ROAR (66 page)

She rarely managed more than a few hours any given night. One more night after this and—

“Pamela! Which house are you in?”

Kristoffer?

For a moment, she stopped and prepared to open the front door. God, she must be more tired than she thought if she was hearing his voice like he was standing outside the house.

“Sprite, answer me!”

Her heart hammered as she dropped the caddy and ran to the door. Standing in the dirty courtyard in the center of the staff housing units was Kristoffer. He was dressed in camo with backpack straps showing and wearing a military helmet, but she couldn’t mistake his height, voice, or chin for anyone else’s.

“What the—?”

Hearing her voice, he homed in on her position and ran toward her, lifting her into his arms and holding her against his hard body as her towel slipped free and fell to the concrete porch. They kissed, her tongue plundering every blessed inch of his warm mouth until she had to break away to catch her breath.

She stared into his beautiful blue eyes. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home—after your shift tomorrow. We weren’t sure how long it would take to get here, so my timing is a little off.”

Tears of joy and exhaustion spilled down her cheeks before her brain engaged. “Who’s we?”

Kristoffer set her on her feet and pointed to where she could see the gate to the common yard area. Gunnar stood, also in camo and helmet, but holding a rifle. He nodded a greeting in her direction and smiled. Another man she didn’t recognize stood nearby.

“Gunnar and Patrick copiloted around the clock, with only the legally required ground time, until his jet touched down in Kabul late Sunday.”

“We’ve been in the same country an entire day and I didn’t know? Your e-mail last night mentioned that you and Gunnar were on a business trip.”

By now, Gunnar had joined them, grinning. “I invested a fuck-ton of money on some equipment at a hospital in Kabul and wanted to see if I got my money’s worth.”

She broke free of Kristoffer and wrapped her arms around Gunnar’s waist, hugging him and whispering, “Thank you. Lame words, I know, but I appreciate this from the bottom of my heart. As long as we don’t get killed or attacked trying to get out of here.”

“I’ve got your six, Doc.”

She shook her head. Kristoffer pressed his body against her back, and his hands spread open over her ribs, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts. He bent to murmur, “And I’ve got your front, Sprite.” She grinned. Of all the nicknames people had given her, she liked Sprite best.

Gunnar gave them a nod. “I know when I’m not needed anymore. Sleep well. Patrick and I will keep an eye on things.” Ah, Patrick, the Marine from New Mexico who had attended the meeting in which she’d pleaded Fakhira’s case for being brought to the States. She hadn’t recognized him from this distance with his gear on.

She wriggled out of Kristoffer’s arms and turned to face him. “Where on earth are you going to sleep? I only have a cot.”

He grinned and took her hand to go inside. “I’ll be your mattress tonight.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t my private residence, you know.”

He feigned indignation. “I didn’t say I was going to let you have your way with me, woman. Show some discipline.”

She laughed. “Well, I might be a little rusty because I haven’t seen my Dom in a month. I’m probably running on adrenaline now, but I do need to catch some sleep so I don’t make any mistakes on my last day here. Come in. I’ll give you a tour.”

After showing him the shared kitchen and bathroom, she led him back down the hall to her sparse room. “You weren’t kidding.” He walked the few steps to the cot, dwarfing the room with his size. “Now, you need to get to bed, Sprite.” He turned and shut the door before removing her robe. “Where’s your brush?”

“Probably on the hallway floor where I dropped my caddy after I realized I wasn’t hallucinating—or hearing things.”

He grinned and shook his head as he opened the door again and went to retrieve her toiletries. Back inside the room, he told her to present her back to him and began brushing out her hair, which was a tangled mess. Such a simple gesture of caring.

“I’ve missed having you taking care of me like this. The past month has been so stressful, and I haven’t had any way of processing it other than sleep—when I could catch a few hours.”

“You’ll enjoy a full night’s sleep in my arms tonight.”

She still didn’t know how the two of them would fit into such a tiny bed, but they’d somehow make it work.

As he brushed the knots out, she relaxed so deeply she swayed. “Whoa!” He dropped the brush and scooped her up and carried her to the cot. “Time for bed, Sprite.”

