The Soldier’s Secret Daughter

by Cindy Dees

  How could she ever have convinced herself she could cut this man out of her life? He was as much a part of her as her arms or her legs. More so. He was part of her soul.

  His arms swept around her and he pushed her down gently to the sand, following her eagerly, their mouths never parting. Her lips opened and his tongue was there, tasting and testing, caressing and cajoling. Not that she needed any encouragement. His desperate urgency was contagious

  “Are you real,” he murmured against her lips, “or is this a dream?”

  She ducked her head into his shoulder and laughed under her breath. “And here I was, asking myself the exact same thing. Does it matter?”

  “Nope. I’ll take it either way. This is a hell of a lot better than anything else I’ve dreamed in the past two years. Although there was that recurring dream about eating steak in a bubble bath…”

  She replied playfully, “That can be arranged.”

  “Have you seen Lyle’s bathtub? It looks like half a whiskey barrel. To sit in that thing I’d have to stick my knees up my nose. There’s hardly room for bubbles, let alone you and a steak.”

  “Oh-ho! So the dream involved a girl in the tub, too, did it?”

  Jagger grinned. “Well, yeah. You starred in many more of my dreams than I wanted.”

  She winced at the reminder that for the past two years he’d thought the absolute worst of her. “And now?”

  “Oh, you’re still in my dreams.”

  She whispered, “So let’s make one of them real, shall we?”

  His eyes went even darker and more turbulent than they already were. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with restrained violence. And which dream of his was this? One where he seduced her with cold calculation and walked away with the pieces of her heart in his pocket, or one where they made sweet, tender love until they couldn’t lift a finger between them? Sadly, she didn’t care which. She’d take him any way she could get him.

  His mouth and hands roamed over her body, burning her until the cool night air felt wonderful against her heated skin. Her cheeks must be cherry-red, they felt so hot. Her breasts, her belly, her entire body felt flushed and hypersensitive. She was abjectly grateful when he came up for air long enough to peel her out of her clothes and strip off his as well.

  She murmured, “Did you ever imagine this with me in the past two years? A moonlit beach all to ourselves on a tropical island? Just the two of us, naked and together?”

  His eyes closed in pain. “I didn’t want to. I hated myself for thinking about it. But…yes.” The hoarse word sounded torn from his gut. “Yes. I hated you for it, but I still wanted you.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered. “I never stopped wanting you. I dreamed about you. About…doing things with you.”

  “Like what?” he asked against the tender flesh at the base of her ear.

  His mouth made it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on an answer. She mumbled, “You know. Things.”

  “Tell me.”

  How could she refuse him? Not after all he’d been through. Not any more than she could deny a starving man food or a parched man water. “I imagined making love with you to the rhythm of waves crashing on a beach. Under the stars. Just the two of us. Free to do anything and everything we want to.”

  She felt his lips curve up in a smile against the base of her throat. “Kind of like here and now?”

  “Um, yes. Kind of exactly like this.”

  His fingers drifted down her side, along her thigh and curled around the back of her knee. “You know what they say. Sometimes dreams come true.”

  A low moan of need slipped out of her, and Jagger needed no further permission to proceed. He pulled her leg up over his hip, opening her to more intimate exploration. She tried to be careful of his bandages, but he was having no part of it.

  At first, it was all skin and mouths and hands and frantic hurry. And then, as the reality of the moment set in for both of them—awareness…and then belief…that this wasn’t a dream on the verge of slipping away at any second—they slowed down. Way down.

  They lay side by side on the sand, gazing deep into each other’s eyes, and ever so slowly reacquainted themselves with each other’s bodies with languid hands and gentle mouths. She learned the new contours of his leaner form, while he explored the changes the past two years had wrought in her as well.

  “You’re curvier than I remembered,” he murmured. “Less of a girl and more of a woman.”

  Alarm jabbed her. Not a place she wanted to go just yet. Not now. Not when the reason for her curviness had so much potential for strife. Instead, she laughed lightly. “Is that a polite way of telling me I’ve gotten fat?”

