"Easy, Cat. Easy, honey."
He slid his hand farther beneath the red silk, gliding over the soft triangle of hair, delving between her satin folds, dipping into the hot, damp depths of her receptive sheath. Instinctively she tightened around his probing fingers, holding him in place. As he plunged his fingers in and out, he sought her lips and quickly began a foray into that wet depth, both acts seductive and arousing.
He ached to be inside her, to fill her completely and bury himself to the hilt in her sweet body. But dammit, he couldn't risk it, could he? Why the hell hadn't he asked Landra for some condoms? How was he going to pleasure Catherine, give himself some relief and at the same time protect her?
Just how experienced was she? he wondered. How would she react if he suggested a different kind of coupling?
All Murdock knew was that he had to do something and soon—before he exploded. If Catherine were anyone other than Lanny's daughter, he might consider just taking her and to hell with the consequences. After all, what were the odds that he'd get her pregnant? He knew he was safe, medically speaking. And with a woman like Catherine, who didn't sleep around, there would be no other risks.
Deciding not to chance scaring her off, Murdock opted to give her pleasure first and hoped she'd reciprocate.
Deepening the kiss, he ran the tip of his finger over her protruding little kernel. She shivered uncontrollably and rubbed rhythmically against his massaging finger. He released her lips and proceeded to plant a row of kisses down her throat and then back to her breasts. With his huge body draping her like a massive, muscular canopy, he ravaged her with a practiced skill that soon had her trembling. When he explored her sweet, hidden depths with his tongue, the tension inside her tightened unbearably. Deep, wide, heavy strokes. Torturous, tingling kisses. With the mastery of his lovemaking, Murdock brought her to the brink, then held back, until she clawed at him and begged for more. Finally, one delicate, precisely placed touch pushed her into an explosive, climactic release. With the urging of his mouth and fingers, he forced her to the limit, demanding she feel more and more and more, until she screamed with a pleasure that drained her completely and left her sated beyond her wildest dreams.
Lifting his head, the taste of her still fresh on his lips, he rose up and over her once again to capture her cry of fulfillment. He dragged her over and on top of him. Kissing her cheeks, her chin, her throat, he urged her to straddle him, then laid her hands flat on his perspiring chest.
She reveled in the feel of him, his chest hard with muscles, damp with sweat and matted with thick, dark hair. His tight male nipples begged for her mouth. She flicked one and then the other with the tip of her tongue and elicited an animal moan from him.
His sex throbbed intimately against her. When he bucked up, thrusting against her, she understood what he needed. What he expected.
She hadn't been with a man in years. And sex with Rodney had never been like this. Never untamed. Never a primitive urge that overruled common sense. But she knew how to do this, she reminded herself. She had used her hand to pleasure a man before. But Murdock had used more than his hand, more than his talented fingers. Did he expect her to … to…
"Please, Cat," he growled. "I need you."
With trembling fingers, she undid and unzipped his pants. Without the incumbrance of underwear his sex sprang free immediately. Catherine's mouth rounded in a silent gasp, surprised by his lack of briefs and by the sheer size of him. Singing an ancient mating song, her blood pounded in her head, drummed in her ears and heated in her veins.
"Don't torture me, honey," Murdock groaned.
She slid the tip of her index finger over the plum-shaped globe and was rewarded with a deep, dangerous growl. Continuing down the shaft, she added more fingers to the exploration, curling them about his sex. She stroked and caressed, fondled and gently pumped. Arching off the bed, Murdock urged her to further action.
With her other hand, Catherine tugged his pants down to his knees. Lowering her head, she spread tiny, nipping kisses over his muscular thighs. Then her tongue replaced her lips as she created a damp path upward and over one hip, across his washboard-lean belly and down the other hip.
He cupped the back of her head with one huge hand and persuasively invited her to take him as he had taken her. Overwhelmed with a primitive desire unlike any she'd ever known, Catherine claimed him. Encompassed him. Gave him a pleasure equal to what he'd given her. Spurred on by her own passion, she loved him with her mouth and tongue, all the while her own body danced with excitement.
