by Vanessa Kier
She’d eventually figure it out, but hopefully not until it was too late.
After several minutes passed without any sounds from inside the bathing room, he knocked on the door. “Kirra? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
No answer.
Seth knocked and called out again. When Kirra still didn’t answer, he said, “I’m coming in to check on you, all right?” He pushed the door open.
Kirra was slumped against the wall, sound asleep. “Ah, sweetheart.” The plastic cup, with a bit of water still inside, lay on its side next to the bucket. From the water trail down the right side of her naked body, she’d managed to dump part of the cup over her head before her body shut down.
He knelt in front of her and sucked in a shocked breath. This was the first time he’d seen the extent of her injuries. Even in the flickering lantern light he spotted the numerous cuts, scrapes, and bruises across her skin. A long, horizontal bruise across her stomach would have been caused by the window digging into her when the bus hit the pickup truck.
God. She was lucky to be alive. The bus could easily have crushed the truck, which from Kirra’s account had been small and rickety.
His hand formed a fist while he struggled against panic he had no right to feel.
Once he was calm again, he placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. Under other circumstances he would have picked her up and carried her to bed, but since she was already a bit wet, and since dirt and river sediment stuck to her skin, he thought she might be more comfortable if he cleaned her up first.
But he would not touch Kirra like that without her permission.
It took him a couple of tries to rouse her. When her lids finally lifted, she blinked sleepily at him. “Seth? What’s wrong?” she slurred.
“Shh. Nothing’s wrong. You fell asleep.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want me to finish washing you or put you to bed?”
“Wanna be clean,” she mumbled. Her eyes closed and she would have slipped off the stool if Seth hadn’t caught her and propped her against the wall again. The feel of her bare skin under his fingers sent a jolt of arousal through him.
Great. His body knew they’d survived a brush with death and was all about reaffirming life in the most primal manner.
But this was Kirra. She deserved so much more than just a quick fuck because they were both glad to be alive. She deserved clean, soft sheets. Romantic music.
And a man who wasn’t about to die.
Yet even that thought didn’t have the usual cooling effect on his body.
“Forget it,” he muttered. He was strong. He could wash Kirra in a totally impersonal manner. Besides, they were both too tired to do anything but sleep.
Right. He’d just keep telling that to himself until his frigging dick settled down.
“So make it fast.” There was no point washing her, then contaminating her with his own dirt, so he stood up and peeled off his filthy top. He unwrapped the scarf from his leg and shucked off his pants, but left on his boxer briefs. The wound on his thigh was ugly, but as he’d told Kirra, it wasn’t deep. Still, it had started to throb on the walk here and he would be glad once he could lie down and take his weight off of it.
Testing the water in the bucket for temperature, he scowled. The water was lukewarm. While the air temp was comfortable, Kirra deserved hot, relaxing water.
Another reason he needed to get her to safety.
“Here goes.” He scooped up a cup of water, tilted her face down, and poured the water over her head. She stirred.
“Shh. Keep your eyes and mouth closed so the water doesn’t get in.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
This would go so much easier if she just fell back asleep, but of course that didn’t happen. Instead, Kirra shifted on the stool as the water ran down her head to her body. She made low, sleepy sounds of approval deep in her throat that only ratcheted up his arousal.
In desperation, he poured a cup of water onto his wound. Hissing at the sting, he focused on the pain while he returned to his task.
Once Kirra’s hair was completely wet, he took the travel bottle of shampoo she’d set beside her and gently worked it into her hair.
“Mmm,” she murmured as his fingers massaged her scalp. “Feels good.”
Hell yeah, it did. He broke out in a sweat as he fought the temptation to move his hands down to her shoulders and then her breasts. Holding tightly to his precarious control, he massaged her scalp while she made more of those deliciously sexy sounds of approval.
He quickly rinsed her hair, then worked some conditioner into it.
