by Cindy Dees
“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling back a little.
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
“A quintessentially female answer if I ever heard one.” He chuckled.
“It just dawned on me that I’m alive and my parents are dead, and all I can do is go on living. The one thing they’d never forgive me for would be stopping my life and dwelling forever on nothing but their murders.”
“Am I supposed to have the slightest idea what you’re talking about?”
She reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. “No. But thank you. I think I just figured out something important.”
“All that from a kiss? Wait till you see the epiphany you get from making love with me.”
She smiled, but maybe there was a kernel of truth in his words. Maybe she’d denied herself for too long. Shied away from truly living while she hid behind her grief and anger. And maybe that was why she threw her arms around his neck and, to his clear surprise, kissed him back.
This might be a guaranteed one-night stand, but that was a whole lot better than nothing at all. A sudden, driving need to connect to another human being, the tingle from head to foot with life, to feel something—anything—other than rage or guilt or grief overwhelmed her.
How did that saying go? Carpe diem? Seize the day. Truer words had never been spoken.
“Did you say something?” he muttered.
“I said carpe diem,” she admitted in chagrin.
“No Latin, please.” He chuckled. “You already caused me enough headaches when I thought I was in lust with a nun and going straight to hell for it.”
Laughter bubbled up in her chest. “You have no idea how mad I was at Father Ambrose after I met you for sticking me in these hideous clothes and putting a wimple on my head.”
“It really is an awful dress.” His fingers drifted to the row of buttons down the front and commenced wiggling them free.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Consider it a tribute to your beauty that I still thought you were hot in spite of it.”
“Yeah, let’s go with that.” She laughed as he pushed the fabric off her shoulder and commenced sampling the valley just above her collarbone. But then the heat of his mouth closed on her breast through the skimpy lace of her not-at-all-nunlike bra and no more speech was possible for her.
She gasped and arched into him, and he absorbed her weight against him. She wrapped her arms around his head, drawing him even closer to her, dropping kisses on top of his head until he tilted his head back and captured her mouth with his.
Desire zinged through her body and she reveled in the sensation. She was alive. Really, truly alive!
Her clothes fell away like magic beneath his nimble fingers, and before long she straddled his hips completely naked against his fully clothed form. The rasp of his shirt was delicious and his hands were like hot branding irons, marking every inch of her flesh his.
“Better,” he murmured against the cleft between her breasts.
“I’m feeling a little underdressed here,” she announced breathlessly.
“I’d say you’ve got it just about right. I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to get you out of those evil clothes. I’ve fantasized about it every night since I met you.”
She smiled against his mouth. “Who knew the big, bad arms dealer was such a fashionista?”
He laughed and drew her closer, kissing her laughter into panting need. He was as thorough and leisurely a kisser as she’d expected, but frantic desire was singing through her veins, driving her mad. She didn’t want leisurely right now.
Another night, she’d have reveled in the way his arms surrounded her in safety and how his body was solid and strong against hers. In another place, she’d love for a man like him to be her bulwark against the world forever. But tonight she didn’t want safety. She wanted danger and lust and mind-blowing pleasure. All she had to do was reach out and take what he was offering. Her entire being sighed in relief as she gave up the last ghost of a fight against herself.
She pushed him down to the mattress and he fell backward, laughing. “Impatient, are you?”
“You have no idea. I’ve been waiting for this—for you—forever.”
“I’m right here.”
She pushed aside the thought that he didn’t say he planned to stay with her. She was not going to wallow in wishes and regrets. She was going to enjoy this man, this moment, to the fullest. “I want it all, Drago. Promise me you won’t hold anything back tonight.”
His gaze met hers, abruptly serious, the intensity in it galvanizing. “Be careful what you wish for, little girl. You just might get it.”
She stared back at him, matching every bit of his intensity. “Regardless of the wisdom of it, I know what I want.”
“So be it.” He twisted so she lay half beneath him, his body warm and protective over hers. She nearly sobbed in relief to feel the hard length of his arousal against her thigh.
She tugged at his shirt, and he lifted away enough for her to tug the cotton over his head and fling it aside. Acres of smooth skin and sculpted muscle unfolded before her. “Mmm. Yummy. Bring some of that on over here so I can have a taste.”
And taste him she did. They took turns exploring each other’s bodies with mouths and hands as she peeled off his trousers and briefs and finally laid him as bare as her. She wasn’t exactly sure when she made the decision that this was what she wanted. But now that it was made, she was absolutely certain she didn’t want to turn back. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the regrets.
True to his word, Drago held nothing back, showed her no mercy, gave her nowhere to hide. It all became a tangle of sheets and pillows and hot flesh and heavy breathing. Before long she lost track of where she ended and he began. He seemed to take pleasure in making her cry out with need and pushed her harder and harder until she thrashed mindlessly beneath him, surging against him again and again.
