Enticing the Spymaster (War Girls) (6 page)

He reversed their positions on the bench, putting her beneath him.

Something told her he wouldn’t stop this time. He rocked his hips and she shivered with anticipation and desire. Need rose from deep inside, the need for him she’d tried to bottle up but never quite succeeded. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

He moaned and kissed her harder. One hand found her breast and she gasped when he squeezed gently.

“Oh!” Her eyes grew wide and she forgot to breathe.

He did it again. She trembled, then sank one hand into his hair, pulling him closer so she could kiss him harder.

His hand rubbed, squeezed and tormented one breast then the other, making her shake and moan.

She wanted—no,
needed
—something more. But she didn’t know what.

“Michael,” she said on a breathy moan. “Please.”

His mouth left hers, and he nibbled and sucked his way down her neck. “What do you want?”

“I...I don’t know. You. I want...you.”

He lifted his head and gazed down at her with eyes ablaze. “I won’t stop this time,” he growled. “Do you understand? I can’t stop. I’ve waited too long, wanted too long.”

“Yes.” She didn’t understand, but didn’t care. She wanted to belong to him, even if it was for a short time. Even if it was only for this hour.

He stared at her, fear flashing across his features. “I’ll be gentle. I swear to God I won’t hurt you.”

She smiled and tugged at him. “You’ll only hurt me if you....” No, she wasn’t going to put a name to her fears. “Please, I need you.”

“I’m yours.” He groaned and kissed her again, his mouth open, his tongue seeking hers in a sinful tangle.

His hands met at the back of her neck and he started unbuttoning her dress. She thought it would take forever, but then the cool air hit her back and he pulled the bodice down. He stared at her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, cupping them, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples.

She panted, clinging to his shoulders as he watched his fingers play. She made a sound and his eyes darkened. His mouth was on hers again and his hands were busy, pushing her dress and undergarments down over her hips, leaning her back on the bench.

He wrenched his uniform off, nearly tearing it in the process, his gaze never stopping its slow rake of her body.

“You are exquisite.”

Jude didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at his body. Muscles bunched and shifted under his skin as he flung his shirt in the corner, followed by his trousers and knickers. She sucked in a breath—then forgot how to breathe altogether. He looked like the statue of David, only he was warm, alive and very aroused.

The evidence of which stood out proudly from its nest of hair.

She reached to touch him, but he caught her hand and pinned it to the bench above her head.

“If you touch me, I won’t last more than a few moments.” He came over her, one leg thrust between her own.

“But I—”

“Let me give you pleasure.” His whisper tickled her ear.

He’d said that before.

No
, she wouldn’t think of that. Not now. “Yes.”

He groaned and took her mouth, bracing his weight on one forearm while his free hand traced the line of her jaw, her neck and down to her breast, where he teased and tantalised her until she writhed beneath him.

Then he dipped his hand lower, between her legs, circling and rubbing the sensitive flesh there, teaching her the true meaning of desire.

She was burning up and the force of it frightened her. “Michael?”

“Jude...God, you’re like liquid fire in my arms.”

“I n-n-need, I need...something. I feel like I’m going to fly apart.” Her thighs started to shake and she gripped his shoulders, digging her nails in. “
Please
.”

“Yes, now.” He parted her quivering thighs with his other knee, making room for himself between them. But he was so large, so overwhelmingly male, that she began to shake from head to toe. A frightened sound squeaked past her lips.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her over and over, letting her get used to the feel of his body covering hers. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

“I know.” Her jaw shook and she tried to control it, but her body didn’t feel as if it belonged to her anymore. “I...I want this. I want you.”

He kissed her again, softly this time, gently, and she calmed enough for the tremors to disappear.

His hand tested her and she gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure.

“So wet, so tight.” He tested her again, then replaced his fingers with something a lot larger and harder.

He was careful—almost too careful—working his cock into her with short thrusts that did little to relieve the tension filling her body. She still felt empty and on the edge of something explosive and wonderful. “Michael, please.”

He breathed deep, his chest heaving like a bellows. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Damn him, he was going to put her in Bedlam at this rate.

Shivering in severe anticipation, Jude raked her nails down his back until she reached his magnificent buttocks, then dug them in.

