“Where do you think you’re going?”
Sam twisted around and cocked her head. “To take a shower. Is that okay with you, Captain? Or will you think I’m contacting the Germans?”
Guilt clawed at her gut. Okay, harsh and uncalled for, but she was exhausted and plumb tired of trying to convince the stubborn man she wasn’t the enemy, and he no longer resided in the twentieth century.
“And what if I do?” A lethal calm undercoated his soft tone.
Sam yanked free. “Surely you’ve used the bathroom the past few days?”
“Of course.”
“I think you would’ve noticed a radio or telegraph.”
A smile twitched her lip. Communication equipment back in the 1940’s had been quite bulky.
“Perhaps there’s a secret panel or something I don’t know about…and you do.”
Mistrust deepened the lines of exhaustion on his face, reminding her he’d had a rough week too.
“I’ve no problem with you taking a shower, Samantha,” he continued, dropping the duffle bag on the table.
“Good.”
He finally thought straight. Clearly. Rationally. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and stepped past him.
“You’re just not getting one alone.”
Chapter 7
Sam stopped dead. Her first thought…damn! Then, hell ya. By thought number three, sanity had returned, bringing along a little slice of fury. Her bag hit the floor with a violent thud before she pivoted around to face him.
“I’ve been more than fair—refraining from kicking your ass, letting you tie me up and stick me in a chair while you interrogated me.”
Kiss the sense from my brain.
“Fair?” He scowled. “You want to talk about fair?”
Typical Marine. Mitch got right in her face again, but there was nothing typical about the pure magnetism assaulting her senses, provoking desire with heat from his rock hard body.
Maybe a shower together wasn’t such a bad idea…
“I didn’t ask to be drugged,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask to be taken from the war. I didn’t ask to be dropped here so I could twiddle my thumbs while my buddies are fighting for their lives.” His rough voice boomed through the silent cabin, adding to the weight of guilt already pressing on her shoulders.
“I’ve apologized for that, Mitch, and explained I didn’t have a choice. So cut me some friggin’ slack, will you?”
“No, Samantha, I won’t,” he said coldly. “You can take your time-shift excuse and shove it up your…duffle bag. I told you. I’m not buying it.”
“You know what? Whatever. Believe what you want.” She thrust her hands in the air. “If your mind feels safer believing I’m a spy, instead of the granddaughter of one of your good friends, go ahead. You’d rather live in fear for the next few days thinking the Germans will come barging in any minute…go right ahead. I can’t appease your paranoia. That’s your demon.”
“No, Samantha.” His head cocked. “You are.”
Pain, unexpected yet swift, burned her throat and stung her eyes. No way would she let him know how much his words hurt. No way.
“Gee, thanks. I’ve been called a witch before, but never a demon.”
He snorted. “Can’t imagine why.”
The pain deepened, so she smiled brighter. “Yeah, well, like I said, whatever. You can stay in your world of delusion. I’m going to get that shower.”
He stepped with her and blocked her passage. “I’m not done.”
“Too bad, because I am.” She looked up into his impassive face and held his stare. “Either you move on your own, or I’ll move you. The choice is yours, Captain.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Without hesitation, Sam positioned her foot behind his ankle and smacked him with a well-placed palm to his shoulder. Knocked off balance, he sailed backward and collided with the back of the couch.
“Ask and you shall receive.”
She straightened her sweater and stepped toward her duffle bag, a small smile twitching her lips. That felt good.
She should’ve known he wouldn’t let things rest. He was a Marine. Seized from behind, Sam met the wall, elbows bent, palms flat near her head.
“Not so fast.”
Large hands held hers in place, while deep, panting, hot breaths washed over her neck and ear, stoking her core’s dormant fire to blistering life. Dammit! She did not want to be attracted to him.
“We need to lay a few ground rules.”
His sexy voice goose-fleshed her skin. Bastard. Pressed firmly into her back, he conformed every delicious, toned muscle to keep her immobile. She liked his toned muscles. She didn’t like immobile.