Then, oh God, it was time to wash her body. Thankfully, Kirra had set out a clean bandanna along with the soap. He lathered up the bandanna, then slid the thin cloth over her face, careful of the cuts and bruises.
Kirra gasped at the sting of the soap against her wounds.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll be done soon.”
He finished with her face and moved on to her neck and shoulders. Then, coward that he was, he moved around to her back. He pushed her hair out of the way and quickly washed the long, sexy expanse of her back.
Her backpack straps had left grooves on her skin. He gently massaged the spots until the lines disappeared.
Once the dirt washed off, he noticed the network of scars on her back. Jesus Christ, he’d heard her talk about the attack and seen the scars on her arms, but seeing more proof of how badly she’d been hurt sent him to his feet and across the room in rage.
He slammed the side of his fist into the wall, then pressed his palms against the wall and bowed his head as he shook under an onslaught of murderous fury. Nothing short of death was good enough for the men who’d done this to Kirra.
“S-Seth?”
He turned his head and saw her body shaking with cold. “Damn. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” After taking several deep breaths, he returned and hurriedly rinsed the remaining soap off her back, then began washing her front. Spotting yet more scars, he clenched his hands on the cloth until his knuckles turned white.
Don’t let her see you this angry. You’ll scare her.
It took more self-control than he thought he had to shove his rage out of the way and focus on washing her breasts and belly. Slowly, the urge for vengeance was replaced with a need to bring her pleasure to replace her memories of pain.
Forget it. This isn’t the time or the place.
Right. Despite desperately wanting to lower his head and put his mouth on her most delicate flesh, he began washing her legs, instead.
In order to wash the back of her legs, he lifted her slightly off the stool. The feel of her head resting trustingly against his bare chest caused something to tighten in the vicinity of his heart. It was dangerous, but tonight he didn’t care. Tonight he was going to hold onto every precious minute with Kirra.
So he held her against him as he slicked the bandanna over her buttocks and down the backs of her thighs. Then he shifted her back onto the stool while he washed her lower legs and feet.
Damn. Even her slender, elegant toes were sexy. Yet the sight of the chipped, hot pink nail polish made his heart ache. As if the imperfection was his fault for not protecting her better.
After washing her feet and toes, he bent down and placed a kiss on each toe in testament to the fact that she appeared so soft and girly on the outside but had the endurance and soul of a survivor. Then he pulled her to a standing position so he could pour water over her hair. As he rinsed the conditioner away, the runoff water rinsed most of the soap off the rest of her body. He dumped more water over those places that still had soap.
Kirra had been silent for so long, he’d assumed that she’d fallen back asleep. But as he reached to put the cup down and grab the towel, her fingers closed over his wrist.
“Kirra? Don’t you want to dry off? You’ll be warmer.”
She blinked at him and shook her head. Her eyes slowly cleared. “Not yet. Let me wash you.”
Have Kirra’s hands all over hi
s skin? Hell yeah. But if she touched him, there was no way this wasn’t going to turn sexual. And he didn’t want to spill into his damn boxers. The only place he wanted to come was balls-deep inside of her.
He kissed her forehead. “That’s a very generous offer, sweetheart, but you didn’t even have the energy to bathe yourself. I’ll wash up after I’ve carried you to bed.”
“N’uh-uh.” She dug her nails into his wrist. “Both of us clean. One bed. Hold me.” The hint of tears in her voice completely undid him. She’d held up so bravely over the past few days that he didn’t have the heart to deny her.
The cool bandanna slapped against his back. Shit. Kirra had picked it up while he’d been concentrating on talking his dick into submission. She rubbed the cloth in weak circles over his dry back.
“All right.” But he wasn’t going to let her expend any more energy on his behalf. “How about you sit on the stool and watch me bathe?” Having her eyes on him would only be marginally less arousing than her hands.
She glanced up and he saw a faint prick of heat in her eyes. “Like a strip show.”
“Uh…sure.”
