Three
heard Caitlin rummaging around in her room as he stood outside her door the next morning. After he’d left her in her room last night, she’d unpacked, showered, ate, and crashed just as he suspected she would. The woman had been dead on her feet by the time they’d arrived at the barracks. When discussing the room assignment, he’d purposely led her to believe they could be sleeping in the same room. It hadn’t necessarily been true. Anything was possible, sure, but he fully intended to come and go as he pleased to check on her, and he didn’t need her thinking she could shut him out of the room on a whim. She was under his protection, and if he determined they needed to be in the same at some point, it was better she understood that on the front end.
Once she was asleep, he’d retreated to his room and sent up a silent thank-you for the cameraman choosing not to accept the military accommodations offered to him. If he had, the man would be sharing a room with Owen since he couldn’t have the guy bunking with one of the soldiers and disrupting the buddy system he’d put in place. He’d been given six men as part of this assignment, which he grouped into pairs. The men would be his backup where Caitlin was concerned, but they’d also be responsible for driving them to their locations and engaging any hostiles. As much as Burge had put the responsibility of Caitlin’s safety on his shoulders, he knew he’d be SOL if he took her—and by association, the videographer—out into the red zone on his own. No one traveled out there alone. He’d needed a team of competent men he could entrust her safety with. Burge had made some calls and secured Owen six recent BUD/S graduates. These men had survived the intensive twenty-four week course, and the infamous Hell Week. Owen couldn’t suppress a shudder at remembering when he’d gone through it. But these guys still had to go through parachute jump school, and then complete the longest course—SEAL Qualification Training—before earring their Navy Seal Trident and being assigned to their own SEAL team.
The door opened and she walked out wearing cargo pants, boots, a tank, and an open shirt over it. He almost groaned at the sight of her cleavage. Not that it would’ve been a completely sexual response.
Immediately after looking up who this reporter was, Owen had to tamp down some renewed anger at being assigned this mission. She wasn’t some big hotshot war correspondent or high profile news anchor. He’d only found a few pieces on YouTube of her reports from bases. One of them had even spelled her name wrong. She was practically a nobody. Looking her up hadn’t pointed to any significant reason why she in particular—out of all the news correspondents he’d been around on deployment—required SEAL protection. Not that he wished her any harm. He wasn’t a monster. But learning there really wasn’t more to what Burge told him about her hadn’t set well with him. She was of no importance, which meant her protection truly had been secured by someone cashing in a favor.
That knowledge had burned at a low simmer.
What cranked up the heat had been realizing just how beautiful and fair she was. He’d watched her piece from Kandahar so many times that he could recite the questions she asked of the soldier. Learning all about her had been part of his preparation, but seeing that pale blonde hair, light blue eyes, and alabaster skin had him wondering how in the hell she was going to blend in. She screamed American, and a bombshell at that.
Not that her looks mattered to him. Another place, another time, he would totally hit on her, and Owen was confident enough to know when he wanted something, he usually got it. But never once had he fraternized with colleagues, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do something as stupid as that with a woman he’d been charged with protecting.
Even if she stood before him with her curves on display.
“You need to cover up,” he said without letting his gaze leave hers. He didn’t have to look at her breasts to see they were on display. Most straight, red-blooded American men his age knew how to check a woman out without getting caught. It was a skill he’d picked up long before entering the Navy.
“Oh, I brought a scarf,” she said, digging into her bag and pulling the edge of a hijab out for him to see.
“No, Caitlin, though I’m glad you thought of that.” He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a cut, but being special ops, he didn’t have to live with the same military regulations. It was more important that he blend in with his surroundings than sport a high and tight. If Caitlin was military, she’d have her locks pulled back and not flowing freely. But the issue here wasn’t her hair…not entirely. “I mean your shirt.”
She gasped and looked down. “What’s wrong with my shirt?” she asked, obviously confused, but he detected a hint of anger in her response as well.