His words barely coherent, Murdock told her graphically how he felt and what he wanted. Then he slid his hand between her thighs. Finding her wet and hot, he stroked her nub and when his release hit him full force, he held on long enough to give her that final nudge over the edge to a second climax.
He pulled her up his body and into his arms, then wiped the perspiration from her face with his shirt. He kissed her soundly, then curved her over onto her back and rested her head on the pillow. He slipped off the corner of the bed, pulled up his pants and zipped them, then searched the semidark room until he found a bottle of whiskey on the captain's desk, which was attached to the aft wall. Lifting the liquor, he uncapped the lid and took a giant swig. He coughed several times as the liquid singed a path down to his belly. Taking the bottle with him, he returned to the bed, sat down and then lifted Catherine to his side.
"Here, honey. Drink a little of this."
Without question, she took several sips, then burst into a coughing fit. Tears stung her eyes. He slapped her on the back. She dropped her head to his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. After recapping the bottle, he dropped it to the floor, then took her into his arms as he eased them down on the bed. He held her, wanting to say something worthy of the moment. But what the hell did you say to a woman like Catherine after a hot session of unparalleled lovemaking? Thanks? Or maybe, this was great, let's do it again every chance we get?
Instead he held her close, kissed her forehead and said, "You're quite a woman, Catherine Price."
Sighing contentedly, she kissed his shoulder. "And you, Aloysius Murdock, are muy hombre!"
* * *
Murdock heard the captain's footsteps before the man reached the door. He'd been holding Catherine in his arms, watching her while she slept for the past half hour. He'd gotten a couple hours of sleep after their lovemaking, but he had awakened suddenly, as if his internal clock had sensed dawn approaching. The knock on the door came hard and loud. Catherine stirred in his arms.
"Be ready in ten minutes!" The captain's voice carried plainly through the closed door.
The moment Catherine opened her eyes and looked at him, Murdock knew she was fixing to go all remorseful on him. He could just imagine what she would say. Our indiscretion was a mistake. We can't let it happen again. I don't know what came over me. I want to forget all about it, pretend it never happened.
But she surprised him completely when she said, "You're right, Murdock. Working off a little frustration in the sack was just what we both needed."
She eased out of his loose embrace, crawled over him and hurriedly put her clothes in order, then stuffed her hair up under her camouflage cap. "You'd better get moving, if we're going to disembark in ten minutes."
"Yeah. Sure."
Well, she was taking things awfully well, he thought. Acting as if she played the I'll-show-you-mine-if-you'll-show-me-yours game all the time. But he knew better. His gut instincts told him that what they'd shared in the wee hours of the morning had been a first for her. She was no inexperienced girl, no shy virgin, but giving and receiving the type of pleasure they'd exchanged was new to her. And maybe that's why her cavalier attitude bothered him. It wasn't in character for Catherine to treat something so intimate, so extremely personal, as if they had done nothing more than give each other a good back rub.
Hell, man, be glad she didn't cry and carry on and blame you for taking advantage of her, he told himself. A
nd be damned grateful that she didn't misinterpret your passion for something more. Like love. If she thought love was involved in your relationship, she'd start talking about marriage and kids and a dull, safe life back in Tennessee.
And what would be so dull about spending the rest of your life with Catherine? a nagging inner voice asked him.
Dismissing the question, Murdock hurried Catherine out the door and up onto the deck. They gathered their rifles, ammunition belts and knapsack of supplies, some taken from the restaurant back in San Carlos and some provided by Landra. The captain offered them steaming cups of rich, black coffee and slices of crusty hard bread.
"Good luck on your mission to find Sabino. You should be able to meet up with him in Yanahuara tomorrow. But perhaps he has sent a scouting team on ahead and you can make contact with them," the captain said in Spanish, which Murdock relayed to Catherine in English.
