Her Seal Protector
Jillian Burns
Subject: Navy SEAL Clay “HoundDog” BellamyMission: Rescue the lush, curvy civilian. And definitely don't give in to temptation!Even in her worst nightmare, Gabby Diaz never imagined a banking conference in Paraguay would end with her being kidnapped and ransomed—before being rescued by a hard-muscled Navy SEAL. Now, despite lingering worries, she's home and safe again…isn't she?Someone has Gabby in their deadly sights, and she needs her hotter-than-hot SEAL's help. But despite Clay Bellamy's guarded Navy demeanour, his hunger for Gabby is hard to control. He tells himself it's just the “hero” thing, that they're worlds apart—until a sizzling kiss flips both their worlds upside down. Now Clay's mission has been compromised in the wickedest way imaginable…
Subject: Navy SEAL Clay “HoundDog” Bellamy
Mission: Rescue the lush, curvy civilian. And definitely don’t give in to temptation!
Even in her worst nightmare, Gabby Diaz never imagined a banking conference in Paraguay would end with her being kidnapped and ransomed—before being rescued by a hard-muscled Navy SEAL. Now, despite lingering worries, she’s home and safe again...isn’t she?
Someone has Gabby in their deadly sights, and she needs her hotter-than-hot SEAL’s help. But despite Clay Bellamy’s guarded Navy demeanor, his hunger for Gabby is hard to control. He tells himself it’s just the “hero” thing, that they’re worlds apart—until a sizzling kiss flips both their worlds upside down. Now Clay’s mission has been compromised in the wickedest way imaginable...
“First, raise your knees and plant your feet wide...”
Obeying Clay’s instructions, Gabby’s thighs touched his butt.
“Now move your left wrist away from your head.” He demonstrated the self-defense move slowly. “See? That throws me off balance because my hand goes out from under me.”
“Oh, cool. Let me try that again.”
Now she was on her back and he was above her. Chest to chest. With only the thin cotton of their shirts between them. His hardness pressed to her softness. Everywhere.
She took a deep breath and licked her lips. His eyes were a whiskey brown. His mouth... She wanted to lift her head and catch it with her own. Just to see if it was as supple as it looked.
She wasn’t expecting till death did them part. But before she returned to reality, at the very least, she wanted a kiss. Mostly to see if kissing him was as amazing as she remembered.
She claimed his lips then. And after a stunned second, he returned her kiss, his mouth moving over hers, nipping, tasting.
Needing him, she clasped his jaw, tangled her fingers in his hair. She was drowning in the feel of his mouth on hers, taking and giving, plundering. She started untucking his shirt and inching it up his back, running her palms over the hot, bare skin...
She refused to lose this moment. She would have him once and for all.
Dear Reader (#uf96c9a96-8683-5140-a685-c47b3bab1219),
When Harlequin asked me for more Uniformly Hot! romances, I knew I wanted to write about Navy SEALs and immediately began researching everything about them. There are a lot of great books about Special Ops and the Navy SEALs in particular. Information concerning actual missions, weapons and tactics, as well as the grueling training. Learning about their everyday lives and challenges was fascinating and definitely inspired my fictional hero, Clay Bellamy.
Unlike many true SEALs, however, Clay is not a family man. His childhood made him a cynic when it comes to love. He’s certainly never known a woman as innocent and kindhearted as Gabriella Diaz. She desperately needs his help and I hope you enjoy their wild, sexy journey to love.
Researching SEALs also led me to the Navy SEAL Foundation, navysealfoundation.org (http://www.navysealfoundation.org). I’ve made a contribution already and will be making more with each royalty check from this book. Consider donating if you can and please visit my website, jillianburns.com (http://www.jillianburns.com), for information on my next book.
Sincerely,
Jillian
Her SEAL Protector
Jillian Burns
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JILLIAN BURNS fell in love while reading such classics as Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice in her teens and has been reading romance novels ever since. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty-five years and their three half-grown kids. She likes to think her emotional nature—sometimes referred to as moodiness by those closest to her—has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.
To Michael Monsoor, hero Navy SEAL who gave his life for his fellow SEALs, and for all US soldiers who put themselves in harm’s way for their country. You are the true heroes.
If you would like to help veterans overcome their challenges, or “Charlie Mike,” please visit missioncontinues.org (http://www.missioncontinues.org).
Acknowledgments (#uf96c9a96-8683-5140-a685-c47b3bab1219)
Thanks to Scott and Brian for generously letting me use your apartment as the inspiration for Gabby’s. And a special thank-you to my sister from another mother, Debrah Huston Coward, for loaning me all your wonderful books about Navy SEALs. I’ll get them back to you soon, I promise!
Once again I couldn’t have produced this without the usual suspects: Pam, Linda, Von and Barb. And thank you to the best editor anyone could wish for.
Contents
Cover (#ub33c9fd3-56d4-577d-9d23-e9ee6d1377b2)
Back Cover Text (#u40de9c18-858b-51f5-861b-f7f3fed24d6b)
Introduction (#u00c5472a-79c5-5a2a-b28d-23f668f5eca0)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u24bd2e27-1b0b-5d76-beeb-8dc41e9f2e56)
About the Author (#u4ae1979f-ec0a-5acc-b5a8-211505f4a321)
Dedication (#u94219a6b-d1c0-5ec3-a76f-05cf14b47b28)
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#ulink_6029195c-0b6a-54c8-abd3-887f85994d16)
@nerdybankanalyst
I’m sad conference is over but had amazing time. Still, no place like home #paraguayconference
“EXCUSE ME.” Mr. Van Horton tapped Gabby on the shoulder as she finished her Tweet. “Could you—” he pointed at the bags of luggage sitting beside him “—find a porter, por favor?”
Gabby sighed inwardly. This was the third time in as many days that someone from her own office had mistaken her for a hotel employee. It was understandable, she supposed. Especially now that, with the conference over, everyone was scrambling to check out and get home. And her plain black suit jacket and skirt looked similar to the hotel employees’ uniforms. Mr. Van Horton had probably seen her speaking in Spanish to the hotel manager a moment ago, thanking the woman for the excellent accommodations on behalf of all the New York Corporate Bank Inc. people during their stay in Paraguay.
But most likely her Hispanic heritage caused him to mistake her for a local.
Still, she’d worked at the bank for almost two years. Seeing the executives in the break room, passing them in the hallways. She’d even sat in on a meeting with Mr. Van Horton once.
She should say something. She was going to say something this time. She drew in a deep breath. Squared her shoulders.
But... Mr. Van Horton was the executive vice president. Did it really matter if he didn’t know who she was? Maybe she—
“Do you speak English?” Mr. Van Horton spoke slower and louder. “Find a porter?” He gestured at his luggage again and glanced at the registration desk, then back at her.
The deep breath of determination deflated. “Yes, sir.” Gabby turned toward the concierge’s desk.
“Sir.” James Pender blocked her path. He nodded at the Executive VP and gestured toward Gabby. “You know Gabriella Diaz, our newest credit risk analyst?” James winked at her as Mr. Van Horton’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and shut like the white bass she’d once caught on the Guadalupe River.
“Oh, of course, I’m sorry, Ms. Diaz.” Mr. V recovered with a strained smile. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“We’ve never been introduced.” Gabby could feel her cheeks heat. “I’ll get a porter for you, sir.” Wishing she could disappear, she stepped to the concierge’s desk and arranged to have Mr. V’s luggage taken out to a waiting cab.
Despite being colleagues in the same department, until this moment Gabby hadn’t thought James Pender even knew she existed.
After thanking the hotel manager once again, she rolled her own suitcase out to the hotel drive just as Mr. Van Horton was getting into a cab.
She dabbed at her temples with the back of her hand. February was summertime in South America, but even so, the weather was sweltering. Still, it beat the freezing temps back in New York. She shivered thinking of the dirty snow and slush she’d most likely return to. If only she’d had more time to explore the beautiful city of Asunción.