“Besides the fact that your skin is so pale that you should cover as much of it as possible to protect it from the desert?” he asked sarcastically, though it hadn’t really been a question. “You’re in a country where women are usually covered. I want you to blend in, not stand the fuck out.” He hadn’t meant to cuss, but he was warring with himself as much as he was her. He didn’t want her to cover her beautiful body. The fact he felt that way and that he had to ask her to block herself from his view pissed him off on competing levels. She had nothing to do with what was going on in his head. But then there was the fact she should know better venturing out like this. Granted, this would be her first assignment outside the wire, but she’d been in this country before. Even if she hadn’t or worked in the media, she would’ve seen images of the women here.
Her cheeks turned pink, and he immediately regretting causing her any embarrassment. “It’s just so hot. I thought maybe the scarf would help cover me when I had to wear it.”
He took a deep breath and stepped toward her. Only one, though. He kept his arms crossed as he looked down at her and did his best to temper his words. “It’s okay. This is new, and it’s hot as hell. But I’d rather you be sweating and miserable than cool and killed.”
She nodded, dropped the bag she’d brought out with her, and darted back into her room. He checked his watch, but he didn’t have to wait long. She emerged less than a minute later wearing a long sleeve, fitted t-shirt. He wanted to howl because, somehow, without the blanket of the loose button-up shirt she’d worn over the tank top, she was on display even more. That damn cotton clung to her like a second skin. Jesus.
She spread her arms. “How do I look?”
Like a sinful siren. “Better. Follow me,” he barked, and turned on his heels without another glance. He heard her heft the bag before she shuffled behind him out of the barracks.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday about the agenda.”
“You were dead on your feet,” he said without looking at her. “I’d just have to go through it all again this morning.”
She harrumphed, and he was glad she couldn’t see the flash of his grin. “I’m all ears, soldier.”
“Technically, I’m in the Navy. Makes me a sailor.”
“If I call you sailor, that’ll make me feel like I’m reciting some cheesy line in a porno.” She snorted. “Well, hello there, sailor. Let me raise that big, hard anchor of yours,” she said in a sultry tone that had his cock stirring. He stopped suddenly, and she ran into his back. “Oaf.”
He turned and clasped her shoulders to steady her. Caitlin’s eyes were huge as she stared up at him, startled. She’d been joking with him, but no way did she know just how much he wanted to take her up on that teasing offer. He opened his mouth to tell her—what? What was he going to say? Any reprimand died on his tongue as he gazed down at her. He immediately let go and turned before he did something stupid, not giving his brain a chance to send any dangerous commands to his hands or mouth, and then marched out of the building.
He climbed into the driver’s side of the Hummer and waited for her to get seated. Before she had a chance to brace herself, he peeled out, heading for the airstrip. Determined to keep his mind on his job of protecting her body, and not exploiting it, he said, “It’d take us half a day to drive to the Achin District, not to mention the road is one of the most dangerous in the world. A helo will take us to Jalalabad, and we’re driving from there. It’ll cut travel time in half.”
“Why not take the helicopter all the way?”
It was a good question, not that he liked having his decisions second-guessed. “We will after today. You’ve been cleared to interview some of the units on the ground, and we need to get that out of the way first. It’ll be easier to drive among them. Tomorrow, we’ll take the helo over the actual bombsight and surrounding areas to give you a lay of the land and aerial footage. The next several days after that, we’ll fly to a specific quadrant and land, so you can walk in the designated area, meet locals—friendly locals—before heading back to base for the night. Each day we’ll fly to a different quadrant so you can investigate and film whatever it is you’re interested in seeing until you’ve put eyes on everything.”
She was silent, and he gripped the wheel tighter when the urge to keep talking bubbled up.
“I’m sorry for earlier.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said automatically. If either of them owed the other an apology, it was him for reacting to her words at all.
“It was inappropriate. You’re here to protect me, and I insulted you.”
“You didn’t insult me.”
