Blue Forever (Men in Uniform) (5 page)

8

DeAnne and Kip had walked for over an hour when they reached the crest of a rise. He halted suddenly and she nearly ran into him.

“What is it?” she asked, catching her breath. She hoped he intended to stop for a break. He’d been driving them relentlessly on their trek up the mountain, through the dense lower jungles and up into the higher elevations of the evergreen forests above the fields and valleys. She wasn’t used to this much exercise all in one dose. She wasn’t complaining, though. The more distance they put between themselves and those maniacs with the machine guns, the better.

He just gave her a smile and indicated the view. He slipped off his backpack and to her surprise, pulled out a camera.

She stepped up next to him in a small clearing at the very top of the rise. People must have stopped here to admire the view for centuries. Heck, millennia.

He fiddled with the camera.

“Gee, you really are taking pictures.”

“Yep. Well, hopefully. The camera was damaged, so I’m still testing it under different conditions. Want to make sure it works correctly.”

He raised it to his eye, and she turned to the view, taking it all in as he started to click away.

Before them, the lush, emerald hillside cascaded downward, curving elegantly away from the high, amethyst mountains that framed it perfectly to either side, and dipping down to a crisp, meandering valley. Every acre below the ridge was covered either in a fluttering white blanket of flowering fruit trees, or carved into stair-step terraces overflowing with a patchwork of verdant green fields. The warm breeze carried the scents of peach blossoms and freshly turned soil. Small flocks of birds soared and swooped through the valley calling to one another, and the sound of cowbells jingled softly in the distance.

You could almost reach out and touch the tranquility.

“Oh!” she whispered on a sigh, completely enchanted.

This was the China she loved.

But deep down, she knew it was more than the beauty that drew her. It was what the scene below represented. The snug, simple normalcy of it.

A perfection that for her was at once both achingly familiar . . . and achingly elusive. Unobtainable.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, and let the camera dangle by a strap around his neck. He pulled a bottle of water from his backpack. With a smile, he cracked the top off and handed it to her.

“Incredibly. And so peaceful.” It was hard to imagine that just two hours ago they’d been driving like madmen, being pursued by angry soldiers determined to kill them.

“Calm before the storm,” he murmured.

“Don’t you mean after?” She tipped back the bottle gratefully and drank.

He lifted his camera and clicked several pictures of her drinking, then slanted her a look. “Doubtful.”

She matched his wry expression and handed him back the bottle. “We’ll see.”

He just grunted, but didn’t appear particularly concerned. He tipped the bottle to his lips, closed his eyes, and drank heavily. Under his square jaw, the cords in his throat stood out and his Adam’s apple bobbed. She watched, mesmerized by the raw sensuality of the man, until he lowered the bottle and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

He could slip seamlessly into the scene below. Honest. Uncomplicated. Elemental.

He caught her staring, and gave her a lazy smile. “Penny for your thoughts.”

She fought a blush but couldn’t look away to save her life. “You’d be overpaying,” she managed lightly.

He held her gaze for a long moment and his eyes said he didn’t agree. But he didn’t push it.

“Why don’t you try the cell phone?” He reached into his pocket and handed it to her.

“Hmm?” She gave herself a mental shake, emerging from her brain fog. Phone? “Oh. Right.” Good grief, what was wrong with her today?

Then she realized what he’d just done. She frowned. “Wait. This is
my
phone!”

“Uh-huh.” He lifted the camera and snapped her picture.

“You took it out of
your
pocket.”

“Uh-huh.” The camera whirred again.

“Would you stop that!” She was flabbergasted. “You
stole
my phone?”

He lowered the camera and the look on his face was singularly unrepentant. “I prefer the term ‘borrowed.’”

Her jaw dropped. “
Permanently
borrowed! Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “I needed a phone, and I thought we were about to part company. The soldiers would have taken it from you at the checkpoint, anyway, when you turned yourself in.”