“Ms. Diaz!” Mr. Van Horton waved her over. “You and James share my cab.”
Gabby glanced over to see James wheeling his suitcase to a stop beside hers. He mugged a “why not?” face and proceeded to load his bag into the cab’s trunk.
“Come on, Ms. Diaz.” Mr. Van Horton waved at her again with a winking smile. “I should get to know my newest credit risk analyst.”
Gabby drew a deep breath. Get to know her? Anxiety set in at being the center of attention. He was probably just feeling guilty about his mistake. But if she declined, he might think she was holding it against him. There was no hope for it. Resigned, she rolled her bag to the trunk. James had taken the front seat, so she slid into the backseat beside Mr. V.
As the cab pulled away from the hotel, Gabby glanced back at the unforgettable mountain vista behind the hotel. Definitely the best perk of her job. Just in the last eighteen months she’d traveled to Los Angeles, Miami and now Paraguay. Of course, that probably had more to do with her bilingual skills than her risk-analysis savvy, but it all helped her career. The raise last month had gone straight to Jorge’s college fund. And once her brother graduated next year, she could start helping Patricia.
“So, how do you feel the conference went, Ms. Diaz?”
Gabby turned her attention inside the cab and found Mr. Van Horton studying her intently. She swallowed and glanced at James, who had half turned from the front seat to face them, smiling encouragingly. She cleared her throat. “The workshop on financial globalization in a nonrisk asset world was very interesting.”
Mr. Van Horton’s eyes narrowed. “I highly doubt that.” Then he grinned. “Tell me you at least saw some of the sights while you were here. Have you ever been out of the country before?”
“No, sir.”
“Now, none of that sirring me. Call me Bob.”
Oh, she couldn’t picture herself calling him Bob. Gabby gave a shy smile.
“How about you?” Mr. Van Horton addressed James, who proceeded to chatter on about the amenities of the hotel, the nightclub he’d been to the night before and a quick rundown of the lectures he’d attended.
The cab screeched to a stop, throwing Gabby against the back of the driver’s seat. An explosion of gunfire roared around her. Shattered glass sprayed over her, and she screeched and covered her head. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a man wrenched her door open and shouted in Spanish for her to get out.
Gabby couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The bandit reached in, yanked her out of the cab and dragged her toward an old Jeep. Mr. V was pulled out of the other side and shoved beside her. The cabdriver was cowering on the ground next to the car.
The lower halves of the attackers’ faces were covered with bandannas and they all carried big automatic rifles.
James scrambled out on his own and stuck his hands in the air as one of the gunmen poked his rifle in James’s stomach. “Throw out your phones!” the gunman yelled in heavily accented English.
James and Mr. V both fished in their coat pockets and tossed their phones away.
A second gunman found her purse on the cab’s floor, dumped it and smashed her phone with the butt of his rifle.
The bandit closest to Mr. V yelled at them in Spanish to get in the Jeep.
“What are they saying, Ms. Diaz?” Mr. Van Horton whispered to her.
“No hablar!” The gunman jabbed the butt of his rifle into Mr. Van Horton’s stomach and he doubled over.
Gabby bit off a scream.
“In!” The gunmen shouted again, waved the rifle toward the Jeep and this time he shot at the ground in front of them.
Gabby screamed and James, his face twisted in terror, jumped into the back. Gabby was shaking so hard she had to try twice to get a good enough grip to pull herself into the Jeep. But Mr. Van Horton didn’t follow.
“Speak English?” He addressed one of the gunmen. “I have money. No need to take us. I can—”
With an expression of pure hatred, the thug bashed Mr. Van Horton in the head this time and he collapsed to the ground. The men picked him up and threw him into the back of the Jeep, got in the front and sped off.
Blood gushed from Mr. V’s head. So much blood. She shrugged out of her suit coat and tore it into a makeshift compress. “James, hold this while I take off his tie.”
“What?” He was shaking uncontrollably.
“We’ve got to stop the bleeding. Keep pressure on the wound.”
James just stared at her.
With a tsk of exasperation, she reached over and placed his hand on the bandage. “Press hard.” Then she loosened Mr. V’s tie and used it to hold the compress.
She kept a close eye on Mr. V as they bumped along in the rusty Jeep. It seemed like hours as they climbed into the mountains. Even if she’d wanted to jump out, the kidnappers kept a gun trained on them. And she couldn’t leave Mr. V, who still hadn’t woken up.
The heat was relentless until they entered the shade of the jungle, and even then, the humidity pressed in on them. By the time they came to a stop, Gabby was soaked in sweat, she was dying of thirst and she really had to relieve herself. But all of that ceased to matter as they dragged her, James and Mr. V into a hut in the middle of nowhere and tied them up.
Somewhere along the way James had become catatonic. Mr. V still hadn’t regained consciousness. And she wasn’t sure any of them were going to get out of this alive.
* * *
“YOU READY?” L.T., Clay’s lieutenant, asked in a low voice.
Petty Officer Clay Bellamy gave L.T. the thumbs-up, and then waited for the signal to go.
L.T. radioed to Main that they were going in, asking for confirmation on the extract location.
Clay’s SEAL team had parachuted into the mountains of Paraguay last night, landed in a clearing, then traveled for miles on foot through a dense jungle to set up position half a click from the target. Their mission: personnel recovery. Three United States civilians held by unknown assailants.
Intel was sketchy but they didn’t think this was the work of the local cartel. The Americans were bankers, and the international bank they worked for had received a ransom demand via Twitter two days ago. Which, hopefully, meant the civvies were still alive. But hostages were rarely left alive after a ransom was paid. And just because this might not be a cartel didn’t mean that the kidnappers weren’t armed to the teeth.
Clay’s lieutenant squeezed his shoulder and Clay rose from his squat and sprinted toward the back of the dilapidated hut, staying low.
L.T. maintained his position hidden in the foliage to communicate with Main, while Bull—positioned at nine o’clock—kept his silenced M40 trained on the two guards by the door of the hut.
Clay gave the signal that his team was in position. Through his scope, Bull shot both guards. Doughboy and Chipper sped around the corner and caught them as they fell to prevent the thump of dropping bodies from alerting anyone inside. Clay grabbed the guards’ phones and guns, and then gave the signal for a hard entry.
They burst through the door and Chipper shot the guy sitting at a table just as he aimed his gun.
Spreading out, they checked the other two rooms, calling out “clear” as each was found empty. Damn. The hostages weren’t here. And where were the rest of the kidnappers? They weren’t hiding outside. His team had been watching the area for hours before dawn and would’ve spotted them.
If he’d had any, the hair on Clay’s neck would’ve stood up. “Cover me,” he ordered Doughboy and Chipper, then, staying low, ran outside to what he’d assumed was a well. Basically, a two-foot-high wall of adobe surrounding a man-made hole in the ground. But now he realized what seemed off about it.
As a kid, one of his summer jobs had been cutting grass for all the neighbors and church folks. One old man—a buddy of his stepfather’s—had a well on his property with a similar structure aboveground except it had been made of stones. But it had been built next to a tree and had a long rope tied around the trunk with a pail attached to the other end.
This well had no rope. No pail.
As he drew closer, Clay leaned over the adobe structure and called down into the well. “US Navy. Anybody down there?”
Silence.
He cursed under his breath and turned to head back to the hut.
Then, a faint call from below. “We’re here.”
It was a female voice, hoarse from dehydration no doubt, but...alive. Yes! He spun back. “How many?” He grabbed his flashlight and shone it down into the hole.
Clay could barely make out a pair of arms moving as they covered a face.
“Two,” the female called.
“Can you tell me your names?” The rule was to first verify all captives.
“Gabriella Diaz and James Pender.”
Identities confirmed, Clay called it in to L.T. then shouted into the well again. “Anyone need medical attention?”
