“They’re well,” Matt assured him with a smile. “Do you know which exit door they’re using when the show’s over?”
“Oh.” Mohammed frowned and looked toward the large, two-story building. He pointed. “Yes, exit B. That is where Miss Maggie wanted all the women to go to dress for the show.”
“Great,” Matt murmured. “Will they be leaving after their act? Or do they stay for the whole show?”
“No,” Mohammed said, now wide-awake. “The doctor and her sister will be leaving as soon as they can change their clothing.”
“And you’ll take them over to their B-hut?”
“Yes, sir.”
Matt patted the doorframe. “Okay, thanks for the info. I’ll be helping them carry their costumes and gear back here to the van shortly.”
“Oh!” Mohammed sounded surprised. “I usually do that, sir.”
“I’ll do it this time, if it’s all right with you. You can stay with the van, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Matt nodded and walked casually around the front of the van, smiling to himself. He wasn’t black ops for nothing! None of the other guys would even think about meeting the women outside the building. But he had. And whether Dara McKinley knew or not, she was his.
CHAPTER 2
“Oh, Dara, I’m so thirsty!”
Dara hurried down the hall with the bulky fabric bag that held her professional belly-dancing costume. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to the B-hut in a minute,” she promised her younger sister. Glancing over her shoulder, she hoped no one would follow them.
“God, those guys were like bees to honey!” Callie said with a laugh.
Giving her a wry look, Dara said, “Gee, I wonder why?”
Callie grinned, tossing her glorious red hair over her shoulders. “Honestly, I felt as if we were sheep in a cage with the wolves circling around us. Didn’t you?”
“Well, we certainly woke everyone up.” Dara smiled. “We did good. But you were great out there! You brought the house down!” She fiercely loved her younger sister, who had become the star of their twosome tonight. But Dara didn’t mind. She felt no jealousy or competition with Callie.
With her red hair, flashing green eyes, killer body, and bubbly personality, Callie was always center stage. She was just one of those amazing beings everyone gravitated to, like a flower turns to warm sunlight. Dara considered Callie one of the most loving, giving people she’d ever known, and she was so proud to be her sister.
Callie had devoted her life to working at the Hope Charity orphanage. When she was only eighteen, she’d graduated high school and immediately gone to work for a nongovernmental organization, NGO. She’d never looked back.
“Well, you brought the house down, too,” Callie said archly, her wardrobe bag tucked over her arm.
“Slow dances don’t get the blood running like a fast dance will, though,” Dara said. “And trust me, you did bring the house down.”
Callie groaned. “I love men, but not a hundred of them crowding into the hall and constantly knocking on our dressing room door,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure glad that door had a lock on it.”
“They’ll all probably have wet dreams tonight,” Dara intoned drily.
“You’re such a badass, sis.” Callie grinned.
“Hey, a doctor calls it like it is.”
Callie chuckled, then turned serious. “Well, we were able to take their minds off this awful war for a while, so it was all worth it.”
Dara nodded. “I know just how homesick everyone is here. Hopefully, they have something else to think about tonight.”
“We’re homesick, too, but doing this has really lifted my spirits,” Callie said. “Are you tired? Do you want to go out and grab a bite to eat?”
“No, thanks, I’m beat.” Dara had had a long day at the Hope Charity, and she’d have another demanding day tomorrow. The good news was she didn’t have to arrive at the orphanage until ten a.m., giving her some extra time to sleep in. At the moment, though, Dara was still energized from the dance. She loved belly dancing, and the rest of the show was continuing in the crowded chow hall.
“I’ve got some bottled water back in my room,” Callie said. “I’m going to call it a night, too.”
Dara was about to reply when Callie opened the exit door. There standing before them, a few feet from the entrance, was a tall, lean soldier. Dara saw from the hall light that he was a black ops warrior. His face was deeply shadowed, his amber eyes slightly narrowed and focused on her. His beard, although trimmed, hid the lower part of his face.
