat up, pushing back her hair from her face, the action making her breasts jut out.
“Keep that up, and we won’t leave this room all day.”
“Keep what up?” She blinked quickly.
He reached out and tweaked her nipple. “Move. Breathe. Flaunt your gorgeous, naked body. Hell, all you have to do is stand there. A man can only take so much.”
She grinned. “I’d say, let’s go for another round,” she eyed his still hard cock, “but I’m hungry for food.” Claire rose from the bed and gathered her clothing. “Maybe after?”
“You’re on.” He slapped her bare ass, shoved his feet into his trousers and slipped on his tennis shoes. As he pulled his shirt over his head, he said, “See you in ten minutes.”
He left her in her room and stepped out into the near-darkness of predawn. It wouldn’t be long before the sun rose and scorched the land and the people who dared to live and work on it. Irish didn’t care how hot it was, he only knew he was having breakfast with Claire. He’d take one minute, one hour, and one day at a time. He refused to look too far into the future and the moment he’d have to say goodbye.
Claire found the latrine and performed her morning ablutions. Without a curling iron or blow dryer, there wasn’t much she could do to improve her hair, besides pulling it back and arranging it into a French braid. Wearing a T-shirt and scrub pants and no make-up, she wasn’t exactly looking her best, but her appearance was the best she could manage. Actually, she’d never felt more beautiful than when she’d stood naked in front of Irish. The hungry gleam in his eyes fed her desire and made her feel like the most lovely and desirable woman in the world. And lucky. Irish was a helluva gorgeous specimen of man. From his broad shoulders and iron abs to his narrow waist and sexy ass. Yeah, she was lucky to have had the opportunity to make love with a man who could be every girl’s wet dream.
Hurrying back to her containerized housing unit, Claire dropped off the trial-sized tube of toothpaste and her toothbrush before she hurried for the mess hall. Around her, the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, and the camp came alive. Men and women dressed in shorts and T-shirts spilled out of their containerized living quarters, stretching before a morning run. Others wore uniforms and headed to their duty stations.
As Claire crossed the main road leading into and out of the garrison, she did a double take.
A white truck was parked beside one of the administration buildings, and it had a familiar logo on the side door.
Claire’s footsteps faltered and came to a complete halt when the image of a green flying dove came into focus.
At first, she thought it was the same vehicle that had taken Dr. Jamo, but then she recalled an SUV had driven away with her colleague. This vehicle wasn’t a Land Rover. Nobody was in the truck and it was parked outside what appeared to be a medical clinic.
Her heart pounding, Claire walked through the clinic door. In the back of her mind, she harbored the hope of finding Dr. Jamo inside, smiling and laughing with the staff, explaining some of the natural remedies they used in Somalia when medications weren’t available.
Only Dr. Jamo’s dark face and graying hair wasn’t what she found. Instead, she saw a coal-black man in a green uniform waiting at the desk.
A young woman in a U.S. Army desert camouflage uniform stood behind the counter. “It’ll be at least thirty minutes before we have the results for you. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
The man nodded and took a seat in the waiting room.
“May I help you, ma’am?” The woman behind the counter asked Claire.
“No, I think I’m in the wrong building,” Claire said, her voice barely above a whisper. Who was that black man, and what connection did he have to do with the people who’d taken Dr. Jamo?
“What building were you looking for?”
“The mess hall?” Claire said, knowing perfectly well where it was.
“You’re not far. It’s a couple buildings over.” The female soldier gave her the directions with another smile.
Claire left the building. She half-walked, half-ran to the mess hall, bursting through the door, her gaze searching for Irish.
“Hey,” a voice said beside her.
She turned and fell into Irish’s arms.
He held her for a minute then pushed her to arms’ length. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“There’s a white truck outside that looks similar to the one that took Dr. Jamo.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the exit.
Irish followed her to the corner of the medical clinic where the truck still stood.
“There.” She pointed, breathing hard, her heart pumping blood through her so fast she was dizzy. “It isn’t an SUV, but it’s got the exact logo on the door panel.”
“A flying dove.” Irish studied the vehicle for a moment, then took her hand and led her toward the Special Operations Command center where they’d been debriefed the night before.
&
nbsp; “I need to talk to Colonel Mathis,” he said to the army sergeant at the front desk.
“I’ll see if he’s available.”
“What’s the problem?” Colonel Mathis emerged from the back office, followed by his assistant, an army captain.
“Dr. Boyette spotted a truck outside with a similar logo to the vehicle used to take away her colleague Dr. Jamo. Could we determine who owns the logo? Perhaps we can find out where they’ve taken Dr. Jamo.”
The commander’s brows furrowed. “Have you considered al-Shabaab might have stolen the truck?”
“Yes, sir.” Irish squared his shoulders. “But if there’s an even remote possibility they didn’t steal it, and whoever owns the vehicle with the logos has something to do with Dr. Jamo’s disappearance, I’d like to follow up on it.”
“Fair enough.” Colonel Mathis waved his assistant forward. “Captain Copeland, we need someone to make a subtle inquiry into the ownership of the logo.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll check into it,” the captain said and hurried out of the building.
“Thank you, sir,” Irish said. “We’ll be in the chow hall, should you need to find us.” He hustled Claire out of the command center and back toward the chow hall.
“I’m not hungry,” Claire said, digging her heels into the dirt. “How can you eat at a time like this? If that company has anything to do with Dr. Jamo’s kidnapping, I want to know immediately.”
“We don’t know someone from that company took him. And if we want to know more, we need to give the good captain a chance to inquire.”
Claire shoved her hand through her hair. “What if he tips off the man and he leaves before we can find out where Dr. Jamo is?”
Irish touched her arm. “I seriously doubt the man in that clinic would know anything about Dr. Jamo.”
“But if he doesn’t, someone he works with might.”
“I have an idea. Come with me to the mess hall, and I’ll fill you in with the rest of the team.”
Claire stopped resisting and followed Irish to the cafeteria, her gaze turning to the white truck up to the point they entered the chow hall, the building’s walls cutting off her view. “What if that truck is going to the same place where they’re holding Dr. Jamo? He’ll be leaving in thirty minutes or less. Can’t we follow it?” She faced him. “I know I sound crazy, but this might be our only lead.”