Everything beyond the two of them ceased to exist. It was just him and her and the pleasure rumbling like a rocket engine on a launchpad between them, rattling harder and harder as the power built, waiting to explode. Steam heat rolled forth. Sparks and geysers of flame shot between them, and the bed shook as their climax lifted off between them. It gathered speed and power as it roared into space, dragging them along with it, so brilliant she had to squint against its glory.
And when the void would have claimed her, Drago was there, his face filling her field of view, his gaze boring into her, stripping her bare even as his smile filled her with joy. Completion. Rightness.
She fell back to the damp sheets gasping. The two of them were meant to be. No matter if he dealt in death for a living. No matter if his work was ridiculously dangerous. No matter that loving him could only lead to loss and grief. It was a done deal.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He smiled disarmingly. “I’m the guy you just took to the moon.”
He’d evaded her yet again. Even now. Even in this most intimate of moments, he’d dodged the truth. The sad part was she loved him anyway, wanted him anyway. She shouldn’t forgive him for it, but God help her, she did.
Chapter 11
Ted’s arm was asleep, but Elise was lying on it, and he wouldn’t disturb her right now for anything in the world. Who’d have guessed all that fire was hiding beneath her demure exterior? She wasn’t a kitten. She was a wildcat. He caught himself smiling up at the ceiling in the dark and started. Since when did a roll in the sack make him this giddy with joy?
Since he’d met Elise, apparently. And that was a problem. He was supposed to be quelling a dangerous terrorist plot and not skipping through the daisies with some do-gooder, fake nun. But as sure as she was lying beside him, he was on the verge of breaking out in tra-la-las and kumbayas.
He had to get his head back in the game. He had to make contact with the real leader of the Army of Freedom. Figure out if he was being played. If they’d penetrated his disguise. If they actually planned to attack a bunch o
f civilian airliners on American soil. And if it came down to it, he might have to mark this Eduardo Lentano guy and his key cadre for execution.
Although, the idea left a bad taste in his mouth. Images of Mia and Emanuel’s too-serious eyes flashed through his head. How many more orphans would he create if he wiped out Lentano and his men?
Irritated, he asked himself fiercely how many American orphans would be created if he let these guys blow up a bunch of airplanes. Violence left behind innocent victims either way. The only question was whether they were your victims or the other guy’s. Personally, he opted for the other guy’s. Especially if the other guy picked the fight in the first place. Although, he supposed that point could be debated, too.
Since when did he question his work like this? He’d wrestled through these moral questions years ago and never looked back. Somebody had to do his job. Better that a moral guy like him who wouldn’t get lost in it should do the job than some schmuck who’d go psycho eventually. But the argument rang hollow with him, tonight.
For the first time, the violent nature of his work left a sour taste in his mouth. Seeing himself through Elise’s eyes wasn’t a pleasant thing. He wanted her to see a hero when she looked at him. He didn’t want to be the cold-blooded killer she accused him of being.
Maybe his loss of detachment was a warning sign he’d be wise to heed. Being able to remove himself emotionally from the situation at hand was vital to his work. Men like him learned to cut off all their feelings—fear, anger, guilt—and to focus purely on doing the mission. It was one of the great secrets to success of special operators.
But then along came a spitfire in a wimple with sparkling eyes and sweet curves and a smile that made him feel a mile tall. What had she done to him? Whatever the hell it was, he had to undo it, and fast. He reached for his usual chilly calm…and got nothing. Zilch. As he looked inside himself, all he saw was a raging need to roll over and make love to Elise again.
Talk about screwed. Man, this was it. Every fiber of his being shouted for him to collect the kids and Grandma and Elise and get the heck out of this country. But that was the one thing he couldn’t do. Not yet. First, he had a mission to complete. And then…
…and then he’d be back to collect his little brood. A brood he’d come to care for more deeply than he could ever have imagined.
With that in mind, he carefully slipped out from under Elise and dressed silently. He eased the door open and slipped out into the hall. He was done waiting for the Army of Freedom to come to him. It was time to take the mission directly to the enemy.
Elise opened her eyes as Drago slipped out of the room. Where was he going? Back to his room? Or someplace else? Someplace where she wouldn’t find him? Was he ditching her as she’d feared he would?
She’d thought their lovemaking had been pretty incredible, the connection between them powerful and real. But had it been nothing special to him, after all? Or did she have it all wrong? Was he heading out to find the rebels by himself? It would be his style. Protect the women and children by being the big, macho man all by himself.
She slipped out from under the covers and pulled on her hated nun’s garb. It felt even weirder than usual to don it after what she’d spent most of the night doing. What a fraud she was. She’d spent so much of the past few years hiding that she’d forgotten how to be herself. But thanks to Drago, it had all come back to her—the joy, the terror, the vulnerability, the passion of it all. Being alive again was a wonderful thing.
And with that in mind, she wasn’t about to let him charge out into the jungle and get himself killed, thank you very much.
She hurried down the hall frantically trying to figure out how she was going to follow Drago if he left the hotel in the Jeep. Maybe she could convince the hotel clerk to let her borrow his vehicle. But that would take time. She put on an extra burst of speed and reached the lobby just as Drago was leaving, his tall silhouette unmistakable.