He groaned a deep-throated surrender and plunged inside her.

The sharp pain caught her by surprise and she gasped.

Michael froze above her. “Jude?”

“I’m fine. Please. Love me.”

“I do,” he said as he pulled out then pushed relentlessly back in.

Her back arched and she bit back a cry. She could feel him inside her and it was wonderful. Then he sped up and it went beyond wonderful into divine. He thrust into her, harder and faster, and her body flew apart with a suddenness that shocked her as much as the pleasure did. She screamed, but he caught it with his lips, swallowing her cries. A few more thrusts and he stiffened, pouring his own shout into her mouth.

Breathing heavy, he collapsed onto her, his head resting against her neck. He kissed along her collarbone as her pulse slowly returned to normal.

Voices were suddenly audible outside the berth, all male. The air felt cool, and a variety of aches suddenly made themselves known—the one between her legs most of all.

Michael pulled out of her, making her gasp in both pleasure and pain. His eyes glittered as they met her anxious gaze. She knew what he was about to say. What his sense of honour and duty would oblige him to demand.

A cool cloak of reason draped itself over her. “Don’t,” she ordered. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

Chapter Eight

He opened his mouth—to argue, she was sure—but shouting outside the train dragged his attention away. “We’ve stopped. We’re in Liege.” He peeked out the window and swore under his breath. “Do you remember the officer who watched you tend the wounded the night I arrived?”

“Yes.”

“He’s talking to the conductor.” Michael’s hands curled into fists. “We’re going to have to run.”

She immediately sat up and hopped off the bench, her intention to get dressed as quickly as possible, but her legs were unable to keep her upright.

He caught her before she could hit the floor, hauling her against his hot body, one arm behind her back, the other under her buttocks.

Jude gasped at the intimate position, blushing all over again at being in contact with his hard muscles and soft skin. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out.

His eyes were shuttered, his mouth a thin line. “How badly did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t.”

He snorted but released her, keeping a hand on her waist to steady her.

Unfortunately, she needed it. Getting her buttons done on her plain beige dress seemed to take forever. Finally it was accomplished, and she turned to ask him if she looked presentable.

He’d gotten dressed himself, looking completely normal. But as she faced him, he scooped her face between his hands and kissed her like he had while inside her.

A helpless little moan slipped out of her mouth.

“There’s no time now, but you and I...have unfinished business to discuss.”

She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, but more shouting and the sound of running feet inside the train had her jerking out of his grasp. He examined her face, nodded once, then opened the door and looked down the hall. He held out his hand and she let him pull her from the room.

They walked, at a sedate pace that made her want to scream, towards the front of the train. Once the locomotive began to move again, they quickly stepped off near the end of the platform. Several small groups of soldiers moved around the perimeter, searching for something—or someone. But they didn’t give Jude or Michael a second glance.

She overheard shouted orders to search the surrounding area and buildings. “Who are they searching for?”

“I don’t know. It seems someone important is on the loose, but it isn’t us.”

“Should we get back on the train?” She turned to look, but it was gone.

“It’s better to avoid that officer. If he recognised either of us, we’d be the ones they’d be hunting. Come, let’s find somewhere to talk that’s not so crowded.”

Scowling at him, she took his proffered arm and he led her past the ticket station and down a set of stairs. A public toilet—a squat stone building, its base crumbling with age—stood at the bottom of the steps. “I need to stop for a moment.”

Michael nodded and she went inside. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A shuffling sound drew her attention to the far corner.

A man crouched there.

She managed to stop herself from screaming by the barest of margins.

The man didn’t move.

She wasn’t sure he could. He appeared to be hurt, one arm tied to his torso with what looked like dirty bandages, and he was breathing far too fast for someone immobile. There was blood on his face and clothing, what she could see of it. He wore something odd around his legs. She took a step closer and realised she was looking at the puttees of a British uniform.

She met his gaze. His eyes were wide and a sheen of sweat covered his face.

He jerked back as male voices called out in German, asking who was inside.

Jude motioned for the man to stay where he was and turned to block the doorway. “Hanz?” she called out as she stepped outside. “What is it?”

Four German soldiers stood in front of Michael, who was partially blocking the entry.

“Excuse us, madam, is there anyone else inside?”