She nodded and released his wrist. “Okay.”
He grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her before she sat back down. Making sure that the stool was close enough that she could lean against the wall, he grabbed the second bucket of water. He’d bathed thousands of times out of buckets or even just using the water from his canteen, but having Kirra’s eyes on him changed the act from utilitarian to highly sexual. The cool slide of the water against his overheated skin was as sensual as if Kirra were running her mouth along the same path. An image helped by the fact that he was using her sweetly scented shampoo and body wash. The slight texture to the bandanna stood in for the roughness of her tongue as he ran it over his skin. His nipples tightened as he moved the cloth across his chest, and by the time he poured the last cup of water over his head, his cock was so hard it hurt.
He’d expected Kirra to fall asleep part way through, but instead she watched with rapt eyes. Color stained her cheeks and she took rapid, shallow breaths. He knew that if he took the towel away, he’d see that her nipples were even tighter than before. It would be so easy to—
He cleared his throat. No. He couldn’t make love to her and then go off to die. He couldn’t hurt her like that. So he’d just have to keep his damn thoughts in neutral territory.
“All done,” he said.
“Here.” Kirra stripped off the towel and held it toward him.
“Jesus, Kirra.” His gaze was stuck on those perfect breasts with their raspberry nipples just begging for his mouth.
Seemingly unaware of the effect her nakedness was having on him, she shook the towel at him.
“Fine.” He snatched the towel and ran it roughly over his hair and body, inhaling deeply the scent of aroused woman that Kirra had left on it. Then he thrust it back at her. “Go ahead. Cover back up. I don’t want you getting cold.”
Cold. Right. If she was feeling even a hundredth of the heat he was, she had to be burning up. But to his relief, she tucked the towel around her torso. Then her eyes went to his crotch. “No sleeping with wet underwear,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry, I’ll change before I get into bed.” He had a spare pair in his pack.
“Naked’s okay,” she said.
He choked. Sure it was.
Not.
Naked would have him inside her before morning. His control wasn’t that good.
“Let’s…ah…get you to bed, okay?” He glanced over at the pile of discarded clothing. Ideally, he’d wash their clothes now and hope that they dried by morning, but he didn’t think Kirra would stay awake that long. Plus, the idea of going outside to fill a couple more buckets of water seemed like too much effort.
Yeah, he’d do laundry later.
Kirra nodded, but when she tried to stand up, her legs wobbled.
He caught her up in his arms, acutely aware that she was naked underneath her towel. Calling himself all kinds of fool, he snagged the lantern, then carried her quickly to the bedroom where she’d set her backpack. The occupants must have expected to come back at some point, because Seth had found a bag with linens inside a battered wooden armoire. He’d already put sheets on the bed, so he simply set the lantern on the bedside table, then lowered Kirra down.
Only, Kirra didn’t let go of his hand. “Stay. Don’t want to sleep alone. Hold me.”
A fissure open inside his chest. He cleared his throat. “Kirra, I’ve got to change boxers.”
She pouted. “Not letting go. You’ll run off and leave me alone. Then the nightmares will come.”
His stomach turned at the thought of her waking from a nightmare alone, with no one to soothe her. “I promise I won’t leave you. I’ll talk to you the whole time.”
“Okay.” She let go of his hand with such reluctance that it broke his heart.
He hurried over to his pack, describing to her the layout of the bungalow so he wouldn’t break his promise to keep talking. It took him just a moment to change into dry boxers, but when he returned to the bed, Kirra had already fallen fast asleep.
His poor, tired angel. He brushed a lock of hair off her face. Then, taking advantage of her lack of awareness, he slipped out of the room and did a quick perimeter check. He didn’t see how anyone could have followed them here, but he couldn’t take anything for granted. He set up a few low-tech alarms using items he scrounged from a box of kitchen implements. Unfortunately, he didn’t find anything he could use to rig a temporary battery to charge his satellite phone. He’d have to wait until morning and hook up the solar charger.