She ran to the front doors and was abjectly relieved to see him closing the back door of the Jeep. Apparently, he’d just been getting something out of the back of it. He moved past the parking lot and headed out on foot into the town, striding confidently down the street as though he knew where he was going. How was that? Memory of him making that phone call to get directions to Mercado flashed into her mind.
He’d lied to her. He wasn’t entirely without backup out here. Someone was helping him. She turned onto the side street he’d disappeared down a minute ago and lengthened her stride to keep pace with him far ahead. What else had he lied to her about?
Or maybe the real question was, what hadn’t he lied to her about? Was Drago Cantori even his name? Was he from France? Did he really love her?
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Had everything about their lovemaking been a lie, too? He hadn’t talked a lot, but she’d thought he’d been making silent promises to her with his body and soul. Maybe he hadn’t promised her till death do they part, but he’d seemed to imply that he wanted a lot more of her and was prepared to pursue a relationship of some kind with her. Or had that been merely wishful thinking on her part?
She was so nailing him down and having a serious talk with him when she caught up with him. One thing she knew for sure. If the two of them were going to have a real relationship, he’d have to come clean and be honest with her.
But as soon as the wave of indignation at him passed, desperate longing for him under any circumstances—honesty or no—came roaring back to the fore. Sheesh. She was a mess! She knew better than to stand for a man who wouldn’t be square with her. But memory of their lovemaking rolled over her, making her knees weak and her gaze limpid as she peered ahead in the dark at his fast-moving form.
Aah, temptation, thy name is Drago.
He stopped abruptly ahead of her, forcing her to duck into a doorway in case he happened to glance back over his shoulder. After a moment, she peeked around the corner. He was doing the same, plastered against a wall ahead and looking carefully at something down a side street.
He must have found the Devil’s Den Hotel. Fear for him exploded in her gut along with a driving need to protect her man. As he slipped around the corner and disappeared from sight, she sprinted forward and took his place against the wall. Mimicking his actions, she peeked around the corner.
The street was quiet and unnaturally dark. All the streetlights were out, or more likely intentionally out of commission. She was just in time to see the front door of a three-story building close. She couldn’t see a sign from here, but she’d bet her life savings that was the Devil’s Den.
Now what was she supposed to do? Drago had an excuse to just barge in. He could sell them some machine guns or something. But she couldn’t exactly charge in and offer to cook for everyone or hear confessions. Maybe she could sneak in the back door and hear something. Although, if it really was the Army of Freedom headquarters, all the entrances were likely guarded. She didn’t see anyone out in this street, though. She peeked again, taking her time to search for lookouts. If they were there, they were very well hidden.
Instead of following Drago, she retraced her steps to the next side street and circled around the block to approach the hotel from the other side. She didn’t see anyone from this angle, either. Cautiously, she slipped into the alley beside the hotel. She looked for surveillance cameras or bums apparently asleep that the gangs in New York used around their hangouts. Nothing. Surely the Army of Freedom wasn’t so confident it didn’t bother with such things. The Colombian Army was no slouch when it came to equipment and training.
She touched the white-edged black cloth over her hair self-consciously. Just how much protection would it provide her when push came to shove? If nothing else, Grandma knew Father Ambrose’s name, and the priest’s phone number was in the woman’s cell phone now. If Elise died out of sheer stupidity tonight, Grandma could call the padre and get help pulling the children out of harm’s way.
For sure, following Drago was stupid with a ca
pital S. But she could no more turn away from him than she could the children. Where she loved, she protected. It was just the way she was wired. Although, how she was going to help him in any way, she hadn’t the slightest idea.
A door came into sight on her right. A peek in through the dirty window revealed a commercial kitchen. She tried the knob. Locked. Of course. Too bad one of her regular patients was an accomplished lock picker and had shown her a trick or two. A credit card really did work if the lock was simple and a person had a little patience and luck. She left it in God’s hands. If she managed to open the door, clearly she was meant to go inside.
It took a few minutes, but the door cracked open under her hands. Okay, God. Here goes nothing.
There was nothing like a bold approach to disarm the enemy. Of course, it was also the fastest way to take a spray of bullets in the chest if it failed. Ted walked right into the middle of the dim lobby and announced to no one in particular, “My name is Drago Cantori, and I’m here to see Eduardo Lentano.”
And then he waited. He imagined several sleepy men somewhere in the hotel were scrambling hard, trying to figure out what to do about him. When no one came out to meet him, he moved over to an armchair and sat down, sprawling comfortably as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
It took nearly ten minutes, but finally, a grim-looking fellow who could use a shave stepped out from behind the front counter.
“Mr. Cantori. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I’m here to finish my deal with the Army of Freedom. I’m tired of playing along with your little games. Let’s either cut to the chase and close this thing, or I walk.” He shrugged to indicate that he didn’t care particularly which happened.
“People don’t just walk out of this place, Mr. Cantori.”