Exhaustion overtook her, and she started crying again. “I’m sorry for the waterworks.”

“Never apologize for showing your emotions. They’re real, and shedding tears can be cathartic in many ways.”

“Thanks.” He always understood and accepted her as she was.

“What do you usually wear to bed?”

She pointed to her carry-on bag sitting on the floor beside two others. “There’s a T-shirt in there. The blue one.” He unzipped the bag, found the shirt, and returned to her side.

“Arms up.” His voice had grown husky, and she felt the heat of his gaze on her breasts. After such a long absence, he had to be horny as hell, but she appreciated that he didn’t intend to act on it. She was bone weary and wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her to make sure she wasn’t imagining this.

After he tugged the shirt down to hide her attributes, he lifted her legs and swung them around onto the foot of the cot. Surveying the foot and a half of the bed left, he smiled. “Plenty of room.” He began to remove his boots and clothing, his eyes never looking away from hers. If he said it would work, she’d believe him. He was much more spatial than she was.

Stripping him down to his boxers, she laughed. He’d worn a white pair covered in red hearts.

“Eat your heart out, Sprite. I knew we wouldn’t be making love tonight, so I’ll give you something sexy to dream about.”

“I’m sure if I dream tonight, it will be nothing but sexy thoughts of you—and your boxers, Sir.” She smiled, holding out her hand in invitation.

“Turn on your side facing the wall, and scoot that way as far as you comfortably can. I’m coming in.”

The cot groaned under his weight, but didn’t collapse. She held her breath, though, unsure it would survive the weight of both of them. But when he wrapped his arm around her waist, cupped her breast, and pulled her against him snugly, she sighed.

They may not be back in their condo, but they were home.

“Welcome home, Master Roar.”

His breathing stopped a moment, telling her he’d noticed her new title for him. She’d let him know her decision later, when she could be lucid, but she had long ago decided she would accept and wear his collar proudly.

He kissed the back of her head. “It’s good to
be
home, Sprite.”

From now on, home would be wherever they happened to be, as long as they were together.

*     *     *

Peace. The world had righted itself again, because he held his sleeping sprite tonight. She’d zonked out in a flash, but the light she exuded through every pore burned brightly for him. He’d slept on the jet and was wide awake.

Seeing her standing in the doorway an hour ago, dark circles under her eyes, her face showing the ravages this month had taken on her, he’d wasted no time crushed her in his arms. She’d lost a lot of weight judging by the ribs he felt on her back through her terry robe.

He’d get right to work building up her stamina again once they were out of this hellhole. Until then, he’d pamper and care for her. And kiss her, hold her, sleep with her. Nothing else on his agenda for the foreseeable future.

Gunnar said they couldn’t chance the road to Kabul after dark, though, so that meant another night here. Unless she could be released early enough to make the five-hour trip in daylight.

He kissed the back of her head again, careful not to wake her but needing to assure himself he actually held her like this. As if he could wake her.

He took a deep breath.

Man, did he ever owe Gunnar—again. The thought of her flying home on three commercial flights after spending a grueling month in this…

She wouldn’t have to. Along with the help of copilot Patrick, they would reach home safely much sooner and in a lot more comfort.

Kristoffer shuddered as he remembered hearing a mortar blast on the drive to Kunduz. Everything he’d imagined about the fear felt by those in the military and in harm’s way flew out of his mind. The terror he’d felt—listening for the next one, wondering if it would hit the vehicle he rode in—God of Thunder, what had his woman endured this past month?

And why hadn’t she shared what a dangerous area she was in? She’d told him remote, but he’d figured fewer people might lessen the danger. Maybe that only worked in the States.

Gunnar hadn’t seemed fazed by any of it. In fact, he might have been exhilarated by it. The two shared no resemblance to one another at the moment.

Truly sitting shotgun—assault rifle locked and loaded with Patrick behind the driver ready to provide cover to that side of the vehicle—the Army Delta and Marine had been vigilant. If anyone could get them out of here safely, it was these two—along with the other members of Gunnar’s team in the convoy.