Knowing that he’d done all he could to keep Kirra safe, he returned to the bedroom, placed the revolver on the end table, and propped the AK-47 against the mattress. Then he crawled into bed.
Tomorrow they’d head out. Find a road. Steal some transport. With any luck, by tomorrow night they’d reach the UAR and safety.
Then they’d say good-bye, and a part of Seth’s heart would walk away with Kirra.
So? The assassin is going to take care of all your pain.
This time, instead of bringing him comfort, the thought brought panic. He didn’t want to leave Kirra. But what choice did he have? His defenseless niece needed him to stay true to his mission. No matter how much it broke his heart to know he couldn’t have a future with Kirra.
But tonight was his. Shoving all other thoughts out of his head, he wrapped his arms around her. His heart expanded when she turned and snuggled closer to him and he placed a tender kiss on her hair.
Then, much to his surprise, he fell instantly asleep.
“I don’t fucking believe this.” Dev ran his hands through his hair as he paced the living area room of the safe house. “Every time we get close to them, Seth Jarrod manages to spirit Kirra away.” He glanced over at Rene, who leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re sure that Jarrod isn’t going to turn her over to Morenga or the rebels?”
Rene gave a very Gallic shrug. “He’s different from other mercenaries, mon amie. He continues to fly for several NGOs, plus he risked his life to save the victims of Dakassou. I don’t know of another mercenary who would have remained behind to evacuate those people after having himself been shot. But can I say with one hundred percent confidence that he is on the up-and-up?” Another shrug. “Of course not. But think on this. He could have turned her over to the rebels at any point. The fact that he has kept your sister with him indicates to me that he wishes to protect her.”
“Or that he plans to use her as a bargaining chip.”
“Perhaps. But nothing I have seen from him indicates that he is the type of man to hand a woman over to the rebels.”
“Ja, well right now I don’t trust anyone with her life,” Dev conceded. He stopped in front of the window, glaring at the rain that once again hampered their search. By the time he’d reached the festival town, the town had been in an uproar. Men from both Sankoh and Bureh had
been conducting a manhunt for Jarrod and Kirra.
Dev had questioned a few of the townspeople and made contact with a pastor who worked with the underground. The pastor confirmed that Jarrod and Kirra had made it safely out of town in a vehicle he’d loaned them. He’d also been hiding several townspeople and their visiting relatives, all people who had aided the pair’s escape. When one of Bureh’s search parties had almost stumbled upon their hiding spot, Dev had taken Bureh’s men out. He’d then run interference with a group of Sankoh’s men while the pastor moved his charges to a more secure location deeper into the jungle. All the while monitoring the search’s progress by listening in on the rebels’ communications.
Then word had come through that Jarrod had stolen an airplane, which had taken numerous bullets upon takeoff.
Dev pounded his fist lightly against the window sill. Kirra might even now be lying in the plane’s wreckage. With hundreds of kilometers of jungle out there, her body might never be found.
No. He refused to believe Kirra was dead. Not until he saw her body.
Just as, after the rebels attacked the peace summit, he’d refused to accept his parents’ deaths until he’d identified their bodies.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Seeing victims of the rebels was bad enough when they were strangers. When he’d looked at his parents’ bodies, the grief and guilt and anger had nearly driven him to his knees.
Even all these months later, he wondered if WAR could have prevented the attack. Because for once, even Rene’s extensive network hadn’t picked up any verifiable threats ahead of the summit. If only WAR had possessed the funding to bring in more intelligence assets, would they have learned of the attack in time to prevent it?
He’d never know.
“Do not forget,” Rene said gently, pulling Dev’s thoughts back to what mattered right now. “Jarrod is the man who evaded those jets from the New Malian Air Force. Plus, your helicopter pilot, Marcus Jones, confirms Jarrod’s flying prowess. If anyone has the skills to land a damaged plane safely, it is this man.”