“I agree.” She pushed back with all her might and promptly regretted the action.
Mistake number two.
The pissed off pilot increased the pressure of his solid body, stirring longings she should not have for the bulging erection plastered against her ass.
“Settle down, you minx, and listen. You will go nowhere without me. Like it or not, I’m your shadow. Do you understand?”
Her heart stopped, along with her struggles. “You expect to sleep with me?”
Long and thick, his erection jumped at her words. Jumped! Sam inhaled and closed her eyes tight to hold back a moan. You will not be aroused. You will not be aroused.
She was aroused.
“No,” he finally said, voice as strained as his body. “I’ll lock you in your room. I’m not about to try to sleep worrying you’re going to shove a knife in my chest the second I close my eyes.”
He expected to sleep if they shared a bed? Sam swallowed back a bout of hysterical laughter. There’d be no sleep, no knife, and he’d be doing all the shoving.
She cleared her throat and refocused. The bedroom doors locked from the inside, therefore, he couldn’t possibly carry out his threat. Still, he was smart. No doubt he already had a plan. She decided to dig.
“Aren’t you afraid I may have a radio in my room?”
“No.”
No? Wanting to see his face, she used the slight slackening in his body to push back and twist around.
Chalk up another mistake for Samantha the stupid.
A quick recovery had Mitch plastering her against the wall, every solid, hard inch he possessed rubbing her sensitized form. Strong and fierce, wicked cravings cancelled the fight from her mind. She stilled.
Talk about captured.
Damn, he felt…damn. She never experienced anything so incredible. Her gaze dropped to his mouth so achingly close. She’d love nothing more than for those delicious lips to seize hers again.
Stay strong, her mind ordered. You can get past this. In an attempt to regain control, Sam closed her eyes and inhaled.
Mistake number four.
He smelled hot, woodsy, manly. Ah hell, she was in trouble. The man oozed testosterone like it was free. Okay, so it was, but damn. All her combat experience with said male affliction couldn’t help her now. Her trusty immune system against rockin’ hot men failed her for the first time. Ever. She didn’t have a defense against it. Not with him. Her control slipped further, and when she opened her eyes, her heart literally performed a defensive spiral in her chest.
He’d switched gears too. Hunger deepened his gaze to mirror warm Bermuda waters and devoured the remnants of her strength.
Trouble. She was in deep. Liquid heat throbbed through her core, aching to consume the thick, bulging erection now pressing her belly. God, she never wanted anyone this bad before. Never ached with such force.
Lack of control was completely new.
Maybe if she’d had sex just once in the past seven months she could combat this dangerous desire. But she hadn’t. And she couldn’t.
Breath clogged her dry throat. What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he do something?
With escape no longer a thought, Sam’s need to set the mistaken pilot straight, to make him understand the truth, flew into
the wild blue yonder as a greater need, a deeper, stronger need prevailed.
Her need for Captain Mitchell.
“Shit,” someone muttered, a second before their lips met in a heated, mutual, frenzy.
Hands still captured by his, she leaned into him and rejoiced at his low, guttural groan. He kissed her again and again with mind drugging precision, and she met the give-and-take demands with equal zeal, his lips drawing a response clear up from her curled toes.
If hot had a taste, it was Mitch. The man melted her bones. Oh, he was good. He threw down desire’s gauntlet and need commanded she returned the pleasure.
She did.
Giving herself over to the kiss, Sam poured all her energy, all she had into the passionate embrace. Solid and delectably broad, the captain’s chest pressed into hers, peaking her nipples on contact. The only way this could be better was if they were both naked. Heat spiraled to her core, spiking out in all directions as he thrust against her.
Air. She needed air, but that would mean breaking apart. Not an option. She let out a moan instead and thrust back.
“Yeah,” he whispered, relinquishing her mouth to nuzzle her neck.
Shivers raced to her feet, teasing her most intimate spots along the way. Cripes, she’d give him ten hours to stop. Using the unexpected break to fill her lungs, Sam closed her eyes and quivered as his lips teased the sensitive skin behind her ear. She moaned again.
