Angel of Desire (22 page)

"You know what they say about bad pennies," Shade drawled, ignoring the man's outstretched hand.

The insult hit home. Rachel watched the red flush rise from the collar of the man's olive drab fatigues. Just when she thought General Rutskoya was going to respond harshly to Shade's lack of protocol, he turned toward her.

"Ms. Parrish." His bow was low and continental, designed to impress. "If Shade's usual traveling companions were even half as lovely as you, he would be more than welcome in my country anytime."

His dark eyes made her flesh crawl. "Thank you, General. That's very kind."

"And you're very beautiful." Rutskoya's gaze moved from the top of her honey-blond head over her body, clad in a black jersey cat suit. The outfit had been designed for ease of movement. It also showed off every feminine curve.

"I thought we were going to talk business," Shade said. He began to slip his hands into his pockets to keep them from curving around the bastard's neck. When the gesture drew a quick response from the general's bodyguards, he dropped his hands to his sides instead.

"All in good time, my friend," the general counseled.

Shade was in no mood to be patient. Conlan was still imprisoned and the general's beady dark eyes were undressing Shade's woman. Enough was enough.

"Look. If you don't want the damn guns, just let me know and I'll be on my way. Thanks to the celebrated New World Order turning out to be armed chaos, I've got buyers all over three continents."

"Too true," the general agreed. He gave Rachel one long last look, then returned his attention to Shade. "I must admit, Shade, that I was surprised you'd turned to such unsavory endeavors."

"It wasn't like I was exactly a Boy Scout in my previous life. Besides, after your goons finished with me, the government put me out to pasture."

"I heard you became a mercenary."

"A guy's got to eat. Besides, I'm not cut out for retirement. Two days of fishing and I'm itching for action."

"If it's action you are looking for," the general suggested, "you've come to the right place."

"That's what I heard."

General Rutskoya wasn't going to be a pushover. Watching him carefully studying Shade, Rachel understood how the man had achieved so much unquestioned power. He was brutal, yes, but he was also intelligent.

"I find it difficult to believe you would want to do business with me. After our history."

"What's past is past," Shade said with a negligent shrug. "I did my job infiltrating your army. Your job was to make me pay when you caught me. No point in getting personal."

The general threw back his head and laughed. A big, booming laugh that had the other men in the room exchanging smiles. The tension eased.

"Tell me what you are selling," Rutskoya said, finally getting down to business.

The meeting continued for three long and wearying hours, during which time the general's aides brought wine, pots of tea and thick sandwiches piled high with meats and cheeses. The rest of the people in Yaznovia might be starving, but the meal, even more than the weapons, proved all too clearly that rank did, indeed, have its privileges.

"All right," the general said finally, rising to his feet. "I believe our collaboration will prove equally beneficial. When can you provide delivery?"

Once again Shade refused to accept the extended hand. "As soon as Conlan is released, I'll call my contact in Montacroix and the shipment will be driven across the border."

The general rubbed his chin. "You drive a hard bargain, my friend."

"It's Conlan for the guns. That's my bottom line."

"As it so happens, your friend is currently here, in the compound prison," the general revealed, not telling Shade anything he didn't already know. "If you can arrange to have the weapons at the border by noon tomorrow, your friend will be released then."

"Deal." Finally Shade shook the general's hand. "They'll be there. At noon on the dot." By then he, Rachel and Conlan should be out of the country. Shade turned to Rachel. "Let's go." He took hold of her arm and together they walked toward the door.

"Just one minute." The general's words stopped them in their tracks.

"Forget something?" Shade asked conversationally over his shoulder.

"Where are you staying?"

"Back at the village."

"Perhaps you would care to remain here, in order to avoid the drive."

There was no way he was going to willingly stay under this man's roof. Not after what he'd been through the last time he'd been the general's unwilling guest.

"It's only five kilometers," Shade pointed out.

"True. But I was thinking that perhaps Ms. Parrish would care to join me for dinner. We have a very fine chef here at the compound," he said, directing his words to Rachel. "The man does wonders with roast lamb."

The fact that he was omitting Shade from the invitation told Rachel that his plans had nothing to do with a desire to show off his cook's culinary skills.

She forced what she hoped was a winning albeit regretful smile. "That's very kind, but—"

Shade's fingers tightened imperceptibly. "The lady's allergic to lamb. She also has plans for the evening."

It was obvious the general was less than pleased by Shade's possessive attitude. But as if he were afraid of blowing the arms deal over a mere woman, he dropped the issue.

"Tomorrow then," he said tightly. "Ten o'clock."

"Tomorrow," Shade agreed.

THEY PLANNED TO SPEND the night at a small inn, which Shade revealed was owned by a member of the partisan underground who'd been doing their best to unseat the general. It did not escape Rachel's notice that both the elderly man and his plump country wife treated Shade like a returning hero.

