Dangerous to Hold (13 page)

Sarah's stomach did a little twist of its own at his admission. “Jack…”

The single word hung on the air between them. He stopped a heartbeat away from her, his face stark, his mouth grim, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, something flared in his eyes that Sarah couldn't even begin to interpret.

“I held myself on so short a leash these past days I was almost doubled over with it,” he said slowly, “and all the
time you were playing with me. Well, Sarah Chandler, it's time to stop playing.”

Sarah held her breath.

“Put your arms around me.”

The soft, steely command surprised her. And aroused her as nothing else could have. She'd known deep within her heart that he wouldn't force her, but only this hard-edged mercenary would stand there and expect her to initiate her own seduction.

No, it wouldn't be a seduction. With a deep, visceral sureness, Sarah knew that if she touched him, the small, steady fire he seemed to have sparked within her would leap into flame and consume her. Consume them both.

In that moment, she felt the need to strip away all pretense between them. She wouldn't lie to him anymore.

She wet her lips and gave the only answer she could. “I…I don't know if I want this, Jack.”

A muscle twitched in one side of his jaw. “Put your arms around me and find out.”

For what seemed like an eternity, Sarah didn't move. She tried to deny the desire that arced between them like summer lightning slicing through a hot, sultry night. She tried to tell herself that she despised this man, this hard, unyielding man who called to the primitive and elemental in her.

But she refused to lie to herself any longer. Or to him. Swallowing, she lifted a trembling hand. Her fingers grazed the warm, rounded muscle of his chest. Her other hand lifted to join the first. Flattening her palms, she slid them upward. The light dusting of chest hair teased her fingertips. The strong column of his neck shaped her hands.

Sarah gave a little sigh of surrender and stepped forward. Her breasts brushed his chest, their nipples peaking with the rasp of the scratchy black robe. The flame flickering deep within her gathered heat and intensity. Wrapping her arms tighter around his neck, she brought his mouth down to hers.

Any vague idea that he would hold back and make her pay for the way she'd supposedly teased him vanished immediately. At the touch of their lips, Jack's arms banded her waist
once more. He shifted his stance and brought her into hard, intimate contact with his hips. Through the fullness of her robe, Sarah felt his rigid member leap against her stomach, even as his mouth slanted more fully over hers. His lips took her touch and gave it back, magnified a hundredfold. Firm, warm, slick, they fueled Sarah's own need.

Straining, she arched against him. His hand slid down to cup her breast. He mounded it in his palm, shaping it, kneading it through the rough fabric that covered it. His handling added to the friction that made her taut nipple ache.

Leaving one arm curled around his neck and her lips molded to his, Sarah ran her other hand over his shoulders, his arm, his ribs. His skin burned under her fingers. She stroked and kneaded it with the same intense, exploratory touch he gave her breast. When her hand slid down and encountered the waistband of his pants, Sarah went crazy with the need to get rid of all barriers between them.

She pushed herself out of his arms. They stood for a moment, their breath harsh and ragged on the air, their eyes hot and wild. Then Sarah's hands lifted to the top fastening of her habit.

“No, let me.” His hands brushed hers aside. A slow, sardonic grin twisted his lips. “You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about doing this.”

Sarah bit her lip to still the quivers that raced through her as he unfastened the hooks, one by one, then pushed the heavy weight off her shoulders. It slipped down her arms, caught for a moment on the stiff peaks of her nipples, then slithered over her hips. She stood before him, clad only in her still-damp bikini briefs.

He swallowed, raking her with his eyes. “You mean that's all you've been wearing under that robe?”

Sarah felt pinpoints of fire everywhere his gaze lingered. “This is what I was was wearing under my sleep shirt the night of the raid. I…I didn't have time to do anything except yank off the shirt and pull on the habit.”

“I'm sure glad I didn't know that. I lost enough sleep try
ing not to think about what was under those folds of material as it was.”

Sarah gave a strangled laugh and stepped toward him. “I've lost a little sleep myself the past few nights.”

She reached out and traced a finger down the line of soft, springy hair. His stomach muscles jumped under her touch.

“You've no idea how much I've fantasized about this,” she whispered.

The small sound broke the last of Jack's restraints. With a smothered groan, he pulled her to him. Mouths hard against each other, they sank to their knees. His weight tumbled Sarah over onto her back, then crushed her into the bed of ferns. Within moments, they'd shed the last of his clothes.

Sarah matched him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke. When his knee pried her legs apart and his hand tangled in the curls at the juncture of her thighs, she arched upward, seeking his touch. Hot, slick wetness eased the way for the fingers he slid into her. Sarah moaned as he stroked and primed her. Her hand closed around his satiny shaft, priming him, as well.

