Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  There was nothing, so he continued to the meeting point, then ordered his men into position. Immediately, they spread out, making sure they had complete coverage of the area around the compound. Three men stayed with him and Balkhi—the signaller, who obviously needed to be close by in case any information needed sending back to HQ urgently, and two soldiers who would be heading up onto the roof of the building where the meeting was to take place.

  Wilkes turned to Balkhi. “You ready?”

  The Afghan pulled a bottle of water from his pocket and took several long gulps.

  Wilkes had to tear his gaze away from the way Balkhi’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and from the vision of his now-moist lips.

  “Yes,” the terp said, snapping him out of it, “I am ready, boss.”

  With a curt nod, Wilkes strode to what he suspected was the main door of the compound, and spoke to the man that waited there—via Balkhi, of course. They were expected, and so they headed in, removing their helmets once they got safely inside.

  A round of greetings, introductions and courtesies were observed, and the elder, with a gesture, bade the two men to sit. They did so, and then Wilkes waited. The respected Afghan, Gul Hashim, had called the meeting, and he was eager to find out what it was he wanted to discuss.

  After a moment, the man’s slightly watery brown eyes fixed on Balkhi, and then he spoke—his voice quiet, his tone full of gravity. Wilkes thought he heard a name he recognised, but it was quickly lost when Balkhi gasped.

  Snapping to face the other man, Wilkes looked around, half-expecting to find some savage with a knife to his terp’s throat, or something. There was no such thing, but the look on Balkhi’s face sent a sharp pain lancing through Wilkes’ gut. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the elder had said, but whatever it was, it had stunned Balkhi.

  More than that, he realised as he continued to watch the interpreter, it had devastated him. “Balkhi?” he said quietly, resisting the temptation to place his hand on the other man’s arm. When there was no response, he spoke again, a little more loudly. “Rustam?”

  Finally, wide eyes met his, and they were full of pain. “I’m s-sorry, boss, but Hashim has just given me some very bad news. Terrible.”

  “What is it?” Wilkes said, haste making his tone harsher than he’d intended. “What’s happened?”

  Balkhi looked as though he was going to throw up. “It’s Juma. Juma Zazai—the interpreter that was with the platoon yours took over from. He’s dead.”

  Wilkes exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. “Shit. I’m sorry, Balkhi, I really am. I didn’t know him, but Captain Wolfe thought a lot of him. Do you know what happened? I thought he was going home to his family.”

  The young Afghan held his hand up for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he then turned back to Hashim. The two men conversed for a while, the tribal elder appearing genuinely saddened by the news he’d imparted, and Balkhi looking more surprised and disgusted with every word that was exchanged.

  Finally, Balkhi spoke to Wilkes again. “Sorry about that, boss. I wanted to know what happened, too. Now I wish I hadn’t asked.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right. He did go home to his family. To see his mother and sisters and discover the lie of the land, whether it would be possible for him to stay there unmolested. Well, he quickly found out the answer to that was a big no. Zazai had barely set foot in his home village when a group of extremists turned up, threatening him. They told him he shouldn’t have come back, that he should have gotten as far away as possible, and now he was going to pay for his mistake.”

  Pausing, Balkhi pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly trying to get a grip on his emotions. “Zazai said he’d go immediately, if only they’d leave his family alone. But it seems that wasn’t an option. His grandparents had already placed his mother and sisters under their protection, but apparently didn’t care about their grandson. As far as they were concerned, he was as bad as the infidels, if not worse. So they… they executed him right there in the middle of the street. Like an animal.”

  Now Wilkes really did want to offer the other man some kind of comfort, but it wasn’t the time or the place. “I don’t know what to say, Balkhi. I’m very sorry. Do you mind if I ask a question?”

  Balkhi shook his head. “What is it?”

  “Well, how does Hashim know all this?” He lowered his voice, despite knowing none of the other men in the room would understand what he was saying. “Is there a chance he could be lying? Or maybe have the wrong information?”