The woman called up, “We’re okay. But Mr. Van Horton isn’t here. He was hurt. Do you have him?”
The woman sounded pretty calm considering what she must’ve gone through. Van Horton. Wounded and missing. Not good. “We’ll get you out. Hold on.”
“Don’t leave us! You’ve got to get us out of here!” a man cried. Clay shifted the beam of light onto the other, paler hostage.
“I’m going to throw down a rope. Tie it under your arms and I’ll pull you up one at a time.”
Clay signaled the team. “One still missing. Search the area.” Doughboy, Chipper and the rest fanned out, heading into the surrounding foliage. Clay leaned his M4 against the adobe wall, took off his pack and pulled out his length of nylon rope. With nothing else nearby to secure it to, he tied it around his waist and then tossed it down, hoping it would be long enough.
“Me first. I have to go first!” Clay heard the man in the well whine.
“There’s a body partially buried out here,” Chipper’s voice sounded in Clay’s earbud. “Caucasian. I think it’s one of the hostages.”
The rope jerked and Clay braced his feet against the adobe, leaned back and pulled the rope hand over hand until a tall, thin, mud-caked man appeared above the edge. His face was streaked with tear tracks as he scrabbled out and clung to Clay, sobbing.
Clay finally had to force him to let go and relinquish the rope. What kind of coward didn’t let a woman go first?
Disgusted, Clay tossed the rope back down into the well. “Now you, ma’am.”
Within a minute the rope tugged and Clay easily lifted the rope until a heart-shaped face appeared above the rim. Her long dark curls were a mass of tangles and her large, dark brown eyes seemed to gaze at him in disbelief. Her wide mouth trembled, though he could see she was trying to keep her lips clamped tightly together. As he pulled her up and over the edge, she landed on her feet, but her knees buckled beneath her. He caught her around the waist and she clung to his shoulders. “Sorry. I...”
“No worries. We’ll have you home safe in no time.”
“What about Mr. Van Hort—”
Shots fired to Clay’s right and he dropped to the dirt, taking the woman with him and covering her. The man screamed and sobbed louder, cowering next to him.
“Stay here, stay down.” A spray of bullets fired as Clay grabbed his M-4 and peeked over the well wall.
In his ear, L.T. was barking orders. “Q.R. coming in at one click to the south. Secure the targets and get out.”
Damn. Quick response. The kidnappers weren’t going to make this easy.
“Chipper’s down!” Doughboy yelled into his earbud.
Shorty came hightailing it into the clearing, shooting behind him. His left arm was bleeding. Clay covered him, firing multiple rounds in the direction of the flying bullets.
As Shorty slid behind the well wall, the male hostage clutched at him. “You gotta get me out of here!”
The woman crawled over and put her arm around the guy, murmuring soothing words into his ear. Clay had to admit he wasn’t sure he could’ve stayed that calm in her place.
L.T. barked more orders as all hell broke loose. “Our position’s compromised. Go to secondary extract!”
Clay signaled to Shorty that he would lay cover while Shorty got the two hostages out. Clay was going back for Doughboy and Chipper.
Rising from his crouch, he laid down fire while Shorty grabbed the two hostages and ran for L.T.’s position. But the woman stumbled—or the male hostage shoved her as he clung to Shorty, and the fire was too heavy for Shorty to go back for her. Calling out every curse word he knew, Clay raced over and covered her with his body while firing into the foliage.
“I’ve got Chipper. Headed for secondary extract,” Doughboy called through Clay’s earbud.
One less thing to worry about. Clay scooped up the female around the waist and ran toward the exit route, but the kidnappers’ truck came barreling through the brush straight for them. Taking a sharp left, Clay darted into dense undergrowth, heading for the fallback exit he’d scoped out last night. He pulled a flash-bang from his belt and pitched it behind them. Hopefully, that would slow their pursuers down.
Heedless of near impenetrable vines and shrubs, he fought through the jungle growth to put as much distance between them and the abductors as he could manage.
Gunshots popped in the distance, the sound of the trucks’ engine grew fainter. The woman was keeping up on her own, so he dropped his arm and grabbed her hand instead, slowing a bit. “Follow me and stay close.” From the corner of his eye he saw her nod.
Hoping the pace wasn’t too much for her, he trudged farther and farther into thickening vegetation, using his M-4 to hack plants out of the way. By the time he determined gunshots had stopped and no one was following them, he was puffing out deep breaths and his camo was soaked with sweat.
He came to a halt and crouched down, and the woman crouched with him. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he tried to assess the situation. They were cut off from the rest of the team. No way they would make it to the secondary extract. Not in time. Before his team got too far out of range, he radioed L.T., confirmed their position and instructed him to send a helo to the emergency extract.
The petite woman was staring at him expectantly, but not questioning him. Her faith in his ability to get her out seemed solid. He just hoped he could prove her right.
Because they were going to have to spend the night in this jungle.
2 (#ulink_09177371-3885-5685-92c4-7ee8c5e0fddf)
A SEARING PAIN burned across Gabby’s back. She hadn’t noticed it until this moment. The adrenaline that had seen her through the escape had vanished. But she was alive.
“We need to keep moving.” Her rescuer straightened and extended a hand to help her up.
But Gabby couldn’t move. She sank to her hands and knees on the wet jungle floor, shaking uncontrollably. She was paralyzed. Not with fear, or even shock. It was just...overwhelming emotion. She was alive! She was out of that disgusting hole. She was going home!
But... Mr. V. She hadn’t seen him since the kidnappers had dropped her and James into that well. What if he was dead? All her bravado collapsed and she burst into tears. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop crying.
Vaguely she heard her rescuer curse and she tried to stifle the sobs. “I’m sorry.”
“No, ma’am, don’t you apologize.” For the first time, she noticed his heavy Southern drawl. Maybe Georgia or South Carolina? But not Texas. Her own Texan twang had been remarked upon by her Northern coworkers, but this man’s accent had a softer, slower cadence. Thinking about something trivial like that helped stifle her embarrassing outburst. She sniffed and before she could wipe her nose on her sleeve, he placed a large, thick green camo bandanna in her hand.
“Thank you.” She cleaned her face with the bandanna, inhaling the clean, crisp laundry scent. She breathed it in and felt calmer.
The hulking soldier snapped off his helmet and crouched beside her. “Hey.” He cupped her shoulder. “You’re doing good. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”
His eyes. They were a soft brown, so full of reassurance and concern, so incongruous with the frightening dark-green-and-black face paint and the grim set of his mouth.
“What about Mr. Van Horton? And James?” James’s terror had never subsided. Inside the well it had gotten worse. Gabby had tried to comfort him as best she could, but he’d grown steadily less stable as the hours passed. “They’re going to make it home, too, right?”
He nodded. “Mr. Pender is on his way to the American embassy.”
“And Mr. V?”
The soldier hesitated.
Oh no. Gabby could feel her eyes sting with more tears. Mr. V was dead? She’d never known anyone who’d been murdered before. She’d tried to nurse him as best she could, asking their captors for water and medicine for his fever, but Mr. V had never regained consciousness.
“Can you get up?” The soldier slid a strong arm around her waist and she cried out.
He yanked it back, blood smeared on his palm. “What the—” He looked at his hand. “You’re bleeding? You were hit?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She twisted to try to see and whimpered at the stab of pain.
The soldier spat out a curse word, dropped his helmet and backpack, then dug inside the pack and pulled out a first aid kit.
She’d been shot? She could feel panic rise up and choke her. She’d survived two days with homicidal kidnappers only to be shot? What if she bled to death? Mr. V was dead and now her. What if this soldier couldn’t get the bullet out, or it was lodged in her spine or—
“Take off your shirt.”
Gabby froze and blinked at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was busy pulling out a pack of wet wipes, a tube of ointment and a roll of gauze.