Dara’s gaze went to the man’s mouth. For some reason, she always looked at a man’s mouth. This one was compelling and strangely beautiful. In fact, she couldn’t take her eyes off it and almost ran into Callie, who had stopped in her tracks.
“Oh!” Callie said, startled. She jerked to a halt. “Who are you?”
“I’m Sergeant Matt Culver. I asked Mohammed if it was all right if I came to help you out with your wardrobes.” He stepped aside, holding out his hand in her direction. “I’ll be happy to carry your gear to the van when you’re ready.”
Callie nodded. “That’s so nice! Thank you, Sergeant Culver.” She grinned, slipping her garment bag over his extended arm.
Meanwhile, Dara watched Matt Culver’s moves and felt her world tilt. It was the strangest feeling she’d ever had, and at twenty-seven, not much could rock her world anymore. Yet, for some reason, this sergeant did.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, and he was definitely zeroing in on her, despite his first low, husky words to her sister. The man’s eyes held a dangerous intensity, although right now he appeared at ease, his broad shoulders relaxed. Dara was good at sensing people’s energies, and the energy around Matt Culver was that of a consummate warrior. She looked for a patch on his upper left sleeve. Hmm, there was none. Black ops? Delta Force? U.S. Navy SEAL? She wasn’t very knowledgeable on the military, being a civilian. Callie knew much more about the services because she had worked six months a year for the last five years at the Hope Charity orphanage in Kabul.
Callie seemed fine with Matt Culver, but Dara was cautious. Callie liked to live dangerously sometimes, but Dara didn’t. Maybe she was overreacting to the shadow warrior, who now waited patiently for her to hand him her wardrobe.
Callie called, “See you at the van, Dara. It’s cold out here!” She hurried at a trot down the sidewalk and disappeared around the building.
“May I take your costume bag?” Matt asked, holding his hand out toward her.
“Oh!” Dara lifted it off her arm. Her hand grazed his, and she felt her heart momentarily race to underscore her body’s reaction to him. Perhaps it was his sensuality; it fairly simmered beneath his skin.
Matt’s smile seemed genuine as he eased the bag from her arm and the door closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dark. There were no lights on at night because it could draw Taliban mortar fire and make the place a target.
“Come on,” he urged, slipping his hand beneath her elbow. “I’ve got pretty good night vision. I’ll get you to the van.”
Dara felt his hand cup her arm and looked up at the sergeant, who was at least six feet tall, her head coming to his shoulder. She felt strongly that he was interested in her, and yet he remained polite and respectful.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice little more than a whisper.
He led her slowly down the darkened sidewalk parallel to the building.
“Did Mohammed really send you up to help us?”
He shook his head and met her eyes. “Actually, I volunteered. But he said it was okay if I made the run for him. I figured you’d want to slip out the back, since all the wolves were out in front.”
She bit back a smile. “I see.”
“Do you?” he teased.
She slowed and turned. She was so close to him. “Did you see us dance, Sergeant?”
“I did. My mother’s family comes from Turkey
and Greece. As a kid growing up, we spent summers with our Turkish aunts and uncles in Kuşadası, on the Aegean Sea.” He gave a crooked smile, holding her curious gaze. “We were more or less raised on it. It’s a sacred, beautiful dance in Turkey.”
Her heart sped up as his low voice, like thick, dark honey, worked its soothing magic, relaxing her and lowering her guard.
“You know about belly dancing, then.”
“I hope so,” he replied. “And I really enjoyed what you and your sister did when you danced in there. I know what it takes to become proficient at it, and you two were as good as any professionals I’ve seen in Turkey.”
She shook her head. “This is amazing,” she whispered, giving him a wicked look. “You’re part Turkish then, Sergeant?”
“Call me Matt, please. Yes, I’m fifty percent American, through my father’s side, and about thirty-five percent Turk and about fifteen percent Greek through my mother.”
“You seem,” she said, searching for the right word, “ … exotic. I know that’s not a word you’d normally use with a man, but maybe it’s the unique color of your hair and your eyes …”
He urged her into a walk, the wind cold. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never exotic. I think I like it coming from you.”