  Shaking his head again, Balkhi replied, “I wish that were so. But this kind of information travels. It’s spread very deliberately, to warn others away from taking the same path. What better deterrent to becoming an interpreter for the infidels than the promise of being slaughtered like a dog if you return to your home village?”

  Wilkes didn’t know what to say. Eventually, he managed, “Yes, you’re right. I take it Hashim doesn’t agree?”

  “No. From what I can tell, he loves peace, and always has done. I’ve heard from others that he even disowned members of his family for fighting. I trust him, Wilkes. I’ll understand if you don’t, but I believe what he is saying.”

  “Okay. Well, if you believe him, then I do too. Anyway, I hate to sound insensitive, but what was it he wanted to have a meeting about? I’m not trying to undermine what happened to Zazai, not at all, but the sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can get you out of here so you can have some time to yourself. Or whatever you want.”

  Balkhi gave a small smile. “You are a kind man, boss.” He straightened up, then said, “Okay, let us continue with the meeting.”

  Wilkes almost burst with admiration. Over the years, he’d seen men do some incredibly brave things. But now, seeing a man that was pretty much a civilian swallow the news of the death of a friend and get on with his job without a murmur of complaint, he was impressed. Seriously impressed.

  Chapter Eight

  Once back at the base, the news about Zazai travelled fast. After checking Balkhi was holding up okay, Wilkes went to contact Hunter back at HQ. It was possible he already knew, but it didn’t matter—it was important enough to double check. Those up the chain of command needed to know, needed to push it even higher, right back to the British government. No more ex-interpreters could die in such a horrific fashion—they should be protected, at all costs. They’d done admirable work—they deserved to be rewarded, not slaughtered by their own tribesmen.

  Wilkes’ heart pounded. He took a few deep breaths, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He had to keep calm—getting through to Hunter was difficult enough at the best of times, but if he sensed there was something more personal going on, he’d know just where to apply the pressure in order to wind Wilkes up further. Keeping cool was the way forward—relaying the information as quickly and dispassionately as possible, then getting the hell out of there. Hopefully then Hunter would mention it to the right people, and things would be escalated. Escalated where, Wilkes wasn’t sure, but something had to happen.

  Once he had contact with Hunter, Wilkes got directly to the point. Given there was no love lost between the two of them, this was no surprise—they never bothered with pleasantries. Within ten minutes he’d given his information and awaited his superior’s response.

  “Wilkes, I’m going to need you and the terp to come in.”

  Shit. That was unexpected. He thought Hunter would receive the information, then maybe feed it back to someone back in the UK, effectively washing his hands of the whole situation and getting on with his cushy job.

  “Sir?” he replied, his tone tentative. God, he didn’t suspect something, did he?

  He quickly disregarded that idea. Wilkes had a bit of a thing for the interpreter, but nobody else knew about it. Not a damn soul. So unless Hunter was a mind reader all of a sudden—with dozens of miles between them, no less—then there was nothing to suspect.

  “Just for a day, Wilkes. The rest of
the platoon will have to manage without you for twenty-four hours or so. There are people here and back at home that are going to want to know more about this situation, and who better to tell them than you and your man?”

  For fuck’s sake, Hunter, he’s got a bloody name!

  Biting his lip, Wilkes forced the irritation down deep inside before replying. “Yes, Sir. Quite right. Anything else, Sir?”

  “Not for now. I’ll get back in touch when I have the details for your transportation back here.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Leaving the comms tent, Wilkes went in search of Balkhi, to tell him the news. They were headed back to Camp Bastion.

  When he found Balkhi, he was right in the middle of his afternoon prayer, so he respectfully withdrew and looked for Bay, instead, to let him know what was going on.

  Twelve hours later they were at Camp Bastion. Disembarking from the Chinook helicopter, the two men, complete with bags, headed straight for Hunter’s office.