“Yes, I did. I—”
“Let it go, Caitlin,” he said in the tone he reserved for his subordinates because he didn’t want her to say those words again or worse, elaborate on them. When he glanced at her to make sure she understood how serious he was about this, his gut clenched at the sight of her red cheeks. She really did feel bad thinking she’d offended him. He hated that, but to entertain this conversation further was to invite unnecessary danger…and not the battlefield kind.
“Sir, yes, sir,” she said with flimsy salute before looking out the side window. Thank God she dropped it, but that salute? He really needed to correct her form if she kept doing it.
Later. He’d have to do it later. Right now, he needed to take advantage of the quiet to get his head straight. They were heading into enemy territory, and he wouldn’t let anything get in his way of protecting her.
Not her. And especially not him.
* * *
“ food tastes like dirt,” Lorenzo said after they landed. A couple of Owen’s men left to secure the cars they’d be taking, and Owen had instructed them to eat since the chow hall hadn’t been fully up by the time they had to leave base. Caitlin had packed some energy bars, so she hadn’t planned on eating, but Owen hadn’t wanted to hear her explanation when she tried to decline. The man didn’t like it when she questioned or resisted him.
“It tastes like dirt made a baby with dirt and gave birth to more dirt,” she added as she choked down another spoonful. “They take dirty rice a little too literally over here.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “I think you’re gonna fit it in quite nicely, Caitlin. Hard to survive this kind of assignment with your sense of humor still in tact.”
She scooped some more rice, but then dropped it and pushed her plate away, giving up the battle that her taste buds would find anything in the food beyond marginally eatable. “Thanks. How long have you been here?”
His gaze darkened. “Off and on for ten years.”
“Oh,” she said, unable to wrap her mind around that. “Do you have family back home?”
He pushed his empty plate away with a shrug. “Where’s home?” he asked, but she didn’t think he expected an answer. “I was born in Rome. Moved to London when I was eight. And went to university in America. I’ve worked on every continent.”
“So no wife and kids?”
He laughed. “Who has time for that? My American friends would say things about picket fences and the American Dream. Whatever that is.” He shook his head dismissively. “My life is work.”
She felt a little sad at the way he’d said that. “Do you ever just take off and relax?”
He half smiled. “Actually, I was due for holiday when Jack called. He sent Kanfi with Harris to Syria. After the station budget cuts, the executives frown on paying freelancers. He could have gotten someone else, but it would’ve taken time he hadn’t wanted to waste.”
“The news never sleeps.”
He laughed. “Oh heavens, does he still use that phrase?”
“Jack is nothing if not routine.”
“Time to go,” Owen said from behind her. She looked over her shoulder and watched as he approached, knowing he stood off to the side to let her eat, but not letting her out of his site. But this time he wasn’t looking at her. He’s gaze was locked on Lorenzo. She faced her colleague, but he seemed oblivious he was on the receiving end of a murderous glare as he moved to get up from the table. Caitlin grabbed her plate and stood to toss it.
Owen clutched her wrist and she gasped, not expecting him to be standing right there when she got up. His lack of personal space unsettled her…more than it should.
“You didn’t eat,” he muttered.
“It’s gross.” It was true, but saying it out loud made her feel like some diva. She was nothing of the sort. Caitlin prided herself on her modesty and had eaten local cuisine from many places, even ones squeamish people would balk at. Not once had she complained about what she’d been served. Hell, even if it was something she wouldn’t ordinarily eat—like crickets—she’d been more worried about offending the people around her than her own comfort. But it was different with Owen. She didn’t have to hide anything with him.
“Caitlin,” he said, and briefly shut his eyes. “You have to eat. If you don’t, you’ll be too weak to run away from danger.”
She reached for him, grabbed his free arm. “I tried to tell you earlier I have energy bars with me.”
He didn’t say anything, and it dawned on her that she was holding his arm as he was hers, as if they were almost in an embrace. In a country where public display of affection was forbidden, she should be worried how this looked to the people around them. But since this area was filled with coalition forces who were used to seeing people doing a lot more in their home countries, maybe it wouldn’t come off as offensive to anyone.
