by Linda Howard
He lifted his head and his gaze burned as it raked over her face. “Shit. Fuck. I shouldn’t do this.”
Now she thought about pushing him away, and maybe delivering a punch or two in the process. Damn him, he didn’t get to jerk her back and forth like this. But in any physical contest he was going to win, unless he deliberately let her hit him, and where was the satisfaction in that? Instead she stretched a little, moving her body against him, and smiled a faint, ironic, and utterly beckoning smile. “Then don’t. I’m sure you’re strong enough to get away from me.” As she spoke she burrowed her fingers under the hair at his nape and lightly stroked.
If anything his eyes got even hotter, more intent, and his gaze moved down her body. She didn’t have to glance down to know her nipples were tight and fully erect, the points showing even under her sweatshirt. She could feel their tightness, and the way every breath she took rubbed them against the fabric.
A dull red flush darkened his cheekbones.
He lifted his gloved hand, clamped the tip of one finger in his teeth, and pulled the glove off. He let the glove drop out of his teeth onto her chest, then slipped his big hand under the band of her sweatshirt, moved up to clasp over one small breast before sliding over to the other, then back. His rough palm rasped over her tender nipples, making her gasp, bite off a moan.
“From day one,” he said roughly, and she knew what he meant. From day one, this had been between them. She’d tried to ignore it, stifle it, forget about it. Evidently he’d been fighting the same attraction. “If you weren’t on the team, we could—” He broke off, shook his head. “You’re too damn good with the drone. Having you there will give the team a layer of protection we didn’t have before. I could have made things so tough for you that you couldn’t make the cut, but that wouldn’t be fair to either you or the other guys.”
“That hasn’t changed,” she pointed out, her breath coming faster as he continued rubbing her nipples. She turned her head against his shoulder, inhaling the utter maleness of his scent, the warmth of his body heaven on her chilled skin. Pound-pound-pound. He had to feel her heart slamming against his palm, and she didn’t care. Months of bruising herself against his hostility and coldness were abruptly washed away as if they’d never been.
Frustration darkened his face. “As long as you’re on my team, this can’t happen.”
“Then get your hand out from under my shirt,” she snapped, and kissed his throat.
A primal sound vibrated in his chest. In one rough movement he was on top of her, one muscled thigh pushing between her legs to spread them wide, then he took his place between them. His mouth crushed down on hers again, his tongue making forays that she welcomed with her own tongue. Why should she make things easy on him? He hadn’t been easy on her. She wanted him to suffer a little, wanted him to think about what he wasn’t getting. She welcomed him with her entire body, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting her hips to cradle the hard ridge of his erection against her softness. A purely sexual pleasure speared through her, an effervescent joy that despite everything she was in his arms and he was in hers, that his hand was on her skin, and for these few stolen minutes there was nothing else.
She strained against him and his hips moved in rhythm as if there were no layers of clothing between them. He was so heavy despite bracing some of his weight on his arms, and she loved the pressure of him. Everything spun away; the fact that they were lying in a wet field of weeds, that their ride was on the way and would soon arrive, that the only way they could be together was if she failed in the training and despite herself she would try again, try her best not to fail. For now there was just this, the hard jut of his penis against her just where it needed to be, the fast spiraling lash of pleasure that started between her legs and spread upward, hot and liquid and so intense she moaned.
Briefly she tried to control her surging response but just as quickly surrendered to it because she wanted this moment, this pleasure. She came, driven by months of denial, of being painfully aware of him and having to keep it all under a lid nailed down so securely none of the other guys had any hint of it. He had known, though, maybe by animal instinct, and now like any predator he was moving fast on his prey. That was how she felt, like his prey, at his mercy, and she turned the tables on him by giving him all her sensuality, her femaleness, the wildness and completion of her response. She cried out, her voice hoarse from screaming, and dug her nails into his neck.
He swore viciously under his breath but cupped her ass in both hands and lifted her, grinding her, giving her more pressure, more pleasure, riding her through it.
She knew what he wanted. He wanted to strip her pants off and get inside her right there in that wet, muddy field, uncaring whether or not their privacy could be interrupted at any minute. She knew because that was what she wanted, with a degree of sexual madness she’d never before experienced.
And she wanted more—more Levi, more time, more of his companionship, his touch, his taste, more everything. The hunger she felt couldn’t be satisfied by occasional stolen moments; she wasn’t built that way, to be content with a clandestine relationship.
He rolled off her, breathing hard and scowling at the sky. Helplessly she stared at him, devouring every detail of his features, the strong bone structure of his lean face, the level dark brows, the curve of his mouth. He was a breathtaking man, not because he was handsome but because he was so damn masculine he practically oozed testosterone. When she thought the word “warrior,” he was the image she saw, muscled and lethal. He would look as natural with a sword strapped to his back as with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Civilization was a light cloak that he could throw off as needed; he was one of the rough men, as were all the men on the GO-Teams, ready to do whatever needed doing.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, but despite what had just happened between them, she felt constrained. Their make-out session hadn’t changed anything. He was still the leader of that team, and he’d do whatever was necessary for their operational stability because their very lives depended on it. Her job was to safeguard them as much as possible, to provide an extra set of eyes looking for trouble or gathering information without exposing them to unnecessary danger.
