Soldier's Rescue Mission

by Cindy Dees

  The idea of her tender skin red and puffy with bug bites made his gut twist. Oh, she was good, all right. He scowled at her. “I didn’t know nuns were allowed to fight so dirty.”

  Her chuckle was low and sexy. “You have no idea.”

  Reluctantly, he capitulated, gesturing for her to get back inside the tent and take her sleeping bag with her. At least she had the good grace not to gloat as he crawled in beside her. Furious with himself for giving in and terrified at how much further he’d weaken tonight, he stretched out on top of his sleeping bag, tense.

  The light scent of her body wash wafted over him and he seriously regretted caving in to her demands. He’d wait until she fell asleep, and then he’d sneak outside to spend the night.

  Except she seemed to have no interest in sleeping. He lay there, board stiff, listening to her breathing not settling down into the rhythms of sleep. Finally, he broke the silence. “Something on your mind, Sister?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You should have been asleep a while ago.”

  “Why are you still awake? Guilty conscience?”

  Crap. Did she know he’d seen her taking that bath? “Uh, no. Why do you say that?” he asked cautiously.

  “What else would keep a man awake after a long day?”

  “I slept late this morning. What’s your excuse? Is your conscience bugging you, perchance?”

  She sighed quietly. “Actually, it is. I’m afraid I’m not being a very good nun.”

  If, by that, she meant she was too damned tempting for her own good, he had to agree. “Far be it from me to judge such a thing,” he commented. “It’s between you and God.”

  She started to snort, but then the sound cut off short. Did the nun have a small problem with God at the moment? Was he tempting her? He supposed he should feel bad about that. Instead, a surge of fierce joy surged in his gut. But then, he was already going to hell. No need to feel guilty about adding to his long list of sins. Right?

  He tossed and turned for a while longer, waiting for her to go to sleep. But instead, he woke abruptly some time later. The night was deep and mostly silent around him. What had woken him like that? He trusted his instincts completely. Some threat had registered on his subconscious mind.

  And then he registered the warm weight slithering across his chest. His fingers groped for the knife beside his sleeping bag. The weight moved slightly and he froze. Not a snake. An arm. Elise’s arm. She must’ve reached across him and that had woken him. He relaxed beneath it, grinning. That’s what he got for talking about snakes right before going to sleep.

  But then another weight moved across his thighs. Crud! The nun had thrown a leg over him, too. In fact, she was all but lying on top of him. She’d be mortified if she woke up and found them sprawled together like this. In the interest of sparing her modesty, he started to ease out from beneath her. But both arm and leg tightened immediately. He moved even more slowly, but all he accomplished was making her slide her body more fully on top of his.

  A soft breast pressed against his chest, its resilient texture causing all kinds of havoc with his body. A lock of her hair tickled his neck and he reached up carefully to lift it aside. Except the woman apparently had nerves in her hair and stirred at his touch.

  She mumbled inarticulately and lifted her head. He turned his head to the side to gaze at her, but it was too dark to make out her features and see if she was fully awake.

  As he watched, she drew closer to him. What was she doing? He froze, stunned. For all the world it looked as if she was about to—

  —she kissed him!

  Her mouth was soft and warm against his stunned lips. It moved lightly, butterfly delicate against his mouth. A groan rose in his throat, but he choked it off lest he wake her from whatever dream gripped her.

  “Mmm,” she murmured as if he were the most delicious dessert she’d ever sampled.

  Amen to that. She tasted like cream and honey. He moved his mouth ever so slightly against hers, carefully sampling the forbidden fruit. Aah, how easy the fall into temptation was. She voiced the groan of pleasure he was feeling and her entire body moved sinuously against his. Her hand slid up his chest and across his collarbone to his right ear, cupping his neck. Her fingertips teased his earlobe and urged him deeper into the kiss. He obliged, half turning beneath her, his arms coming up around her.