A wild urge to laugh bubbled up. She must be in shock. Of course the GI didn’t mean anything sexual by his demand, but this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured herself undressing for a guy for the first time. Well, she wasn’t panicked anymore.
“Ms. Diaz? I need to see to your injury.”
“Yes. Okay.” She turned away from him, forcing her fingers to undo the buttons on her formerly white silk blouse.
He helped her lower it off her shoulders and down her arms, then she felt gentle fingers wiping something cold across the middle of her back. It stung and she tensed. There was sharp surface pain, but she didn’t feel anything internal. That had to be good, right? “Is it...?”
“Just a graze. You’ll be fine. I’m applying a topical antibiotic.”
Just a graze. She breathed out a relieved and grateful breath.
She felt him smear some ointment on and then heard ripping paper as he pressed a bandage to her back and began winding the roll of gauze around her. His arms wrapped around her waist and his whiskered jaw grazed her cheek. He froze, the sides of his hands touching her rib cage. She sucked in and then realized that only lifted her breasts higher. He had an up close and personal view of the cleavage above her bra.
She turned her head to look at him and their gazes met.
His lips were parted and she could see that they weren’t as harsh as they’d looked before. They were sensual and—they flattened as he sat back on his heels and continued wrapping the gauze around her. But when he returned to her front he very carefully kept his arms at a distance. And his gaze averted.
What would it be like to kiss those lips? What if...
“There you go.” He tied off the gauze and draped her blouse across her shoulders.
What was wrong with her? She could still die and she was thinking about kissing? She gingerly stuck her arms back in her sleeves and buttoned her shirt.
“Here.” He extended a bottle of water and she grabbed it and drank greedily.
“Thank you.” She tried to give the bottle back.
“Take these.” He held two small pills in his palm. “For the pain.”
“Thanks.” She tossed them in her mouth and swallowed with another sip of water while the soldier started packing up the medical kit. He was cute. In a boyish kind of way. Which seemed a silly description for a large, hard-muscled, military guy. Maybe it was the buzz-cut hair, or his kindness in caring for her.
She shook her head. “How far to the Jeep or helicopter or whatever?”
Zipping up his pack, he slung it over one shoulder, replaced his helmet without snapping the chin straps and stood. He drew in a breath before finally looking at her. “Are you ambulatory?”
She nodded, but before she could straighten, a deep, menacing feline growl echoed somewhere close to them and Gabby froze. She’d grown accustomed to the constant background noises of the jungle. The chirp and buzz of insects, the weird shrieks of birds, the clicks of beetles, even the screeching monkeys, but this—this panther, or leopard, or whatever it was that lived in this jungle, sounded ominous.
Large hands grasped her under the shoulders and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. She stood face-to-hard-chest with the soldier, so close she could smell a subtle—and pleasant—masculine musk. She became hyper-aware of his hands cupping the sides of her chest. His thumbs rested just above the slope of her breasts. If he slid them down a few inches he could rub the tips of her hardening nipples. Her breathing hitched and she looked up into his eyes.
His Adam’s apple moved as his tongue came out to lick his lips. “We gotta go.” He removed his hands and stepped back.
Reality intruded on her thoughts. The griminess of her skin. The rough texture of her mud-caked clothes. The ragged tear in the side of her best pencil skirt. And the absurdity of wearing pumps with one heel broken off.
How could she even be thinking about anything sexual right now?
Besides, he hadn’t answered her question. “There is a Jeep or a helicopter coming for us, right?” she asked.
“Affirmative.” Confident. No hesitation. That was good.
He reached into a Velcro-sealed pocket on his pant leg, pulled out a tube of ointment and handed it to her. “This will help with the mosquitoes.”
A little late. Bites covered her arms and legs. As she smeared the ointment on exposed skin, he took the bottle of water from her, screwed the lid back on and stuck it in another large pants pocket low on his thigh. “We need to ration this.”
Okay, that was less good. “Um...how long—”
“Let’s go.” He put words into action, sticking his other arm through the backpack strap and hitching it over his shoulder as he strode off.
Tamping down a niggle of dread, Gabby followed. “Look, I realize I kind of lost it back there, but I promise I won’t get all hysterical if you tell me the truth. Whatever it is, I can handle knowing bad news better than not knowing.”
He stopped and twisted to meet her gaze. “We need to travel about ten clicks—roughly about six miles—by nightfall. I’d rather not travel in the dark.”
Panic almost swamped her again, but she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d promised not to get hysterical. “Nightfall? We’re not...leaving today?”
“The helo will meet us at the extraction location at dawn.”
She blinked away irritating tears.
“Look, we need to be moving.”
“Right.” She nodded.
Facing forward again, he strode away. “If you can’t keep up, just let me know, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” She hurried to catch up.
“Clay.”
Gabby studied the ground but didn’t see any. “Where?”
“What?”
“Where’s the clay?
“No, that’s my name. Call me Clay, Ms. Diaz.”
“Oh!” Even in the heat of this forsaken—no, not forsaken, Abuelita’s voice corrected her, God was even in this jungle—Gabby felt her face grow warmer. The soldier must think she was slow-witted. As she had constantly for the past two days, she gripped the medallion on the chain around her neck and asked for faith that they would make it home alive. Abuelita had given her the silver medal for her First Communion and it always comforted her.
“Ms. Diaz?”
The soldier’s face came into focus. His concerned face. Because she’d halted.
“We have to keep moving.”
“Right.” She straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. “Call me Gabby.”
* * *
CLAY COULDN’T DECIDE if this woman was the bravest civilian he’d ever encountered, or the craziest. Maybe she was both.
For instance, that smile she’d just flashed. After what he’d just told her she should be complaining about something by now. They’d missed the rescue helo. They weren’t going to make it to the secondary extraction. And surviving overnight in this jungle was going to prove challenging. But knowing all this, she’d...smiled? And that smile had hit him right in the gut. She’d been held captive, shot at, bitten and scratched up, and wasn’t smelling too sweet.
But that hadn’t stopped him checking her out. He wasn’t called Hounddog for nothing.
Her thin, used-to-be-white shirt was damp and clinging to her, showing through to her very practical, plain white bra. Her dark brown eyes were fringed with thick lashes and didn’t miss a thing. And those lips. Made to be thoroughly kissed. Plus she had the kind of figure he loved on a woman. Full and lush in all the right places. He’d had to muster up an extra ounce of discipline wrapping that gauze around her waist.
But he had a job to do.
He heard an abbreviated shriek behind him and spun to check on her.
With a flinch she whisked off a beetle that had landed on her chest. Her lips trembled, but she pinched them together. They’d been traveling about an hour and she was keeping up pretty well, but she looked done in.
Keep her distracted. “So, Gabby.” He resumed heading west, hacking through twisting vines and thick fronds with his knife, holding a tangle of ferns out of the way for her. “Where you from?”
“Texas. In the Rio Grande Valley. A little town just outside of Corpus Christi called San Juan.”
“And how’d you get into banking?” He glanced back at her.
After seeming confused by his curiosity, she drew in a deep breath. “What can I say, I’m a mathlete. A nerd. Yeah, my Twitter sign is even at symbol nerdy bank analyst. How nerdy is that?”
As he slashed through the dense undergrowth, he listened while she chattered. He could hear the pride in her voice when she talked about going to college. She’d won a scholarship to the University of Corpus Christi, earned a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics and Statistics. Then got her Master of Science in Finance at the U of Texas, San Antonio. Geez, a master’s? He’d barely graduated high school. If he hadn’t crammed for the ASVAB like a son of a gun, he’d have never passed the Armed Services exam. Book smarts were not his strong suit.
“What about you?” She sounded out of breath.
“What about me?” She wanted to know if the guy who was saving her butt had a degree?
“Where are you from? Somewhere in the South, right?”
Defensive much, Bellamy? “Yes, ma’am. Talladega, Alabama. Home of the Superspeedway and the Peach Jam Jubilee.” Would she catch the edge of bitterness to his tone?
