The Stealth Commandos Trilogy (15 page)

“I guess we’re not in any hurry, are we, Red?” he said, drawing his jeans back on as he sat down next to her. He touched a curl that had strayed onto her flushed cheek and then let his hand drift down toward her mouth. “Why don’t we start with you?”

“With me?” Annie touched the neckline of her sweater as she realized what he was suggesting. “All right then,” she said after a moment. “Let’s start with me.” Steadying her hands, she began to unbutton her sweater, purposely starting at the bottom instead of the top.

He halted her efforts with a touch. “I’d like to do it, if it’s all the same to you.”

She dropped her hands away, granting his request with a taut sigh and a deep flutter of abandon. It seemed like a small surrender, letting him undo her buttons, but the prospect sent a thrill of fear through her. Or was it excitement? She couldn’t tell anymore. And she couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to her in the arms of such a man. And in his bed. Would she survive the experience? She’d been through life-and-death ordeals since birth, but for some baffling reason, this felt like her test of fire—as though all of her experiences had been building to this one, to this man and this moment.

The buttons seemed to fall open under Chase’s long fingers, and before she could catch a breath, he had laid open her sweater and was regarding her with eyes so black, it hurt to look at them. Reaching out, he fingered the strap of her shift. He seemed intently focused on the embroidered pink words that were stretched over her full breasts as he eased two fingers under the strap, drew them down, and then slipped them inside the thin material where it was cut out at the armhole.

His fingers caressed the side of her breast, riveting her. He stroked her tingling flesh almost absently with the back of his forefinger, studying the proverb and never once looking at her. Each stroke felt hot and sweet against her skin, and somehow very illicit.

She gasped inwardly as he drew his hand out and cupped her breast, taking its weight and fullness into his palm. He curved his large hand to her tender flesh, burning her through the pink-and-white barrier of the shift. A moment later he raised his dark eyes to hers.

“Are you virtuous, Annie?”

“Is that ... what you want me to be?”

His fingers moved caressingly. “Right now I want you to be closer to me. Move forward, Annie, so that I can touch your other breast.”

Something shimmered and coiled and pulled tight low in Annie’s stomach. It was a strange, beautiful, weakening impulse beyond her control. She did what he asked. She had no choice. Excitement was coursing through her with the power of a deep ocean current. As she swayed toward him, she closed her eyes and felt her breathing go soft and shallow. The touch of his hand sent shocks of pleasure tumbling through her. Her breasts throbbed and her nipples peaked as he urged her closer and kissed her mouth.

It was a lazy, languid kiss, but the yearnings building deep within Annie were anything but lazy. She was melting inside. She was dying to make love with him, no matter how big a man he was. She wanted him terribly.

He drew back, releasing her. His hands settled on the neckline of her sweater as though he was going to take it off, but she arched up against his lips, refusing to relinquish his mouth as he began to remove her clothing. She had never, ever, felt this way before. She was intoxicated by the sensations flowing inside her, she was drunk with ardor. She couldn’t bear to have him leave her for a moment. She needed his hands, his mouth.

A low moan caught in her throat as he broke the kiss and began to draw up her shift. “I know you never take this off,” he said. “But I want you naked when I make love to you.”

Annie knew vaguely that the shift was her last defense, her only remaining protection against the feelings that were overpowering her. Removing it would strip her of all reason and resistance. She knew that, but the knowledge didn’t help her when he asked her to raise her arms.

“I can’t.”

Her arms felt too heavy to lift, but she must have done what he wanted, because a moment later the shift was gone, and he was taking her breasts in his hands again. She felt the coil of desire tightening inside her. It clutched at her sharply, sweetly, and yet everywhere else, her body was weak and melting. She felt as if a tropical fever were washing over her, burning her skin with heat and spiraling her down into sweet and total oblivion.

His hands were at her waist, and then he was lifting her hips, pulling off her jeans. She moaned as he dragged her down on the bed, opening her legs. And then suddenly he was above her, his dark eyes boring into her dazed and dizzy thoughts, and there was an unfamiliar pressure between her thighs.

