Killing Time (One-Eyed Jacks) (26 page)

She’d folded her arms beneath her breasts, a gesture he recognized. When she felt vulnerable, she tightened in on herself.

“So,” he said, wanting to move her out of that place, “want to talk about the elephant in the room?” He glanced at the bed, then at her, then wiggled his eyebrows.

She actually laughed. “And here I thought maybe you’d want to talk strategy.”

He smiled. “Saving that for when Wagoner falls asleep.”

The click of a key turning in a lock had them both turning toward the door, effectively tabling any further conversation—strategic or otherwise.

Wagoner swung the door open and a young woman walked inside carrying a covered tray and what looked like a folded charcoal blanket under her arm. She was dressed in the standard uniform—long dark skirt, dark button-down blouse, and prairie bonnet. Without a word, she walked over to the table and set down the tray.

“General Lawson wishes for you to enjoy your dinner,” she said without raising her head.

“For you.” She shoved the blanket in Eva’s hands.

Before Eva could thank her, she quickly crossed
the room and hurried back out the door, which Wagoner locked again.

“Complimentary bedding?” Mike asked.

Eva unfolded the blanket . . . which turned out
not
to be a blanket. “I should be so lucky.”

•   •   •

“Do not say a word,” Eva muttered as the cabin door was locked behind them yet again, shutting out a twilight sky that fast faded to dark.

An armed escort had just walked them back from the showers. She wore the getup that had been delivered with their dinner. And since her voice was filled with a healthy dose of pissed, Mike thought it best that he not laugh.

He’d been wrong about something, though. The long, dowdy skirt and matching navy blue blouse
did
manage to drab her down. But then,
drab
was a relative term when it came to Eva.

He tucked the bug detector back into his duffel after doing another sweep in case Lawson had gotten crafty and installed something while they used the showers. He hadn’t.

“You saying you don’t want to know how you look?”

“There’s a reason there aren’t any mirrors in here.” Her mouth pulled tight when she saw his grin. “Okay fine. Get it over with.”

“You look, darling wife, like a subservient, Kool-Aid–drinking disciple of the UWD doctrine. And better you than me, by the way. I don’t think I could run in that thing.”

“But oh, wouldn’t I love to see you try.” She gave him a tight smile. “I itch all over. How do those poor women wear this stuff in this heat?”

“Guess you’re going to find out,” he said with a sympathetic smile. She was, unfortunately, going to find out a lot of things before this was over. He thought of Simmons touching her today when he’d searched her. How Bryant had watched her every move. How the women of the camp worked like dogs while the men played soldier.

“For the record, you’ve been a rock through all this.”

She scowled. “What did you expect? That’d I’d fall apart and start crying for my mommy?”

“Actually I thought I might do that. I still might. Hold me?”

He couldn’t quite pull off the hat trick; this time she didn’t smile. She made a twirling motion with her index finger instead. “I’m getting out of this itch fest.”

She wanted him to turn around? Seriously?
Seemed a little like closing the barn door after the horse got out, but his momma hadn’t raised no dummy, so he did what he was told. She had good reason to be on edge. He wasn’t going to add to her tension.

Back turned, he thought about strategy instead of the sound of her rummaging around in her duffel for the T-shirt and boxers that she’d brought along to sleep in.

He thought about slipping outside when the camp
was asleep for a little look-see. He thought about the meal that had been limited but surprisingly good: honey-cured ham on fresh-baked bread and fresh spinach salad. He thought about the communal shower and how the last time he’d used one, he’d been in the military. Which made him think about the One-Eyed Jacks. And Taggart. And Cooper.

And he thought about how badly he wanted to nail Lawson.

But when he heard the sound of a heavy wool skirt hit the floor, all of his carefully schooled good intentions and diversion tactics dropped with it.

Suddenly everything he thought about was totally hot and totally wrong. Like the fact that she might now be standing naked behind him, in transition between itchy wool and soft, worn cotton. All he could picture was that double bed with the plain white spread and creaky springs, which he’d discovered earlier when he’d tested it for firmness. And he thought about how small that bed was for a man his size, when that man was expected to keep his distance from a woman who looked like her. From a woman whose skin was as supple and soft as satin, whose body was responsive and giving and . . .

“You can turn around now.”

There was nothing else in the cabin to look at. No TV. No computer. No distractions. There was only her. And she was magnificent.

“Lord, you’re beautiful.”

She was wearing the same T-shirt and boxers he’d
taken off her two nights ago. The marriage of the memory and the reality combined to give him some serious issues in a certain area of his body that had a tendency to swell in her presence.

Once more with feeling: Little head, big trouble.

It didn’t help that the glasses were gone. She’d shaken her hair out of that confining elastic; it curled softly over her shoulders and down her back. And speaking of unconfined—she’d ditched her bra. And her feet were bare. And he was suddenly sinking fast.

He could blame it on the adrenaline. On the very dicey situation they were in. All of his senses were overloaded and ready to stage a riot. It stood to reason he’d be revved in the testosterone area.

Or, he could own up to the truth. This wasn’t all about raging hormones and randy sex. This was way bigger. And damn scary. He’d fallen in love with this woman.

And he still didn’t know how it had happened. It sure as hell didn’t make sense. Especially in just three days, give or take a period of unconsciousness or two.

“You don’t pick the time, Grasshopper. The time picks you.”

Again with the Confucius voice invading his head?

He needed to snap out of this, fast. Despite her studied reserve, he caught definite vibes that she had a few issues with this captive-in-a-box intimacy, too.

