Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  There were murmurs of agreement, and the two captains returned their attention to each other, making a concerted effort to hide their smirks. “Right,” Wolfe said quietly, “suppose we’d better actually do that handover, eh?”

  Wilkes nodded.

  “Okay, well, as I said, it’s been quiet. We’ve mostly been patrolling the village, talking to the people, checking in with the police, the schoolteachers, you know the drill. We heard a couple of murmurs about attacks on the FOB, but nothing came of it, thankfully. Could have been idle gossip, or maybe information deliberately disseminated to keep us on our toes. Either way, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of an insurgent for months. Probably all holed up in the mountains with their Paki friends.”

  Letting all the information sink in, Wilkes nodded again. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way for the next six months, eh? Then we can all bugger off home and let them get on with it.”

  “Which is what they’ve wanted all along.”

  “Any aggro from the locals?”

  “Nah, not really. Most of them know what’s good for them, know we’re there to protect them. We’ve had the occasional insult from a youth or two, but they’re all mouth.”

  “For now. Won’t be long before they’re joining up with their fathers and brothers and plotting to bomb the shit out of the infidels.”

  “Probably. But the main thing is, the important folk are on our side—the tribal elders, the police, the politicians. If they hear any whispers, they’ll let you know.” Wolfe paused, looking around. “Your terp here yet?”

  Wilkes glanced around the tent. “Should be here somewhere. Picked him up at Bastion this morning. He’s a nice guy, Balkhi.” Just then, the man in question entered the mess. “Ah, there he is.” He tried not to stare at the Tajik as he came in with what he assumed was Wolfe’s interpreter—given they were the only two not in uniform.

  Too late—Balkhi’s deep brown eyes met with Wilkes’ blue ones, and they exchanged a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to their respective opposites. Wilkes fought to slow his racing pulse and keep his mind on task.

  “All right, is he?” Wolfe queried.

  “W—what do you mean?” Wilkes asked, probably a little too quickly. Christ, had he gone and outed himself with a single glance?

  “The terp. I said is he all right? Good, like.”

  “Oh.” Relief seeped into Wilkes’ brain. Calm down, you moron. “Well, I dunno, really. Only met him a few hours ago. As I said, he seems like a nice guy. And this isn’t his first tour. Don’t know how many he’s been on, but he’s no newbie, so I assume he’s good.”

  Narrowing his eyes at Balkhi, Wolfe said, “Yeah, I think I may have seen him before, actually. I’ve not worked with him, but I’ve probably seen him in passing, either here or at Bastion. Mine’s been a good ‘un, I have to say.” He pointed with his chin toward the other Afghan. “Old Juma Zazai there. Professional, quick, keeps his cool. Couldn’t have asked for better, to be honest. Trouble is,” he lowered his voice again, “you’re the last lot coming out here, and you’ve already got your terp, so that poor fucker is essentially out of a job. He hides it pretty well, but it’s obvious he’s worried about what’s going to happen next.”

  “His family isn’t supportive?” Wilkes knew the score—the British Army had recruited interpreters from all over the country to help them communicate with locals, and often when they returned to their villages, they were vilified. Even if their families were okay with them helping the Brits, there was usually at least one local radical wanting to string them up for helping the “infidels.”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Far as I can tell, his dad’s dead. His mother and sisters are okay with it—probably because it’s his damn wages putting food in their mouths. But his grandparents aren’t happy, and they’ve got links with some crazy bastards who’d sooner execute him than let him return to the village and get on with his life. I dunno what he’s going to do—whether he’ll get his mother and sisters out and go and live somewhere else, or whether he’ll strike out on his own. Feel damn sorry for him, to be honest.”

  Sucking his teeth, Wilkes replied, “Can’t he apply for a British passport or anything? I’ve seen some of this sort of stuff on the news, and heard about it from others, but not actually known a terp it’s happened to. He’s done us a huge favour, least we can do is keep him safe.”

