Anything, Anywhere, Anytime

Hints of maidenly embarrassment, a sense of awkwardness flickered across her face. "Uh, Drew, isn't that uncomfortable for you—"



"After twenty years in the Army, I've grown accustomed to hard ground." He made fast work of tearing open the condom and sheathing himself. "Hell, the sleeping bag makes this downright cushy compared to some gigs."



"But I'll squish you." She fidgeted against him until he gritted his teeth to combat the sensation.



"Lady, I've jumped out of planes carrying gear heavier than you."



He stroked from her br**sts to clasp her waist. Her muscles tensed beneath his hands into a sheet of nerves in contradiction to her encouraging smile.



"Trust me." He massaged gentle persuasion along the slight flare of her h*ps until she relaxed under his hands.



His hold firm, he guided her down. Stopping. The first touch of her moist heat against him battered his better intentions. Her impatient wiggle threatened to send him deeper, faster, when he knew well they needed to take this initial entry slow, careful. Excruciating.



His muscles trembled more from the effort of holding back than from holding her until finally he breached the thin barrier. Her wince, followed by instinctive tensing of internal muscles had him tensing in return, clenching back the surge of pleasure from her vise grip around him.



Again he forced himself to wait until she relaxed under his caresses before moving, thrusting, all the while watching her watching him and finding in her eyes an echo of what he felt certain scrolled across his own.



Heat. Need. Pleasure.



He moved with her as she discovered her natural rhythm and grace here, as well. Then they found the pace and style unique to the two of them together. Moving with and against each other in the darkened room until perspiration sheened her smooth skin, sweat beaded along his brow. And he knew that soon, damned soon, he wouldn't be able to hold back any longer. But he wasn't going solo.



Reaching between them, he stroked her where their bodies joined. Her head lolled forward, her hair sliding past her shoulders in a black curtain.



He increased the pressure, allowed himself to thrust harder, quicker, until the increasing rise and fall of her rose tipped br**sts reassured him she was seconds away from finding her...



Release.



A moan built, swelled up from her mouth in a torrent of foreign words as a fresh wash of goose bumps swept her flushed skin. She trembled beneath his hands, and again until slowly her lashes slid open and she peered at him through her curtain of hair with astonishment.



He stared up at her staring back down at him. What did she see in his eyes now? Her hand glided from his chest to cradle his face. She smiled and she moved, some sort of instinctive womanly roll of her h*ps against his. Hell.



His restraints tore, sent him plummeting hard and fast like tripping out of an airplane into the wide-open sky, all the more surprising since he damned well should have more control at his age. But who the hell was he to argue? Instead he let the all-out force whip over him like the wind against his body in a free fall that just kept pulsing over him because of this woman.



Yasmine.



His hand still between them, he stroked high against her slick folds again, intense, deliberate until she joined him this time. Her spine bowed, her head falling back until the tips of her hair swished along his other hand bracing her waist, sending another jolt of pleasure shuddering through both of them.



Finally she crumpled onto his chest with a purr, as well as an exhausted sigh that stirred masculine satisfaction. Along with a hefty dose of confusion over how one woman could shift everything so quickly.



He'd set his course long ago when Glenna walked out on him, dragging their daughter and any sense of family along with her. Sometimes when a man heard a calling as strong as his, he had to choose. And he'd opted for the Army and nights camped out on nothing more than packed earth rather than the comfort of a wife's bed.



With the hard ground under him and soft Yasmine over him, he wondered if maybe a man could have the best of both worlds after all.



Monica rested her head against the shower wall and watched the blood-tinged water swirl down the drain. Any residual hold over her shredded emotions spiraled away, as well.



She'd lost patients before. Not many. But it happened and it was never easy. Yet this one tore a new hole in her heart.



Rocked her confidence.



Her grasp on the threads holding her world together was slipping away faster than the water down the drain when she prided herself on controlling her destiny. Her science, scalpel, boots, it was all about being in control of her world on every front.



What a joke. She controlled nothing. She couldn't save Santuci. She and Jack were still a mess. She might be here for Sydney, but she sure as hell wasn't saving her. Jack was taking care of that. She hadn't ever felt this out of control, except when Sydney was captured.