He needed to fix that. And he only knew one way to go about it.

“Any chance you’d do a guy a solid favor and put those woolies back on?”

Another attempt to make her laugh. But clearly, she did not find him amusing. “Seriously? We’re being held hostage while an anarchist decides whether he’s going to kill us or recruit us, and you’re thinking about sex?”

If it was easier for her to pretend this was just about sex, then hey, he’d give her that to hold on to. “I’m a guy. I always think about sex.”

She gave him a look, turned back the covers, and climbed into bed. End of discussion.

“Just make sure you stay on your side and keep your hands to yourself, or I’m going to cry foul,” he grumbled—and right then the lights went out.

Deep breaths. Forced yawns. Meditation. None of it worked. Eva couldn’t get to sleep. It didn’t help that Brown lay awake beside her. On top of the covers. Fully clothed. On his side, facing away from her. They’d played this “pretend to sleep” game for over an hour now and it wasn’t working for either of them.

She knew he’d been kidding about the sex issue—sort of.

But she wasn’t laughing, because he wasn’t the only one having trouble. That metaphorical elephant was way bigger than this damn bed. And as wired as she was on a combination of adrenaline, anticipation, and a healthy dose of apprehension, she didn’t see sleep coming anytime soon.

It didn’t help to know that one word, one touch, was all it would take to put them both out of their misery.

Would that be such a bad thing?

Yeah. It would. The fact that she even entertained thoughts about going there showed how wrong her thinking was.

“We will finish this . . . When this is over, we will figure this out and we will finish it.”

Threat? Promise? His words had hovered at the fringe of her conscious thoughts since he’d had his
moment
and kissed her.

Frustrated, she sat up and propped the pillow behind her head. She stared into the dark, stared down at his utterly still form, and gave it up.

“What do you think the chances are of Lawson finding us out?”

For a moment she thought he would keep up the pretense of sleep, but then he let out a perturbed sigh and rolled to his back. “About the same as me getting any sleep, if this is the start of a game of twenty questions.”

Well, good. That made it the both of them who were cranky. “I thought you were going to sneak out and do some recon.”

“And I will,” he gritted out, stacking his hands behind his head. “Once they lift the twenty-four-hour guard. All I want to do right now is sleep.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

“It doesn’t count as a lie if you’re trying to do the right thing.”

Oh, God. Why did she always want to laugh at his stupid comments?

“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked into the dark.

“Like you don’t know.”

Silence. Then, “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

That might be a good idea. “No.”

More silence. Then in a very soft voice, “Do you want me to sleep on
you
?”

She would not laugh. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “What is wrong with us? I mean, it’s not like we’re sixteen and shacked up at the local Holiday Inn on prom night. There are high stakes here. If these people find out who we are, they’re going to kill us.”

“So,” he said after the quiet had settled again, “what do you know about shacking up on prom night?”

“Damn it, Brown. Stop with the jokes.”

“I wasn’t joking. Well, not about sleeping on top of you.”

She expelled a deep breath. “All right. You know what? Let’s just
do
this. How’s that for an engraved invitation? Maybe it’ll relieve the tension and we can finally get some sleep.”

“You want a tension reliever, take a Valium.”

“Seriously? You’re turning me down?”

She blinked down at him in the dark.

“You haven’t asked me nice yet.”

She growled in frustration. “Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it?”

He moved so fast, she flinched as he rolled over, hiked up on an elbow, and looked up at her. “You think this is a game?” His somber tone sent her heart pounding. “You think I make it a habit of getting stupid over a woman? That I turn myself inside out drumming up reasons not to have sex?”

She didn’t even know what to say. She could only stare at his moonlit face. His beautiful, tortured face.

“Well, how’s this for
not
playing games? You scare me to death, Eva. You . . . make me feel things . . . and want things . . . and realize that I need things I’ve never let myself need before.”

He sat up, then pressed his forehead against hers and let out a breath that spoke of longing and frustration. His voice held a sincerity she had never expected. “Look. I know this is sudden. I know you might not be totally over Ramon. I know that I’m a constant reminder of that part of your life. It sucks. For both of us.

“I also know,” he went on, pressing the softest kiss on her temple and making her melt a little at his tenderness, “that a thousand obstacles stand between us and the finish line with Lawson. But I’m going to get you out of here. We’re both going to get out of here and accomplish Mission One, which is to expose Lawson for what he did in Afghanistan. I don’t want to muck that up by adding sex to the mix.”

He’d managed to silence her again. And make her feel bereft when he rolled to his side with his back to her again.

“Oh. And for future reference, ‘let’s just do this’ is an ultimatum, not an invitation. I don’t do real well with ultimatums these days.”

For several long moments, she sat there. Processing what he’d said, mulling over how she felt about it. He was right. There were a thousand obstacles standing between them and their goal.

But there was nothing lying between them in this bed, and the one thing she
was
sure about was that she wanted him. Wanted this devastatingly gorgeous man who was funny and sincere and conflicted, and so, so much more than she had thought he was.

She wasn’t going to think about this any longer. It was a no-brainer. She peeled her T-shirt over her head, shimmied out of her boxers, and pressed herself full-length against his back.

His skin was fire hot when she tunneled her hand up under his shirt and spread her fingers over his flat abdomen.

“Eva,” he warned on a low growl and covered her hand with his, stilling it as she slid it toward the snap on his jeans.

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his nape. “This is me, asking nice.”

He turned toward her then, his big hand finding her bare hip and squeezing. “You sure about this?”