Of all the—

She snapped her mouth shut. Oddly disappointed. “You could just have asked.”

“Next time.” He winked, and stuffed the camera back in his backpack. When she didn’t smile, he said, “Princess, I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have asked.”

Princess?

She jerked her attention back to the phone in her hand. With an exhale, she gave up and turned it on. “No. You have no reason to be. You had more important things to think about than—”

“DeAnne.”

Reluctantly, she looked up at him.

His eyes were gentle. Sincere. “Next time I’ll trust you.”

She felt a little twist in her heart. She wanted to nod, but couldn’t. “Okay,” she said, her voice sounding embarrassingly vulnerable. She cleared her throat, shook herself out of it, and said lightly, “I’m kind of hoping there won’t be a next time.”

He turned back to the view, banded his arms over his chest, one hand still clutching the water bottle, and said, “Yeah. Me, too.”

She held the phone up higher—as if
that
would make a difference—and checked for bars, pointing it at the mountain he’d indicated with a cell tower sprouting from the top. She could just make it out, a vertical silver glint against the robin’s egg sky in the fading sunlight.

A bar flickered onto the screen. Success! Sort of.

“The signal’s very weak, but it might go through.”

“I assume it’s your throwaway?” he suddenly asked.

She nodded as she punched numbers. “Yeah.”

Every FSO had an official duty phone while in-country, but they were also encouraged to obtain a couple of prepaid—therefore untraceable—phones for their private use and for emergencies. The Chinese government was notorious for carefully monitoring all phone and Internet traffic within its borders. No right to privacy here.

She listened closely, but the signal kept breaking up, and finally cut off completely. “Nope,” she said. “No luck.”

“Didn’t think so,” he said, watching her with an unreadable expression. “We have to get higher up the mountain, closer to the tower.”

She groaned inwardly, but forced a smile. “Yeah.”

His intent gaze scanned her from head to toe, then lingered on her legs. “You okay to go on? That was quite a hill we just climbed.”

“I’m good,” she assured him.

As if she’d say otherwise
. The truth was, her thighs were on fire and her feet were about to fall off. But she’d asked to come along on this jaunt, and she had her pride.

“Mm-hmm.”

She searched the crest of the next ridge for the path. “How much farther do you think we should go?”

“I’m thinking,” he said slowly, “we should go all the way.”

A shift in his tone made her look back at him. He was still studying her body, his arms folded over his chest. His expression hadn’t changed a millimeter. But his eyes . . .

Ho-boy
.

His eyes were dark as sin. Slumberous.
Hungry
.

A sudden ache of sexual awareness flared in her throat.

“Definitely all the way,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive. “Here. Drink.” He pulled his gaze up and handed her back the water bottle, which still contained an inch or two of liquid. “You need to stay hydrated.”

A vivid memory of his lips caressing the plastic rim as he drank rushed through her whole body. She swallowed down a burst of desire.

His eyes held hers as the shadow of a challenge passed through them.

A spear of heat arrowed straight to the tips of her breasts. The languid invitation was unmistakable.

He wanted her
.

Her pulse thundered.

Should she accept?
Or run like hell?

She would never consider a serious relationship with this man. She knew his type all too well; she’d never inflict that kind of misery on herself. Eighteen years had been plenty, thankyouverymuch.

But . . .

She knew exactly what Major Llowell was asking her for.

And it wasn’t a relationship.

They had more chemistry together than she’d ever felt before in her life. More than she’d ever known was even possible. They were stuck on a mountain, thrown together by fate, kept together by necessity, but once she’d negotiated his safe passage out of the country, they’d likely never see each other again.

Did that matter?

The thought produced a prick of disappointment in her chest. But despite that— No, it was better this way.

He seemed nice. Considerate. Stable. But that could all be a mask hiding the real man underneath. Nice, considerate men did not become military spec operators or spies. Those men were aggressive thrill-seekers who needed a constant adrenaline rush, however they had to find it.