“Jubilee? That sounds fun.”
Fun? Nothing associated with home sounded fun to him. Except, now that she mentioned it, he guessed maybe he did have a recollection of sitting on his stepdad’s shoulders and watching some floats go by. Catching a piece of candy the beautiful Peach Queen threw. Giving the candy to his little sister and her grinning up at him like he was her hero.
And he’d end up playing that role for her over and over again.
“Clay? Is something wrong?”
Wow, that flash of memory brought a tightness to his chest. A distraction he could not afford right now. He cleared his throat. “Not a thing.” He checked his diver’s watch. Oh-nine-fifty. And they’d only traveled about two clicks. Still, her breathing was labored. The humidity was a factor. And she probably hadn’t eaten much, if anything, in the last couple of days. A few feet ahead was a small clearing of sorts. “Let’s stop and rest a sec.” He sheathed his knife.
As she gave a relieved sigh and moved to sit on a fallen tree branch, he dropped his pack and dug out a protein bar and the water bottle. “Here.”
She took them eagerly and he unsnapped his metal flask and allowed himself a mouthful of water, watching the woman for signs of pain, fatigue or mental breakdown.
She was short, but sturdy enough. Other than a wince of pain every so often—probably related to her bullet graze, she seemed in fairly good condition. Her torn skirt showed off her shapely legs. His gaze followed the length of her legs, imagining the rest of her thighs hidden by the skirt. Wondering if her panties matched her plain white bra. For some reason they seemed more erotic than any of that lacy underwear most women he hooked up with wore.
He really was a hound dog.
She tucked her legs under her and folded her arms over her chest, and he met her gaze. Damn. She must feel violated enough already and he’d gone and—but that wasn’t anger or fear he saw in her eyes. It was desire.
Which there was no way he was going to act on.
He put away his flask. “We’d better get— Don’t move, all right?”
“What?”
“I said, hold completely still.”
Though he kept his volume low, she must’ve responded to the command in his tone because she obeyed. He slid his knife from the holster on his hip, aimed at the long red-black-and-yellow-striped coral snake next to her right foot and threw it with enough force to pin the reptile’s head to the ground.
Gabby warily turned her head a fraction and moved just her eyes to glance at the dead snake at her feet.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.
Then she started hyperventilating.
3 (#ulink_48503b06-8282-5bb0-a5cd-45de5b0201a9)
GABBY COULDN’T BREATHE. Her vision wavered. All the greens ran together around her, and then everything turned black in her peripheral vision.
The next thing she knew, her head was cradled in the crook of Clay’s arm and he was stroking her head and murmuring soothing words.
“Just take a deep breath in. That’s it, you’re gonna be fine.”
Gabby opened her eyes. Clay was so close she could see a healthy growth of stubble beneath his dark green face paint. He’d taken off his helmet again, but his sheared hair could’ve been any color between dark blond to black. With a cowardly whimper she grabbed the front of his shirt and clung to him, pressing her nose into his neck.
She felt his arms tighten around her, aware that he was careful to avoid her bandage. And he rocked her, shushing her, even though she wasn’t crying. At that moment she fell just a little bit in love. She wasn’t crazy enough to believe the feeling flooding her heart was real. It was just the situation. The shared danger. The heroism of his rescuing her. What woman could resist that? But still... Right now it felt very real.
She reveled in his comfort while at the same time thinking any minute he would push her away and tell her they needed to keep moving. But he didn’t. He caressed her shoulder, rubbed her lower back. His shirt was wet from sweat and she wanted to unbutton it and slide her hand beneath to feel his heated skin, feel his strong heartbeat.
Sitting here, cradled in his masculine embrace, she wanted to kiss him. And more. She wanted to make love with him. Right now. Before the next snake, or leopard or kidnapper really did kill her.
But, of course, she wouldn’t.
She exhaled, long and cathartic. “Clay?”
“Yeah?” He eased his hold and she raised her head to look into his eyes.
“You’re going to get me home, right?”
His eyes narrowed and he smoothed a hand over her snarled hair, fingering a strand away from her face. “You have my word, darlin’.”
Darling. She’d never been any man’s darling before. Or sweetheart, or any endearment. Of course he didn’t mean it that way. It was just a Southern thing. But she still liked him calling her “darlin’.”
She wanted to stay like this forever, safe in his embrace, secure in the knowledge that nothing could harm her. He wouldn’t let it. But she managed a smile, pushed out of his arms and got to her feet, shaky, but steady enough. “Okay, then.” She wiped her palms on her skirt. “We need to keep going, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he retrieved his knife, reached for his backpack and helmet, and rose in one fluid motion. His smile spoke to her and squeezed her heart.
Snapping his helmet onto his backpack, he led the way, storming forward through the thick vegetation, hacking at vines with his huge serrated knife and glancing back to check on her every once in a while.
She’d give him the thumbs-up and a smile, and concentrate on not falling behind. Her wrecked shoes chafed the backs of her heels, and what parts of her weren’t covered in mud were covered in mosquito bites. But at least they seemed to be heading downhill. Unfortunately, the farther they traveled down the mountain, the hotter it got.
The heat was suffocating; the air so thick, each breath she drew was like drinking. She’d lived through many a blistering summer in South Texas. But none could compare to the humidity of this jungle.
Still, they trekked on for what seemed like hours.
“Want some more water?” Clay’s concerned tone must mean she’d started to lag behind.
She picked up her pace. “No, I’m good.” Despite her thirst, she’d had to...go for a long time now.
Sitting in that hole with James for all day and night, she’d quickly given up any expectations of privacy and did what she’d needed to. James had been oblivious to anything except his own fears and discomforts, anyway.
But this was Clay.
Plus...snakes.
“Well, I could use a rest.” He stopped and pulled out the bottle of water from his pants pocket and handed it to her.
He wasn’t even breathing hard, so she highly doubted he was tired, but he produced a flat, plastic canteen from another pocket, and took a small sip.
This was horrifying and ridiculous at the same time. In a minute she’d have to cross her legs. She might as well get the humiliation over with and admit her dilemma. “Um, I have to...”
He blinked at her. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah. Sure. Me, too.” His expression reverted to soldier-on-a-mission. “I’ll take the north, you take the south.” With a nod of his head he indicated to his right, then his left. She hadn’t seen him check a compass, so how could he possibly know which way was north?
Even as he disappeared into the vegetation to their right, she stood frozen. The crunching of leaves beneath his feet silenced. But even in the stillness, insects buzzed and birds called. Monkeys chattered. What if he was attacked by an animal or bit by a snake? What if he didn’t come back? Irrational fear seized her. No way could she tramp off into the dense jungle forest alone, no matter how badly she needed to—
“All done?”
Gabby snapped her head toward Clay. “I don’t think I can.”
His gaze drifted away and his jaw muscle ticked. The green face paint was wearing off in patches where he’d wiped at sweat. A shaft of sunlight hit his cheek as he stepped forward. “Sure you can.” He took her arm and propelled her a few feet into the undergrowth. “I’ll be right here. You go ahead, now.” Putting a thin tree between them, he spun on his boot heel and folded his arms, staring off into the distance.
But Clay’s close proximity caused a different dilemma. He might not be able to see her with his back turned, but he would still be able to hear her. Maybe the deafening sounds of nature would drown her out.
But...snakes.
“Um, Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow your knife?”
No answer. Maybe he didn’t trust her with a dangerous weapon. Then he unsnapped the leather holster at his hip and pulled out the wicked-looking knife, flipped it, caught it by the blade and extended the handle toward her.
She swallowed and took it. “Thank you.” Only then did she realize what needed doing actually required two free hands. After dithering a moment, she stuck the handle of the knife between her teeth, thoroughly checked the ground for anything slithering nearby and then got on with it.