  “I know.” Wolfe’s tone was resigned. “I’ve mentioned it to him, and told him that I’ll do anything I can to help him out, but he seems to be playing his cards very close to his chest. I can’t force him to do anything, can I?” Gulping the rest of his tea, he put the paper cup down a little too hard, crushing the bottom and causing the dregs to leak onto the table. Grumbling, he swiped the liquid up and wiped his wet hand on his combats.

  “No, mate,” Wilkes said carefully, “you can’t. Sounds to me like you’re already doing everything you can to help the bloke. I just hope he takes your advice.”

  “Yeah, me too. You done with that?” He indicated Wilkes’ cup.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Grabbing both empty cups, Wolfe dumped them in the nearest bin, then returned to the table, but didn’t retake his seat. “Look, I’d better get a shift on. We want to be back at Bastion before it gets dark. It may be quiet, but I’m not taking any risks with my men.”

  “Of course not. Go on, mate, you get off. Thanks for the info, and safe trip home. Sorry we didn’t have longer to handover.”

  Shrugging, Wolfe said, “It’s not your fault. Cheers. Look after yourself.” He gave Wilkes a meaningful look before heading out of the mess, yelling to his platoon to get a move on as he did so. There was lots of shuffling of chairs and feet, and a hubbub of voices as the soldiers hurried out after their boss, eager to get on with their long journey back home, to their partners, family and friends.

  Wilkes watched Juma Zazai exchange some final words with Balkhi before taking his leave. Shaking his head sadly, he hoped the poor guy would find a solution to his shitty problem. For God’s sake, why couldn’t people just live and let live? Deep down, he knew they never would, but he could live in eternal hope.

  Chapter Four

  Wilkes rolled from his camp bed with a groan and pulled on his boots—no wandering about in socks in the desert. You never knew what you’d tread on.

  In spite of the light doing its best to pierce the canvas of the tent, he knew it was still early. That, and the fact his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, meant it wasn’t even six a.m. Ugh.

  Well, he’d wanted to make an early start, so he’d gotten his wish. Reaching for the clock, he turned off the alarm before it started screeching across the camp while he was washing up. It was only a few minutes before six, so he hadn’t missed out on too much sleep. He felt fairly awake, too, which was amazing considering it was still the middle of the night back home. That was probably why he’d been so deeply asleep he hadn’t even heard the morning call to prayer from the local mosque.

  Heading out into the sunshine, he stretched, enjoying the sensation of the warming rays playing on the bare skin of his torso. Then he headed off to take care of business, resolving he’d wake Bay when he was done—that way he got some extra peace and quiet, even if for only a few more minutes. In his job, alone time was an extremely rare commodity, so he’d grasp every opportunity when it presented itself.

  Several minutes later, he headed back toward the tents, finding the one where Bay slept and started yelling and banging on the canvas. “Come on, get up! Last two to the mess are cooking!”

  He smirked to himself—that was always a sure-fire way to get the guys going. At Bastion, the mess tents had dedicated cooks. Out there, in the arsehole of nowhere, the platoon cooked amongst themselves. It was no mean feat, either, trying to make the ration packs of the same old shit taste different each time. Oliver and his gruel had nothing on that crap.

  It was up to Bay to get everyone sorted now, so Wilkes strode off to do a quick perimeter check, though
he knew if there’d been so much as a sniff of anything going on, the sentries would have let him know. Shouting greetings to the men in question as he passed, he then made for the mess. Passing into the relative shade of the tent, he was surprised to see Balkhi there, already cradling a drink. Even more surprising was his outfit. Gone were the dish-dash and flip-flops of the day before. Now he was dressed just like the rest of them—in desert uniform and boots.

  The Afghan was unaware of Wilkes’ presence for now, so he figured it was okay to allow his gaze to linger a while—admiring the fit of the t-shirt, the way the sleeves stretched just a little around the man’s biceps and across his pecs. Huh, the terp worked out—who would have thought it? Cropped dark hair, almost black topped Balkhi’s head, and a neat goatee beard completed the look. And it was a damn good look, in Wilkes’ opinion.