  “Good Lord, no! It’s a polite way of telling you that you’ve grown up. Become a beautiful woman in her prime. It suits you.”

  How close he was to truths left unspoken scared her to death. To distract him, she commented, “You, on the other hand, are thinner than you were. Harder. It’s like all the excess has been stripped away and left just muscle and sinew and bone.”

  He sighed. “How true.”

  She laughed. “Never fear. I’ll have you fattened back up in no time, Jack Spratt.”

  “Not if you work it all off of me making love.” He kissed her then, adding, “By all means do your best to pack on the weight and take it right back off of me like this.”

  She shook her head in mock dismay. “I knew it. Sex and supper. That’s all you want from me.” The phrase “barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen” slid through her mind, but she cut the thought off in panic and prayed the same phrase hadn’t occurred to him.

  The humor bled out of his gaze until it was so black and so intense she could hardly bear to look at it. “Honey, sex and supper don’t even scratch the surface of what I want from you tonight.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Tonight, I want it all.”

  And what about tomorrow?

  He didn’t bring it up, and she was vividly aware of the omission. He always had been a James Bond kind of guy. Love ’em and leave ’em. Apparently, two years in a box hadn’t changed that about him. And two years hadn’t changed her need for him, either. Hadn’t diminished it one bit. Which meant she was left exactly where she was before, suspecting that they’d just have this short time together before he left her. Again. Could she survive that twice in one lifetime?

  Truly, it was amazing that one of the scores of women left trailing in James Bond’s wake never caught up with him and murdered him in bereavement or an excess of passion. Ian Fleming might have understood spies, but he sure as heck didn’t understand women.

  And then Jagger’s hands closed on her body and all concern about anything beyond this exact moment flew away into the night.

  Their lovemaking was achingly slow. Jagger seemed to want to savor every single second of it. A slight frown of concentration wrinkled his brow until she finally murmured, “You look so serious. Are you not enjoying yourself, or have you just forgotten what comes next?”

  A snort of laughter escaped him. “I think I remember, thanks.” He added more seriously, “I’ll die remembering this moment with you.”

  “No talk of death tonight, okay?” she replied softly.

  “You’ve got it. I’m alive. You’re alive. Let’s celebrate that.”

  And with that he wrapped her in his strong arms and rolled down the beach with her until the cold surf washed up on their feet. She squealed and he laughed, pulling her on top of him. Their laughter mingled as she looped her arms around his neck and gazed down at him with her heart in her eyes. The laughter drained out of his gaze until nothing was left but raw need that stole her breath away.

  He whispered, “For a while there, I didn’t think I was going to make it out of that box alive.”

  “But you did.”

  “It was a close thing. I was on the edge of breaking when you opened that door.”

  “But I did.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave with you at first,
you know. I thought it was a trick.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you there, Jagger. I’d have found a way to get you out of that crate, even if I had to call in the National Guard.”

  “I doubt that rock is American soil, honey. But thanks for the thought.”

  She grinned down at him. “I always could have messed with a cargo manifest and gotten your reefer unit off-loaded someplace and then conveniently lost track of.”

  He pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “My brave little innocent. AbaCo’s goons would’ve caught you.”

  “I dunno. I’m pretty familiar with their computer systems. I know my way around most of their safeguards. And after all, I am Danger Girl.”

  He laughed quietly; then a speculative gleam entered his eyes. After a moment, he shook his head. “Later. I don’t want to talk business right now.”

  Everything about their lovemaking was exactly as she remembered—but better. His hardness to her softness, his relentless energy, his finesse, his uncanny ability to know exactly what felt best to her as he stroked her with hand and mouth and body to a fever pitch. Bright lights exploded behind her eyelids, electric shocks zinged across her skin and orgasm after orgasm ripped through her.

  She gasped his name, clinging to him as the universe dissolved around her. Likewise, he buried his face against her neck and groaned as his body shuddered deep within hers.