When she approached him, he handed her the water bottle without a word and she returned his knife and rinsed her hands, and they headed back to the makeshift path he’d been cutting for them. A wave of exhaustion overcame her when she thought about continuing on. Her back stung. She was hot, and sticky, and her feet burned where the heels chafed, and— “Listen to yourself, you whiny baby! At least you’re alive.”
Clay was waiting for her, watching her with a wary expression. She realized she’d spoken out loud. Great, now he’d think she was bonkers. She knew she tended to talk to herself a lot. Most of the time, it didn’t matter.
“You good to go?” He was waiting for her, so she smiled and nodded, and trudged on.
She lost all sense of time as the day wore on. She thought about being home in San Juan, how glad her parents would be to see her again. About Jorge, and Bernard, and Patricia. She missed them. And she fingered her Mary medal as she prayed to her Abuelita. She couldn’t wait to see Mama and Papa. Finally, twilight settled over the tall trees. Clay hadn’t said a word. Even when he occasionally handed her the water bottle. “By tomorrow I’ll have a cool shower and clean clothes.” One foot in front of the other. “And I’m going to brush my teeth twice, and wash my hair three times and buy a new—”
Clay spun and clamped a hand over her mouth.
* * *
CLAY HELD A finger in front of his lips. He’d heard voices at three o’clock, speaking in what he thought must be Guarani, a native language of Paraguay. That, by itself, didn’t mean much. Over 80 percent of Paraguayans spoke Guarani. And he’d only been able to catch a few words. But one of them had been a Spanish word thrown in: Americano.
They were going to have to double back. He hoped not very far or they risked missing the helo. Then he recognized what else he heard in the distance. The roar of rushing water. They were closer to the Rio Bermejo than he’d thought. Thanks to Gabby’s fortitude, they’d made good time. Even if she had talked for most of the afternoon. He didn’t think she was even aware she’d been talking out loud. And the crazy thing was, he hadn’t minded. He’d liked listening to her voice, liked hearing about her close-knit family.
Mentally going over the map he’d studied on the plane ride down, he guesstimated the distance to the river. If they could travel by water tonight—depending on the current—they could make up the time they’d lose doubling back. He just really hadn’t wanted to travel at night. Lighting their way might as well shine a big bull’s-eye on their position.
But before he could worry about that, they had to avoid detection by the men who’d been asking about the Americanos. Slowly, he lifted his hand off Gabby’s mouth, slid his Sig from its shoulder holster and signaled to Gabby to stay put while he investigated the possible unfriendly’s position.
Careful to step light and move slow, Clay inched up to the edge of the clearing. He took up position behind a tree, pulled out his binoculars and spied a farmer in his wide-brimmed hat leading an ox away from the creek. No sign of anyone else. He scanned the meadow, but daylight was fading fast. Then, on the edge of his vision he caught a shadow. Two shadows. He lifted the binoculars again. They were armed. And they were headed this way.
When he returned to Gabby she was standing exactly where he’d left her, still, and as frightened as a deer in headlights. But she wasn’t panicking. And she’d obeyed his order. Which he hadn’t been sure he could count on.
Knowing how sound could carry, he spoke low in her ear. “We’re turning around. Follow the path I cleared, move quickly, but try to step softly. All right?”
Her breathing was shallow, but she nodded and did as he asked. Clay followed behind her trying to cover their tracks as best he could. He hadn’t disturbed the vegetation at the edge of the meadow. With any luck, the hunters wouldn’t find their trail.
They’d traveled only ten minutes before darkness swallowed the forest and he was forced to click on his pin light. He covered the top and shone it only on the jungle floor, but he still felt like he might as well have gift wrapped their position to the kidnappers. His gut clenched as he heard leaves rustling behind them.
He clicked off the light, grabbed Gabby and pulled her off the path. Hand over her mouth again, he held her still and waited.
Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. A pygmy owl hooted.
The rustling drew closer. The kidnappers were practically on top of them, the shafts of light from their flashlights barely missing them. Gabby tensed and tightened her arms around his waist. He didn’t know when they’d put their arms around each other, but he lowered his head close to hers and stroked her hair. He still held his Sig in the other hand down by his side, slowed his breathing and prepared to spin and shoot.
The bandits walked right past them. The sounds of their crunching footsteps faded.
Clay became aware of her breathing, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. She lifted her face and her lips brushed his with a quick intake of breath.
He didn’t move, letting his mouth hover over hers. She let out the softest moan. She was so small, petite, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, but her body was full and lush, her stomach cushioning his growing hard-on.
His blood pounding, his pulse racing, he wanted to take her trembling lips with his so badly.
Don’t do it.
He dropped his hands and stepped back. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep, clearing breath. His mission was hostage rescue. That should be his only thought. Getting Gabby out of Paraguay safe and sound. Not how he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her. And certainly not how he wished he could cup her breasts in his palms, slide his hand—
Right, Bellamy. Get your head in the game. She was his responsibility.
He had to get control of himself and figure out what their next move would be. But, now that the immediate danger had passed, all he could think about was how she’d felt in his arms, how her quiet little moan had made his body come alive.
“Are they— Are they gone?” she whispered.
Snapping back to the here and now, he focused on the sounds of the jungle around them. “Long gone. We’re safe for now.” He holstered the Sig while he ran through various scenarios in his head. Night had shrouded the jungle in darkness. He had his night vision goggles, but Gabby would be left trailing after him essentially blind. And he couldn’t risk lighting their way again. No choice now. “We’ll hunker down here for the night, and then make our way to the extraction point at first light.”
That decided, he slid out his knife, slipped the goggles down over his eyes and cut several large, smooth palm fronds to build a makeshift cover. Chances were it’d be misting, if not outright raining before dawn.
He whispered for Gabby to join him under the leafy umbrella, but she didn’t move. “You checked for snakes?”
He smiled as he flipped the goggles onto the top of his head. “All clear.”
With a brief flash of white teeth, she sat beside him and he retrieved his MRE from his pack and offered it to her. “Dinner is served, ma’am.”
He could tell she was trying not to grab it from him and devour every bite. “Don’t you want some?”
“Not really hungry.” He pushed the ready meal into her hand.
Ignoring his growling stomach, he sipped the last of his water. They’d be at the river by oh-seven-hundred. And back at forward base by lunch. He’d gone way longer than this without eating. Even before he joined the military.
After hesitating a moment, she shrugged and finished off the food in minutes along with most of her water, then borrowed his knife again, along with his night vision goggles, and disappeared a couple of yards away. When she needed to return he called softly so she could sound her way back.
She dropped down next to him, returned his goggles and then scooted closer, leaning on his arm. “How far to the rescue site?”
“Less than a mile, I’d say. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.” He slipped the strap of the goggles over his head and scanned the area.
“Do you think they’ll come back?”
“Doubtful. They won’t want to travel far in this jungle at night any more than we do.”
“Still...”
When she didn’t finish her thought, he asked, “What?”
“Do you have an extra gun?”
He did, but he wasn’t about to give it to her. “You had any training with a weapon?”
“No, but—”
“Tell you what. There are a few basic moves that’ll get you out of any hold.”
“Oh, like self-defense stuff?”
“Yeah, I could teach you a couple, all right?”
“Okay. I should know how to defend myself. That was one of the things I thought of the last couple of da—ys.” A huge yawn interrupted the end of her sentence and her head landed on his shoulder.
“You should get some rest.”
“You promise you’ll teach me those moves?”
Clay smiled. The last couple of words had been mumbled. He’d bet she was barely awake. “I promise.” If they had time, he would. “Now try to sleep.”
There was silence for a moment before she raised her head. “Aren’t you sleeping, too?”
“I’m going to keep watch for a while.”
He heard her exhale a large sigh, and then lowered her head back onto his shoulder. “Okay, good night.”
After less than a minute her head drooped forward, and he slipped his arm around her as she slumped into his lap.