  Now, as approaching scuffles, swearing and grumbling indicated they wouldn’t be alone for much longer, he shook himself from his fantasy and stepped more fully into the tent. Nodding to Balkhi as he passed, he grabbed himself a coffee. Turning back, he moved toward the table Balkhi was at. “Mind if I join you?”

  The other man’s eyes widened momentarily, then he smiled, showing straight white teeth that were clearly looked after. “Of course not. Please sit down. Good morning, boss.”

  “Good morning, Balkhi. And Wilkes is fine. Or Hugh, if you like.”

  Balkhi shrugged. “I’d rather address you how the other men do. I’m one of them, after all.”

  Frowning, Wilkes tried to figure out the Afghan’s thinking, but was soon interrupted by the flow of men heading into the mess. Shaking his head, he decided to change the subject. “You were up early, then?”

  “Yes. Once I had completed my morning prayer, I could not get back to sleep. There was an awful lot of snoring going on in my tent.”

  “I can imagine,” Wilkes grinned. “Must admit, I’m glad to have my own tent—though some of the snorers are so loud I can still hear them way over there!”

  Balkhi laughed. A low, yet melodious sound which hit Wilkes somewhere in the region of his solar plexus, then immediately dipped lower. He laughed too, hoping the action would cover up the fact he was on the verge of getting aroused in possibly the worst place on the planet to do so. Especially when it was another man doing the arousing—albeit unwittingly.

  “So,” Wilkes said, hoping his voice wasn’t as strangled as it sounded to his own ears, “what’s with the uniform? You know you’re more than welcome to wear your tribal dress in the camp.”

  The man shrugged again. “I know. But it’s our first day here, and you’re going to want to go out on patrol. You’ll want to go early, while you and your men are still getting used to the heat. So, dressed like this, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  Wow, this guy really was a pro. “I can’t disagree with you there. So, how many tours have you done?”

  “Five. For six months at a time.”

  “No wonder you know what you’re doing.”

  The Afghan inclined his head slightly, taking the compliment.

  “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what made you get into this line of work?”

  Taking a sip of his drink, Balkhi then met his gaze before replying. “Desperation, frustration. A need to do something useful. This country has been at war for far too long, and I just hope it’s drawing to an end. So many lives have been lost. I was over in the UK, training to become a doctor, my lifelong dream, when I saw how much worse things were becoming over here. So I abandoned my studies and offered myself up as an interpreter for your army. I’ve been doing it ever since.”

  Wilkes remained silent for several seconds, lifting his cup to his lips to try and hide the fact he didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been expecting that answer, that was for sure. Many of the terps he’d met did the job because they didn’t know what else to do, had no other prospects, or were tempted by the high pay—high in comparison to what they’d be earning in their civilian lives, anyway. None had seemed to have such a genuine passion for trying to help as Balkhi.

  Clearing his throat, he finally formulated a reply. “That’s admirable Balkhi, it really is. The army is lucky to have you. So what will you do when this is all over? Will you continue with your studies?”

  The Afghan nodded. “Yes. The way I see it, I’ve just taken a break from my studies, not given them up altogether. The work I’ve been doing has shown me even more what a need I have in me to help people. So as soon as I can, I’ll be returning to university, hopefully to pick up where I left off. Or even if I have to start again, I will. I have saved enough money to do so. What about you? Why did you join the army?”

  Wilkes chuckled. “I’m afraid my reasons aren’t as admirable as yours, Balkhi. I joined the Army Cadets when I was younger, and I really enjoyed it. My eventual goal was always to join the army, but I went to university first, then to Sandhurst. There was just nothing else I wanted to do. A little boy’s dream, eventually come true.”

  “But you are good at your job, and you have risen through the ranks. It won’t be long before you are promoted, no?”

  Now Wilkes actually drank some of his coffee, taking enough gulps that it overloaded his throat, threatening to make him cough. Swallowing quickly, he thumped his chest a couple of times, then cleared his throat, giving Balkhi a weak smile. “Uh, well, I don’t know about that. Maybe eventually. I never take these things as a given.” Then, realising that there were cooking smells permeating the air, he said, “I guess we’d better go and get some breakfast, hadn’t we? Then we can discuss what we’re going to do today.”

