Make Mine a Marine (29 page)

She caught her breath at the sheer masculine beauty of it. Straight white teeth framed by firm, thin lips. They were close enough that she could feel his warm breath fanning across her face. She inhaled the soapy, clean, masculine scent of him, tinged by the faint pungency of the insect salve he, too, wore.

Sarah's stomach flip-flopped. An unusual heat sparked there and curled lower as a whole new set of sensations vibrated through her, every bit as powerful as her anger, but much more pleasurable. His chest was so hard, his hold unbreakable yet so gentle, his mouth so tempting.

She stared at that temptation and discovered she couldn't speak. Her throat tightened with a customary clench of shyness. She damned her cursed inability to voice her desires. She wanted to savor the rush of adrenaline coursing through her. She wanted to channel it in a way a woman and man could share together. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to want to kiss her. And yet she knew he wouldn't. All she could do was lecture him. All he could do was put up with her.

"You were backing into a web." As if sensing her clouded ability to speak, Hawk took over the duties for her. Grateful for the change of topic that doused both her desire and her embarrassment, she relaxed and followed the inclination of his head.

He twisted his right wrist and lifted his knife to eye level. Skewered at the end was a brown, hairy spider the size of two Ping-Pong balls stuck together.

"Spider! Big spider!" she shrieked.

She spun and buried her face in his shoulder. As hard as she had hit him before, she now clutched him tightly, clinging to fistfuls of his shirt and vest. She felt his arm flinch as he flicked the horrid creature into the jungle and wiped the blade clean on his pant leg.

He shifted his stance and wrapped both arms around her, catching her more fully in his embrace. He tugged at her braid, picking out the sticky white residue that had caught her hair. He bent his head and cooed into her ear, calming her with whispers in a language she didn't understand. The ups and downs of the day caught up with her and she sagged against him, weary with emotional fatigue, grateful for his gentle, steadying strength.

"That's it, honey. You're gonna be all right. You'll beat this like you beat those bureaucrats back home."

Hawk heard the endearment slip out and questioned the wisdom of his actions. He'd never had a woman melt into him with such guileless abandon before. She fit him just right, with the crown of her hair nestling beneath his chin and her long legs placing her hips just at the juncture of his thighs. He doubted she had any idea how provocative it could be to empower a man with that kind of trust.

What could be the harm in just holding her? he reasoned weakly. She'd been through a real scare. First him, then the knife, then the spider. Any decent man would comfort her. And he liked to think of himself as a decent man.

She sighed and burrowed into him, unwittingly rubbing against the one place she shouldn't, and all thoughts of decency popped out of his brain. Prim and proper Miss McCormick wasn't a shapeless bag of fragile female as he had first envisioned. Even in the trim knee-length shorts and sensible blouse she was wearing he could feel the shape of her. Her hips flared, full and womanly, hinting at an earth-mother fertility he loved, but which most women tried to diet away or camouflage. Her breasts were small but unexpectedly sassy, like their owner. Having them flattened against him like this, he couldn't help but notice their proud tips.

And when she looked at him with those big eyes, golden pools flecked with green that revealed raw, uncontrolled emotion, he nearly lost all perspective. She wanted to be kissed. Even if he couldn't read the desire swirling about her face in a fiery halo, he could see it in the breathless parting of her lips. And man, was he tempted to give her what she asked. Tempted to forget decorum and missions and taking care of business, and sample what she unconsciously offered him.

He could just tilt her chin up and slide his mouth over hers. Play a little game with her, teach her and tease her with his lips and tongue.

He knew instinctively that this was a woman who would respond to a man's touch, a sensual woman made all the more appealing because she wasn't aware of her sensuality. She didn't flaunt her assets or make coy come-ons to a man.

It was that ladylike reticence that brought him to his senses at last. He eased his hold on her, but didn't pull away because she had yet to let up her death grip on the front of his clothes. As base as his own thoughts had been, he couldn't leave her without the support she needed until she could summon her own strength.

Now was the time that he should reassure her. He should explain that the spider's bite wasn't poisonous, though its size alone could leave a nasty wound that would need medical treatment to prevent infection. He should tell her that all of Salazar's men carried big hunting knives, too, that it was standard equipment for jungle travel.

But he didn't want to talk. He didn't want to say anything that might break the spell that anchored Sarah to him.

Because the wishful part of him that he guarded so carefully didn't want her to leave. He might be a god to some, a freak of nature to others, but he was still a man. And like a man, he relished the joy of simply holding a woman. He found a rare contentment in savoring the fresh, unperfumed scent of her. His hormones churned with renewed vigor as his thoughts wandered into the realm of fantasy.

The soldier in him knew he should move on. He should separate himself from irrelevant complications like discovering a sexy side to Miss Schoolmarm here, and get back to the business of seeing her safely back to camp. But he didn't listen to the mystic or the soldier. He listened to the man.

He leaned back and sheathed his knife in the leather casing inside his vest. As expected, her eyes lit with a spark of nervousness, but still she clutched at him. He brushed his fingertips along her cheek, quieting her as he'd soothe a skittish colt. And then he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face toward his. The unpainted angles of her cheeks and forehead were flushed with the colors of fear and anticipation.

He studied her mouth. Asymmetrical in shape, it was precisely drawn on top and full on the bottom. It had blossomed like a flower when she smiled. Would it do the same if he kissed her? He touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Just as he imagined, it was soft as a petal beneath his callused touch, pink as a rosebud against his bronzed skin. The contrasts alone aroused him, lured him. He bent his head, seeking just a taste, a crumb to feed his lonely soul. But before their lips met, she trembled beneath his touch, ever so slightly, stroking him with an unintentional caress.

