Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (12 page)

Jack moved her away, their lips holding until the last...second.
No,
her body cried at the loss.

His fingers dug into her skin. "Monica, you're giving me whiplash here. What the hell was that for?"

Maple syrup. Definitely maple, still pulsing need through her veins and into her brain until rational thought slowed and emotions overflowed. " Froot Loops."

"What?"

"Because you gave me a beautiful Froot Loop story even though I gave you half-truths about my family. I should have told you about Yasmine, but I didn't. And I'm truly sorry. I know you're still mad at me, and you have reason. Still, you came in here to check up on me."

His hands slid down her arms in a caress soon to end. Indecision drifted through his eyes, rare for Jack, as if he wanted to say something more. His fingers hooked on hers held.

Whatever he'd been thinking about saying blew away from his expression. "Ah, hell."

He jerked her forward. Not that she put up any resistance. Their mouths met, open and hungry and so very familiar with just the right slant, taste and stroke to bring instant arousal. Her hands took their time exploring every inch of muscled shoulders until she looped her arms around his neck and held on before her knees became as weak as her will around this man.

She knew this was wrong and that she would regret it later, but with her emotions in chaos, the reliability of passion with Jack brought comfort. Her face stung with the bittersweet abrasion of his sandpaper beard against her tender skin.

Temporary forgetfulness rode the surge of nerve-tingling pleasure from her breasts against unyielding chest, his erection hard against her stomach. Nerves and heat throbbed, gathered lower until Monica backed toward her cot, one step, two with Jack's saunter rolling his hips against her in a sensuous promise. She let her knees fold, not too difficult at all. Jack's arms held her upright.

Her eyes fluttered open as she eased her mouth from his. "I thought you said you wanted me if I wanted you. Well, you can be sure I want you very much right now."

His hands slid up her arms to her locked grip behind his neck. In spite of her whimper of denial, he untwined her hold on him. "I'll probably kick myself later. But as tempting as it is to take you up on your offer, I wasn't talking about wanting this from you."

Something so deep and sad shifted in his chocolate-brown eyes that she ached to cup his bristly jaw in comfort. Started to do just that when he lifted her hands in his.

He kissed her closed fingers before releasing her. "Don't forget to lock up after me."

The door clicked closed behind him, and without the support of his shoulders beneath her hands, her knees finally gave way. She sagged to the edge of her cot, rattled to her roots by how much she still wanted him, and not just on a sexual level, but for foot rubs and Froot Loops.

And he'd walked out on her.

She'd been ready and more than willing to give him everything, and still he'd left. Her conscience niggled with the reminder she wasn't giving him everything. Just her body, and that hadn't worked for them in the months past.

God, she was too tired and confused to sort through it all. She fell back, head on her pillow and stared through the cleared circle on her windowpane. Her sister waited out there. She needed to focus on that, couldn't deal with anything more. So she watched the sun climb on the same horizon her sister watched, and tried to pretend the connection held something more than a surreal television-screen quality.

Inside the C-17 mobile command post, Blake Gardner stared at the screen filled with black-and-white satellite feed from a recent flight of the Predator unmanned spy drone shooting images of the terrorist camp. He watched for Sydney to appear. Had seen the same footage countless times and still his heart drummed in his chest.

The inactivity of this waiting game was killing him. He'd chosen the Navy, specifically the SEALs, for his branch of service because he'd never been able to sit idle for ten seconds since childhood. A trait that worked well for him when growing up on his uncle's farm.

But it bit right now. While his work as a SEAL often put him into play early in any joint military action, there was no way around the teeth-grinding wait this time.

He folded a fresh piece of gum into his mouth right on top of the old one and chewed out his frustration with spearmint rather than the nicotine buzz he used to get from dipping. After thirty-six hours' more planning at this godforsaken air base, they would finally launch into the next phase, bringing him that much closer to where Sydney waited for rescue. Waited for
him?