Clay tried to ignore her soft body pressing into him. He listened past the bird calls and chirping insects for any man-made sounds, and scanned the area continuously while his charge slept the sleep of the exhausted, mumbling, at times moaning, or sighing. She wasn’t a quiet sleeper either.
After another moan she turned and nuzzled into his stomach. Great. His body had a will of its own when it came to a woman’s mouth being that close to his cock. His pants got uncomfortable and he tried to slowly shift their positions.
“What?” She lifted her head, the whites of her eyes blinking up at him. She sat up, pushing off his thigh with her hand. Her palm cupped his rock-hard erection. But instead of moving her hand away, she stilled. Several beats passed, yet he allowed her hand to stay where it was. She slowly began to trace his cock up to its root and back down to the tip again.
He bit off a strangled sound. Before he could stop her she cupped his face in her palms and fit her lips to his, at the same time she rose up and straddled his thigh. He pressed her close, all the while his brain was shouting for him to get control. When she rubbed her hot center against him, he got even harder. He hadn’t thought that could be possible. He felt her fingers run over the short hair at the back of his head and he gave in, returning her kiss, coaching her to open to him, deepening it.
Her lips were as full and lush as her body. He cupped and squeezed her butt, and she hummed her approval. He lost himself so much that, when she would’ve pulled away, he followed and lingered, teasing her with his tongue. He wanted more.
She was kissing him for all she was worth, and he was letting her. His mind was thinking any minute now he’d stop. He shouldn’t do this. But his mouth moved over hers with the hunger of a teenage boy.
When she finally came up for air, she was still clinging to his face, stroking his temples. “Make love to me, Clay.”
4 (#ulink_0a464989-06f7-5c12-94f7-db45725948f7)
EVEN IN THE PITCH-DARK, Gabby could tell she’d made a huge mistake.
Clay froze for an instant, then set her off his lap and sprang to his feet. “I need to check the perimeter,” he said tonelessly. His shadow moved silently away.
Her face flamed and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d done that.
But she refused to regret it. She shoved her thick, tangled hair away from her face. She’d been kidnapped, thrown into a hole in the ground, shot at and almost bitten by a deadly snake. And she wasn’t safe yet.
What about all the things she’d never done? All the risks she’d never taken, the chances that might have been lost forever. All her life she’d let fear prevent her from truly living. And fear of what? Of making a fool of herself? She’d survive that. Clay had returned her kiss. And that hard length beneath her palm had not been his gun. Her thighs clenched in need just thinking about the feel of him beneath her hand. Remembering his mouth moving over hers, his tongue, his hands caressing down her hips...
Was she going to worry about disappointing her parents? That, too, seemed so irrelevant now. What if she died without having really lived?
She clasped her Mary medal. She was done worrying about what other people thought. Done being the good girl. From now on she was going to live life to the fullest. Take risks. Go for it.
Resolve swept over her, winding its way through her psyche, obliterating her embarrassment.
“You awake?” As quietly as he’d left, Clay returned, giving her a verbal warning in his soft Southern drawl before he crouched beside her.
“Yes.” She definitely wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon.
An awkward silence passed. One thing she did regret was that her actions had made him feel uncomfortable. “Look, I’m sorry, I—”
“No. I get it. You’ve been through a lot. It’s the whole ‘Speed’ thing, right? Shared danger can produce intense feelings of intimacy. But that doesn’t mean they’re real feelings.”
“No.” She fiddled with the collar of her blouse, pulling the ends together. “That’s not it.”
“Believe me. Situations like this—it’s pretty normal.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Through the dark she found the shadow where she thought his face was. “I could’ve died. Still could. And there’s so much I’ve never done. Never experienced. And I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to...to be with someone.”
The sound of chirping crickets in the face of Clay’s silence would’ve struck her as comical if she wasn’t so mortified. She wished she could at least see his expression. Did he get what she was saying? Did he understand?
Growing up, she’d been taught sex was something sacred between a husband and a wife. That her body was something she needed to respect and save for marriage. And even if she had been tempted as she got older, her average looks and nerdy shyness had kept the big decision out of her hands.
Once she reached college she hadn’t remained a virgin out of some sense of morality or even inhibition. She’d come close a couple of times. But the longer she waited, the more important it seemed that it should be with the right guy. And so far...the right guy had never turned up. Until now.
“You’ve never...?” Clay sounded incredulous. Of course he was shocked that any twenty-six-year-old would still be a virgin. And worse, he was horrified. As if he thought she still wanted him to...accommodate her.
Gabby pressed her palms to her eyes. Why had she told him? Why had she felt the need to explain? If only she had just kept quiet, and let the moment pass. She uncovered her eyes. “Oh, please can we just forget the whole thing?”
After another long moment, she felt him shift to a sitting position, caught an impression of his arms hanging off his knees. “Got about two, maybe three hours till dawn.”
Thank goodness he wasn’t any more anxious to pursue the subject than she was.
She nodded. He probably couldn’t see her, but his announcement hadn’t really required an answer.
More silence.
Could she take three to four hours of sitting here, wondering what he was thinking of her? Worrying about snakes, and kidnappers, and imagining all the many scenarios where they didn’t make it out of here alive? She’d lose it for sure. She needed a distraction. Like a bolt, an idea hit her. “Hey, you never told me about the Peach Jam Jubilee.”
* * *
CLAY GRIMACED. As a change of topic, it sucked, but at least they weren’t talking about feelings and—he cringed. People who’d never had sex before.
For a virgin she was an awfully good kisser. Too good. Trouble was, he’d been so into that kiss he’d forgotten all about his job. His duty. And that was unacceptable. Not during a mission. Not ever. No woman had ever distracted him like that. And no woman ever would.
“Clay?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “What is there to tell? It’s just your usual hometown parade. The Peach Queen gets crowned and waves at everybody from her float.”
“Sounds...peachy.” She snickered.
Clay couldn’t stop a smile. She was something else. Cracking jokes after all she’d been through. “Yeah. There’s peach jam, peach pie, peach preserves.”
“Peach cobbler.” She gasped. “Peach ice cream,” she moaned the words.
That throaty, feminine sound made his breath catch. Don’t go there. “And don’t forget peachy pork chops.”
“Pork chops?”
“You’ve never had ’em? They’re good.”
She groaned. “Now you’re making me really hungry.”
She didn’t know the half of it. He snapped his night vision goggles down over his eyes and scanned the area. “You should try to get some shut-eye.” This time he’d be prepared for all those sexy little noises she made in her sleep. And the feel of her body against his.
“I don’t think I can.”
She wiggled and bumped into him and he looked over. She was clutching a silver medal hanging around her neck and biting her lip. Her skirt was hitched up to midthigh. She had beautiful legs. Her hips were curvy, but her waist was small. And that thin white shirt outlined her beautiful— He flipped the goggles up. Didn’t seem fair that he could see her and she couldn’t see him.
“What about the—the Speedway? Do you like car racing?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I went a few times in high school.
“What else did you do growing up in Talladega?”
Seriously? He’d rather go through BUD/S training all over again than talk about his life before the Navy. “Not much.”
The woman stayed quiet so long he knew—he just knew—she was staring at him expectantly. What? She wanted him to spill his life story? Not gonna happen. “It was just a regular town, with regular people, okay?”
“Okay.” She sounded disappointed. “So, you’re like a Special Forces kind of guy in the military? What is that, a Marine?”
He scoffed and threw her an insulted glare she probably couldn’t see. “I’m a US Navy SEAL.”
“Oooo, wow. A SEAL? Like the guys that got Bin Laden? Were you there?”
He shook his head. “That was SEAL Team 6.”
“What’s the difference? I mean, do all the teams have different specialties?”
“Some. SEAL Team 6 focuses more on counterterrorism. We’re SEAL Team 2. Artic Warfare, Rescue Ops.”
“Well, thank you for coming after me—us.”
“That’s my job.”
“Right, of course.”
