She crawled on her front until she cleared the barbed wire, then got to her feet. Walking across the field toward him, she studied his smart, black uniform, dry under his umbrella. Running a filthy hand through the wet hair that had escaped its clip, she sighed at her sweat-and-earth-stained T-shirt and mud-splattered combat trousers. Her appearance wasn’t something that usually bothered her, but she must look a complete fright. Screw it. She lifted her chin as she approached him. She was a soldier; if she’d wanted to look like a fashion model, she would have gone to work for Vivienne Westwood.
As she approached, she saw his insignia. He was a major. She saluted smartly, conscious of his critical gaze.
He returned the salute. “At ease, Captain.”
She stood in the classic soldier’s pose with hands behind her back. “You wanted me, sir?” Her chest heaved from exertion, her breath misting in the fresh air.
He studied her for a moment, considering her words. Drips from his umbrella splashed onto her top, but he didn’t apologise. His gaze slid down her body to her muddy boots, then meandered up to her earth-streaked face. She flushed, aware she was cold and her nipples were standing out like buttons.
“You look like you need a bath, Captain,” he said.
His deep voice ran an ice-cube up her spine. He towered over her, intimidating and, frankly, quite scary, and this coming from a witch who’d once fought an alpha werewolf hand-to-hand.
“I’m sorry, sir.” She frowned. Why was he criticising her? “I was training, and it’s a wet day.”
“So I see.” He surveyed her with serious eyes. “Do you need someone to scrub your back?”
Imogen stared at him, eyes widening. He didn’t smile. Had she misheard him? She glanced at the badge on his shoulder, seeing now the hammer and anvil of an iron warlock above the crown denoting his rank. Warlocks trained in the lore of metal were extremely unusual, and she knew immediately who he was—Cameron Hawke, the infamous captain who’d been promoted after an assault on a vampire lair in Soho. He’d led the raid, risked his life to rescue the dozen prisoners the vampires were keeping in the basement, single-handedly fought off daemon reinforcements threatening to overwhelm his squad, and brought his whole team and all the prisoners back to the base unscathed. Every female officer in the S.U. was talking about the tall, dark-haired maniac who was allegedly the most powerful warlock the army had ever had. And here he was, asking her if she needed someone to scrub her back.
She cleared her throat. “Why, sir, are you offering?”
“Goodness me, Captain, personal relationships are completely forbidden in the British Army, you know that.”
“Absolutely, sir, prejudicial to good order and discipline.”
“That’s right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Definitely, sir.”
“Good.” He nodded to her formally. “Now, I’d like to see a copy of the report you wrote on training for an invasion in the Brecon Beacons.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I go and get it now?”
“No, Captain, you may continue your training for the moment.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Bring it to my room at twenty-one hundred hours.”
“Twenty-one hundred hours… Yes, sir.”
He nodded, and she thought she saw brief humor light his eyes before he walked away casually, twirling his umbrella, pausing as he watched a group of new recruits being put through their paces.
Imogen watched him go, a small smile curving her lips. Cheeky bastard. Ordering her to come to his room! A small part of her wanted to refuse, to see what he’d say, but the other ninety-nine-point-nine percent of her—mostly located below her navel—shouted it down. So what if he only wanted sex? She hadn’t had any for, oh my God, over eight months, and, frankly, she was worried it was going to go rusty down there. She certainly wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to go to bed with Major Cameron Hawke!
So she went to his room that night prepared for nothing more than a blissful half hour or so of sexual release with an extremely hot, hunky warlock, no strings attached. She’d taken a quick shower, getting rid of the dirt from the field, but wasn’t sure what to wear. They weren’t exactly going out on a date, after all, and she knew she had to make herself as unobtrusive as possible so she didn’t draw attention as she entered the building. She ended up choosing a knee-length grey skirt and white shirt, prim but hopefully still sexy, undoing the buttons a little lower than usual.
She made her way to his building as stealthily as she could before nine and managed to get right up to his door without bumping into anyone. She’d just knocked, however, when voices came around the corner of the corridor. Damn it. She knocked again, desperate not to be seen. She didn’t want to be sent away before she’d completed the mission!
Turning the handle, she pushed hard on the door. She stumbled into the room and would have fallen flat on her face if Hawke—who’d apparently been opening the door at the same time she’d pushed—hadn’t caught her. He pulled her inside and closed the door with his foot as the two officers turned the corner and walked past.
They stood motionless for a moment as the voices passed and faded away, and then Imogen looked up into his amused eyes and burst out laughing.
He grinned, locking the door, then looked at the piece of paper in her hand. “Is that the report, Captain?”
“Yes, sir.”
He took it out of her hand and threw it behind him, smirking as it fluttered to the floor, then picked her up and wrapped her legs around him, making her gasp. She held onto him and lowered her lips to his, her heart thumping as he returned the kiss fiercely. He carried her over to the bed, bumping into the table as he passed and knocking a pile of papers and pens to the floor. Laughing, he fell forward, half squashing her in the process. She tried to catch her breath as he kissed her passionately and pressed himself against her, leaving no doubt in her mind that he had little—if any—interest in her report.
