by Diana Palmer
Gabby laughed nervously, desperate even for crumbs. Her green eyes glowed softly as she looked at Martina. "I'd give anything to be his future," she said quietly. "But he's already said he doesn't want ties or commitment. And I'm dreadfully old-fashioned. Everybody else sleeps around and thinks nothing of it, but I'm just not built for loose affairs."
Martina pursed her lips and then grinned. "Well, well. Poor Jacob."
"Anyway," Gabby said, sighing, "it's probably just a flash in the pan. I've worked for him over two years and he's never looked twice at me until this came up." She glanced at Martina and smiled. "I'm just so glad that you came out of it all right. We were all worried about you, not just J.D."
"Roberto and I must go home today," Martina said. "But you will come and visit us one day. I believe that, even if you don't." Impulsively, she hugged Gabby. "Take care of Jacob for me. He doesn't know that he
needs taking care of, so we mustn't let on. But he's so alone, Gabby."
Gabby felt as if she were choking. "Yes," she said. "I know." And it hurt to think just how alone he was, and how much it affected her.
Later, as she wandered around the house restlessly, she met First Shirt coming down the hall, and he stopped to talk to her. "Why the long face, little lady?' he asked with an affectionate smile.
"Work is going to seem like peeling onions from now on," she lied, smiling impishly at him.
He laughed heartily. "Now you know why the guys and I don't retire. Hell, I'd rather die on my feet than deteriorate behind a desk." He shrugged. "But it seems to suit Archer."
Her eyes fell. "Yes, I suppose so."
"Hey."
She looked up, and he smiled at her.
"He doesn't like being helped out," he said knowingly. "I ought to know. He threw a punch at me one time when I spotted a guy with a grenade and got to him first. He doesn't like making mistakes. He'll get over what happened out there."
"Will he?" she asked, her eyes wide and sad. "He won't even talk to me."
"Reaction. You have to remember, Gabby, he's been out of action for a while. This sort of thing—" he waved his hand "—you don't forget, but sometimes it brings back bad memories. He got shot up pretty bad once."
"He told me," she said absently.
His eyes narrowed. "Now, that's interesting."
"Just to satisfy my curiosity," she added.
"I used to wonder if he was ever going to settle down," he said enigmatically. "But there was never a special woman."
"I suppose he liked leaving his doors open," she murmured, "in case he couldn't adjust to a desk job."
"Yes, that's what I thought," First Shirt said. His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. "None of us have ties. They're too much of a luxury in this kind of work." He searched her wide eyes. "I'm glad our paths crossed. Take care of Archer. He's gone too far to come back to us, but maybe he doesn't realize it yet."
"I wish you were right, First Shirt," she said with a
sad smile.
"My name—my given name—is Matthew."
She smiled. "Matthew."
"Keep in touch once in a while, will you?" he asked as he turned. "Archer's a damned bad correspondent."
"I'll do that," she promised, flattered.
Her eyes followed his lean figure down the hall. She was already thinking about Christmas. Socks, she decided. Lots of socks and gloves. She started back toward the bedroom.
It was deathly quiet after Martina and Roberto left, and one by one the men seemed to vanish. Later she learned that everybody except First Shirt had already left the country for other places, just as secretively as they'd come. She'd grown attached to them in that short space of time. Of course, the circumstances were unusual, to say the least.
Laremos was his charming self at the evening meal, but J.D. was still brooding and he wouldn't look at Gabby.
"When are we going back?" she asked J.D. finally, in desperation.
"Tonight." He bit the words off. "I'll double-check to make sure I've packed everything." She stood up. "Senor Laremos, thank you for your hospitality. Under different circumstances, it would have been lovely. I'm sorry we didn't get to see the Mayan ruins."
"So am I, Gabby," he said sincerely. "Perhaps you may return someday, and it will be my pleasure to show them to you." He made her a handsome bow and she smiled at him as she left the room.
Minutes later, J.D. joined her, presumably to get his own things packed. He had slept downstairs with the men the night before, but his case was still in the bedroom. Gabby had considered packing for him, but she was nervous about antagonizing him any more.