Jake felt her caress and willed himself not to explode in her hand. He'd never felt a need so great, or such a savage desire to possess a woman. No, not any woman. This woman. Sarah.

He raised himself up on one elbow and stared down into her flushed face. If he'd allowed his fantasies full rein, if he hadn't always jerked himself up short whenever the insidious need for Sarah spiraled in his groin, he would have imagined taking her here, like this. With her shining, spun-gold hair spread out against the lush green of the ferns. Her eyes wide, and shimmering with the same incredible blue-green as the pool. Her lips red and swollen. Her skin flushed with need. For all her delicate beauty, Sarah responded with a primal, elemental directness to his touch. The sight of her sent a shaft of fierce male satisfaction shooting through him.

Although… Jake had spent half his life in the jungle. It occurred to him that he'd never seen anything as beautiful or as pagan as the woman who stared up at him.

That was his last rational thought. Suddenly fiercely impatient, Sarah curled both arms around his neck and brought him down to her. Jake needed no further prompting. Spreading her legs farther, he reached down to position himself, then thrust forward.

Sarah arched her neck and gasped at the intrusion. Within seconds, her tight sheath had fit itself to him, and she gave herself up to the slow pace Jake set. His deliberate approach didn't last long. Her muscles gripped him, almost shredding the last of his control. He gritted his teeth and reached down between their sweat-slick bodies. His hand found the small, hard bud at her center.

Moments, or maybe hours, later, Sarah felt her climax coming. She groaned, arching under him. A slow, dark wave swept up her belly, then receded. Another followed, and then another, until they washed over her in a sudden rush of pure, shattering sensation.

Before the spasms of pleasure subsided, Jack's weight crushed down on her. He shoved his fingers through the hair on either side of her head, held her steady while his mouth plundered hers, and thrust into her. Seconds, or maybe years, later, he followed her over the edge.

S
arah had never experienced such shattering intimacy. Nor, she admitted in startled surprise, such a swift transition from all-consuming passion to intense, immediate alertness.

The dark head that had been buried in the juncture of her neck and shoulder lifted suddenly. Eyes narrowed, Jack stared at the narrow path from the camp. Before Sarah could gather her uneven breath to ask what was the matter, he'd rolled off her, scooped up his pants, and pulled them on.

“Get dressed.”

The low command and the smooth, efficient way Jack slid the .45 out of its holster had Sarah scrabbling for her clothes. She pulled them on with fumbling fingers, then snatched up her veil.

“What is it?”

“I'm not sure. Get behind me and keep quiet.”

Her heart pounding, Sarah complied. She didn't much care for Jack's peremptory habit of ordering people around, but in this instance she decided not to take issue with it.

A faint rustle sounded in the undergrowth. The smooth,
broad back in front of her stiffened. Sarah could see every ridge in his spine, the delineation of every hard, roped muscle under his skin.

“Señor Creighton?”

The muscles twitched. Jack sent Sarah a disgusted look over his shoulder, then called a response, “
Sí,
Eduard.”

The boy hurried into view, his young face scrunched into worried lines. He stuttered a few quick sentences in idiomatic Spanish. Sarah caught Eleanora's name, and Teresa's. She pushed past Jack and ran across the clearing.

“What is it, Eduard? What's happening?”

“It is trouble. Eleanora's man, he hit her face because she didn't do the rice and the beans for him.”

“What?”

“She bleeds, and Teresa cries. Ricci cries, also. I put them in the hut and came for you.”

Although he spoke to Sarah, his eyes sought approval from the man standing behind her.

“You did good,” Jack told the boy, laying a hand on his thin shoulder before turning to Sarah. “Get your gear.”

She didn't need his quiet order this time. She was already running to the bush where she'd spread the wet cotton blouse to dry. She snatched it and was back beside the waiting pair within minutes.

“Eduard thinks Eleanora's nose may be broken,” Jack told her as they hurried toward camp. “If so, you'll have to pack it until the swelling goes down.”

Sarah threw him a stricken look.

His mouth twisted. “Just how much medical expertise do you have,
Sister?
”

Her hands fisted on the wet blouse. “I worked in a clinic for two weeks with Sister Maria, the nun whose clothes these are. Were.”

“Two weeks! Christ!”

“She was a good teacher,” Sarah snapped. “I managed well enough yesterday, if you recall, when I treated your so-called soldiers of the revolution.”

Jack shook his head in disgust. “Right. One case of heat exhaustion and another of foot immersion. Good thing they didn't bring back one of their
compadres
with a nice bullet wound in the gut for you to test your skills on.” He glanced at the boy ahead. “Could you have sutured Eduard's arm?”