Which didn’t make for a good relationship.

Other than the kind he was offering
.

The rush of male adrenaline could make
that
kind of relationship very, very good.

Thrilling. Exciting.
Breathless
.

But this wasn’t like her.

And yet, he was so darn sexy he made her toes curl.

They were both adults.

And she wanted this. Just once in her life, she wanted to experience the rush of sexual adrenaline. Be the object of that kind of explosive desire.

Just once.

What was the harm?

Without letting herself think, she reached out and took the bottle from him.

Deliberately letting her tongue touch the rim of the opening, she raised it to her lips. And savored the rest of the water. It was probably her imagination—which was definitely working overtime—but she swore she could taste him on it.

Musty, spicy, male
.

His eyes darkened as he watched her drink, his lids lowering. She gathered up the last drop with her tongue, then slowly handed the bottle back to him.

The intensity of his regard made her knees weaken. Goose bumps shivered over her breasts.

“Okay,” he said, his voice deep and low.

Then, he turned and started to walk, heading up toward the next mountain. Where God alone knew what would happen between them.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Terrified.

Exhilarated
.

And wondered if she’d just made the very worst decision of her entire life.

Or . . . quite possibly . . . the very best?

9

The woman was seriously messing with his head
.

Hell.
Both
heads.

Kip ground his teeth in frustration. One had been in a constant state of turmoil and the other in a constant state of arousal since meeting the unexpectedly tempting DeAnne Lovejoy.

Hell
.

As they continued trudging their way up the steep trail, he attempted to make himself see reason. He did not
need
any more complications right now. This mission had already been compromised enough. First the destructive parachute landing. Then his cover being mysteriously blown. Getting chased and shot at.
And
he’d deliberately made it look like he’d kidnapped a U.S. State Department official—which had been the right thing to do to keep her career out of trouble . . . but not great for his. Having sex with her on top of all that would probably put Colonel Jackson right over the edge. And get Kip yanked from the field and stuck behind a desk so fast his head would spin.

Which was the absolute last thing Kip wanted.

He’d wanted this op.

More like needed it.

He was sliding down the back side of his thirties, and was nervous about keeping his position as a field intelligence operator. For the past couple of years he’d been volunteering for the toughest, most dangerous ops that came up. Just to prove he still had it in him.

In his younger days in Force Recon, and later when he was promoted into the new Marine Special Operations Intelligence Battalion, his reputation for keen instincts, reckless daring, and a velvet hand as a team leader had earned him a fast track up through the ranks. But covert reconnaissance was a young man’s game. He’d been feeling the pressure from on high for a while now to accept one of the more sedentary, less risky jobs with SOCOM—Special Ops Command.

You’re too good an analyst and advisor to be wasted in the field, Llowell. We need you alive and planning the ops, not chasing around the world putting your neck on the line
.

Sure, it would be a good promotion, but the thought of sitting behind a desk for the rest of his career made Kip break out in hives.

Luckily, this time he was also the best man for the job.

His skill with a camera was the one thing that gave him an edge over his younger colleagues. The young smartasses called him Zoom. But they were just jealous because the old man could still whip their butts on every level.

This op was critical. The navy rep had warned that failure was not an option. But Kip’s unlucky landing while parachuting in had as good as doomed the mission before it started. A sudden wind shear had whipped him off course, right up the rugged side of the mountain instead of the softer jungle vegetation at the foot of it, tossing him and his equipment like confetti into the thick forest at the top. It had taken all his skill to avoid the dagger-like pine trees and not impale himself, but he hadn’t been able to avoid the jumble of boulders he’d landed on. His backpack had fared even worse.

The camera had survived, but not the telephoto lens. With that damaged, there’d be no close-up of the cutting-edge AUV the Chinese would soon be using to spy on U.S. military installations and commercial ports—and anything else they wanted to—along America’s coastlines. The U.S. Navy scientists working on countermeasures would be designing blind.
Not good
.