  “Come in,” Hunter responded to the knock.

  Wilkes and Balkhi entered, and Wilkes couldn’t help but draw comparisons with his school days, and being called to the headmaster’s office.

  That wasn’t it at all, he reminded himself. He wasn’t the one in trouble—not this time—but he wasn’t sure how they’d figure out who was, and punish them. If it was even possible.

  Several hours of meetings and phone calls later, he still had no idea.

  “Okay, lads,” Hunter eventually said, looking as exhausted as Wilkes felt, “I think we’re done here. You’re dismissed. Go get some scoff and a shower, and find somewhere to get your head down for a few hours. I’ve got a flight back squared away for you. Make sure you’re ready to go at 08:00.”

  For the first time in what felt like forever, Wilkes meant his thanks. Maybe Hunter was finally mellowing in his old age. That, or this was a situation that was being taken incredibly seriously.

  After speaking to an NCO from the Quartermaster’s department to get their accommodation sorted, they ended up at the same block that Wilkes and his men had used just weeks earlier, which was apparently still mostly empty. They’d been allocated two adjacent rooms, which wasn’t ideal from Wilkes’ perspective, but they were lucky not to be in transit tents, so he wasn’t complaining.

  “Well, that was intense,” Wilkes said as they settled down at a table with some food that looked marginally more exciting than the stuff they cooked themselves at the FOB. If he’d had the energy, he’d have suggested going to the Pizza Hut over on the American side of the base. Those Yanks had to have their creature comforts, even in the middle of the bloody desert.

  Balkhi nodded. “It was, but I am glad they are taking this seriously. Not for my sake, but for every man that’s ever interpreted for the British Army. They deserve to live in peace.”

  “Me too,” Wilkes replied gravely. There was nothing he could add to that, so he didn’t bother to try. He just hoped that Balkhi would never end up in such a situation. Yes, he’d said his plans were to head back to the UK to continue his medical training and education, but what if he never made it that far? What if he paid a visit to his family first, and some militant fuck put a bullet in his head?

  Wilkes shoved his tray away, harder than he’d intended to, his appetite suddenly gone.

  “What is the matter?” the Afghan asked, frowning.

  Shrugging, Wilkes replied, “I’m just not hungry. All this crap is getting to me.” He sighed. “I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling about it all.” It was the truth—just not the whole truth.

  Looking thoughtful, Balkhi said, “I always knew it was a risk, when I took the job, and so did everyone else. It was made very clear to us. That does not excuse the behaviour of those that murdered Zazai, but he knew it was a possibility. And yet he did it anyway.”

  Abruptly, Wilkes got up. “I’m going for a shower, then to bed. I’ll catch you in the morning.”

  If Balkhi thought Wilkes was behaving strangely, he was too polite to mention it. “Good night,” he said. “Sleep well.”

  “Yeah, you too.” He gave a tight smile. If only I fucking could.

  Wilkes went to the shower block, via his room to collect his wash bag. He took his time, deliberately making the most of the facilities given they were the very lap of luxury compared to what they had at the FOB.

  Stripping off, he headed into the shower area and pressed the button. Stepping under the head, he hummed contentedly as the water cascaded over him, washing the dirt and sweat away and pummelling his weary muscles. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, letting the spray hit the crown of his head, then roll down his neck, shoulders, back and buttocks, before gravity carried it to the tiled floor. It was weird for the place to be so quiet, he thought, but then the number of troops here was much less than on his last tour, and it was pretty late. Those who had a choice in the matter would probably be in bed by now.

  Just then, a noise told him he’d spoken too soon. Someone had just joined him. Cracking an eye open to see who it was, Wilkes clamped his lips tightly shut around a squeak when he realised it was Balkhi. Seriously? He cursed any gods that might have been looking down on him. What have I done to upset you guys? What have I done that’s so bad that you’d torture me like this?