Sarah hated to admit her own inadequacy, but she was past the point of pretense. “No, not with a needle, or with ants. Nor would I have tried. I wouldn't have done that to Eduard. I was going to tell you then, but…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Honestly.”

“So why didn't you?”

“Because you handled the situation yourself,” she retorted, “and because I didn't trust you.”

He slanted her a quick look.

Sarah saw the unspoken question in his eyes, and knew the answer immediately. She still didn't trust him. Even now, after she'd lost herself in his arms. After the shattering union of their bodies. She wanted him, but she didn't trust him. The realization stunned her. And shamed her.

Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face. His eyes narrowed, and the skin across his cheeks seemed to tighten. A bend in the trail brought them within sight of the camp, however, and he bit off whatever he'd intended to say. Instead, his mouth firmed and he said only, “We'll talk about it later. And about what happened at the pool.”

Sarah swept past him. “No, we won't. We won't talk about that. We won't discuss it. We won't mention it, ever again.”

She was too confused, too overwhelmed, by what had just happened to talk about it. She needed time to sort through her incredible, explosive response to this man. She needed time and space and privacy. None of which she was likely to get, Sarah thought glumly.

She waited impatiently while he sent Eduard back to the hut to stay with the children. Passing the boy her wet blouse, Sarah gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, then
walked beside Jake to the lean-to Eleanora shared with the man who claimed her.

They saw him first, a short, wiry little bantam with mean eyes, a scraggly brown mustache, and an evil-looking knife strapped to his thigh. He sat on an upturned crate just outside the lean-to, with the disassembled pieces of the automatic rifle he'd been cleaning scattered on a rubber poncho in front of him.

“Let me do the talking,” Jake warned softly.

“All right. Just get him to let me take a look at… Good God!”

Sarah stopped abruptly, her mouth dropping in shock. Eleanora huddled in a corner of the lean-to. Her battered, bloody face was almost unrecognizable.

“I'll handle…”

Paying no heed to Jake's murmured words, Sarah stomped forward.

“You pig!” she snarled at the little man who stood and blocked her entry. “You stupid, sniveling, slimy pig.”

Stifling a curse, Jake considered his options.

He could let the guerrilla handle his adversary, or vice versa.

He could haul Sarah away before she attracted a crowd and gave every man in camp a glimpse of her magnificent fury.

Or he could… Oh, hell. He couldn't. Jake knew there was no way he could walk away from Eleanora's wounded face. Or from Sarah.

She threw an imperious look over her shoulder, summoning him to her side. “You tell this little bastard that I'm taking Eleanora back to our hut. He's not to touch her or speak to her or even come near her without my permission.”

Jake's translation was far more succinct. “The
religiosa
will see to your woman's hurts.”

The man's eyes shifted from him to the bristling figure in black. “The woman has no need of this one's attentions.”

“She's of no use to you like that. Nor to anyone else,”
Jake added casually. “No one will want her, looking like that. You'll make no money off her until she's healed.”

As he'd anticipated, an appeal to the little man's greed had more effect than any appeal to his nonexistent humanity could have. A speculative gleam entered his black eyes.

“You think so, gringo?”

Jake knew this was going to cost him. Big-time. He gave a small nod, signaling his acceptance of the deal. “I think so.”

The guerrilla didn't bother to turn around. “Go with the
religiosa,
woman,” he called over his shoulder. “Maybe if she works on you long enough she can make you pretty, eh?”

Eleanora rose slowly, like an old woman, using one hand to pull herself up. Jake's stomach knotted at the sight of the red, swelling bruises that were already starting to discolor, but he'd been in enough brawls to see that she had no smashed or broken bones.

Sarah ran forward and wrapped an arm around the older woman's waist. Without a word to either man, she led Eleanora back to the storage hut. Jake watched them make their way across the clearing, then turned back to face the wiry, mustached little man.

The rebel reached behind the crate and pulled out a half-full bottle. “So, gringo, sit down, sit down. Have some tequila.”

The bottle's contents sloshed as he gestured toward the automatic rifle lying in pieces on the poncho. “You must give me your expert opinion on this weapon of mine. It's a Russian model, shipped to Cuba before the capitalists undermined the Soviet economy and they stopped producing altogether. It's ancient, eh? Not fast and efficient, like the one you carry.”

Jake stifled a sigh and hooked a boot around another crate to drag it forward. He suspected it was going to be a long afternoon.

And an even longer night.