"You're certainly popular around here," she murmured after she and Shade were alone in their comfortable but rustic room.

"Zdeslav and Duha are old friends. Without their help I probably would have died in that prison."

"How helpful was Franja?"

"Franja?"

"Zdeslav and Duha's daughter." Rachel had been amazed at the jolt of jealousy that had surged through her when the voluptuous young woman had thrown her arms around Shade's neck and kissed him. Smack on the lips! "You know, the woman who could have played a starring role in all those dirty jokes about farmers' daughters."

Shade stopped closing the shutters and glanced at her, surprised by her unusually gritty tone. "I didn't realize they had dirty jokes in 1692."

She waved her hand dismissively. "There have always been farmers. And daughters. And you haven't answered my question."

"Are you jealous?" Shade rather liked the idea.

"Horribly," she admitted on a shaky little laugh. She could no more deny those unfamiliar, unsettling feelings than she could sprout those wings he'd accused her of having.

He chuckled and drew her into his arms. "Join the club," he said against her hair. "Because I just about go ballistic every time I see any man even look at you sideways."

"I was afraid you were going to hit the general."

"You and me both, angel." His lips trailed down her throat as his hands got busy on the buttons of her sweater.

His touch was already making her knees weak. "I thought we had plans."

"We do." His fingers dispensed with the front clasp of her bra with a quick flick. "Several of them." He dipped his head, absorbing her sweet taste as his tongue skimmed across her pale flesh and teased a taut nipple. "And making love with you is at the top of the list."

Music, sweet and haunting, filled her head even as weakness engulfed her body. "But we have to rescue Conlan."

She was so sweet. "And we will." He unfastened her jeans and slid his hand inside, cupping her warmth in his palm. "But we can't break into the compound until it's dark. Which gives us, I figure, at least three hours to kill."

"You're so very clever," she gasped as a long finger slipped beneath the elastic leg band of her bikini underpants. "I suppose that's why you're the boss."

"Got it." He touched her in the way he'd discovered she loved to be touched, in the way that could send her soaring.

Rachel dung to him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she cried out as her spirit seemed to fly from her body, then shatter into a thousand crystalline pieces.

When she'd returned to earth, when she could breathe again, they resumed undressing each other, laughing at stubborn buttons, Shade swearing lightly at stuck zippers. They moved to the bed, where Shade marveled at the wonder of this woman he'd come to love more than he'd ever dreamed possible. Her slender limbs intrigued him, her curves were a delight. He wanted to touch, to savor, to taste, every glorious inch.

In turn, Rachel grew absolutely giddy as she reveled in the play of smooth muscle beneath the dark warm flesh and thrilled to his hot male taste.

The brisk Alpine air outside grew colder; inside, the room practically glowed from a warmth of their own making. Power shifted as the shadows on the whitewashed walls grew longer. Rachel discovered that the more she gave, the more she received, while Shade learned that surrender did not always mean defeat.

Emotions, deeper titan the deepest river, poured out of him and into her. Feelings, glorious, gilded feelings, flowed out of her and into him. Urgency gave way to tenderness, which in turn gave way to love.

Their hands linked. Watching each other, loving each other, they joined—bodies, minds and souls. And the absolute glory of their shared release made Rachel weep.

Chapter Twelve

THERE WAS A NEW MOON that night. In addition, Mother Nature pitched in to help, providing a low cloud cover that prevented any starlight from brightening the general's compound.

Dressed in the olive drab uniforms of the general's guards, Shade and Rachel made their way stealthily to the prison. Although Rachel had tucked her blond hair inside her cap and was wearing an oversized, long-sleeved shirt and baggy trousers, there had been little they could do to conceal her feminine curves.

"How do you know your friend will show up?" Rachel asked softly.

"He will." He'd better, Shade amended silently.

Because if the partisan who'd infiltrated the general's troops didn't follow through on his part of the plan, Shade and Rachel would be up that proverbial creek without a paddle.

There had been a time when Shade had willingly taken such risks without giving all that much thought to the consequences. But that was before Rachel. Before he had anyone besides himself to worry about. Before he had any real reason to survive, anything or anyone to live for. Despite her apparent honesty, and even though somehow, she knew about that long-ago winter's day when he'd fallen through the ice, Shade still couldn't buy Rachel's story.

Oh, he had no doubt that she was an angel. After all, he'd thought that from the beginning. But she was, most definitely, the flesh-and-blood kind. And what he felt for her was a very long way from spiritual.

Put simply and directly, he loved her. Enough that he was willing to give up the only life he'd ever known. The solitary existence of a loner. In fact, though he hadn't found the right moment to broach the subject to Rachel, Shade had decided that as soon as they returned Conlan safe and sound to Marianne in D.C., he intended to take Rachel to Vermont, where they would spend the rest of their lives watching the grass grow and listening to the birds sing. And making babies.