Kristoffer didn’t own a single weapon, but wished he’d bothered to learn to use one now. All he could do was shield her with his body if they came under fire.

Pamela jerked in her sleep, and he held her tighter. “Shh, Sprite,” he whispered. “I have you.”

Mine.

No one would ever hurt her if he could prevent it. But if she ever signed on to do something this dangerous again, he’d…well, she wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.

Of course, he’d promised that her career was off limits as far as his authority, but he’d damned well ask more questions next time and do a lot more investigation to determine the risk factors and make sure she was aware of them.

And if they were blessed with kids, well, he’d have no problem playing the guilt card to keep her home, regardless of their “no regrets, no guilt” mantra.

At least, this would be her last assignment in a war-torn country. Central America had drug lords and guerillas, though. Maybe he’d go along in some capacity. When they returned home, he’d ask Gunnar to teach him to shoot a weapon at the firing range. He’d encourage Pamela to learn, too. Maybe if he presented it as a bonding experience for the two of them…

He almost laughed at the image of himself in his three-piece suit wielding a .357 Magnum or whatever weapon Gunnar suggested he fire. Having spent his life tucked safely behind a desk, this wasn’t something he’d given any thought.

But violence and evil existed back home, too. Colorado had seen its share of senseless massacres. He wanted to be able to protect her—and while she couldn’t carry a weapon into the hospital, at least she could have it in her glove box for the commute.

You need to get some sleep, man.

Perhaps Gunnar could spare one of his teams to shadow Pamela in Guatemala—and him as well, because never again would he be separated from her this long, especially when she was in harm’s way.

He sighed. While having someone to look out for and care for was great, the responsibility weighed heavily on him tonight.

And they still had some unfinished business, although he wouldn’t push her for an answer to his proposal to collar her until she’d recovered from this nightmare first.

Had he given her enough time to think about all the problems being collared might present? Or too much? He’d been clear, he hoped, that the collar he’d place around her neck wouldn’t make anyone suspicious of its meaning unless they were familiar with the BDSM lifestyle and noticed that she never wore any other necklace.

But had he pushed for collaring her too soon?

No. The bond they’d formed at her dad’s house far exceeded what most people achieved after years of being together. Perhaps their ages had something to do with the speed in which things were happening. He’d be forty-two in two months.

All he knew was that, collared or not, he wanted her beside him the rest of his life. But the collar offered a deeper sense of belonging to each other for both of them.

He couldn’t wait to see if she was ready to take that step with him in the near future along with many others.

*     *     *

Pamela awoke suddenly, thinking she’d missed her shift, only to realize she’d worked her last one yesterday. After the grueling drive to Kabul, they hadn’t wasted any time before hopping on Gunnar’s luxury jet and taking off. Tonight, sitting on Kristoffer’s lap—soon to be her Master Roar—on her way home to Colorado, she couldn’t stop touching him. He’d traveled all that way, thanks to Gunnar, to bring her home.

She sat up and smiled at him. “I could sleep for a month.”

“I’m sure you missed out on a lot of it this past one. I know I ought to let you stretch out and sleep, but I don’t want to turn you loose to move even that far away from me.”

She smiled, searching his eyes. “I sleep better in your arms than anywhere.” She leaned in for a kiss, but her growling stomach killed the mood.

Kristoffer slid her onto one of the curves in the U-shaped leather seat. “I’ll get your dinner, Sprite.”

He walked over to the kitchen and pulled a plastic-covered dish from the fridge and popped it into the microwave. “I’ll be right back. Let me see if Gunnar or Patrick want to eat now, too.”

Alone while he went to the cockpit, she looked around. She knew Gunnar had money, but this was pure opulence. She still marveled that anyone could have a fireplace in an airplane—well, a simulated-fire one.

Except for takeoffs and landings, they’d remained entwined in each other’s arms. They’d left Frankfurt and were on the final leg of the journey. Soon, they would be home. She’d expected to still be on the ground in Dubai, assuming her original flight from Kabul had taken off on time and she’d made all her connections. Instead, she’d have more time to spend with Kristoffer before having to return to work at Children’s.