Lifting his head, he surveyed her for a moment. Her chest rose and fell quickly against his, and her cheeks were warm. She could feel the heat in his blood, the molten magic flowing through him, and shivered as his gaze lingered on her mouth.
“I’m being very rude.” He brushed her lips with his. “Do you want a glass of wine or something first?”
Keeping her eyes on his, hot with desire, she shook her head. “Nuh-uh.” She hooked her free leg over his and moved her hips, pressing against his hard length. She was rewarded with an intake of breath, and his eyes lightened, the black pupils turning silver. He was absolutely gorgeous, and yearning shot through her. She moved her hips again, suddenly desperate to have him inside her.
“Be careful, Captain.” He glowered like a panther poised above its prey as she squirmed underneath him. “You’re stoking a fire that won’t be extinguished easily.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” She pulled his head down for a kiss.
He growled, rolled so she was on top and pushed her up so she sat astride him. He ripped her white shirt apart with both hands, popping the buttons in all directions. She squealed. How was she going to walk back to her own room now? Laughing, she made a fake attempt to smack him, but he caught both her hands and pulled them above his head so her breasts were level with his face. He covered a nipple with his hot mouth, and she struggled to catch her breath as his tongue played across the lace of her bra. “Oh my God. . . .”
He laughed, released her hands and slipped her shirt off her arms, then deftly flicked open her bra clasp with one hand before letting that article of clothing slide to the floor too. He covered her breasts with his warm palms, making her sigh with pleasure as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.
The bang on the door made them both jump, and she shot upright, instinctively covering her chest with folded arms.
“What?” he yelled, glaring at the door as someone rapped knuckles on the wood.
“You all right in there, Hawke? Someone repor
ted a crash.” Laughter ensued, followed by hasty shushing.
“Fuck off!” He threw the nearest thing to hand—which happened to be one of her shoes—at the door.
Guffaws echoed, along with raucous comments, fading as the guys headed down the corridor. Imogen looked back at him, and they both laughed ruefully.
“Sorry about that.” He rolled her over again so she was underneath him. With light fingers, he stroked her thigh, caressed her backside, and then slipped them beneath her underwear to slide into her. “You want to stop?” His eyes turned silver once more as he obviously found her already wet and swollen.
“Would it matter if I did?” She gasped at the gentle but firm pressure of his fingers, trying to remember to breathe out as well as in.
“No.” He covered her mouth with his, continuing to stroke her until she pushed him away and fumbled at his belt.
He thrust her hands back, then pulled down her skirt and panties. He dropped them on the pile of discarded clothes, unzipped his trousers and kicked them off with his underwear. Kneeling above her, he tore off his T-shirt and leaned over her to the bedside table, retrieving a condom from the drawer beside his bed.
“You keep them in there just in case?” She tried to sound disgruntled, but the words came out in a breathless rush as she looked at his brown, muscled body, his erection pleasingly hard.
He gave her a shrewd look. “I bought them today, as it happens.” He winked. “Just in case.”
She watched him put the condom on, shivering with desire, then sighed as he lay on top of her, nudging into her until she nodded, then sliding fully into her, making her gasp.
As she had known it would be, their lovemaking was fiery, intense and fun. How could it be anything else? Passion coursed through them like a virus, infecting them with a fever that made them burn. She’d never felt anything like it before. Was it ordinary desire, or was there something magical about it? She got her answer as the electricity flow surged and dipped with the fluctuations in their power. The room echoed with their low laughter as the lights dimmed and brightened until eventually the bulb burst, scattering the floor with fragments of glass, casting them into semi-darkness.
Their humor dissipated as their passion intensified, and the heat built in her abdomen until she thought she was going to spontaneously combust. When she finally came, she lit up like one of the beacons in the report he was never going to read, burning with a flame that made him gasp, consuming him as he shuddered and poured his own passion into her.
He kissed her as her heartbeat gradually slowed, and nuzzled her neck, smelling her hair, then laughing as he discovered a bit of mud she’d missed.
“You really do need a bath,” he said.
“I had a shower,” she protested as he withdrew carefully, disposed of the condom, then rolled over and stood up. Sighing, she pushed herself upright. She wasn’t disappointed at the sex, but she was disappointed it was over. She climbed from the bed and bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor. Straightening, she gasped. He stood there beside her, holding two glasses of wine, staring at her with one brow raised.
“Going somewhere?” He put the glasses down and climbed back onto the bed.
“I thought. . . .” She smiled, flushing, her shirt in her hand. “I assumed we’d completed our transaction.”
“I’ve been waiting for this since I first saw you two months ago. Don’t think I’m going to let you go that easily. Get back here.” He pointed to the bed.
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can boss me around in bed just because you outrank me.”