Because as much as she told herself to let go of him, her hand refused to follow the order.
His throat moved and in his gaze was something she’d seen for a fleeting moment once before, but this time it lingered, leaving no question what had been banked there then or now. Heat. Desire.
Owen wanted her.
That knowledge thrilled her. And scared her. She didn’t know this man. He could be married for goodness sakes.
“If you two are done making goo-goo eyes at each other,” Lorenzo said from beside them, and they both immediately dropped their hands.
“What?” Owen said low and dark. If voices alone could kill someone, his would have murdered Lorenzo right there on the spot.
Lorenzo took a step back. “Um, I was just going to say those men you sent for the car are back.”
Owen stormed off to where the soldiers where gathered.
“Damn, that was intense.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, though she was positive Lorenzo had been talking about how Owen reacted toward him, and not the moment she and Owen had just shared.
When Owen returned, he was all business, directing them to the car and assisting them as they loaded their gear. He’d grabbed her helmet off the table earlier and instead of handing it to her as he had this morning, he helped her put it on. If her breath quickened at the feel of him tucking her hair in the hijab or his finger glancing her chin, she ignored it. He opened the door and lifted her to the seat in the back. Having his hands on her waist was almost too much for her to control. She lifted her hand and placed it on his shoulder to keep distance between them, but touching him as he touched her only ignited this foreign longing she felt. To hide her body’s reaction, she quipped, “I thought ladies get to ride shotgun.”
“You are,” he said as he pointed to a hole in the roof where a machine gun was. She gasped at looked at him. His pinched lips and the gleam in his eyes told her he was fighting a smile.
“That’s not what I mean.”
He sobered. “Can’t have anyone seeing you through the windshield and taking shots. You’re sitting here because I’m riding passenger and can watch you from the corner of my eye.”
“I don’t think twenty-four-seven actually means you have to sit with your eyeballs glued to my body.”
He leaned closer and she sunk back into the seat to maintain space. It didn’t work. He reached over her, dug around for something out of her view, and softly said, “There aren’t many perks to this job—” He pulled out a breakfast sandwich and handed it to her—“Getting to look at you isn’t the hardship here.”
She opened her mouth, but he shut the door before she could say anything and climbed in. Once he was seated, he looked at her. “Eat. Save the energy bars for emergencies.”
They headed out, and she stared at the biscuit with egg enveloped in plastic wrap. Where had he gotten it? She looked beside her seat and discovered he’d been rummaging around in his own backpack. This had been his breakfast, and he was giving it to her.
Her heart stuttered as warmth filled her. This man who she hardly knew, who’d been hired to protect her, was sacrificing his own comfort to make sure she ate something she liked. The gesture might not seem big, but it was probably one of the nicest things anybody had done for her. The act was one she’d never forget…even if she couldn’t accept it. She pushed the sandwich toward him.
“Thank you, but I can’t take your food. You lectured me on having energy to run from bad guys. Can’t have you passing out from low blood sugar in the middle of shooting people.”
He raised an eyebrow. Several seconds passed before he spoke. When he did, his words came out slow, distinct. “You have no idea of the years of training my body’s been through. I can go without food, water, and sleep for periods of time that a lesser person would die from.”
Her hand dropped slightly, but she didn’t say anything. What could she? She knew the military didn’t skimp on training. She had no doubt as to what he’d just said.
“You will eat that sandwich. If we were the only two Westerners in this country, that sandwich the only food left behind, and it came down to you or me eating it, it’d still be all you.”
“Well, now you’re just being silly,” she said as she eased back from his leveled stare and opened it.
He chuckled, and she decided she liked the sound of his laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re no good to me weak.”
She knew the endearment hadn’t been literal, but her cheeks grew warm anyway. Best thing for her to do was ignore the man in front and be grateful she had something pleasant to munch on.
He confused her, twisted her in ways that she’d never been before, and never so quickly after meeting someone.
She wished she understood why this man in particular did that to her…almost as much as she wished he had no effect on her at all.
Almost.