“No, no one. I was about to—I mean, do you need me to leave?”

The soldier looked at Michael. “Have you seen anyone else nearby? We’re searching for a man in a British uniform.”

“Only my wife and I. A British soldier? Here?”

“A prisoner. He’s wounded and couldn’t have gotten far.”

Michael shook his head. “I would have stopped a man in a British uniform. There are a lot of people in this area—perhaps he lost himself in the crowd.”

“Shout if you come across him.”

Michael gave the soldier a sharp nod and the group moved on.

“Is it safe for me to go back inside, or will I be interrupted again, do you think?” Jude continued in German.

“I think it’s fine, dear.”

“Nevertheless, give me your overcoat to block the door.”

He raised an eyebrow but handed her the coat without complaint. She took it and went back inside.

The soldier hadn’t moved, though his facial expression had changed. Fear no longer dominated, confusion did.

She held out the coat and mimed him standing and putting it on.

He didn’t move.

She crouched down as close to him as she dared and whispered in English. “You can’t stay here. The Germans will find you. My...husband and I can help you.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“We are your
only
chance, though I admit, it’s a slim one.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I didn’t give you up a moment ago.”

He bit his lower lip and stared at the floor.

“Make your decision quickly. It’ll look strange if I’m in here for much longer.”

“How can you help me?”

“Hide you to start.”

“I would rather die than fall into German hands again.”

“Then it’s a good thing my hands aren’t German.” She extended one to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it.

She got the coat around him but realised the puttees would give him away in seconds. She knelt and, using her small knife to cut the fabric, unwrapped them from his legs. She stood. His trousers were heavily wrinkled but less conspicuous than the puttees.

“Follow me.”

She walked out of the toilet and cleared her throat. “Darling,” she said in German. “Your brother fell again. Next time he wants to go drinking, perhaps you could keep him from rolling around on the ground. He looks like he’s been in combat.”

The British soldier shuffled out behind her then stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Michael.

Who didn’t miss a beat. “Johann, could you have gotten any more mud on yourself?” He came around Jude, shaking his head. “This is the last time I’m taking you drinking on our time off. Come on.” He put a hand behind the soldier’s back and continued to grumble loudly about how they should have eaten before drinking as he guided the man away from the train station and into town.

“Dear,” Michael called to Jude. “Could you nip on ahead to that tavern to see if they have any rooms left? Preferably one with space for three.”

“Of course.”

She hurried towards the tavern and went inside. A few locals were sitting at tables eating and drinking, but it was otherwise empty. The barkeeper did have a room with two beds, and she had the key in her hands when Michael and the soldier entered.

They went straight upstairs.

As soon as the door was closed, Michael guided the man into a chair.

He was breathing heavy, sweating and watching Jude and Michael as if certain they were picking his pockets. “Who are you people?” he asked in German.

A British soldier who could speak German. He was educated, whoever he was.

Michael peeled the coat off him and gave him a once-over. “Broken arm?”

“A couple of ribs too.”

“Where did all the blood come from?” Jude asked, peering over Michael’s shoulder.

“Stab wound in the side,” the soldier replied with a grunt. “That’s what broke the ribs.”

“How did you get off the train?” Michael moved back to let her take a closer look.

“Jumped. I think I might have broken another rib in the process.”

“You’re completely barmy, friend. And damned lucky.”

The soldier frowned at them. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m a nurse,” Jude said.

Michael just smiled.

“Let me guess,” the soldier said, his voice coloured by sarcasm. “You’re a nurse too?”

“I think I like him,” Michael said to Jude.

Of course he would. “Does this mean you’re going to recruit him?”

“If we live and manage to get away, quite possibly.”

“Recruit me for what?”

Michael looked at the Brit as if he’d done something clever. “The British Army, of course.”

“You’re a little late,
friend.
As you can see, someone else beat you to it.”

Michael took a seat in the room’s only other chair. “Bucking for a promotion already?”

The soldier chuckled as he looked from her then back at Michael. “Is this is some sort of new interrogation technique?”

“No,” she told him with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m afraid he’s always like this.”

“Why did you marry him, then?”

She snorted.

“Now, now,
dear
, don’t be rude.”