Which was why Kip had been so hell-bent on getting a ride back down to Sanya. There was no way he’d leave China without completing his mission. So he’d arranged for Jake Warner, his second in command in the unit, to meet him in the busy tourist town with a hastily scrounged replacement lens.

But somehow, Kip’s cover had been blown. Sanya would now be crawling with cops and soldiers searching for him.

He needed to make contact with Jake and move their rendezvous point before either of them was caught.

DeAnne’s State Department intervention could prove a useful distraction. There wasn’t a chance in hell her plan to get him out would work. But it might just pull the dogs off him long enough to meet Jake and get what he needed.

As long as he didn’t let
himself
get any more distracted than he already was.

Jesus
. He’d really gone off the rails this time. His behavior was so out of character he didn’t even recognize himself.

On the other hand . . . Damn, it would be so insanely sweet to have DeAnne Lovejoy.

Naked
.

Moaning his name
 . . .

A vibrant image of her bare body moving rhythmically under his almost made him groan out loud. Somewhere along the line Ms. Practical had turned into Ms. Practically Irresistible.

Make that Totally Irresistible.

Damn
, the woman was really getting under his skin, making him itch in ways he hadn’t itched in years.

Of all the inappropriate times to regress into a hormonal teenager. How had that
happened
?

Indecision had him waffling back and forth between being smart and employed . . . or being happily sated.

Should he, or should he not, drag the delectable Ms. Lovejoy down on the ground, ruck up her sensible skirt, and fuck her till she screamed his name? That was the burning question.

He’d more or less promised. And she’d more or less accepted.

Didn’t seem right not to follow through . . .

His mind went round and round.

But before he had a chance to decide one way or another, the sound of voices drifted down from the trail ahead.

Shit
.

He turned swiftly and DeAnne looked up. He put a finger to his lips. “Someone’s coming,” he silently mouthed, and reached for her hand. Tugging her off the path, he pulled her up into the cover of the thick forest vegetation. She stumbled, swallowing a gasp, and he caught her around the waist to keep her from falling. She grabbed him for balance and ended up plastered against his chest.

A potent mixture of needing to find a safe hiding place . . . and liking the feel of her body against his . . . made him sweep her up in his arms to carry her.

“Kip!” she squeaked in a whisper. “Put me—”

“Shhh,” he admonished as he moved quietly up the slope at a fast, if slightly uneven, clip.

The voices were approaching quickly.

After a short hesitation, she slid her arms around his neck and hung on. “Soldiers?” she asked in the barest of whispers.

His mouth brushed close to her ear. “Probably locals. We may have been spotted on the trail.”

She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes filled with alarm.

He shook his head. “They won’t find us,” he barely whispered.

Her hold on him tightened, and a rush of protectiveness flooded through him. Whatever happened, he would not let any harm come to her.

He ducked behind an evergreen and stepped into the thick tangle of its low, spreading branches. They were instantly enveloped by the prickly feel of stiff, fragrant needles and the pungent scent of pine sap.

He carefully released her legs and let her slide to her feet, but kept his arms around her, tucking her head against his shoulder. She stayed there, holding him close.

It felt good. Really good.

So good he almost missed the voices and footsteps of a man and woman hurrying past.

A moment later, DeAnne whispered, “They were arguing over what kind of seeds to plant.”

Right
. She spoke Chinese. At her translation, his shoulders notched down a bit. But he made no move to release her. And she made no move to pull away.

He circled his arms more snugly around her. He loved how her curves pressed into his body, soft and warm. Perfect. He spread his feet apart and urged her into the V of his legs, bringing them center to center.

He felt her inhale sharply. But she didn’t resist. She melted against him. He went hard again, thick and pulsing with want. He could tell she noticed. Her body adjusted with a subtle undulation of her hips, pressing against him.
Jesus
. Did she know what she was doing to him?