  She felt like heaven in his arms. Woman with a capital W. Everything he’d ever dreamed of finding in a girl. She was as soft and sweet as she was strong and fierce. Her mouth opened against his and her tongue traced his lips lightly. In turn, he caught her lower lip between his teeth and scored its plump juiciness until she moaned and pressed her entire body forward against his.

  The thin cotton camisole beneath his palms did nothing to protect her from his need. His fingers slipped under the edge of the garment and he inhaled in sharp pleasure at the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms. In turn, her hands crept around the back of his neck, pulling his head down more fully into their kiss.

  He surged up over her, rolling her onto her back and taking command of the kiss, exploring her mouth openly now, savoring the taste of her, the way her small perfect teeth ran across his tongue, the way her clever tongue teased his, inviting him deeper into her. His hand slid around her rib cage to cup the fullness of a breast, lightly molding the flesh to his touch. His thumb rubbed once, twice, across a proud bud. She arched up into the caress, as responsive and sensual as he’d guessed she would be beneath those boring clothes.

  Those religious clothes.

  Nun.

  Holy crap.

  He froze in the act of reaching for her camisole hem to take it off. Eased his hand away from her hip by slow degrees. Withdrew his tongue carefully from her mouth. Lifted his lips—reluctantly—away from hers. He settled her bowed body back ever so gently to her sleeping bag and pushed up onto an elbow as he lifted his body off of hers.

  He glanced at her face and froze in shock so profound that his mind went completely blank.

  She was awake.

  Her gaze, dark and unfathomable, met his.

  She hadn’t been dreaming through that incendiary kiss? What did it mean? What was he supposed to do now?

  Chapter 5

  Okay, so that pretty much blew the whole nun cover. And the whole aversion to getting involved with a criminal thing.

  Shock poured through Elise, but for the life of her, she couldn’t summon a single ounce of regret that she’d kissed him like that. That had been arguably the best kiss she’d ever experienced, and she had a feeling he’d just been getting going. What would it be like if he hadn’t stopped? If he hadn’t remembered that she was a nun and off-limits? If he’d finished weaving the magic on her body and soul that he’d started so spectacularly?

  His mouth opened. No doubt he was going to apologize. Beat himself up like crazy for crossing the line with her. Regret slammed into her. But not regret that she’d kissed him. Oh, no. She only regretted making him feel bad about himself.

  She pressed her fingertips against his lips to halt the apology, to halt the self-recriminations. She opened her own mouth to tell him it was all right. That it was her fault. That she’d known full well what she was doing when she’d crawled all over him like that and tempted him into kissing her.

  But before the words could cross her lips, a series of metallic clicks rattled all around the tent.

  Drago’s eyes popped wide open in alarm and chagrin, but she didn’t need the expression to know that they were in deep, deep trouble. She hadn’t worked the mean streets of New York’s toughest neighborhoods for nothing. Those were safeties clicking off a whole bunch of weapons.

  “Let me go out first. They’re less likely to shoot me on sight,” she murmured as the tent zipper started to unzip. She reached quickly for her wimple and tucked it behind her ears. He shoved her sweater at her and she donned it quickly, her fingers fumbling frantically at the buttons. The muzzle of a double-barreled shotgu
n poked through the opening in the nylon fabric.

  She spoke calmly, “Good evening, gentlemen. I am a nun and unarmed. I’m getting dressed as we speak and will be right out to speak with you. I’m so glad you found me.”

  Drago nodded briefly beside her as he pulled a T-shirt over his head. He’d worn pants to sleep in, but she doubted he’d have time to put on his hiking boots before their visitors forced them outside. She reached into his pack without asking and snagged his sweatpants. Awkwardly, she dragged them on and headed for the tent door on her hands and knees. Heart in her throat, she crawled outside.

  The men surrounding her looked much like Enrique and his men had—hard and violent. They reacted in surprise to her wimple, and thankfully didn’t shoot her on sight. She silently blessed Father Ambrose for suggesting the nun masquerade.