If she were in an arguing frame of mind, she’d yell at him that the guys wouldn’t mind at all if she and Levi began a relationship, but she’d be lying. It would make a difference. The others would subconsciously begin looking for signs of favoritism, which would foster resentment and a lack of trust. Any argument between her and Levi would necessarily cause tension among the others. That was just how team dynamics worked; a disagreement between any two members was one thing, but throw sex into the mixture and it became combustible.
She turned her head and stared at the sky as grimly as he was, and for the same reason. As things stood, she had two choices: she could quit training and have Levi—for how long was up for debate—or she could stay on the team and deal with the bitter truth that they couldn’t be together.
She. Couldn’t. Quit. Doing so would betray everything she was, every sense of self. Maybe she drove herself past what a sane person would do, but didn’t the guys also do that? Being who they were, doing what they did, required more of them than, say, a regular nine-to-five job.
She had been happy with that nine-to-five job, but now this was her reality, and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, turn her back on it.
She rolled to her knees and picked up her goggles. Her clothes were wet all along her back, and on her right side. Her elbows and knees had mud on them, evidently from when they’d landed and skidded along the ground. Her forehead was beginning to sting, and she suspected there was a scrape there. Bits of weed clung to her braid, which was no longer stuffed down the back of her shirt. Fingering her face, she found some dirt and debris and wiped it off as best she could.
Silently Levi got to his feet and began gathering in the parachute, pulling it the rest of the way to him. She picked up his goggles, and the glove he�
��d discarded. “Here,” she said and tossed the glove to him. He released the parachute with his right hand and fielded the glove one-handed, pulled it back on.
The pickup rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the road, about a hundred yards away. Jina began trudging toward it, gearing herself up to do this one more time—and one more time after that, if necessary.
Whatever it took.
Eleven
She was as white as the clichéd sheet.
Levi had to stop himself from picking her up and lifting her into the plane. She looked so damn little and dispirited, not that she truly was either of those things, but his protective instinct was kicking in harder than ever. He’d kissed her, he’d held her under him and felt the slenderness of her bones, he’d made her come; his dick and balls and brain, and hell, yeah, he realized his brain was third on that list, were all joined in a savage fight because two of them were insisting she was now his and his fuck-ass stupid brain was telling them they couldn’t have her. His sense of frustration was so great he wanted to go all Hulk and pick up the damn plane and throw it.
At the same time—God, it had been good, even though his balls were aching. The taste of her, her breath on his face, the way she caught on fire and responded with everything in her, no holding back, no games, just Jina-Babe as honest and straightforward as ever. At last he’d gotten his hands on her, on those sweet little breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d almost come in his pants when he’d felt nothing but smooth skin and tight nipples. If he ever got that far again, he swore to God nothing would stop him, next time he’d get her naked and get inside her, and to hell with the consequences.
Which meant he didn’t dare take that risk again, not as long as she was part of the team.
Fuck!
As soon as Boom saw her he shot a concerned look at Levi as they climbed aboard the Twin Otter for the third time. Levi knew how he felt. As bad as she’d reacted the first time, at least she hadn’t done anything worse than faint. An unconscious Babe was hell and gone better than a Babe who was fighting him as hard as she could. He’d been on the point of knocking her out so he could safely deploy the parachute and get them both down alive, but at almost the last second she’d gone limp, too tired to fight anymore, and he’d been able to get them into the proper attitude and pop the chute.
“Hey!” she said to Boom, catching the look and scowling at him. “At least I stayed conscious this time.” Her voice was raw from screaming, not much more audible than if she’d had laryngitis. She looked pretty bad. She had dirt smeared on her face, her clothes were wet and muddy, and her body language screamed dispirited, which was so unlike her Levi wanted to hold her on his lap and comfort her, the last damn thing she needed.
Boom scratched his jaw. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” he replied.
“I know.” Wearily she sank onto the bench. “I could have killed both of us.”
The plane started moving and Levi called out for Air Bud to wait a minute; no questions asked, Bud simply eased back and the plane stopped rolling. Boom sat down on one side of Babe and Levi took the other side, both of them dwarfing her. She had her head down and she looked even smaller than usual, as if she was trying to draw into herself.
Levi started to take her hand, lace her fingers with his, and caught himself to change the gesture to a backhanded tap to her forearm. “Babe, you can do this. You know how. Boom’s taught you everything you need to know, just trust him and your training. You know how to steer, you know how to land, and if there are any malfunctions you know how to handle them.”
She gave a tiny nod, her head still down.