Head lifting a fraction, he stared into her eyes. “Like that?”
“Yes…”
He released her hands and skimmed a path down her sides, brushing her breasts, her nipples, her waist, straight to the curve of her hips where his fingers curled in a light caress.
She inhaled sharply. Anticipating. Waiting. Needing those hands on her, everywhere, touching all of her…especially south.
“I know,” he said, then slowly brought his mouth to hers again.
They kissed as if the act were as natural as breathing. As if she knew him, longed for him, missed him because they’d been apart for weeks, years…centuries. She didn’t want to stop. He tasted too damn good. Hot. Aroused. A wickedly delicious combination she’d now crave to her grave.
With a quick twist, Sam pressed Mitch into the wall and her body against over six-feet of solid, throbbing, warmth. Her hips automatically rocked into his. He groaned deep in his throat and answered by grabbing her ass and crushing her close.
“Samantha,” he said in a drawn out, hoarse whisper before his tongue dipped into her mouth.
Heaven.
Liquid fire exploded in her core and stole the strength from her legs. The man was an Ace all right, and not just a flying Ace; he kissed with immeasurable skill. His tongue stroked and explored and she partnered his moves. Not too aggressive or meek. Mitch demanded and bestowed with a mind blowing rhythm she hungrily matched.
She released his head to drop her hands to his waist and free the shirt from his pants. Bliss was moments away. Fingers making quick work of his buttons, she broke the kiss to push the accompanying T-shirt up his chest.
Hot damn.
The hair she’d briefly glimpsed earlier dusted his chest and continued in a light criss-cross pattern down his abs to disappear beneath his pants. Perfection. A perfection she needed to experience. Had to touch. She pressed her trembling body into his hot, muscled, flesh, and a soft, needy sound escaped her mouth.
The man felt so right. Kissed so right. Caressed so right.
“Damn, Samantha, you’re a master.” His hands glided down the small of her back while he bit her neck and nuzzled her earlobe. “Being holed up with a spy isn’t so bad after all.”
Spy?
Sam stilled. Oh God. “Y-you still think I’m a spy?” Stomach suddenly nauseous, she jerked from his grasp.
He blinked at her. “Weren’t you just trying to seduce me?”
Thanks to the heart crowding her swollen throat, she couldn’t speak. With shaky movements, she fixed her clothes and fought an onslaught of tears. Was she seducing him? She hadn’t meant to, she just…she hadn’t been with a man in a long time. Too long.
He straightened his T-shirt, his gaze glued to hers. “Surely you don’t deny you were trying to throw me off balance so I wouldn’t lock you in your room, or keep you from contacting your superiors?”
“I’m not denying anything, Captain,” she said, her voice efficiently stripped of emotion. Why bother? “You’ll only believe what you want, anyway.” She turned from him and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor. “I’m getting that shower now.”
On wooden legs, she entered the bathroom and closed the door. Damn, stupid, stubborn, Marine! The silent tirade was meant for them both.
Sam stripped and stood under the jets before giving way to the tears stinging her eyes.
How could he think so low of her?
Because you drugged and kidnapped him, then took him from a duty he swore to uphold.
She drew in a ragged breath and thrust her face under the water again. Yeah, there’s that. Didn’t matter if her reasons were noble, she never gave him a choice.
Damn. Why did logic have to rear its ugly head? She wanted to stay mad at the unnerving captain. It made her reaction to his kisses much easier to bear. Her response to the man was too strong. Too off balanced. Too damn embarrassing.
Sam had often fantasized about meeting the Black Sheep, but it never went like this. God, never like this. The whole situation was such a mess.
With her shower finished, she turned off the water, and his earlier words suddenly echoed in her mind. You will go nowhere without me. Shit. He wouldn’t. Would he? Heart hammering at the possibility of Mitch making good on his ‘shadow’ threat, she grasped the plastic curtain and peeked out.
All clear.
Sam’s shoulders dropped. Relief. You’re feeling relief he’s not here. Stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel and stilled.
