Roc didn’t know how she would have gotten here without his help. And now, as she lay sleeping in his arms like an innocent, trusting child, he felt good about himself. Thank goodness he’d been wearing his combat pack, which had everything he’d needed for roughing it. All she’d had in her pack were IVs and some food and water. She hadn’t counted on rain.
And Diablo was out there, prowling around. Roc could feel them. No, he’d have to watch her in the future. Clearly, her heart led, her head followed.
Just as he was starting to drop off to sleep, he felt the earth shiver. Tensing, Roc waited. Another shiver: aftershocks. Luckily, he had put the tent up on a slight slope, away from all structures. Although aftershocks were happening less and less, many buildings were being weakened more by each one, and eventually would collapse. And any fool dumb enough to be sleeping inside, could die.
They were living in a dangerous, unstable time, Roc decided. Yet as the rain drummed down around them, he felt happy. Happier than he had any reason to be.
Chapter 9
February 5: 0500
As Sam slept, she felt incredibly secure and loved. Arms, strong and protective, were wrapped around her. The face of her fiancé, Captain Brad Holter, hovered in her mind’s eyes. He was smiling that dimpled, elfin smile that always reached in and touched her heart. How many times, after they had spent their passion, their hearts thundering in unison in the aftermath, had she lain like this with him? He would gently tease her, kiss her brow, her nose and the tip of her chin, and proclaim that her freckles were as Irish as he was. She would laugh and drown in his sea-green eyes. Oh, how Sam missed him. When his Marine Cobra helicopter had crashed, in a senseless accident, she’d felt as if a part of her had died with him.
Now these arms around her, warm and secure, brought her alive once more. Watching Brad’s narrow, smiling face disappear, she moaned. Something was different. Out of place, but not in a bad way. Sam moved slightly and burrowed her head in the crook of the man’s neck. She felt his arm tighten slightly around her, as if to tell her everything was all right, and to slide back into that abyss of deep, healing sleep.
Something was different. But wonderful. As Sam nuzzled her face against that warm neck, she inhaled a very male scent, and her heart skittered with joy. How long had it been since she’d been held like this? Held and comforted against the woes, the tribulations and traumas she faced daily as a doctor? Sam recalled somewhere in the depths of her mind how much she had looked forward to seeing Brad after a hard day at the hospital. Just walking into his arms and being held had helped her shed that tremendous emotional load she often carried. Being held dissolved her anxiety for the patients she cared for. Sam never found it easy to walk away from her job, and Brad had seemed to sense that.
He would sit with her on the couch, cuddling her in his arms, and talk her down. An Irishman and a born storyteller, he’d weave one humorous yarn after another, until Sam forgot about what she’d gone through in the E.R. that day. Laughter was a great healer, Sam had discovered.
She felt strong lips press softly against her brow and follow her hairline in a series of gentle kisses. Her own lips parting, Sam sighed deeply. Oh, to be loved once again! She’d entirely given up on that possibility. Sam knew she was a strong woman and that few men would ever be interested in a relationship with her, because she demanded equality. That was only fair, in her world. She was not some passive thing, nor did she hold that men were always right and women wrong. No, both were equal partners, bringing weaknesses and strengths to their relationship. Brad had honored her, respected her, as she had him.
As that male mouth trailed across the top of her head, dropping small, lingering kisses here and there, her scalp tingled deliciously. Brad had never done that, but she was so lost in the feelings wrapping around her, the love, the care and sense of overwhelming protection, that Sam didn’t stop to question who was doing it. Sleep was slowly fragmenting and dissolving. Nostrils flaring, she inhaled that scent deeply into her body. It was a wonderful male fragrance, stirring her womanly yearnings and causing her breasts to tighten with anticipation, pressed as they were against his chest.
And then she felt fingertips, featherlight, sliding across her unruly hair to her right shoulder and caressing it. His touch was so tentative that it caught Sam’s wandering attention as she lay there, her head pressed against his shoulder, a drowsy smile pulling at her lips.