A low hum of activity circled around him even though he stayed silent. Flatbed pallets down the center track of the cargo hold carried all the high-tech computer systems of any bunker command center.

Colonel Cullen clipped through last-minute questions for Korba's crew, calling for counterintelligence affirmations from OSI Agent Max Keagan and ADVON leader Captain Baker. They'd worked most of the night, would finish up soon, then sleep through the rest of the day for their night flight.

Sydney had to know he wouldn't leave her in there. If he'd needed to infiltrate alone, he would have done it for her. But he understood enough about his job and his fellow team buddies to know. This was better.

Even if the extra wait was killing him, slowly, each day a whittling knife-swipe against his soul.

Not much longer. The HAHO—high altitude, high opening—drop with oxygen masks would allow them to maneuver their glide for nearly an hour over the gulf waters into the area around the coastal training camp.

Then two more days to recon for additional intelligence before the rescue and Ranger drop.

The image focused on the portion of the compound where the NGO hostages were allowed out once a day.

Studying their schedule was critical. He stopped breathing, knowing what the screen would show... now.

Three figures were escorted into the small fenced-in patch of sand. One man. Two women.

Cutting-edge technology from the Predator fed in a digital image as clear as any television screen. Yet even if it had been the less-detailed satellite images, he would have known in his gut which one was Sydney. The same gut that had carried him through ops in the bowels of Baghdad—missions she and he had bitterly disagreed on.

Guilt turned him into a pummeled workout bag. He should have fought harder at talking her out of coming here. Except he couldn't talk her out of her job, her calling, any more than she could talk him out of his.

They both had the same goal. Peace. And two diametrically opposed ideologies on how to get there.

He'd given up on a second chance at building the family with Sydney that neither of them had ever had growing up. But he sure as hell wasn't giving up on her.

Blake leaned closer on his forearms, wanting like hell to crawl through the screen to get her. Even knowing it was old footage he'd memorized didn't stop him from looking again, like staring at her framed photo that once perched on his dresser beside the picture of his uncle who'd taken him in as a teen after his parents died.

Again he studied her hunched posture. Arms wrapped around her waist? The now-familiar twist closed his throat, just as powerful as the first time he'd seen the satellite feed. She wasn't a woman easily bowed.

What pain was she hiding?

The image faded to static.

A discreet cough pulled him back to the cavernous belly of the plane. Too many eyes pinned him with a sympathy he didn't want. Couldn't handle.

Colonel Cullen rose from his seat. "One last point before we break for chow." His controlled, quiet tones rumbled with authority on a roll. "It hasn't escaped my notice that this mission is rife with conflict of interest. Now, I let this slide because you all happen to be the best available for the mission."

The Colonel's steely gaze swept Korba, Baker. Him. Of course the Colonel couldn't argue that this Afghanistan-seasoned SEAL platoon from Virginia was anything but the number-one choice.

"But if I find any of you allowing your personal agendas to risk the life of even one of my men, I will smack you down so hard and so fast, your children will be born dizzy." The steady stare of a commander held the air captive for five seconds. "Is that understood?"

Blake nodded without checking to see if the others did, as well. He couldn't risk anyone finding something in his eyes. He had a few contingency plans of his own, but since his life would be the only one at risk, Colonel Cullen had nothing to worry about.

Drew was worried.

Clanking down the side hatch steps of the C-17 mobile command unit, he blinked back the glare of the sun and gnawing frustration. There were too many agendas running on this airfield for his comfort level. And still, even without those outside elements, he would have chosen exactly this joint team for the mission.

If only they could keep personal issues clear of the battlefield.

He would have to trust what twenty years of service hammered into him. Training assumed control of a soldier in combat. It had to.