“Insubordination, eh?” He reached out, grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him, then rolled and pinned her beneath him again. “You’re stunning,” he said, kissing her neck and nibbling her shoulder. “I fell for you the first moment I laid eyes on you, when you returned after that mission in Holy Island. You looked absolutely exhausted, and yet you were still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“I thought today was the first time you’d seen me.” She looked up at him, her heart loud in her ears, unable to think anything except: wow, you’re gorgeous! She remembered he’d called her captain on the field, although she hadn’t been wearing any symbol of her rank. He’d known who she was and had come to find her. Her cheeks grew hot with pleasure.
“Actually I don’t make a habit of ordering women to my room,” he pointed out. “I have been watching you for a while.”
“So how come I’ve never seen you following me around?”
“It was a covert mission.” He winked. “Very hush hush. Camouflage and everything.”
She smiled, but inside her stomach was flipping and she was thinking: no, no, no, this won’t do at all. I can’t be in love already. But she was, of course, she knew it immediately; she’d been lost the moment he’d given her that appraising look and asked her: Do you need someone to scrub your back? “And I didn’t disappoint after your clandestine operation?”
He nibbled her ear. “Absolutely not. I’m going to nickname you Dynamite. I’m going to call you that on the parade ground and everyone will be asking why.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. He smiled, tracing her face with his fingers, suddenly tender. “Sweetheart…I’m sorry about tonight. Not about the sex, but…I should have bought you roses, taken you out to dinner a few times before I leapt on you. You deserve better.”
“Somehow, I don’t think it would have been very romantic sitting in the mess together, even with candles.”
He laughed, albeit ruefully.
She caught his hand in her own. “Look, we don’t lead normal lives. Not only are we in the army, we’re constantly fighting the threat of Chaos. Death is something we live with every day. We don’t have the time for an old-fashioned courtship. And anyway, I’m not complaining. I knew what I was coming here for.”
When they felt sufficiently recovered, they made love again, and then later he did as he’d promised and scrubbed her back while she sat in the bath, singing. Then she’d fallen asleep in his arms, happier than anyone had a right to be. And that was just the first night.
In the morning, she’d crept out before sun up to sneak back to her bed, but from that moment on, she’d spent every night in his room. The relationship formed out of nowhere. Within weeks, she was besotted. They took great pains to keep it quiet, even going on missions together, although the army forbade such activities. She’d tried her hardest not to let their relationship affect her work, but the life-and-death assignments and their breathtaking powers only seemed to add to their passion.
Practically everyone in his company knew, and at least a few in her platoon. They thought it a great source of amusement that the inimitable Captain Williamson had finally been proven as human as the rest of them. She wasn’t sure who told her superiors, but find out they did, and she knew that was why she’d eventually been approached.
*
Imogen had never thought he would stare at her with such hate in his eyes. The cold, metallic glint made her shiver, and she pulled away from him and drew up her knees, wincing as pain sliced through her shoulder.
“So,” he said, looking up at where his hands were tied to the bed and grimacing, “you were saying?”
“Walker called me in to see her.”
“When?”
“The morning after Pullman’s party.” Her popular sergeant had turned twenty-four and her platoon had thrown him a birthday party in the mess. Hawke spent the whole evening glowering at her from the bar while she danced the night away with her colleagues, most of them men, and afterward he’d dragged her back to his room, where he spent several hours proving to her he was the most important thing in her life, and she’d better not forget it. It was the last night they’d been together.
His face told her he was recalling the evening quite clearly. “Go on.”
“She told me she had a mission for me—strictly black ops, under the radar. She had some information on Liam Brooks.”
&
nbsp; “Brooks?” His eyebrows rose sarcastically. “You mean the MP you murdered?”
“I did go to see him, but he was alive when I left.” She got up to pace the room. “Walker told me she’d discovered he was working for Chaos.”
He stared at her.
“I know. I found it difficult to believe too. But she had evidence: photographs, a transcription of telephone calls, you name it. . . .” Imogen took a deep breath. “She told me she wanted him assassinated.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t she come to me?”
“I don’t know; I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times. I think maybe because she wanted someone she could manipulate, and she thought I’d be easier than you.” She peeled off the pad pressed against her shoulder, saw it was soaked with blood and dropped it on the floor. She needed to get the damn bullet out, but until she could find herself a doctor, that was impossible. For now, she had to make do with binding the wound. After rummaging around in the cupboard, she found a clean sheet and tore it into several strips. She folded one and placed it over the wound as a pad, then bound it with another strip and tied it off in a knot.
Hawke watched her as she worked, but she remained quiet, letting him think about what she’d said for a while. He’d ceased to struggle, and she knew he was asking himself whether she was telling the truth.
When she’d bound the wound, she sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “Where was I?”
“You were trying to convince me you weren’t evil,” he said wryly.
“Oh yes, that’s right. So, Walker wanted me to take out Brooks.”
“And you accepted the mission.”
Two Passionate Proposals Page 2