His mouth settled near her temple, his moist breath moved like a warming stream across her cheek, as gently as a butterfly. Again the lingering, tentative exploration of his lips against her cheek made her sigh. This time Sam moved her head. She wanted to kiss him in return.
Looking up through her lashes, she saw a face very close to her own in the grayness of the coming dawn. Only it wasn’t Brad’s face. It was…She blinked. His eyes were a stormy blue, narrowed and intense. His hair was dark and short and in need of combing. His mouth…it was the mouth of Captain Roc Gunnison hovering above hers, merely inches away! But despite her shock, the look in his eyes invited her. This wasn’t the hard marine she’d seen before.
More than anything, Sam slowly realized, his face was open and vulnerable. Gone was the tension that made him seem unreadable. His brow was smooth and no longer scrunched in thought. The slashes around his mouth were not as deep. She smiled softly as she slowly focused on his mouth, inches above her own.
“You have a wonderful mouth when you aren’t making it into a thin line,” she murmured sleepily. Something instinctive and primal made Sam raise her hand to stroke his full lower lip. Simply allowing herself the luxury of touching him was euphoric. She felt him tense as she grazed her fingers across his mouth in gentle exploration. It was a strong mouth, and she wanted to kiss it. Unwilling to leave the security of Roc’s arms, Sam lay there, drowning in the sea-blue of his eyes. Seeing desire burning there made her heart pound with need. Withdrawing her hand from his mouth, she touched his broad, capable shoulder, which was clothed in a dark green cotton T-shirt. Power. The sense of his strength penetrated her heated world, making her yearn for closer contact.
Roc wanted to kiss her, too. She felt his hand range down her arm, and then move back up toward her shoulder in a light caress that spoke volumes to Sam. He might be a hardened warrior, but now she was privileged to see his other side, the man enflaming her senses and turning her heart inside out.
“Kiss me?” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep and need.
Roc lay above her, drinking in her drowsy beauty in the gray dawn light that filtered through the walls of the tent. Sam was incredibly beautiful. She lay like a trusting child in his arms, her hand pressed to his shoulder as she looked up at him with the faith of the world in her large, sleepy eyes. Groaning inwardly, Roc watched as her lips parted in a provocative way that told him she really did want to kiss him. Every cell in his body cried out for more heated contact with her. He’d awakened earlier in the throes of a fiery dream where he was making hot, passionate love with Sam. It had brought him out of a deep sleep into a full and painful arousal.
Roc knew he shouldn’t have eased onto his side and kissed her brow or that thick, silky hair. He knew better, but he couldn’t help himself. He had been alone for so long, having given up on being able to ever find a woman who could meet and match him, heart and soul. Intuitively, he knew Samantha Andrews could do that—and more. She was a courageous being, all heart, all passion, and God help him, that drew Roc to her like nothing ever had in his entire life.
Lifting his hand, he followed the line of her jaw to her stubborn chin. “When you were coming out of sleep, Sam, you called for someone named Brad….”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Oh…” she whispered apologetically “…he was my fiancé….” Lifting her lashes, she saw Roc’s eyes narrow. “Brad died in a helicopter crash at Camp Reed. It was a stupid crash, not his fault, but he didn’t make it…. That was two years ago. I’m so sorry….”
Seeing Roc’s eyes widen for
a moment, Sam slid her fingers from his shoulder down his heavily muscled arm. Wherever she touched him, she felt him tense. “I…well, to tell you the truth, Roc, I haven’t been with a man since Brad died. There just aren’t that many that aren’t totally intimidated by me.”
Digesting her husky words, Roc allowed his hand to rest once again on her chin. “I’m sorry you lost him….” And he was. Even now, in her drowsy green eyes, he could see how much she missed him. “He must have been one hell of a man to get your attention.” Roc’s mouth curved ruefully. How he himself wanted her attention! It scared him. It thrilled him. He wasn’t sure what to do with that realization. When he’d kissed her brow, she’d moaned softly and pressed against him, wanting more. And how much he wanted to give her! Roc found himself reeling from it all. Everything in this moment was magical. Unreal. How badly he wanted it to be real as he absorbed the languorous look in Sam’s forest-green gaze, clinging to his. She still wanted him to kiss her. He saw it in her eyes—the yearning, the need.