M-16 on his shoulder weighing with welcome familiarity, Drew cleared the last step onto the heated tarmac, the gritty breeze barely broken by the smattering of palm trees. Only April and the place was already roasting like the inside of an oven. The stretch of cracked cement sizzled with activity. A few feet away, a loadmaster supervised the tie-down of food and medical supplies into a C-17 scheduled to land in a rural community. A contingent of Rangers would meet up with the IFB aid workers to disperse the rations—his men wearing different patches on their uniforms to keep their other mission covert.

Would Yasmine Halibiz notice the overabundance of troops?

God knows the woman seemed to be all over everywhere. Everywhere being right under his feet. His nose.

Right in front of his eyes with that tempting smile of hers every time he turned around.

Like now.

She waited across the tarmac under a palm tree beside the empty hangar where he'd received his inoculations. Her military escort shuffled impatiently a few yards away, eyeing her, eyeing the planes. But she kept her distance from the flight line as ordered.

She wore her customary black dress, today with a yellow scarf. The tail over her shoulder fluttered like a kite in the wind.

Damned if he hadn't been anticipating finding out what ridiculous scarf she would choose from the minute he announced a chow break. And double damned if her haughty little ways and dry sense of humor weren't starting to wear him down like sand in his boots on a hundred-mile trek when there was nothing he could do.

Apparently he needed to listen to his own lecture about conflict of interest since this woman was also a sister to one of those hostages.

He marched past her.

"Colonel Cullen?"

"Good morning, ma'am." He nodded and kept right on marching.

"Colonel Cullen." She fell into step behind him, her sandals whispering faster along the asphalt while her words carried on the dry wind. "If I could just have a moment of your time. There is something we really need to discuss."

"You'll have to check with my sergeant about my schedule."

"I have noticed you are reluctant to speak with me," she said louder as the space increased between his long strides and her shorter ones. "Could it be because you are attracted to me?''

Drew stopped. Pulled an about-face. Choked on a cough and wondered if the sun was baking his brain.

"Good God, woman, would you keep it down?"

Ignoring her wasn't working. But no way did he intend to have this conversation out in the open when God only knew what she might say next. He searched, found, allocated an empty hangar for a more secluded locale to stop this train wreck in the making. He gave her guard a high sign, relinquishing him from duty for a few moments.

Drew gripped Yasmine's arm and jerked her into the dim sanctuary of the abandoned hangar. "Why in the hell would you think I'm—" he longed for a LifeSaver "—attracted to you?"

She stared at him. Just stared through an extended silence broken only by a bird flapping around the webbing of metal beams overhead. In her eyes he could read the memory of him flattening her to the floor during the shooting. Before that, of her backing into him and smack-dab on the erection he'd been fighting to will away.

Damn it all, even the memory of her tight little bottom nestled against him had him throbbing back into a world of want. He'd never been more grateful for his DCUs that kept him well covered. "I thought women over here were sheltered."

"We are. That doesn't mean we are ignorant. And of course I had an American mother who wanted to be certain her daughter made—what do you call them?—informed decisions."

She hesitated, tipping her head to the side. How the hell anyone could look regal in a yellow scarf with goddamned daisies on it boggled his mind. "Well, there's no decision to be made here. You need to stop following me."

"I understand that this physical reaction of yours makes you uncomfortable around me. Of course women are lucky that when they experience such a physical reaction it is not as obvious."

Physical reaction? She couldn't be flat-out referring to his...

Shit. She was. He did
not
intend to stand here and discuss hard-ons with this woman. "I have work to do."

Like beating his head against a wall until he passed out and woke up to find this conversation never happened. He executed a sharp military pivot and started back toward the light.

"It is okay, you know." Her voice dogged him. "There is no need to worry I expect anything long-term from you. I understand that men can not control when it happens for them."

What the hell did she know about men with no self-control? The light faded until he saw red. Thoughts blasted into his head, harsh images brought on by too many years of seeing the worst so-called humans could inflict on the helpless.

Hand on his military-issue side arm holstered on his hip, he charged back to her. His other hand thumped the side of the metal hangar beside her as if already erecting a wall between her and any threat. "Has someone hurt you?"