Her duffle bag was gone.
Shit.
She turned around and scanned the small room. Gone. Nothing. Nowhere to be seen. Her gaze shot to the door. Damn stubborn Marine must’ve come in and taken the bag.
Could she blame him?
No. It was the smart thing to do. He should check both bags. Her pulse hiccupped as realization hit hard. He’d been in there while she was in the shower. Legs suddenly weak, she grasped the sink and rode out a tremor. He saw…
A quick glance to the curtain had her expelling a breath. Solid white with lighthouses, not see-through. He saw nothing. She fought back a snort. But he sure felt everything a few minutes ago. She turned around and huffed at her foggy reflection. Yeah, an idiot.
With a muffled curse, she dried off, using more energy than necessary. So, she’d gotten a little carried away in his arms. Who wouldn’t? The man was a Black Sheep for goodness sakes. Okay, it had nothing to do with who he was and everything to do with him. His arms. Those muscles. Those eyes. Those talented lips. Cripes, the man could kiss. Even now, her heart raced and body heated just thinking about their embrace. But, there was more. He was more. In his arms, it had seemed perfect…right.
She sighed and began to towel dry her hair. The whole situation was nuts. Maybe she was going nuts. God, she didn’t know, although one thing was certain…she could not go out there in her birthday suit. Well, she could, but it would only make things worse. He already thought she was a seducing spy. No sense in giving him ammunition to add to his low opinion of her morals. Besides, she didn’t have the guts to walk in front of him naked. Just the thought of him being in the bathroom while she showered made her heart pound a blush to her face.
She never blushed.
None of that mattered. Right now, he had what she needed. She closed her eyes and groaned. Okay, bad choice of words. Clothes. He had her clothes. With one last glance in the mirror, she nodded at her somewhat foggy reflection. Hair towel dried and combed. Towel wrapped tightly around her body. She looked down, wishing she’d splurged on the luxurious bath towels. The s
tandard green terry barely covered her ass. Thank God she let Maria talk her into getting a proper waxing last week at the salon. The bald eagle took care of the whole shebang and assured nothing stuck out from under the towel.
She set her shoulders, gathered her courage and cursed at her sudden awkwardness. For goodness sakes, a bikini showed off more skin.
Suck it up, Marine.
Head held high, she opened the door and stilled.
Captain Mitchell sat there, half of her belongings laid out on the table, a purple satin thong in his hand, and the strangest expression on his face.
Chapter 8
What the hell was he holding? A slingshot?
A very expensive, sexy slingshot. No, Mitch’s mind insisted. It was underwear. Samantha had a matching top. His gaze shot to the purple bra. The skimpy scrap of satin had to be underwear. Fuck me. His mind instantly conjured up a vision of the temptress wearing the decadent scraps. His groin dutifully hardened.
Damn, sexy spy.
Spy…
His gaze sought the purple satin in his hand again. Son-of-a-bitch! Maybe it was both. Underwear which doubled as a weapon. A small shaft of admiration broke through his haze. Ingenious.
“Um, if you’re done inventorying my bag, I’d like my clothes now.”
He dropped the slingshot at the same time his gaze ricocheted to the towel-wrapped agent dripping in the bathroom doorway.
Holy mother of God.
She was naked. Thanks to him.
In a towel. Thanks to him.
Dripping in the doorway. Thanks to him.
Try as he might, Mitch couldn’t get his mind past those facts. The same thoughts shot through his head over and over again. Probably because the sight of the sexy vixen sent all the blood rushing to his groin—where it now throbbed with painful precision.
Damn. She was pin-up worthy. The fierce urge to nibble, stroke, and lick had him squirming in his seat. That…and his zipper bit unmercifully into his swollen dick.
“Well, Captain?”
He blinked and attempted to focus on her face. Nothing doing. What a pair of gams. His gaze stayed glued to the legs he had known would be a sin to cover. Long and lean, curvy and supple, they gleamed under the glow of the fire since the sun had set. I should be the only thing allowed to cover those beauties.
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