  “So. The rumors are true. A loco nun is running around the jungle,” one of the men commented.

  She eyed him in particular. He held himself like a leader. She nodded at him and rose slowly to her feet, her hands held carefully in sight and away from her sides. “That’s correct. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking tonight?”

  The weapons jerked as Drago appeared in the tent opening.

  “Who’s this?” the leader of the group exclaimed.

  “He’s my driver,” she explained.

  Drago stood up beside her, his hands clasped behind his neck without the other men having to tell him to do it. “I am not her driver. I am a businessman. And she is the most annoying creature on the planet. She hitched a ride with me and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He shrugged in obvious frustration. “How do you say no to a nun, for God’s sake?”

  Inexplicably, the men around her relaxed at his explanation. Yet again, he’d judged these men better than her and said exactly the right thing to diffuse the tension. Who was he? Despite his business, she was more convinced than ever there was more to Drago than met the eye.

  “And who might you be?” the leader asked.

  “Drago Cantori,” he announced.

  “The arms dealer?”

  “Who’s asking?” Drago retorted.

  “Enrique told us you’d be coming this way. He didn’t say anything about a nun, though.”

  Yikes! This guy was the leader of the Army of Freedom? She gulped as Drago snorted. “I tried to ditch her, but she’s as tenacious as a tick. Pesky little thing. But she cooks a mean stuffed arepa.”

  Yet again, it was her cooking skill that evoked real interest in these men. Was that all they thought women were good for? Cooking? Sheesh.

  “Are you Raoul?” Drago asked.

  “No.” The leader laughed. “But I will take you to him. He is most interested in having a conversation with you. You two make business together, eh?”

  “The sooner the better,” Drago replied with unmistakable eagerness.

  She scowled. All hot and bothered to make a big arms deal, was he? If it wouldn’t have screwed up her own mission and gotten her killed, she’d have run interference on his arms dealing so fast his head would spin. A few words to the right people questioning the quality of his goods, a dropped hint that he’d welched on deals before, and he’d be out of business in this part of the world.

  “Come with us,” the patrol leader ordered.

  “I need my bag,” she blurted. Everyone’s attention riveted on her. Drat. And she’d been doing such a good job of being invisible. “It’s got all my medical supplies in it,” she explained hastily.

  The leader gestured to one of his men, who ducked into the tent and emerged a moment later with her canvas satchel. The guy shoved it into her arms. Not going to carry the lady’s bag for her, was he? Mentally sniffing at his lack of manners, she took the precious bag of first-aid supplies.

  “What about the tent?” she asked.

  “Leave it. You won’t need it where we’re going.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. They were being treated like prisoners and that couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

  “Don’t cause trouble,” Drago muttered under his breath in English.

  She subsided, falling in meekly beside him as the group tromped down the hill toward the road and their Jeep. She’d bet the insurgents didn’t leave that behind.

  As they approached the road, a rustle in the trees was her only warning before deafening gunfire exploded around them.

  Drago’s response was lightning fast. He threw an arm around her shoulders and threw her to the ground, his big body crushing hers. Damp leaves and dirt mashed against her face as bright flashes lit the night around them and their captors returned fire.

  “Can you shoot a gun?” Drago asked urgently in her ear.

  “Yes.”

  He rolled off of her fast. “Stay low. This way.”

  She mimicked his belly-on-the-ground crawl over to a massive fallen log. He rolled to a sitting position in its shadow and she did the same. He pressed something cold and metal and heavy into her hand. A pistol.

  “Fourteen rounds,” he bit out.

  “Who am I supposed to shoot at?”

  “Anyone who moves.” He pointed with his own handgun over the log toward the road. “The guys who found us first are Army of Freedom. Whoever jumped them is government or bandits. Either way, the second group is the bad guys.”

  She frowned. The Colombian government wasn’t technically bad. At least not everyone within it. The army was genuinely trying to contain the drug trade and the violence, to weed out men like Valdiron Garza who’d used their government positions for self-aggrandizement and corruption. But reforms were expensive and slow. When a man’s children were starving, he wasn’t generally inclined to be patient…or give a damn for the legality of a rich cash crop.