The gunboat docked near a small, decaying pier just as dawn spread her scarlet arms and pink fingers out over the Amazonian sky. Murdock and Catherine departed, leaving civilization behind. While the Dama de la Libertad chugged on down the river, they stood on the bank and watched their best means of escaping Zaraza disappear around the bend.
"No sense waiting here wishing we were going with them," Murdock said. "The sooner we head out, the sooner we'll reach Celendin and be able to find someone who can take us on to Yanahuara."
"Don't tell me that this is the road to Celendin." Catherine gave the wide, dirt pathway leading into the jungle a snooty little glance. "That's not a road."
"It's what passes for a road out here in the jungle," he told her, then swatted her on the behind.
She glared at him, but said nothing. They fell into step alongside each other, neither speaking as they began the journey inland. A morning fog, formed from the night's tropical rain, surrounded them, then slowly cleared as they continued walking.
A steep hill, covered with stands of thick trees, rose to their right and a tiny stream wove its way over a rocky bed several feet to their left. The buzz of insects made Catherine glad she'd taken Murdock's advice and used the repellent the captain had provided.
Here and there, the jungle darted out spiny fingers of new growth, edging close to the cleared pathway. The first rays of morning sunlight bored through the verdant canopy that all but encompassed the narrow road. Shooting, bright beams of warmth highlighted spots of verdant foliage as vibrant as sparkling emeralds.
How was it possible, Catherine wondered, that this vast, green wasteland seemed deceptively inviting? The walls of greenery grew high and wide, each individual plant, each tree indistinguishable as it vied for sunlight and nourishment in the crowded garden. So full of trees and vegetation, the nearby forest seemed oddly devoid of wildlife. The cicada's grating song only underscored the eerie silence. Occasionally a shrill birdcall intruded on the monotonous insect chorus.
"Why aren't there any animals?" Catherine asked.
"Oh, they're out there," Murdock told her. "You just can't see them. There are monkeys high in the treetops. And in those same trees, there are flying squirrels the size of house cats. And arboreal snakes are wrapped around limbs, just waiting for breakfast to walk by."
"Oh." Catherine inched her way closer to Murdock's side, then stroked the barrel of her rifle. "They stay in the jungle, right?"
"We're relatively safe from the animals," he told her. "What we have to worry about are the humans."
"Aren't the natives friendly?" She kept in step with Murdock, making sure to stay at his side.
"These people know it doesn't pay to be friendly when you're caught up in the middle of a war. Unless you know the person, he … or she … could be an enemy."
"I suppose war does breed distrust, doesn't it?"
Murdock chuckled, the sound a sarcastic rumble. "Yeah, and distrust is the least of the evils war breeds."
"I have to confess something to you." She reached over to grab his arm, halting his rapid march.
When he gazed at her, irritation and wariness in his eyes, she squeezed his arm. "Not about us. Or about what happened between us. My confession is about me."
She paused, took a deep breath and said in one big rush, "I'm terrified. I mean really terrified. I don't belong out here in the jungle. I don't belong anywhere in Zaraza. I should be back home, wearing a neat suit and silk stockings and drinking tea in the teacher's lounge. I don't think I'm equipped to handle playing soldier. Honest to God, Murdock, I'm about ready to scream."
He grasped her shoulders gently and looked her square in the eye. "It's all right to be afraid. I'm a trained soldier and I'm scared."
Her bottom lip quivered. She trembled uncontrollably. He captured her face between his hands and caressed her chin with his thumbs.
"I shouldn't have brought you with me. I should have gotten you out of this damn country and then come back alone."
"No. You couldn't do that. By the time you returned and found Vincente Sabino, Domingo Sanchez might have carried out the assassination plot. You had no choice but to bring me with you, so don't go blaming yourself for this situation."
Easing his hands down each side of her throat, he curled his fingers around and locked them behind the back of her neck. "As long as I'm alive, I'll protect you. Nothing and no one is going to harm you without going through me first."