A big, primal part of him wanted her to say she couldn’t do it. Or he could pull the plug himself, right now; likely any of the other team leaders would have as soon as they were on the ground after the disaster of that last jump. Boom would back him if he did. But she had tackled everything else with so much stubbornness and determination that he knew how she’d feel if she failed at this, knew how devastated she’d be. She deserved another chance.
“All right,” he said, making a swift decision. “This next jump, you’re wearing the parachute.” Boom looked at him over the top of Babe’s head and gave a brief nod.
Her head snapped up and she stared at him with huge, rounded eyes, white showing all around the irises. Her lips were bloodless.
“Boom and I will jump with you,” he said. “We’ll hold on to you, but you’re the one who’ll have to deploy the chute and steer it to the LZ.” The way it worked, he and Boom would also have chutes and they would hold on to her until her chute deployed, then they’d release her and once at a safe distance pull their own cords. He didn’t think she was grasping all the details, though, because she looked panicked.
“What if I kill us all?” she asked, sounding like a terrified frog.
He shrugged. “You’ll be dead, too. At least you’ll escape prosecution.” Coddling wouldn’t do, not now. Let her think she was responsible for all three of them making it down safely.
Boom snorted, called to Bud to let it roll; the brakes released, and they started down the runway.
Levi and Boom were moving around, getting things ready. Jina concentrated on breathing, inhaling to the count of four, holding for seven, exhaling to eight counts. If she could control her breathing, maybe she could control something else. The results on breathing were mixed. She felt as if she was gasping for air, her lungs functioning in jerks and starts, and she never made it to the holding for seven, much less exhaling for eight.
Total panic lurked just beyond the next breath. They were jumping with her. She’d have the parachute. That seemed like a completely stupid situation for them to set up, but she knew they meant business. When it came to their training, the GO-Teams didn’t mess around, it was serious as a heart attack. Levi was forcing her to do this, or else. She had to get her head straight and either quit before they went out that door, or, once they had, function and do her job.
“Take off the tandem harness,” Boom instructed, and numbly she began unhooking and shucking out of it, then getting into the harness with the parachute container. At least Boom had packed the parachutes himself, so she trusted that it was properly folded and would deploy correctly, if she could just keep her head in the game and remember to pull the freaking cord.
She knew how to do this. She just had to keep the panic at bay and remember what she’d been taught. As she geared up she ran through the parts in her head, picturing them, naming them: the container that held the D bag; the deployment bag, which actually held the parachute; the risers; the pilot chute; the toggles; the reserve chute; the automatic activation device that would deploy the chute at a certain altitude if she hadn’t already done it. Thinking of the AAD gave her a bit of relief; the parachute would open regardless of what she did . . . unless she started fighting them, and they were in the wrong position when the parachute deployed, meaning they’d be hopelessly tangled.
She couldn’t panic. Their lives depended on it. Mentally she walked herself through each and every thing that could go wrong, and how to handle every situation, immediately, no hesitation and no trying to fix it. Don’t analyze, act.
Boom opened the door. Again. She was beginning to hate that sight. No, there was no “beginning” to it, she hated that open door with every fiber of her being. Freezing cold air was blowing through the cabin, like being caught in a winter storm. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want that door to be open, and she desperately wanted to be on the ground.
“Let’s go,” Levi yelled. Resigned, she pulled her goggles into place and the three of them shuffled to the door. Boom gave her a thumbs-up sign and she gave him an are-you-crazy look. Bookended by the two men, Levi on the left and Boom on the right, she crouched with them.
Tears blurred her vision, ran hot against her eyelids. Dear God, please don’t let me kill them, she silently prayed. They each took firm hold of her harness, and heaved themselves, and her, out the door.
/> Damn fools! she thought wildly, including herself in the sentiment.
Her vision went black. She still felt the horrendous wind, though strangely it didn’t feel as cold once they were out of the plane as it did while they were still in it. It tore at her skin, slapped at her. She tried to breathe, tried to do the counting thing, four in and hold for seven, but she couldn’t inhale for a four count; she could barely gasp, not much oxygen getting past her constricted throat. At least she wasn’t screaming this time, but that was because she couldn’t, not because she had any choice about it.
“Open your eyes!” Levi bellowed, barely heard above the roar of the wind.
Doh. So that was why she couldn’t see. Squeezing her eyes even tighter, vehemently she shook her head. She didn’t want to see. She’d already seen that view twice today, and that was twice too many times. It didn’t improve with repetition.
Boom tugged on her harness. “We have you!” Like Levi, he was yelling as loud as he could.
“You have to do this!”
Levi again. She had stereo nagging.
But he was right. She had to do this.
At least her brain hadn’t turned off this time. She was at least capable of thinking, even if her teeth were chattering in fear and her bones felt as if the terror had turned them to water. Her breath was hitching in her throat now; her lungs were burning in their need for oxygen. How soon before she did pass out, from lack of air?