Listening with half an ear as Eleanora's “husband” began bartering for her, Jake knew that the cramped little hut was
about to acquire another occupant. Sarah would no doubt bed the injured woman down next to her, leaving Jake to make room for himself somewhere else. A sharp disappointment lanced through him. He didn't like the prospect of sleeping where he couldn't see the outline of Sarah's pale, high-cheekboned face in the dim light or hear the breathy little smacking noise she made when she settled into sleep or fold her soft body into his. After his one taste of her body's honeyed sweetness, Jake found himself craving it, like a man given a thimbleful of water to slack a raging thirst.

Frowning, Jake reached for the tequila bottle. He suddenly realized that he'd crossed some invisible line in the past few hours, a line he'd never allowed himself to step over before. Always before, he'd been able to resist any personal involvement while in the field. Not that it had been easy.

During any operation, OMEGA's agents lived on the edge. Every emotion was magnified, every reaction could lead to either success or quick death—if they were lucky. Jake knew from textbook studies and from long experience that danger was debilitating in some instances, a powerful aphrodisiac in others. People clung to each other in desperate situations, seeking to affirm life in the face of death. Sometimes that transitory need solidified into a stronger emotion.

One of his fellow agents had almost compromised his mission and his life by falling hard for a laboratory researcher suspected of selling the latest information on genetic engineering to a well-armed and particularly vicious neo-Nazi group. As it turned out, the woman had stumbled onto her lab's suspicious research accidentally, but the agent had gone through twenty stages of hell before he discovered that.

As Jake had with Sarah. He'd desired her, and he'd been so disgusted with himself because of that desire that he tied himself into knots. When he found out she wasn't really a nun, he'd allowed his tight control to slip. Slipped, hell. It had shredded completely. Which wasn't exactly smart for a man who wanted not only to walk out of this jungle alive, but to make sure one woman and three children made it out,
as well. Two women, he corrected with an inner grimace. Somehow he suspected Sarah wouldn't leave the compound without Eleanora.

Jake took another swig of the tequila as the little weasel across from him shook his head despairingly over the much-dented stock of his aged weapon. Jake grunted noncommittally, making a mental note to inform Maggie that she might have an additional neutral to extract when she led the team in.

Thank God Sinclair was in the field! She wouldn't blink an eye if she learned she had to extract the entire Cartozan World Cup soccer team from this little camp perched halfway up a mountain. Jake would have to find a few moments to slip away and contact Maggie tomorrow. He didn't dare leave the women alone in camp, though. Maybe he'd take them back to the pool. Have another damn picnic!

Despite his disgust at the way he'd lost control, Jake couldn't prevent the sudden tightening in his groin as he thought of Sarah beside the pool. Her shining hair bright against the green ferns. Her small, delicate body open and welcoming. His hand clenched around the neck of the bottle.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

And an even longer night.

For the first time, Jake began to think beyond this mission. Beyond the moment Maggie plucked Sarah and the children from this little compound.

 

“You will be back before the evening meal, Sister?”

Maggie smiled to herself. If the evening meal was anything like the noon one, she would certainly not be back. She needed more than a small bowl of rice and beans to sustain her high energy levels.

“No, Sister,” she told the earnest young postulant who'd escorted her to the gate. “If I'm to travel into the interior tomorrow or the next day, I have many arrangements to make and people to see.”

That much was true, anyway.

“I'm surprised the mother house sent you to make these arrangements yourself. Usually such matters are taken care of before a new sister arrives to take over a mission.”

“This is a rather special mission.”

“Oh. I see.”

A sudden boom made Maggie jump.

The young sister didn't even blink. “There's the call to afternoon meditation. Go with God.”

Maggie returned the benediction, shut the wooden gate behind her and set off down the dirt road. She sighed with relief as the echoes of the thundering bell died away. It still amazed her that a community of women didn't choose a more melodious sound to mark their hours. A bell that chimed, perhaps, or tinkled, or pinged. Not one that shook the rafters with its booming clamor every thirty minutes. The realization that she had to endure the sound for two more days was enough to put a momentary dent in Maggie's soaring spirits.

As she plodded along, however, her hands tucked in her sleeve and her black skirts swishing, Maggie soon put all thoughts of the bell behind her. The excitement that had bubbled in her veins ever since Jake had made contact with her an hour ago brought a gleam to her coffee-brown eyes.

The operation was still viable. Jaguar had confirmed that a new shipment of heat-seeking missiles would be delivered to an unspecified location on the twenty-seventh, two days from now. He would accompany the party that went to the drop site, while Maggie herself hit the camp. Jake had briefed her on the precise layout of all buildings and where he'd have the woman and the children positioned.