Chase had to light back some demons as he gazed at the naked creature lying beneath him. She was a child-woman, innocently wanton, abandoned enough to ruin any man’s intentions, no matter how good. He could easily have got rough and possessive with her. Hell, he
wanted
to get rough and possessive. He was potent, throbbing. All of his impulses were telling him to show no mercy, but he knew the pleasure would come in pleasuring her, and Annie Wells was tiny. He wanted her to have every exquisite sensation he could give her, and that meant slowing things down to a crawl.

Once he’d stroked open her thighs and positioned himself inside them, he rocked forward gently, sliding his hands under her hips and scooping her up as he pressed against the sweetest, tenderest part of her body. She threw her arms around his neck, her fingernails digging into his back as he entered her, easing into her with the tip of his shaft, probing and pushing, penetrating a little at a time.

Chase closed his eyes at the grabbing, clutching pleasure of it all. Now he knew what it was like to be a powerful engine with the brakes on—a locomotive throttling down. It was hell going slow with a hungry woman. Glorious hell.

At her writhing insistence he inched a little deeper, and felt a tightness that made him pause. At first he thought it was her muscles holding him back, but as he probed further, he knew it was something else, a physical barrier. The awareness came slowly at first, and then the shock of it caught him all at once. She hadn’t made love with him before. She hadn’t made love with anyone. Ever!

A wrench of sexual longing hit him, hardening to steel that part of him that was pulsing inside her. He wanted to say the hell with it, to finish what he’d started. His body wanted that satisfaction, too, no matter what the consequences. But even in his state of need and confusion, he knew there was too much at stake. It wasn’t merely her virginity, although that alone would have been enough to stop him. It was what the act would mean now that he knew it was her first time.

“Annie,” he said, cupping her face in his hands in an attempt to make her listen. “Why did you let me think—Annie, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

She stared up at him, bewildered. “What?”

“That you’ve never been with a man before.”

She averted her eyes, but not quickly enough to hide the emotions that stormed through them—love and longing, guilt and despair. “What does that matter now. Chase? I’m here, and I want to be with you.”

“Annie, for God’s sake, you’re a virgin.”

She caught at his hands, a note of anguish in her voice. “Why does it matter that we didn’t actually make love? We did get married. We said the vows.”

Chase studied her flushed, urgent expression, the stab of longing in her eyes—and knew he had to call an immediate halt to the proceedings. If he stayed inside her for one more heartbeat, he was going to make love to her. Fully, totally, passionately, in every way, all the way, in as deep as he could get. And it wouldn’t stop with her body, he knew that. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had all of her, every beat of her heart, every sigh in her soul.

He touched her face, regret surging through him as he withdrew from her. She flinched but made no attempt to stop him. Their knees bumped, and it was painfully awkward as he moved around her, but neither of them spoke. A moment later he was sitting on the cot, his back to her, wondering what in the hell to do.

She broke the silence. “Yes,” she said, touching his shoulder, her fingertips cold. “I am a virgin, Chase. I’ve never made love before. But that isn’t a bad thing, is it? I’ve never been touched by anyone since you touched me.”

Never been touched by anyone since you ...

Sweet Jesus, Chase thought, what the hell was happening? He rested his head in his hands, painfully aware of the throbbing condition of his body. And the heavy thud of his heart. One way or another, Annie Wells was going to be the undoing of him. He’d sensed that the moment he set eyes on her, and now it was all coming true. There was only one way to solve this problem. He had to get away from her. He had to get out of this house. And get out now.

“L
IVING
,” Annie said, a sigh in her voice, “is like licking honey off a thorn.” She wasn’t sure where she’d heard that particular proverb, probably not the convent, but she’d never been more aware of its meaning. Even if the honey was as mouthwatering as you dreamed it would be, there was always the thorn....

Chase was gone. He’d left two nights ago, right after their disastrous attempt at lovemaking. He’d packed up his clothes, his gear, and driven off in the Bronco, without telling her where he was going, or when he was coming back.