  Drago popped up beside her, took a moment to sight a target and squeezed off two shots. As he ducked back down, he ordered, “Watch my back.”

  That she could do. She scanned the jungle above them for movement of any kind. It was hard to concentrate. She kept flinching as each new volley of gunfire erupted. But then she spotted a shadow creeping down toward them. Vividly aware of her limited ammunition, she took careful aim before firing. A cry in the trees indicated she’d hit her man. The weapon kicked hard in her hand, and she steadied it before taking a second shot at the target. The shadow toppled over.

  She picked up her scan of the woods for more targets. There. Off to the right. Just coming out of the trees. The guy had a rifle raised to his shoulder and it was aimed right at Drago’s back! She fired twice in quick succession and was gratified to see the man drop like a stone.

  The gunfire faded into silence as fast as it had broken out.

  Drago dropped back down beside her and ejected a clip from his pistol. He slammed in another one. “How are you doing for ammo?”

  “Ten shots left,” she replied tersely.

  He nodded. They waited together, but silence stretched out around them.

  “All clear,” someone shouted.

  She started to get up, but a hard hand on her arm yanked her back down. “Wait,” he mouthed.

  Sure enough, as the Army of Freedom men began to rise from their hiding places, another volley of gunfire broke out. Drago peeked up over the log and took a half-dozen more careful shots. She had to admit, the guy was cool under fire. He took his time and didn’t spray shots wildly into the night. And given the ease with which he handled that gun, she’d bet every shot was hitting its target.

  Blessedly, the hillside above them remained quiet and undisturbed.

  Finally, several minutes later, another all clear was called out. And this time Drago nodded to her. “Stay here. I’ll go confirm your kills.”

  She blinked, startled. Her kills? It dawned on her that she’d shot two men. Her hands started to shake, and then her knees. She’d shot two men. How on earth was she going to explain that and still maintain her cover as a nun? In her panic, had she just blown the whole rescue?

  She replayed the movements in the jungl
e above her in her mind’s eye. No, if she hadn’t shot those men, they’d have killed her and Drago. It had been a kill or be killed scenario. But still. She was supposed to be a nun. They didn’t kill people, did they? She was pretty sure the “Thou shalt not kill” clause was nonnegotiable.

  She swore under her breath.

  Drago slid back down the hill to her position. “Good shooting,” he commented. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  She couldn’t very well tell him that gang members in various New York neighborhoods had shown her how to handle a weapon and urged her to pack a piece for her own safety. The funny bit had been that they’d all been trying to protect her from each other. As long as she’d been the lady with the medical kit who’d treated all of them impartially and without questions, she’d been safe in the middle of the gang wars.

  She shrugged and took the hand he held down to her. Their palms met and memory of that steamy kiss in the tent slammed through her.

  Drago lifted her to her feet and didn’t release her hand. Instead, he tugged her nearer, murmuring under his breath, “A nun who kisses like she wants more and kills a man without hesitation? Who are you?”

  “Aah. There you are,” a male voice called out from behind them. “Nice shooting, Drago. Obviously you are familiar with your products, amigo.”

  Drago released her hand as the leader of the rebel patrol climbed toward them, and she stumbled back, abjectly relieved.

  “You have eyes in the back of your head?” the rebel leader asked. “You are very fast, indeed, to have shot those men in front of you and the ones behind you.”

  Elise’s eyes opened wide in dismay. No way would these guys believe a nun had killed a couple of men. Her cover was so blown.

  Drago shrugged modestly beside her. “I’ve been in this business a few years. You learn things here and there. Develop a sixth sense for the man behind you.”

  He was taking credit for her kills? Now, why would he do that? Was there more to this arms dealer than met the eye? Did he actually have a conscience? She glanced up at him in gratitude. He ignored her, his jaw hard.