  Nodding, Balkhi slid from his seat and gestured in front of him. “After you.”

  “No,” Wilkes replied, mirroring the gesture, “after you.” He told himself it was just his upbringing and his Britishness making him so polite. It was nothing to do with the fact he saw an opportunity to see how Balkhi’s backside looked in his combats. Really.

  Balkhi conceded, stepped out in front of Wilkes and strode over to get some food. Wilkes followed, checking to make sure his men were too busy feeding their faces to take any notice of him. Satisfied no one would catch him, he took what he hoped was a subtle glance at Balkhi’s posterior. Damn. Just like his biceps and pecs, it wasn’t huge, but just fleshy enough to give a little stretch to the fabric covering it.

  Snapping his gaze back up to a more respectful place, Wilkes stored the image in the back of his mind, telling himself that was it. He’d seen all he needed to see now, and he was going to stop looking, stop even thinking about looking. And he certainly wasn’t going to fantasise about what he’d seen. It was stupid of him to have even sneaked a peek, to have fed the silly crush he seemed to be developing.

  Taking his food with thanks, he returned to the table, resolving to sit somewhere else tomorrow. He couldn’t very well bugger off today, as it’d look weird and rude, but from the moment he left the mess he was going to be strictly professional when it came to Balkhi. No more chatting about backgrounds and personal stuff. Just work, work, work.

  That’s what they were both there for, after all.

  Chapter Five

  “Right!” Sergeant Bay barked suddenly enough to make several of the men jump. “One Section, you are going out with Captain Wilkes. Balkhi, you’ll be going too. Two Section you are staying here under me. Three Section you are staging on. Section commanders are we clear?”

  Catching the eye of Corporal Cresswell, One Section’s commander, Wilkes pointed at him, then tapped his scalp in an exaggerated movement. “On me,” he mouthed.

  The other man nodded and immediately began assembling the men under his command.

  Pulling on his kit, but leaving his helmet clipped by his waist, Wilkes checked the array of pouches attached to his body armour were closed and secure before adjusting his comms kit, ready to test with the rest of the section.

  The camp was a flurry of activity, he noted with satisfaction as he headed for the main gate. There, s
everal men were already waiting, checking each other over and stuffing bottles of water into bags and pockets. Once the heat of the day kicked in, they’d need it. It was still early, but the temperature was rising swiftly. Taking the proffered bottles of water from a private with a murmur of thanks, he put them away.

  “Come on, ladies!” Bay yelled at the top of his voice, aiming his comment at the soldiers who hadn’t yet assembled at the gate.

  “Radio check when everyone’s here, guys. All right?”

  Agreement.

  A couple more men jogged toward the group, including Balkhi, followed by the stragglers. Bay eyeballed the slowest men, even though they’d still arrived well within the allotted fifteen minutes. “Nice of you to join us. Right, is everyone ready to go? And I mean totally ready? We’ll do a comms check in a minute. We can’t afford any mistakes, guys. This is your last tour of this shithole—we don’t want it to be your last tour, full stop. The bastards may have calmed down a bit, but they’re still out there, and they still want to kill us. So don’t give them the opportunity, all right? We don’t relax, we don’t let our guard down. This is business as usual. Understood?”

  “Boss!”

  “Excellent. Now for comms check.” They went through the routine they’d all been through hundreds, possibly more, times before, and it went without a hitch.

  “Thanks lads. Bourne, you checked in with HQ?”

  The signaller, Lance Corporal Bourne, gave a curt nod. “Yes boss—all operational.”

  “Then off you go.”

  Within fifteen minutes they were entering the village, heading for the school. It was still relatively early, but there were people around—just because the locals were used to the heat, didn’t mean they wanted to toil around in the hottest part of the day. Not if they had a choice.

  Wilkes kept his rifle ready to engage, though he was confident he wouldn’t need it. He tried to look relaxed, though, so as not to scare the shit out of the locals.