  Gradually, she became aware of dampness on her neck. “Jagger?” she asked.

  He lifted his head to gaze down at her, and she was stunned to see tear tracks on his cheeks.

  Right then, right there, her heart broke. It split wide open, its vulnerable interior exposed and raw. Then into the fissures flowed something warm and soothing, something entirely right. Love. For this man. This wonderful man who’d endured so much suffering and come out the other side of it able to give of himself, able to forgive.

  She reached up and tenderly wiped away his tears.

  He flashed her a crooked smile. “Guess I’m still a little messed up in the head.”

  “It’s not messed up to shed a tear. You’ve been to hell and back. You’re authorized to be a little emotional.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s real, isn’t it? I’m really free, aren’t I? You’re not going to make a phone call and have AbaCo’s thugs swoop in and haul me back to my box, are you?”

  She smiled at him and reached up to smooth the frown off his brow with her fingertips. “No, I’m not. And yes, Jagger. You’re really free. I never would have helped them, particularly not with harming or kidnapping you. Nobody’s coming to get you.”

  He stared at her for a long time as the truth of her words seemed to gradually sink in. Eventually, he shrugged. “We do still have the FBI to deal with. They may not be a walk in the park to convince that we’re innocent.”

  Well, he was innocent. She hoped that the extenuating circumstances of saving a man’s life would get her cleared of the charges against her, but it wasn’t a guaranteed thing. She said bravely, “Once they hear your side of the story, they’ll drop the charges against you.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear, eh?”

  She gazed at every nuance of his expression as the worry slowly gave way to more hopeful thoughts. He had every reason to be cynical, she supposed. Everyone had abandoned him, believed him dead. Nobody had fought hard enough to find out how he’d died or to verify if it was even true.

  Renewed guilt poured through her. Even she’d been willing to think the worst of him. “I’m sorry I didn’t come looking for you sooner, Jagger.”

  He smiled down at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be eternally grateful to you for getting me out of there.”

  “No, really—”

  He laid two fingers across her mouth. “No, really. You’re forgiven. It’s fine.”

  He was a remarkable man. She didn’t know if, in the same situation, she could find such generosity of spirit in herself. How on earth had she ever caught the attention of a man like him? She had to be the luckiest woman alive. She drank in the sight of him greedily. And that was probably why she noticed the faint frown that flitted through his eyes.

  “What?” she murmured.

  “It just occurred to me that we didn’t use any kind of protection just now. Lord knows I haven’t been exposed to any diseases in the past two years, but we still should’ve taken precautions against a preg—”

  He broke off.

  Panic erupted in her gut, clawing at her ribs. She held her breath, hoping against hope that she wasn’t reading the memory in his eyes correctly. But she knew she was.

  “When I was sick…” he started.

  Oh, God.

  “You said something to me. Something about…” He frowned as if struggling to retrieve the memory.

  Please, please let him fail.

  Triumph flashed in his gaze. “A baby—”

  A thunderous frown gathered on his brow. He lurched upright, staring down at her in mingled disbelief and fury. “Our baby.”

  Still she said nothing. He hadn’t actually asked her a question, after all.

  His voice was terrible in its piano-wire-tight restraint. “Is that true? Do we have a child? Or did you just say that to get me to fight to live?”

  It would be so easy to take the out he’d offered her. To let the glib lie roll off her tongue. Yeah, sure. That was it. She’d lied about a kid to make him fight to live. Except she had a responsibility to her daughter. To their daughter. And at the end of the day, she had a responsibility to him, too. He had a right to know.

  She sighed. Took a deep breath. Said a mental goodbye to their great connection and happily-ever-after future. And answered, “It’s true. Her name is Michelle and she’s fifteen months old. Lest you wonder whether or not she’s yours, a, I hadn’t been with anyone else in over a year, and, b, you only have to take one look at her to know. She’s the spitting image of you. But if you want to do a paternity test on her, I’ll consent to it.”