She was becoming intrigued by Matt. She liked his quiet demeanor, as if nothing ever rocked his world, as if he were in full control of his life. “How long have you been here at Bagram?”
He laughed sharply as they rounded the corner. The van was parked out at the curb. “Way too long, Dr. McKinley.”
“You can call me Dara.” That was really bold of her, wasn’t it? She wasn’t one to become familiar with strangers, but something told her to make an exception in this case.
“I’d like that,” he murmured, giving her a warm look. “I was hoping I could persuade you to let me buy you dinner after that amazing performance. You can choose the restaurant. You’ve got to be hungry after that workout.”
Dara walked down the slight incline to the van. Callie was already in the passenger seat, chatting with Mohammed. “I think I’d like that.” She halted and he slid open the side door, hanging the bag on an overhead hook. “But I can’t stay out too late. I have to be at another orphanage tomorrow morning at ten.”
“No problem,” Matt said, shutting the door.
Dara nodded, marveling at how easily she had accepted his invitation. She walked over to Callie’s side of the van and knocked on the window. Callie lowered it.
“Go ahead without me,” she told her sister.
Callie tilted her head, gave her a wicked look, and then gave the sergeant standing behind Dara a cool appraisal. “Okay. Have fun.” She burst into a brilliant smile.
Dara knew what her sister was thinking. Dara was always the reticent one. The introvert. The shy one. This Sergeant Culver had achieved the impossible. But damn it, it felt right. Dara gave Callie a silent, pleading look, and her sister nodded and grinned.
“Seriously,” Callie said, “enjoy yourself, Dara. It’s time you had a little fun. You’re all work and no play.”
Inwardly, Dara flinched over those words, but she nodded and smiled a little. “I’ll do my best, sis. See you later.”
Dara stepped away from the van. The sergeant so near to her, and instead of being uneasy, she felt protected. Turning, she looked up at him. “I love Italian food. Do you?”
“It’s as close as you can get to Greek and Turkish food out here,” he said, guiding her toward a Humvee parked farther down the street.
She lifted her hands. “I don’t normally do this.”
“What?” Matt inquired.
“Go out with a stranger.”
“But we share something in common.” He grinned. “Turkish belly dancing. So we aren’t strangers at all.”
“Who are you?” Dara asked, halting before they got to the Humvee. She searched his shadowed gold eyes.
Matt stood relaxed, an amused look in his gaze. “I’m with Delta Force, black ops. Does that bother you?”
She dragged in a deep breath and shook her head. “No, I thought you might be. You’re not wearing a patch to identify your company.”
He looked at the empty space on his upper left arm. “I knew you were observant,” he said, gesturing toward the vehicle.
“I’m a physician. I have to be.”
“What else would you like to know about me? I’m an open book … well, as much as a black ops guy can be.” He grinned.
It was as if he sensed her hesitation—after all, he was a total stranger. Dara had heard of women being raped on this base; she definitely wanted to avoid becoming another casualty. But Matt Culver didn’t scare her. Instead, he drew her closer, despite her natural reserve.
“Are you married?” She considered this a fair question, given the dinner invitation.
Matt’s perfect mouth drew upward, softening the hardness in his face. “No. I’m single. And I’m not presently in any relationship.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“How about you?”
Well, turnabout was fair play, right? Dara laughed a little. “The same goes for me.”
“And I’m not divorced, either. I have no children, at least not yet. But I’d like some, someday,” he added.
She warmed to his admission. “Same here.”
“Anything else you might like to know so you can relax a bit?”
He was teasing her now, but not meanly. Dara didn’t take this man to be stupid in any way. And it was as if he were reading her mind about her worries. “Well, you couldn’t be in Delta Force and have a prison record,” she retorted smartly.
Chuckling, Matt nodded. “That’s right. I was a wild kid growing up, did a lot of crazy things, drove my aunts, uncles, and parents to distraction sometimes, but no, I’ve never been in trouble with the law. How about you?”