He grasped her practical ponytail and wound it around his palm, pulling her head back so her face was forced to tip up to his.

“Kip,” she whispered, her voice a silken thread, her eyes molten.

It was nearly his undoing.

He loved the sound of his name on her lips. And the blush of desire on her cheeks.
Desire for him
. His cock thickened even more. His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of her skin, dewy with the sweet, honest sweat of exertion, more intoxicating than any frilly perfume.

He wanted to kiss her so badly he almost shook with the self-restraint it took not to lower his mouth and take what he wanted.

He held her head immobile, slowly dipped his lips to her ear, and murmured, “God, I want you naked.”

He felt a tremor go through her. Several heartbeats went by. “You mean . . . here? Now?” she whispered shakily.

The corner of his lip curled.
Scared, but willing
. He ran his hand over her ass, pressing his fingers deep into the dips in her skirt formed by the contours of her bottom. Her heartbeat quickened. He could feel its
thump
a-thump
a-thump
against his chest.

“No,” he said, brushing his mouth over the shell of her ear. “I want to take all night with you. Fuck you breathless. But we still have ground to cover today.”

Her lips parted against his throat and she swallowed, making a soft, incoherent sound.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said. “If I do, it’ll be all over.”

She shuddered out an exhale, sounding strangled and breathy.

“Okay?” he asked. He wanted to hear her voice. To be sure she felt the same crazy need.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She did
.

He held her tight for another few seconds, then somehow found the strength of will to grasp her by the arms and set her away from him. He met her gaze one last time, sharing a look that could have powered New York for a week.

Then he took her hand again and helped her down the slope and back to the trail. “There’s a cell tower on the next mountaintop over,” he told her. “We should be able to make that phone call once we reach the crest up ahead.”

She nodded, her expression a potent blend of desire, frustration, and fear. “All right.”

Then she seemed to gather herself. “We— We’re twelve hours ahead here. So it’ll be”—she slid her hand from his and checked her watch—“around four a.m. in Washington.” Her lips twitched. Not exactly a smile, but close. “Roger will be thrilled.”

Hold on. “Roger?” An unbidden bolt of jealousy lanced through him.

She blinked. “Roger Achity, Deputy Assistant Secretary. My boss.”

He took an involuntary step toward her. “You call your boss by his first name?”

She backed up. “Don’t you?”

He scowled. “I call my boss colonel or sir.”

This time she held her ground. “Well, the State Department is less formal than the military, I guess.”

He was seized with an overwhelming urge to interrogate her about her exact relationship with this Roger Achity guy. With difficulty, he reined it in.

None of your damn business
, he told himself.

“No doubt,” he gritted out.

He shut his mouth before something completely inappropriate came out of it, then turned and continued up the trail.

Like he said, totally messing with his heads.

And every other damn part of him, too.

“Kip!”

He halted, looked back, and realized DeAnne must have called him several times. She’d stopped a ways back on the trail, and was holding her cell phone in her hand.

He saw to his surprise that they’d reached the top of the ridge.

“Sorry,” he called back. “Gathering wool. What’s up?”

“I got a signal.”

Ah
. “That’s good,” he said, and backtracked to where she was standing.

At least he hoped it was good.

Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure anymore. State Department personnel were notorious for being officious rule followers. What if instead of negotiating on his behalf, they ordered her to turn him in to the Chinese authorities? What if she refused, and got fired for trying to help him instead? For aligning herself with a known spy? Her mandate to help U.S. citizens abroad only applied to those citizens who weren’t embroiled in international espionage.

She put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.”

They could both be in big trouble.

“Wait!” he said, and covered the last few yards to her in two steps. “I—”

But she held up a finger at him and nodded.

Too late
.

“It’s DeAnne.”

He just had to pray she knew what she was doing.

“Hi Roger.”

And that he didn’t end up strangling that Roger Achity.