But was it for him or for Brad? Roc wasn’t sure. Giving her a sad smile, he grazed the freckles covering her right cheek with his index finger.
“If I kiss you, Sam, I won’t stop…. You’re the kind of woman who grabs a man, and he wants to take you all the way. I’m not sure if you see me or Brad right now. Maybe it’s the time…the place.” Roc lifted his head and looked around the quiet tent. The rain had stopped sometime in the night. “We’re in the middle of a terrible trauma. People do funny things when they’re under this kind of stress….”
Roc couldn’t help himself, he kept stroking her rosy cheek. He felt her fingers tighten in the cotton material of his T-shirt as he spoke those low, husky words to her. Their lips were inches apart…mere inches. Every cell in his body pushed him to lean over and make that delicious-looking mouth of hers his own. Make Sam his…in all ways. His lower body was aching and on fire.
The cold reality—that she had spoken Brad’s name while coming awake—made Sam wince inwardly. She saw the sadness in Roc’s face. Yes, he wanted to kiss her…and she wanted to kiss him. Yet his words had been tinged with regret. Heart thrashing with continued need of him, Sam watched as his dark brows moved downward. He was sad, too, thinking that she wanted to be kissing Brad and not him.
Snuggling her head against his arm, she nuzzled his shoulder and pressed her mouth to it. Looking back up at him, she clung to his gaze.
“I just kissed you,” Sam whispered unsteadily. “You. Okay?”
Roc nodded, unsure of where to go next. Swallowing hard, he said in a low, rasping tone, “Wrong place, wrong time, Sam. I’m sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know…” And he was. His heart ached with need of her. He was so hungry to explore her, to know more about her—the woman, not the doctor. Dr. Sam Andrews was open and relaxed with him for the first time. His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest and he wondered if she could hear it. When she gave him that soft, understanding smile and he felt her hand leave his chest and trail along his jaw, Roc almost lost the massive control he had over himself.
“The bad part of being an adult is knowing when it is the wrong time and place,” Sam admitted. His face was dark with stubble and it lent him a dangerously male look. “I don’t like being an adult all the time, Roc.”
He laughed in a low tone. “Neither do I, sweetheart, but right now, time’s running out on us and we gotta get dressed and get back to HQ We’re due to lead that second reconnaissance mission to find another medevac site with our teams in exactly two hours.”
Instead of getting up immediately, Sam relaxed even more. Absorbing the feel of his calloused hand as it rested on her cheek, she turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm. Instantly, she felt him tense. A groan rumbled through his chest. Her heart soared with the knowledge that she could touch him so easily, and she felt euphoric as she gazed up into his darkened, narrowed eyes.
Then she sighed.
“You’re right. I hate to admit it, but you’re right, Roc.”
Easing his hand from her jaw, Roc sat up, the sleeping bag folding down around his torso. The tent was cool and damp. “Maybe, if we can steal some time, we can talk more?” His mind said talk. His body screamed to make love to her.
Sam shoved herself into a sitting position. The tent was so small that they couldn’t move without touching one another. “Yes, I’d like that….” And she would. Running her fingers through her uncombed hair, Sam realized that he was weighing her words heavily. Right now, time was their enemy. She wanted badly to tell Roc about Brad, and what he’d meant to her. She knew it would help Roc understand her and her past.
Reaching out and stroking his darkly haired arm, Sam whispered, “Thank you….”
Roc halted in the middle of reaching for his pack, wildly aware of her hand on his arm. He gave her a startled look. “For what?”
“For keeping me warm, safe and cared for. I really needed exactly what you gifted me with.”
Roc felt her hand fall away, and cried inwardly for the loss of contact with her. But he understood why she’d let go. Grabbing the pack from the end of the tent, he dragged it up between them. As he opened it, he said, “My men call me a mother hen. They say I protect my own.” Lifting out a clean, dry set of desert cammos, he handed them to Sam. “Here, put these on for the trip back to HQ. At least you’ll be dry, even if they hang on you a little.” He managed a slight grin.