Dara liked his calm, unhurried approach. He was patiently gathering information and fully enjoying himself.
“I’m clean as a whistle. I grew up on the Eagle Feather Ranch outside of Butte, Montana, which my grandparents own. Maybe because Callie and I had the run of ten thousand acres of grasslands and mountains, we did all our crazy stuff out there.”
His straight brows rose. “So you’re a ranching kid. And look at you now. All grown up and a pediatrician, relieving suffering for mothers and their kids. You’re a fascinating woman, Dara. Now, are you ready to enjoy that Italian meal?”
She certainly was! Matt was right; all that dancing had generated a ferocious appetite. Italian food couldn’t have sounded better. As Matt settled his large hand lightly against her back, she instinctively moved closer to him. What’s going on here? she wondered. Why do I want to be close to a man I barely know?
All right, she had to admit that Matt was the first man in months who made her remember how long it had been since she’d had sex. And it wasn’t anything overt that he’d done or said. Indeed, there was no sense of pressure, no innuendo, no lust-filled looks or crude remarks.
And yet, Dara was very much aware that he wanted her. She felt his sexual hunger and knew that it matched her own. And so far, there was absolutely nothing to dislike about Matt Culver. Nothing.
*
“Tell me,” Matt urged as they ate their lasagna, “how did belly dancing get into your blood?”
Dara sat at his elbow, a glass of red wine in front of her. The Italian restaurant was full, but she’d noticed that the owner recognized Matt when they entered and found them a nice booth at the rear of the place, more private than the rest of the busy establishment.
She thought for a minute, then admitted, “You know, I’ve always loved to dance. My mother, who’s a registered nurse, urged me to take classes when I was growing up in Montana.”
“How old were you?”
“I was twelve.”
“And your sister, Callie?”
Dara smiled between bites. “She’s two years younger than me, and we learned to dance toget
her. We’re close, and we hung around with one another a lot growing up. Do you have a little sister?”
“No, but I have a fraternal twin, Alexa.”
“Oh, interesting! Well, little sisters like to tag along with big sisters. You know how that goes?”
Matt sipped his wine. “I know only too well. Alexa followed me around saying, ‘Anything you can do, I can do better,’” he chuckled. He liked the fact that Dara had put her hair into a loose knot on top of her head. Beneath the lamps, it gleamed gold, wheat, and caramel. He suppressed the urge to slide his fingers through that thick mass.
Dara was wearing a pair of black wool slacks, simple black leather flats, and a dark blue sweater that matched the color of her eyes. It reminded Matt of the color of deep ocean water—marine blue. There was an impish quality in her eyes, and she laughed often.
But she was also easily touched, and was clearly family-oriented, something they shared. Not everyone in the world was, he’d discovered during his dating life. Matt was more than aware of the looks aimed at Dara when they’d entered the restaurant. And why wouldn’t people look at her? Dara was tall, lithe, and stunning. She wasn’t “model beautiful,” but she had a striking look that attracted men to her.
She also had a quiet center that appealed to him. Dara was clearly a deep thinker, and what she didn’t say was as important as what she did say. Maybe, because she was a doctor, she’d learned that listening could be more important than talking.
“My sister and I share a lot more than I’d first thought,” Dara admitted wryly, taking her garlic bread and sopping up the last of the rich pasta sauce.
“You both must have liked belly dancing.”
“We did. It became our girly thing to do. On a ranch, you’re always in jeans, cowboy boots, a hat and shirt.” She sniffed. “Not very girly. I love to paint my toenails since I can’t paint my fingernails because of my job.”
“Really? Why not?” he asked.
“It was found with nurses who had long fingernails and worked the obstetrics floor that bacteria got beneath the nails and, in some cases, killed the newborns.” She lifted her thin, slender hand, the nails blunt cut. “I would never put a newborn or any child in jeopardy like that. So, I content myself with polishing my toenails outrageous colors no one will ever see.”
Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3) Page 3