He felt the tiny tug all the way down to the soles of his boots.

The electric jolt snapped him back to reality.

Hawk cursed himself for dropping his guard like that. What was he thinking? The last thing he needed was to turn his curiosity about a prim and proper virgin into some kind of mystical experience. She had to be an innocent. She was too damn naive and trusting for her own good. She had no idea what she'd been asking of him. No idea how he wanted to answer her.

Hawk released her, holding his hands out to either side as if she had scorched him. "Not tonight, schoolmarm."

Her gaze snapped at him at the intentional use of the nickname. He braced himself, waiting for her to go all prissy on him. Waiting and deserving to hear her chew him out good for playing with her like that.

She shoved her fists against him and he willingly stepped back, putting much-needed breathing space between them. But she didn't yell at him. She didn't lecture him for putting his hands on her. She didn't accuse him of forgetting his place. She didn't do anything to him.

Instead, she closed herself off. The aura he read so easily vanished as if she'd flipped a switch. She folded her arms across her stomach, protecting herself. Not from him, but from something hidden within. A memory. A secret. A forgotten fear or disappointment that he'd stirred up accidentally.

"Sarah, I'm sorry. I couldn't believe Salazar left you out here alone. I didn't mean to—"

"Of course you didn't mean to. No one ever does." She shuddered, shaking off whatever unwanted feelings he'd roused in her. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Hawk waited for the onslaught.

The fact that it never came bothered him more than he cared to admit. Being shy and inexperienced was one thing; he found her natural timidity endearing. The way she got tongue-tied at times made her human, vulnerable. But her shutting everything off inside worried him. At the very least she should slap his face for holding on to her like that, for flirting like a man when she needed an impersonal bodyguard. It was wrong for her to accept blame or embarrassment or whatever it was that shut down that tart tongue of hers.

"Sarah?"

"I'd better get back. I don't like what Luis said. I should be with the girls now." Impersonal and efficient as an automaton, she picked up the flashlight and started off. She halted after two steps into the darkness. "Darn it."

She turned around and held out the flashlight. "I think I broke it."

He could be coldly efficient, too. Hell, nobody, not even Miss Priss, was better at that game than he was. He snatched the flashlight and inspected its metal casing. He tightened the cap, then slapped the butt of it twice in his palm. The light snapped on, canceling out the shadows surrounding them.

He ignored her outstretched hand, reminding himself of the reason he'd come to Tenebrosa in the first place. Evil was a dark thing. And the shadows of the jungle gave evil plenty of places to hide. Sarah and her band of teenagers were innocent lights. He'd come here to make sure their light didn't go out.

He'd come to reclaim a lost part of himself from the shadows.

His mind clear to its purpose once more, he handed her the flashlight, but kept hold of his end, binding them together for a brief moment of understanding.

"I heard what Salazar said. Martín won't hurt the girls. I promise."

She dropped her aloofness once the topic turned to someone other than herself. "How do you know that?"

Should he tell her he could read the black-tipped auras of deceit surrounding Martín and Antonio? Should he tell her how much it concerned him that he couldn't get a clear impression of Salazar himself? That he'd spent all day looking for nonmystical clues to either confirm or deny his suspicions of the man?

He answered by pulling himself up to his full six feet, four inches of height and turning his face into her light, purposely enhancing the angles and shadows of his face. "Do I look like somebody they'd want to mess with?"

She smiled at him then, not the least bit intimidated by his show of force. "I guess not."

Caught off-guard by her unanticipated reaction, Hawk thought her generously curved mouth was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Stunned by the surprising revelation of beauty, he released the flashlight and murmured a response to her good-night.

"Hawk? What's your real name?"

Preoccupied as he was, the query came out of left field. But not since a painful day on the playground back in second grade had he let that one slip. "Un-uh." He shook his head. "Family secret."

Her smile remained fixed in place, and Hawk basked in the glorious gift that pierced the darkness around his heart. "I'm a smart woman, you know. I enjoy figuring out puzzles."

"Believe me, you'll never figure me out."

Her mouth flattened into a serious line. "I believe you when you say you'll protect us. I hope it doesn't come to that, though."

Accepting her trust was a dangerous responsibility, one he couldn't guarantee living up to. But for his own sake, he had to try. "It won't."

"I'll see you in the morning, then. Save a seat on that last truck for me."

Hawk followed the sweet little sway of her tush all the way back into camp, torturing himself with thoughts that were sure to shock Sarah. Talk about puzzles. No one, not once since he'd lost his father early in the war dubbed Desert Storm and his great-uncle Otis had stepped in to teach him how to be a man and how to use and respect his special gifts, had ever been curious enough to figure him out. No one except Otis and his mother, Lily, had ever cared enough to try.

But the schoolmarm wanted to. He didn't mistake her curiosity for caring. He'd known a couple of women in his time who were intrigued enough to peel away a few layers of the mystique he'd carefully built around himself for protection and survival. But once they got to the weird stuff, they fled, repulsed by the unnatural powers of the man beneath the facade.

The difference this time was that he felt equally intrigued. What made the men of Marysville ignorant of Sarah McCormick's quiet beauty and amazing courage? What made her cling to him like a bee on a flower, then force him into battle mode to defend himself against that wicked, preachy mouth of hers?

The prim and proper schoolmarm was a puzzle he wanted to solve. But he couldn't allow himself that pleasure. He was here on a mission, determined to keep history from repeating itself.

Forgetting that might turn Sarah into another victim of Tenebrosa's evil history.

And he had yet to forgive himself for the last victim he'd lost here.

"Hey, Miss Mack! Come take a look at this!"