She looked up from her suitcase when he closed the door. His face was still hard as granite, and his eyes glanced off hers coldly. He didn't say a word as he began to fill the small bag on the chair across from the bed.
"Are you all right?' she asked finally, when the silence became uncomfortable.
"Yes, I'm all right," he said gruffly. "Are you?" She shrugged and smiled wanly. "It was the experience of a lifetime."
"Wasn't it, though?" he asked curtly. His eyes blazed as he studied her flushed face.
"Why are you so angry?" she asked.
He dropped his eyes to the bag and shoved his combat fatigues into it. "What makes you think I am?"
"You've barely spoken to me since we came back."
She moved around the bed to stand beside him, her emotions in turmoil, her mind confused. She looked at his big body and remembered with staggering clarity how it looked without clothing, how it felt to be held by those hard arms and kissed by that mouth.
"Jacob, what have I done?" she asked softly, and touched his arm.
His hard muscles tensed beneath her touch, and when he looked down at her she had to fight the urge to back away.
"What the hell did you think you were playing at out there?" he asked coldly. "Didn't you realize that the bullets weren't blanks, that we weren't acting out some scenario from a television show? You're a dull little secretary, not a professional soldier, and if the force of the recoil hadn't knocked you down, you'd have been killed, you stupid child!"
So that was it. Shirt had been right, his pride was hurt because Gabby had seen a threat and he hadn't. "J.D., if I hadn't shot him, he'd have killed you," she said, trying to reason with him.
He slammed the bag back down. "Am I supposed to thank you?"
Her temper was blazing now too. "Don't strain yourself," she told him icily. "And I am not a dull little secretary!"
"Don't kid yourself," he said, staring at her. "You aren't Calamity Jane and you're never likely to be. You'll get married to some desk jockey and have a dozen kids."
Her face paled and his eyes narrowed when he saw it. "What's wrong, honey?" he taunted. "Were you expecting a proposal from me?"
She turned away. "I expect nothing from you." "Liar." He caught her arm roughly and swung her around. Seconds later, she was flat on her back on the bed and he was looming over her, holding her down with hands that hurt.
"Jacob, you're bruising me!" she burst out, struggling. He threw a long, powerful leg across hers and spread-eagled her, his hands on her wrists. "Now fight," he said coldly, "and see how far you get."
She gave up finally and lay breathing heavily, glaring up at him. "What's this supposed to prove, that you're stronger than I am? Okay, I'm not arguing."
His dark eyes wandered slowly over her body, lingering on the curves outlined by her tight jeans and the expanse of bare skin where her sweatshirt had ridden up during the struggle. Her breath caught, because she wasn't wearing a bra, and the hem of the garment was just below the curve of her breasts.
"I wanted you yesterday morning," he said bluntly. "And if you hadn't been a virgin, I'd have taken you. But any woman would have done. You were just a body to me, so if you've been weaving me into your future, forget it." Her heart leapt in her chest. It was true, she had, but she couldn't let him see just how involved she was emotionally. Very obviously, that wasn't what he want
ed from her.
"I haven't asked you for any promises, have I?" she asked quietly, searching his dark eyes. "You're safe, Jacob. I'm not trying to tie you down."
His fingers contracted. "Let's make sure of that, shall we?" he asked in a menacing tone. "Let's make damned sure that you don't ever want to try."
Her lips parted to ask the question, but he moved suddenly. One hand imprisoned both of hers above her head. The other pulled up the sweatshirt, baring her taut breasts to his eyes.
"Now, Gabby, let me show you how a real mercenary treats women."
He did, and she couldn't fight, because he was so much stronger than she was. She lay still, feeling half-afraid of him as he treated her body like a piece of used merchandise. He shamed her, humiliated her, covering her with his own taut body, while his hands touched and gripped and his body moved suggestively, making a travesty of everything she felt for him.