  In an attempt to pull himself together, he nodded curtly at Balkhi before turning to grab his wash kit. He’d get his hair and body washed properly, then skedaddle. Being in close proximity to the other man was distracting at the best of times, but when they were both naked? Well, that was just asking for trouble. And Wilkes didn’t want trouble. He just wanted a quiet life.

  Apparently, though, his cock had other ideas. Squirting some shampoo into his hands, he closed his eyes and began scrubbing the liquid onto his wet hair. As soon as he did so, an image he barely knew he’d seen flashed behind his eyelids. Balkhi, butt-naked and striding into the shower area. It was like something out of a cheesy porn film, and yet the image refused to disappear. He could only have seen it for a millisecond, before he’d turned away, and yet it was enough.

  Enough to send flickers of arousal through every inch of his body, and blood into his cock.

  No! Please don’t let me have a hard-on now. Not now! Please.

  Hurriedly, he scrambled for unsexy thoughts, feeling like Homer from The Simpsons when he’d been trapped inside a lift with Mindy. The hilarious image of Barney in a bikini appeared, and Wilkes smiled.

  But it was too late—his cock would not be deterred. It simply lengthened and thickened, and Wilkes turned slightly, subtly to the side, hoping that Balkhi wouldn’t look in his direction and see his dick mimicking a fucking flagpole.

  His paranoia got the better of him, and he glanced casually over his shoulder to reassure himself that the Afghan was taking no notice of him whatsoever. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. He met Balkhi’s gaze, immediately registering the other man’s horror and embarrassment.

  Against his better judgment, and every other sensible atom in his body, Wilkes glanced down at the man’s crotch—seeing an erection there that easily rivalled his own. It was a sight that would be seared into his brain forever.

  They were the only two people in the building.

  Christ. What the fuck was he going to do now?

  Chapter Nine

  After several long seconds of indecision, Wilkes turned, smacked the shower button again and ducked his head under the spray. Washing all the soap out of his hair, he then grabbed his stuff and scurried away. In a distant corner of the shower block, he towelled himself roughly and yanked on his clothes, before beating a hasty retreat back to his temporary bedroom.

  Once there, he dropped his stuff in the middle of the floor, then moved back to the door, locked it and leaned his head against the wood, breathing deeply. He was tempted to bang his forehead against it, too, but figured he’d already engaged in enough stupidity for one day.

  Wilkes clenched his fists, trying hard to get a grip on all the
shit that was going through his head. He wasn’t the type of person to run away from a problem—he’d be in the wrong job if that was the case—but that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He just couldn’t see any other way of solving it. Avoiding and ignoring weren’t really an option—he had to work with Balkhi day in, day out. The adage about getting over one person by getting under another was a no-go area, too, for obvious reasons. And his usual way of tackling things—facing them head on—would only make things a hundred times worse.

  Why the fuck did he have to go and fall in love with his interpreter?

  He gasped. Fall in love with his interpreter? Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t in love with Rustam Balkhi.

  Was he?

  Just then, a knock came at the door, making Wilkes jump. He gritted his teeth as his heart pounded. “J-just a minute!”

  Idiot. Why did you reply? You know damn well who’s standing on the other side of that door. You should have kept quiet until he went away.

  It was too late now—his manners wouldn’t allow him to tell the other man to go away, or simply ignore him, despite his better judgment.

  Pulling in a couple of deep breaths, he unlocked and opened the door. As he’d suspected, Balkhi stood there. Their gazes met, and Wilkes’ stomach clenched involuntarily as he saw the look in the other man’s eyes. This was not good. Not at all.

  “Come in,” Wilkes said, standing aside to let Balkhi in.

  The Afghan strode into the room, then spun on his heel, his eyes flashing. “Shut the door, Hugh. We need to talk.”

  Wilkes did as he was told, trying not to pay any attention to the weird feeling he’d gotten in his gut when Balkhi called him by his first name. The feeling intensified when the rest of what he’d said sunk in. We need to talk?