Or had she?



Water chilled on her body. She'd felt exactly like this the day her mother left. The day Cheryl Lynn Hyatt clicked off Saturday morning cartoons to explain to her girls why she couldn't be their full-time mama anymore.



Anger steamed through Monica hotter than the water scouring her skin. Strange, but she hadn't felt even a fraction of this much rage when Hunter had issued his final ultimatum after her job wrecked their wedding plans for the fifth time.



Was she truly unable to commit as Hunter had accused her of? Had she led Hunter around by the nose for four years as Jack said?



She shut off the water, sagged back against the wall and tried to scavenge the energy to step out.



The shower door popped open instead. Jack filled the void, wearing a flight suit and a face full of worry. How had she missed him entering her room? Some warrior she made today.



A big towel in hand, he waited, not a normally expected wisecrack in sight. She was too soul weary for modesty. A ridiculous notion around him, anyway.



He backed to give her room to follow, then wrapped the towel around her, pulled her against him while the fluffy cotton soaked up the water on her skin.



Her cheek rested against the steady percussion of his heart. "Jack, I can't have sex with you. Not tonight."



Not now when she was so out of control.



Oh, hell. Had even sex with Jack been about control for her? She'd controlled the relationship in the early days since he was chasing her. And heaven knew Mistress Monica had been in control in the chair.



Still, she couldn't think about sex with Santuci's blood, his death, still all over her. "I wish I could, Jack. God knows I'm wound tight and could probably use the release. But I just...I can't."



"I know." He walked backward, leading her into the room. Holding her firm with one arm, he reached with the other to pull a sleep shirt out of her suitcase. He tugged the jersey over her head, tugged one hand through, and then the other. "Sleep."



Her eyes strayed to the floor where they'd slept tangled in each other's arms before and wasn't sure she could even open herself that much without revealing too many wounds right now. "Is this really such a good idea—"



Jack scooped her up, strode to her cot and set her down. He lifted her feet and slid in under them to sit before dropping her legs into his lap.



Not sleeping against each other. He'd offered her an out, a way she could keep her distance so she didn't fall apart, while still being there for her.



She sagged back into her pillow. "Thank you."



For being here. For understanding she was so damned messed up she couldn't even accept the comfort of sleeping in his arms.



He started a firm massage along the arch of her foot. "There's nothing more you could have done."



"I know. He bled out. That simple."



His strong grip worked her ankle in a slow rotation, and damned if he wasn't peeling back layers of protective covering until her eyes prickled.



She flung her arm over her face as a barrier against tears. Instead her blank eyelids provided an empty canvas for memories of picking up the patient's field medical card to check his prior treatment. Seeing the name. Recognizing it. Looking up to the blood-covered face she'd been unable to identify before, and back at the card again.



"Oh, God, Jack, his name was Pete. Day by day, he was Private First Class Santuci. But right now, all I can remember is that his mama named him Pete."



"Doctor or soldier, we both work in jobs that take too many lives too young. Hearing their names is what keeps us human."



And also tore her apart.



Jack kept rubbing, and while her ache didn't ease, at least it was back under control. Thanks to Jack. He wasn't an easy man to be with, but she couldn't deny there was so much wonderful about him. If only she could open herself up enough to accept it.



Instead she cinched her pillow tighter and simply remained grateful that she hadn't lost all grip on her world. Her emotions.



Self-knowledge was a huge pain in the ass. She was scared of failing with Jack, of being abandoned again and having her grip slide away for good. Of course, she was already alone in her rigidly ordered little world. But then being alone by choice was a helluva lot easier to face then being left alone if Jack walked.



Foggy edges of sleep thinning, Yasmine blinked against the disorientation. And found herself staring into deep blue eyes looking back up at her as she sprawled over a decidedly male and na*ed chest.



"Good morning." Drew's gravelly greeting vibrated under her.



"Good morning to you, too." She stretched against him, worked out the kinks and slight ache in well-loved muscles, Drew's body making the most wonderful mattress. She arched forward to drop a quick kiss on his mouth, then on his furrowed brow that worried too much.