"I know. It's just that I don't want anything to happen to you while you're trying to protect me or trying to save Vincente Sabino." She laid her hands on his shirt, above where the ammunition belts crisscrossed his chest. "If anything happened to you, I—I—"
Gunfire ripped through the jungle stillness, like a chain saw chewing through metal. Booted feet running. Muffled cries and angry shouts. Rapid bursts of repetitive shots.
Murdock grabbed Catherine's arm and dragged her with him into the jungle. After tossing her down on her knees behind the sinuous buttresses of a massive tree trunk, he lifted the M-16 and scanned the dense forest for signs of a battle.
Her heart thudded with deafening force. Moisture coated her palms as she removed the rifle from her shoulder. Oh, God, don't let me have to shoot someone. I don't think I can do it. And I know Murdock is depending on Lanny's warrior genes to surface and take hold of me in a crisis. And this is a major crisis!
Suddenly the bushes rustled. Murdock took aim, preparing to defend himself and Catherine. Out of nowhere a child appeared. A tiny, black-haired little girl, wagging a tattered cloth doll. Tears streamed down her dirty face. Bullets zinged over the child's head, coming from left and right. Catherine's heart leaped to her throat when she realized the little girl was caught in the crossfire.
"She's going to get killed," Catherine cried. "Do something, Murdock. Please, do something!"
"Can you cover me?" he asked.
"Cover you? You mean—"
"I mean send out a blaze of gunfire in both directions, while I go out there and get her."
"Oh!" Could she? she wondered. Was she capable of using the weapon she held, possibly wounding or even killing someone?
Without waiting for her reply, Murdock made his move. Instantly Catherine positioned the M-16 against her shoulder, and remembering Murdock's instructions, pulled the trigger back fully and opened fire to her left and then to her right. The impact of the rapid action rattled her teeth and jarred her bones. She stopped thinking, stopped feeling and simply allowed the adrenaline rush of fear to pump through her and give her the strength and the will to do what had to be done.
Murdock swung the child up onto his hip, and aiming his M-16 the best he could, added his firepower to Catherine's as he made a mad dash back to the safety behind the horizontally spreading tree roots.
"Here, take her." Murdock handed the little girl over to Catherine, who laid aside her rifle and wrapped the whimpering child in her arms. "You did good, honey. Real good."
Murdock kept the M-16 aimed and ready, while the combat between the rebels and Zarazaians continued. With the child on her lap, Catherine
scooted closer to Murdock.
"What's going to happen?" she asked.
"That depends," he replied.
"On what?"
"On who wins and who loses this skirmish."
She understood, without him explaining further, that if the government soldiers triumphed, there was a good chance they would die. With one arm draped comfortingly around the child, Catherine laid her hand on Murdock's arm.
"No matter what happens, I want you to know that I—I care about you, Aloysius Murdock. As a matter of fact, I'm probably in love with you."
* * *
Chapter 11
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The miniskirmish lasted less than thirty minutes, leaving seven government soldiers dead and one badly wounded. The rebels hadn't fared much better, with five dead, one wounded and a nervous young lieutenant uncertain how to proceed. Catherine carried the child in her arms as she followed Murdock and marveled at the way he took charge of the situation. Not knowing whether more Zarazaian troops were in the area, they didn't dare risk taking time to bury the dead. Making quick, life-and-death decisions, Murdock had no choice but to leave behind the badly wounded enemy. He handed the man a bottle of whiskey that he'd retrieved from their supplies and placed his rifle within his reach, if he crawled a couple of feet for it. Even an enemy deserved the right to end his own misery.
Turning to Catherine, Murdock said, "I can help the lieutenant take care of his man on the way to Celendin. Have you got everything under control with the kid? Do you think you can carry her and a rifle for four miles?"
"Yes. She's a tiny thing and not heavy at all."
The child stared at Catherine. Her huge brown eyes filled with tears. Catherine tried talking to her, but the little girl kept jabbering in Spanish and she couldn't make out a word.
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