Annie’s own sense of guilt had kept her from saying a word to stop him. She had misled him, there was no denying that, but she hadn’t done it maliciously. All along, she’d held out the foolish hope that by the time they made love he might care about her enough that her virginity wouldn’t matter. She’d even imagined that a man might be flattered by the fact that a woman had waited her whole life for him, and him alone. Not Chase. He’d done everything but run naked and screaming into the night.

Annie felt the nudge of a wet nose, and she draped an arm around the solemn dog who was sitting next to her. Shadow was her mainstay these days. Her one-sided conversations with the dog had become long, involved discourses on the pitfalls of trying to deal with a man who didn’t want to be dealt with. It didn’t occur to her to feel awkward about talking at such length to an animal. The
indigenas
of the rain forest had always believed in the existence of animal spirits, and Annie had no one else to talk to anyway.

She’d even confided her most guarded dream, the one she was afraid to let herself dwell on too much for fear that it might never come true. Only in the loneliest of the moments when she needed something to sustain her did she allow herself to fantasize about the moment when Chase would finally realize he cared.

“So, what’s the answer?” she said, massaging the dog’s neck as if bringing him comfort might bring her some. “Is this mission of mine a lost cause?”

Shadow graced her with one of his melancholy looks, and Annie felt as if she had a burr stuck in her throat as she hugged him. He seemed to be confirming what she already knew. That Chase wanted her out of his life, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind. Every attempt she’d made to get closer to him drove him further away.

Though it wasn’t in Annie’s nature to admit defeat, the harshness of her life in Costa Brava had taught her many lessons in survival. She knew there came a time when you had to let go of things beyond your control. Holding on to what was hopeless only compounded the pain for everyone concerned.

Had that time come for her? She rose to go inside, inexpressibly sad. Back in the cabin, she gathered up the few things she’d brought with her, trying to decide what she would do if she left.

As she glanced around at the kitchen she’d worked so hard to brighten up, she remembered vividly the way Chase had taken her into his arms, the way he’d kissed her. He wasn’t immune to her physically. And if the emotion in his eyes wasn’t longing, it was still breathtakingly intense. She’d seen passion, need, tenderness. He’d even shuddered when she’d rested her head on his chest. “Those weren’t the reactions of a man who didn’t care,” she thought aloud.

The significance of those words didn’t hit her until a moment later while she was walking down the hallway to the bathroom for her toiletries. She stopped short in front of the bathroom door, the realization still tugging at her, urging her toward an awareness that left her slightly thunderstruck when it finally hit. Maybe that was exactly the point. He
did
care. Only he didn’t want to. He was fighting the feelings. And if the intensity of his reactions was any indication of the depth of his feelings ... maybe he cared a great deal.

Her pulse broke into a gallop. No, she told herself instantly, afraid of the tumult building inside her. That kind of thinking was absurd—wish fulfillment, at best. She was inviting more pain.

She tried to still the chaotic pace of her thoughts, but propelled by her racing heart, they heaped example upon example in support of her crazy conclusion. The way he’d insisted they were rushing things, the way he’d stormed outside when she was undressing, his smoldering fury when he caught her coming out of the shower. It was all beginning to come clear, like shutters opening on a bright morning. More and more of Chase’s erratic behavior made sense as she pondered it in the light shed by her insight. It even seemed possible that was why he’d run off. He couldn’t deal with the force of his feelings.

As the next bombshell hit her, she threw out a hand, propping herself against the doorframe for support. Mother of Mercy, was it possible? Was there any chance, even the slightest, that he might be falling in love with her?

Chase Beaudine in love?

When cows climb trees, she thought. But she made a complete turn in the hallway and stared at the cabin’s front window, entranced by the silvery moonlight streaming through the sparkling clean windowpane. What if everything Chase had done to prove he didn’t care only proved that he did? What if all of that anger and denial, all of that surliness, was a manifestation of his internal struggle? If that was true, and if his obnoxious behavior was any indication of his real feelings, the man surely was in love. Passionately. Maybe even madly.