Clay sighed. That hadn’t come out right. She’d been a real trooper, considering they’d traipsed through the jungle all day in sweltering conditions, and she’d almost been bitten by a venomous coral snake. She was just trying to make it through the night. Seemed the least he could do was talk to her.
Besides, after tomorrow, he’d never see her again. She’d asked about growing up in Talladega? He quietly sighed. “So, no Peach Jam Jubilee where you’re from?”
“In Texas?” She sounded insulted, but in a good-natured way. He caught her white teeth in the darkness. “It’s all football, all the time. My two brothers live and breathe the game. Did you play?”
“No, but my sister was a cheerleader.”
“Does she still live in Talladega?”
“Yep. I’m the only one that got out.”
“Got out? You didn’t like it there?”
He ground his back teeth. “Just nothing for me there. More opportunities elsewhere.”
She made a nodding-in-agreement type sound. “That’s why I moved to New York. I want to help my parents. They work so hard.” He could hear the genuine love in her voice and it bothered him.
“My papa is the grounds custodian for a famous shrine in San Juan. My mama cleans houses. I was the first one in my family to graduate high school.”
Clay was pretty sure his mom and stepfather hadn’t graduated high school either. Even Ashley almost hadn’t. And he’d left for basic training before his own graduation ceremony. No walking across the stage to get his diploma or throw his cap in the air. It’s not like his parents would’ve gone, anyway.
“What do your parents do?”
He snapped shut his memories. “They both work at the quarry.”
“Quarry? I didn’t know Alabama had a quarry.”
“More than one. Probably the largest industry in the state. If I hadn’t joined the Navy I’d probably still be working there.”
“You worked there, too? Like, actually digging out the rocks?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of stone?”
“Marble, mostly. Some limestone, and a few other minerals, but Alabama’s famous for its white marble.”
“Huh.”
“Started when I was fourteen. Lied about my age to get the job, too, if you can believe that. It was backbreaking work. Other than my paycheck every two weeks, I hated everything about it.”
She made a sympathetic sound and he squeezed his eyes closed. How had they switched to talking about his life again? “Tell me about New York.”
She made a different sound this time, a hum somewhere between excitement and nervousness. “Manhattan is so different from my little hometown. Growing up I never would’ve thought I’d live there. I have a little studio apartment in Greenwich Village. It’s small, but I love it. There’s a library right across the street and on the weekends, I love to take my laptop and just hang out there.”
“At the library? You live in one of the most exciting cities in the world. Don’t you want to party on the weekends?”
“I’m not really the partying type.” Her voice lowered. “I told you I was a nerd. Hanging out at the library is about the most exciting thing nerds do.”
He could kick himself for bringing that self-doubt into her voice. “You sure don’t look like a nerd.”
Funny how he could sense her stillness. He winced. He hadn’t meant to use his pickup-line tone. He wasn’t at Barney’s on a Friday night trying to find some hot woman.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the other protein bar he’d been saving for her and held it out in front of her. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“Breakfast.”
“Oh.” When she groped for the bar her fingers grazed the back of his hand and he had the crazy urge to grab her hand and bring it to his lips. Dawn couldn’t come soon enough.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He heard the crinkling of the wrapper. “You want half?”
“I have another. You eat that one.”
Out of nowhere rain began pelting down. Good. He needed to cool off. He pushed to his feet. “Gonna check the area again. Try to sleep. When I get back, we’ll head out.”
5 (#ulink_5501112a-29eb-5b2d-b771-00818914a411)
@nerdybankanalyst
Wanted to kiss the ground at LaGuardia yesterday. Love getting back to my job and my apartment. BTW #USmilitaryrocks
IN SOME WAYS, her time in the Paraguayan jungle seemed like a dream.
Well, more like a nightmare.
Except for the last night.
Chin propped on her palm, Gabby stared at the report on her computer screen. Her supervisor wanted this data analysis done as soon as possible, but she’d been staring at the same column of numbers for more than half an hour. Which was not a good sign for her first day back.
But her mind kept drifting. Remembering...
How she’d had to squint at the bright sun reflecting off the river as she and Clay broke through the dense foliage that morning. How the water had sprayed a fine mist on her face as a thunderous helicopter chopped through the air. How Clay’s hand clapping her shoulder had reassured her as he snapped a harness around her chest and then gave the thumbs-up signal to the men waiting to haul her up.
Clay.
Once the helicopter landed at the embassy, a nurse had tried to whisk her away before she could tell him goodbye. He’d been talking to one of the other soldiers and hadn’t even glanced in her direction.
All she could think was that she’d never see him again.
Setting her jaw, she’d wrenched from the nurse, ran to him and thrown her arms around him. He’d held his arms out away from his sides as if he had no idea how to handle such a display of emotion. But despite his stiff reserve, she’d buried her nose in his strong chest, and then looked up into light brown eyes that glinted with wariness.
She’d dropped her arms and stepped back from him with a smile, trying not to burst into tears. “You were phenomenal.”
“Just a grunt doing his job, ma’am,” he’d said with a solemn nod.
He’d been so much more to her. But she hadn’t said that. “Well. Thank you, anyway.”
He’d nodded again. “You take care, now.” Then he’d turned and strode away, back to the helicopter. She’d watched as he climbed in and the chopper lifted off and flew away.
He hadn’t looked back.
“How is it being back at work?” James appeared at her cubicle.
Gabby jumped, her heart racing. “James,” she gulped his name. “You scared me.”
He frowned, looking hurt and concerned at the same time. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s not your fault. I’m jumpy lately.”
“Me, too. Ever since...” He gestured vaguely to the room. “You know.”
Gabby nodded. At her boss’s insistence, she’d spent two weeks recovering with her parents in Texas before New York Corporate Bank Inc. allowed her to return to work. But the time off hadn’t really helped. She still had nightmares. Insomnia. Depression.
Her family was worried, but they didn’t understand. Didn’t know what to do for her, or how to act. She’d found herself resenting their normalcy. Their ability to go about their everyday lives while she—she kept seeing Mr. V with blood gushing out of his head.
She’d been told they’d recovered his body. There was a funeral in New York, but Gabby had still been in Texas. Half of her had wanted to attend the service. The other half had worried that she would completely lose it and embarrass herself. She just couldn’t believe he was dead. Gone forever.
And she’d come so close to meeting the same end.
James stepped into her cubicle and drummed his fingers on her desk. “It might help to talk about it. Want to get some lunch?”
No, she didn’t. “I brought mine from home.” She pointed at the brown paper bag sitting beside the printout of reports she’d planned to work on while she ate. “I’m weeks behind.”
“Yeah, sure. I understand.” James stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted. Before we were rescued, I mean.” He winced and raised devastated eyes to hers.
“It’s okay.” She reached up and patted his upper arm. “It was a horrible ordeal. And no one really knows how they’ll react under such circumstances.”
Except, a small voice crept into her thoughts, Clay would never have acted that way. He had protected her, reassured her and, ultimately, saved them. Of course, he was a soldier. He’d been trained to handle unspeakable violence and mind-numbing terror. But even so, there’d been something about the man. An indefinable quality that no training could give.
“I can’t sleep,” James said quietly. “And when I do sleep I have nightmares.”
“Me, too, sometimes.”
“The counselor says it’s PTSD.”
She nodded. James did look thinner. Haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. Did she look as bad? What had happened to her resolve that night in the jungle to take risks and live life to the fullest? Back in the real world, it wasn’t so easy.
James was still staring at the floor, picking at a fingernail. “Do you feel like sometimes everyone is looking at you? And like you just want to scream at them?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But finally, someone who understood. If she was to get back some semblance of a normal life she had to start somewhere, right? She got to her feet and stuck her lunch sack in her file cabinet drawer. “I changed my mind. Let’s grab some hot dogs and eat at the park.”
James’s head snapped up and he smiled. “That’d be great.”
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