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “
Darling
, I need some clean clothing for him. And purchase something I can tear up into bandages as well.” She examined the soldier’s torn and stained uniform. “I doubt I’ll be able to salvage much of this.”

“Anything else?”

“Wine—and something to eat on the road. We’ll need to feed ourselves after we leave.” She began unpicking the knot in the bandage tying the soldier’s arm to his torso.

“Very good.” Michael didn’t move. He was staring at the soldier. The soldier stared back. “Just so we understand each other, lad, if you touch this woman with anything less than the utmost respect, I’ll kill you. Slowly.”

Frost turned the air in the room icy.

“Fair enough.” The British soldier inclined his head. “I’ll treat her as if she were my own mother.”

Michael smiled, but there wasn’t a stitch of humour in it. “I won’t be long.”

Jude found herself frozen in place long after he was gone.

“Your husband is the most intimidating man I’ve ever met. And after the week I’ve had, that’s saying something,” the soldier said finally. “No offence.”

“None taken. He can be somewhat...intense.” She continued removing the bandage.

“Are you really a nurse?”

“Yes. How long ago did you injure yourself?”

“A few days. I don’t really remember how it happened. I woke up in a German trench and knew something had gone wrong.”

She finally got the fabric unravelled and opened his uniform jacket and shirt from the bottom up. First she exposed the wound on his side.

“Has a doctor seen this?”

“Not that I know of. I don’t know who bandaged me up.”

Frowning, she reached for his head. “You must have hit your head.” Her fingers searched his scalp and found dried blood. She parted his hair. “You have a bullet wound here.”

“I do?”

“A glancing blow, just a furrow, but it must have knocked you unconscious. No wonder you don’t remember what happened.” She went back to his knife wound, peeling the bandage away carefully. “This is a shallow wound, what I can see of it. It bled a lot. A good thing, probably why there’s no infection.” She gave it a sniff. “Smells clean.”

“What about my ribs?”

“Not much we can do about them other than wrapping a bandage around your middle to keep them stable. No more jumping off trains, though. Now let’s have a look at your arm.”

She finished removing his jacket and shirt. He cradled his left arm against his chest and winced as she pulled the sleeve away. There was a pronounced bump and bruise a third of the way up from his wrist to his elbow.

“At least one of the bones of your forearm is broken, possibly both. Did anyone try to set this?”

“No.”

She checked his fingers. His skin with a healthy pink under the dirt. “Since your circulation seems fine, my advice would be to wait for a doctor to do it. I’ve set a few bones, but never without a doctor’s direction.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“We’ll wrap it up, then, use a stick to keep it stable, and secure your arm to your chest a little better than it was done before.” She headed towards the door. “I’m going to get some water and soap. Don’t go anywhere.”

He shrugged. “As if I could.”

* * *

Michael found a small shop selling a variety of household items including clothing. He purchased a set of men’s work clothing and a chemise made of relatively poor cotton. He bought a few loaves of bread at a bakery, some fresh cheese and a couple bottles of cheap wine.

He returned to the tavern and arranged for an evening meal to be sent up to their room, telling the tavern keeper’s wife that his brother-in-law probably wouldn’t feel better until after he had a good meal in his belly. Getting drunk on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door once before entering.

Jude crouched next to the soldier, a basin of water on the floor in front of her, a bar of soap and a cloth in her hands.

Michael closed the door and took off his pack. “How goes it?”

“Not too bad. He’s got a broken arm, some broken ribs, a shallow stab wound in his side and a flesh wound on his head.”

“That’s quite the list. Is he mobile?”

“I believe so.”

“He’s sitting right here,” the soldier grumbled.

Michael turned his attention to the soldier and grinned. “Has
he
got a name I can use instead?”

The soldier didn’t respond except to return Michael’s grin.

“Why did the Germans take you prisoner?” Jude asked.

“You’d have to ask them. Or perhaps you should ask your superiors.”

“I beg your pardon?” She sounded insulted.

“You really think this is some sort of ruse to get you to talk?” Michael asked.

“All I know is that a German soldier who speaks perfect English and a woman claiming to be a nurse rescued me from certain capture.”

“You think we contrived all this just to get you to talk?” Jude sounded even more insulted.

“Don’t be too hard on him. I’d be as suspicious if I were in his shoes.”