Touched, Sam took his uniform. “Thanks…” She’d never realized how thoughtful Roc was until now. Her own clothes were bunched up in a wet knot near her feet, in a corner of the tent.
Together, they shimmied into their clothing, elbows and knees often touching. Despite the circumstances, Sam enjoyed the whole process. As she fumbled with the buttons, Roc turned, his hands covering her fingers.
“Here, let me….” he said, moving her hands aside. The intimacy of buttoning his jacket over her body was delicious. Heady.
“You really are a mother hen,” she laughed softly. “I can just see you with your own children, making sure they have their coats buttoned, their rubber boots on, their hats on their heads before they go out the door in the rain.”
The thought was provocative. Roc lifted his head after he finished buttoning the jacket. Again, inches separated them. How badly he wanted to slide his hands across her flushed cheeks, hold her head gently as he brought his mouth down upon those soft, parted lips, which were just begging to be worshiped by him.
It took everything Roc had as a man to force himself to move away from her. “Yeah, I’m more like a mommy than a daddy at times with my men. It just comes naturally,” Roc groused good-naturedly, shrugging into his own jacket and quickly buttoning it up.
“I’ve seen the way your men idolize you. They really like you. They believe in you. In what you have to say.” She struggled into the long pants and then rolled up the cuffs. Wanting to say, I felt like you would protect me in every way you could, too…. Sam bit down on her lower lip, halting the flow of words. Never had she seen such care radiating from another person as it had from Roc toward her. It left her shaky. Needy. Hungry. For him. Not for Brad. For Roc Gunnison, the man.
“Part mother figure, part father figure,” Roc replied. He rescued her boots from the bottom of the tent as she slid out of the warm folds of their mutual sleeping bag and sat on top. “My men fear me,” he joked. That wasn’t true, of course.
“Thanks,” Sam replied, taking her nearly dry leather boots. Shoving her warm feet inside them, she laughed a little breathlessly. “You know what, Roc? You put on this huge warrior mask that no one can penetrate. The big baddie on the block.” Lifting her head, she turned and gazed at him, her lips pulling upward. “But now I know different. I understand why your men idolize you the way I’ve seen them do. You do care. You care with your heart…your soul…for them.”
Roc grunted and put his second boot on. He got to his knees, his shoulders brushing the roof of the tent as he hauled his web belt around his narrow
waist.
“Nah, good doctor. You’re being an idealist now. I’m a marine. That says it all.” He flashed her an intimate look as he hooked up the belt. Lastly, he picked up his rifle.
Chortling under her breath, her heart racing because she saw the teasing glimmer in his eyes now, Sam hurried to pull on her protective flak vest. She knew she should wear it inside the jacket, but under the circumstances, she didn’t bother. She would make a quick change back at HQ into her navy uniform, and she’d put the vest under her coat at that time.
“You don’t fool me, Captain Gunnison,” she whispered pointedly, donning her still damp, dark blue cap. “Okay, let’s roll. I’m ready when you are.”
Nodding, Roc unzipped the tent and crawled out of it. The sky above was starting to clear. In the east a gray light edged the horizon, illuminating the massive destruction all around them. But nothing could disturb the euphoria he was presently experiencing as Sam grabbed his hand and he helped her stand. Reluctantly, he allowed her fingers to slip from his. The lilac fragrance of her hair remained with him and he inhaled it like a starving man. Trying to gently tuck their unexpected intimacy away, Roc switched to his marine mode: total alertness. Swinging around, he noted that the suburban neighborhood was quiet. It was barely 0515, and most people were still asleep. At the top of the grassy knoll, he saw a woman standing with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, near the fire. He lifted his hand in a silent greeting and she smiled and nodded.
“I’m leaving this tent here,” he told Sam. “Just in case we need to swing back this way for some reason or another.”
“I think Ani will be okay…but it’s nice of you to leave it. They can use the extra shelter.” Giving him a grateful look, Sam put her empty backpack on with Roc’s help. She absorbed each of his touches like a thief. Smoothing the straps across her shoulders, Sam watched as he hefted his own pack.
Protecting His Own Page 11