  Jagger jerked away from her, taking his warmth and safety with him. He sat in the sand with his back partially turned to her, his shoulders hunched, his usual restlessness completely absent. He stared at the ocean for a long time and then shifted his gaze to the thick dusting of stars overhead. But still he said nothing. The silence was deafening.

  He’d shut her out. Drawn away from her totally. No part of him was open to her. It was as if she didn’t exist, and the love they’d just made had never happened. In an instant, he was a stranger to her.

  The loss was devastating. As bad as losing him before had been, this was a hundred times worse. He’d left her again, and yet he was sitting a foot away from her. She’d thought his physical disappearance made her feel abandoned. Now she knew the true meaning of the word.

  She felt an odd and painful ache in her chest. Oh, wait. That was her heart shriveling and turning to dust. Slowly, she pulled herself upright. Hugging her knees, she cautiously glanced over at him. What was there to say?

  In a small voice, she murmured, “I’d have told you right away if I had known how to get in touch with you.”

  “Did you continue with the pregnancy because you object to abortion?”

  “Good Lord, no! I kept her because I wanted her. I wanted your—our—child. She’s the greatest kid ever! Wait until you meet her—” She broke off abruptly. “If you want to meet her, of course. I don’t expect you to dive into parenthood just because she exists. It’s your choice…”

  She trailed off as he stared at her blankly. She couldn’t read anything at all in that flat gaze. Until he gave her some indication of his reaction, she didn’t dare say more at all.

  He stared at her for a long time. Four hundred sixty-two seconds. She counted each one. And then he said neutrally, “Of course AbaCo knows about Michelle. You’re on the company’s health care plan, no doubt.”

  “Not to mention I’ve taken her into the office from time to time for company parties.”

  “Do
they know she’s mine?”

  “Truly, Jagger, to look at her is to know she’s yours. She’s a tiny, female version of you. The resemblance is startling.” A cold chill was spreading through her. When she’d found out the FBI wanted her, she’d known better than to contact her mother by phone or e-mail. She’d just assumed, though, that Jagger would make it all better. But the way he was frowning right now was alarming in the extreme.

  He swore violently under his breath. Then he spoke urgently, his voice hard. Tight. “We’ve got to call Don to come get us. We need to fly out of here as soon as possible. Tonight if he can swing it.”

  Horror exploded in her chest. “Are you leaving me when we get to the big island, then?”

  His gaze snapped to her. “No, of course not. You’re coming with me. But we’ve got to go get Michelle before AbaCo does. Hell, they’ve had nearly a week to snatch her.” He pushed a distracted hand through his hair and muttered, “Cripes. I didn’t need a liability like this for them to use to get their hooks back into me.”

  Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.

  He swore under his breath some more as he sat up, continuing to mutter that AbaCo’s goons were too smart to miss this opportunity to kidnap an exploitable asset like a child and that they no doubt had her by now.

  Emily jumped to her feet in terror. “They have Michelle?” she cried frantically. “Come on! We’ve got to go!” She wrung her hands in impatience as Jagger continued to sit in the sand.

  “Honey, a few minutes or hours now isn’t going to matter. If they connected you to my escape, AbaCo’s men showed up at your house within twenty-four hours. In that case, they’ve had the child for days, by now. If we’re lucky, they haven’t made the connection yet and she’s still safe.”

  Emily frowned. “But she’s not at my house. My mother took her back to the mainland for the holidays.”

  Interest lit Jagger’s eyes. “Where is she now?”

  “With my mother’s family in Virginia.”

  “Do they have the same last name as you?”

  “No. My mother remarried after my father died and took his name. His family is Andersons, not Grainger.”

  “Hmm. Maybe there’s a chance then that AbaCo doesn’t know where to find her. We need to get you to a phone so you can call your mother and warn her not to open the door for any strangers until we get there. If AbaCo gets a hold of your daughter, they’ll use her to leverage the two of us into doing exactly what they want.”