Dangerous to Hold Page 13

  She gave a little moan as she heard the sickening sound of metal crunching and glass shattering.

  His arm tightened around her waist, bringing her up on her toes, until her face was within inches of his. “You want to tell me I’m mistaken, Sister Sarah? You want to deny that was your picture plastered across the front page of the Washington Post?”

  She wanted desperately to deny it. Staring up at his hard, chiseled face, she would have given her soul to deny it. Instead, she could only press her lips together and, to her shame, make a little whimpering sound far back in her throat.

  “Oh, no,” he growled. “Don’t get all white-faced and piteous on me. Not now. Not when we’ve got something to settle between us.”

  He loosened the fist that had tangled in her hair and released her. Sarah stumbled back a pace or two, her legs unsteady and her heart aching. She sucked in a long, ragged breath, then let it out again in a rush. Swallowing, she gaped as Jack began to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged out of it and tossed it onto the springy mat of ferns at his feet. His hands moved to the buckle that held the web belt slung low on his hips.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  The belt thudded down on top of the shirt. “What does it look like?” He lifted a foot and planted it against a rock, bending to untie the laces.

  Sarah stared at his dark head, stunned. Her lips worked, but she couldn’t force any word out.

  One boot, then the other, followed the belt. He peeled off thick white socks and straightened.

  Sarah couldn’t breathe as she watched his hands work the fastening at his waist. A thousand tumultuous emotions surged through her—astonishment, incredulity, heart-hammering disbelief. But not fear. One small corner of her psyche noted that fact, and her rational mind grabbed it with both hands.

  “You won’t rape me,” she said, in a small, breathy voice. “Not after these past days together. I don’t know much about you, but I know that much. You won’t rape me.”

  His hands paused on the zipper. One corner of his lip lifted in a smile that made shivers race along Sarah’s nerve endings. “No, I won’t rape you. I won’t have to.”

  That stiffened her spine a little. She lifted her chin a small notch. “Listen, Mr. Macho Mercenary, you may think…”

  “Save it, Sister Sarah. I’ve done all the listening to you I’m going to do.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “I felt your heart thumping against my cheek when you held me last night.” His voice low and harsh, he stepped toward her. “I saw the look that flashed into your eyes when I held you.”

  Sarah stepped back.

  He took another forward. “I saw the way you displayed yourself to me a little while ago.”

  Heat surged into her face. She clenched her fists and refused to move another inch.

  “I didn’t know what it meant then, Sister Sarah, that little display of yours. Those tender little touches. Like a fool, a blind, stupid fool, I assumed your actions were those of a woman who didn’t know what she was doing to me. A woman who didn’t realize that her slightest touch made my nerves sizzle. That one look from those eyes of yours tied my gut into knots.”

  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 trying 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.

  Chapter 10

  Sarah 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 mo
uth 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.