"Do you like it?" he growled against her bruised mouth as his hands moved lower on her pinned body and contracted, grinding her hips against his. "Because this is how it would be if I took you. Quick and rough and purely for my own pleasure. And if you're remembering yesterday morning, don't," he added. "Because that was a flash in the pan. This is the reality. This, and this...!"
He hurt her, and the crush of his mouth was as suggestive as the motion of his hard body. She tried to struggle away from him, but that only made it worse. He forced her arms down into the mattress and his body overwhelmed hers in an intimacy that made her gasp.
He laughed coldly. "Are you shocked? You wanted it yesterday. Come on, honey. I won't let you get pregnant. How about it?" And he kissed her again, cruelly, oblivious to the tears of shame and humiliation running hotly down her cheeks as he whispered graphic, crude remarks before his mouth forced hers open and penetrated it.
When he finally tired of the game and rolled away, she couldn't even move. She lay there, bruised and emotionally devastated, her face pale, her eyes closed. Tears ran in a flood down her cheeks and her body shook with sobs.
"Damn you, J.D.," she wept, flushed with fury. "Damn you!"
"That's how I am with a woman," he said coldly, ignoring the trembling of her body, the terrible hurt in her eyes. "That's how it would have been yesterday if I'd had the time and I could have coaxed you into it. Your body arouses me and I want it. But anything would have done. I just needed to forget what was ahead, the same way I've forgotten it a hundred times before with a hundred other women." His voice was bitter and he turned away. "So set your sights on some other man, and don't weave romantic daydreams around me. I've just shown you the reality. Remember it."
She didn't move. She couldn't. She was trembling too much, and she felt sick and empty. Her eyes looked up into his, bright with furious anger. Something of her pain and shame must have shown in them, because he turned away and, grabbing up his suitcase, went to the door without another glance.
"Bring your bag and let's go," he said in a harsh tone. She watched him close the door and then she managed to get to her feet. His taunting voice would haunt her as long as she lived. She would resign, of course, but she didn't know how she was going to manage to look at him while she worked out a two-week notice. Maybe he'd let her go immediately. The only problem was that she didn't have another job to go to. Her rent
and car payments wouldn't wait while she went without work.
Minutes later, wearing a fresh green pullover blouse with a matching sweater and the same jeans, and with her hair carefully pulled back in a bun, she left the bedroom, her suitcase in hand. She was still pale, but makeup had camouflaged the rest of what J.D. had done to her.
He didn't even glance in her direction as she came back into the living room. Apparently, he'd shut her out of his mind already, and she wished she had the ability to do the same with him. The scars his brutality had left on her emotions would be a long time hearing. She'd loved him. How could he hurt her that way? How could he?
She tried to disguise her anguish and hoped that she succeeded. She said goodbye to Laremos and got into the station wagon with First Shirt while J.D. said his own farewells.
Shirt gave her a brief but thorough scrutiny and laid one lean, wiry hand over the steering wheel. "What did he do to you?" he asked.
She lifted a startled face. "Why.. .nothing."
"Don't lie," he said gently. "I've known him a long time. Are you okay?"
She shifted restlessly in the seat, refusing to let her eyes go past Shirt to J.D., who was standing apart with Laremos. "Yes, I'm okay," she said. "Of course, I'll be a lot better once I get out of his life."
"Whew." He whistled ruefully. 'That bad?"
"That bad." She gripped her purse tightly in her lap.
"Gabby," he said gently, with a tiny smile, "have you ever known a fighting fish to lie down when he hit the bait? Don't expect to draw him in without a little effort."
She glared at him. "I'd like to put a hook in him, but not to land him."
"Give it a little time," he said. "He's been alone most of his life. It's new to him, needing someone." "He doesn't need me," she said shortly. "I'm not convinced of that," he replied. He studied her affectionately. "I think he's met his match. You're apretty damned good shot for a lady who's never used an automatic weapon before. Laremos said you learned fast." She pursed her lips, studying her purse. "It wasn't a hard weapon to learn," she told him. "There were only three positions to remember with the change lever—top for safety, middle for bursts and bottom for single shots. And actually, I have shot a .22-caliber rifle before. Mama and I used to hunt rabbits. But it didn't have a kick like that AK-47."