Had he even slept? She couldn't see him lowering his guard to rest. And of course he had every reason not to trust her.



Already the niggling truth diluted her morning-after euphoria. She tucked her face against his bristly chest to keep him from seeing the fears that likely flickered through her eyes. What would he do when he discovered the truth? Maybe he would never have to know. How easy to latch on to that notion.



His fingers stroked along her back, continually, as if he sensed her need for contact. "Yasmine, the next few days are going to be hectic. And then you'll be tied up with in processing and questioning once you make it to the States."



A chill iced through her skin to her bones. "Are you giving me the brush-off?"



"Do you want me to?"



She shook her head against his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heart.



"What's your plan once you're there?"



The thought that he might offer more... She tamped down even the idea. "I had hoped to stay with one of my sisters until I find work."



"Don't you have a pile of your daddy's oil money stashed away somewhere?"



"Not if I leave here."



His arms tightened around her protectively. "If you need anything..."



She smiled against his chest. How like a man to assume she was helpless. "Thank you, but I will be fine. Of course I have to pass licensure boards in the United States, but then I plan to find work."



"Licensure boards?"



Worries took a momentary back seat to the immediate pleasure of surprising him. "I am a nurse."



He didn't disappoint. He hefted her shoulders up far enough where she could see his shock—and pride. "A nurse? No shit?"



"No shit."



They laughed together as she cuddled back against his chest. "I graduated from the university last year." Took a cruise with her parents, so happy and carefree only weeks before her world exploded into hellish mayhem. "My bachelor's degree may not be as prestigious as my flight surgeon sister's medical degree, but I can support myself anywhere I choose to live."



"Anywhere?"



Had she pushed too hard for a sign from him? These man-woman dances were new to her. "But of course first I will need to take care of those licensure issues. So I imagine I will be spending some time with my sister in Virginia."



His chest rose and fell under hers and she could almost hear the thoughts shuffling around inside his head. Finally a deep sigh lifted her higher before he said, "Virginia, huh? I know this restaurant I like to go to whenever I am up in D.C., not too far away from where you'll be."



Her fingers convulsed against his arms with hope that maybe she could hold on to this moment after all. Have another such moment with this man. "A restaurant?"



"On the water. I think you'll like it."



He fell silent again. She sensed he would not be offering her any more just yet, but recognized the wealth of commitment in that simple statement coming from such a stark man. He kissed her hair, toyed with a lock. And just that fast, that simple, her heart tumbled.



She loved him. Truly loved this man.



She let the notion settle. Where was the joy? Instead she was terrified because the flash of love showering through her illuminated hundreds of tiny flaws and lies within her, leaving no unexposed corner to tuck them away.



Selfish wishes had no place here between them. This was no longer about her keeping her secrets. It had become about him, and being worthy of him, because somehow one day this man would see into her soul.



And she desperately wanted a someday with him.



There was only one way to have it. Tell him the truth now. She would have to pray that his innate sense of honor would understand she really had no choice before and that he would forgive her.



"Drew," she.repeated, savoring the feel of his name on her lips in case she never had the right to say it again. "I need to tell you something I have been keeping hidden."



Chapter 16



The daylight exposed everything.



Sydney closed herself in to hide from the bright sun's rays, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She hunched ever so slightly during her brief walk within the small fenced area. Changes in the schedule unsettled her. Why a lunchtime walk when they always, always, walked after supper during the cooler part of the day?



The high-noon rays baked her skin and the top of her head until sweat trickled between her breasts. Kayla and Phillip strolled a few feet ahead, side-by-side most of the time these days. Their growing bond seemed so obvious to her she feared their captors might see it, too. Exploit it. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry any longer.



Stored heat from the ground saturated up through the soles of her sandals. Still, she didn't dare complain or sacrifice the too brief taste of freedom.



Today more than ever she wanted to be outside, that much closer to Blake.



Scanning the stark stretch of rocky desert broken only by high, barbed fences, she marveled that he had made it in, stayed hidden even now. Where was he? She shifted left, right, tried to sense his eyes on her. Craved the connection.