He smiled as she rubbed her shoulder. "I don't imagine so. Is your mother still alive?"
She nodded, smiling back. "She lives in Lytle, Texas. There's a small ranch, and she has a few head of cattle. It's not nearly as big as the one she and Daddy had, but when he died, she decided to retire. Sort of." "And she hunts?" he asked. "Hunts, rides, ropes, and can outcuss most veteran cowboys," she told him. "She's quite a character."
"You're a character yourself," he said. "When J.D. told me he took you along on secret meetings, I began to realize that he had an unusual relationship with you. J.D. doesn't trust anybody except his sister and me."
That wasn't bragging, either, she realized. Just a statement of fact. "He doesn't trust Laremos." "Neither do I," he whispered, smiling.
She burst out laughing, but the amusement faded immediately as J.D. started toward the car, and she felt herself freezing up. But she needn't have worried. J.D. climbed into the back seat and slammed the door, waving to Laremos.
"Be back in a few hours, Boss," Shirt called to him. Laremos grinned and waved, and they were under way.
It was a long trip to the airport, not because of distance but because of the tension between Gabby and J.D. Despite First Shirt's efforts to keep things casual, Gabby drew into herself and didn't say a word all the way.
It was like that during the flight back as well. Gabby was relieved to find that their seats were not together. She was sandwiched between a businessman and a young girl. J.D.'s seat was farther back. Not one word had passed between them when they landed at O'Hare airport in the wee hours of the morning.
It took her a long time to find a place in the swollen ranks of departing passengers. She didn't look back to see where J.D. was either. Her only thought was to get back to her apartment. After that she'd face the thought of leaving J.D. forever, of finding another job and getting on with her life.
At last she reached the front of the terminal and stepped out into the breezy night air that carried the sound of distant car horns and city smells that had become so familiar. There was no cab in sight, but Gabby wasn't daunted. She'd just call one.
"Come on," J.D. said tersely, appearing just behind her. "I'll drive you."
She glared at him. "I'd rather be mugged."
"You might be, at this hour, alone," he said matter-of-factly. "What's the matter, afraid of me?" he taunted.
She was; he'd made her afraid. But she was too proud to let him see how much.
After a minute, she turned and followed him toward the parking lot. A little later, they were winding their way back into Chicago.
"Have you decided what you're going to do?" he asked. She knew instinctively what he meant. "Yes. I'm going to try to find a job in the computer field. I like working with them."
He glanced toward her. "I thought you enjoyed legal work. It's too bad, to let that paralegal training go to waste."
"I'm tired of legal work," she said noncommittally. What she meant was that she couldn't take the risk of running into J.D. accidentally after she'd quit. It would be too painful.
He shrugged and calmly lit a cigarette as he drove. "It's your life. You'd better call that agency Monday morning and have them send over some applicants. I'll let Dick do the interviewing this time," he added with a cold laugh.
Her fingers clenched on her purse. She stared out of the window at the river.
"No comment?" he prodded. "About what?" she asked indifferently. He sighed heavily and took another draw from the cigarette. One more turn and he pulled the car into a parking spot in front of her apartment building.
She got out and waited for him to get her carry-on bag. "Don't bother walking me up," she said.
He glared down at her. "I wasn't aware that I'd offered."
Her anger exploded. "I hate you," she said in a venomous whisper.
"Yes, I know you do," he said with a cold smile.
She whirled on her heel and started toward the door of the building.
"Gabby," he called curtly.
She stopped with her hand on the door, but didn't turn. "What?"
"You'll work a two-week notice. Every day of it. Or I'll make sure you don't work again. Clear?"
She'd been thinking about not showing up at all on Monday. But when she turned and saw his eyes, she realized, not for the first time, what a formidable adversary he made. She hated to give in, but the necessity of finding a new job made her do so gracefully.