“Beth, get your ass back here and stay down.”
“In a minute.” She wasn’t about to take cover while Desi was losing blood just two feet away from her.
“Now, God damn it!”
Staying as low as she could, Elizabeth quickly swabbed the wound as she tried to remember everything she’d read about the mechanism she was about to use. The closure device consisted of a metal shaft within a cylinder through which standard sutures were threaded. “Okay. Let’s see how this thing works.”
She understood the basic principle. Brilliant, really. By turning the internal shaft with the use of a simple tool, Elizabeth inserted it into the wound and applied tension to the surrounding tissue. She maintained the pressure by periodically tightening the sutures. Because the tension was evenly distributed, approximation smoothly followed the natural con tour of Desi’s leg. The gaping, bloody wound slowly closed. Wow. Sam had some very cool toys. Blocking out the noise, she pretended that bullets weren’t flying around them. Finding a pressure dressing, she covered the incision as best she could; his leg was wet, and she had nothing to dry it with.
“He’ll live,” Sam yelled, sounding seriously pissed. “Get your head down. Now.”
Okay. Okay. She got her head down.
“Rapids coming up,” he said, almost redundantly since the little boat was slewing and bouncing and boomeranging off rocks and the water was frothing, splashing around them. “Hold on,” he added also unnecessarily as Elizabeth rose independently of the boat, then landed on her butt with a thunk that jarred her teeth.
Desi was bleeding through the bandage, but she couldn’t do anything about it. All she could do was hold on. And pray.
She unsnapped the oars beside her and dug them into the water. Behind her Sam cursed.
BETWEEN THE THREE OF them they managed to run the rapids without tipping the pirogue. And without being killed. By some freaking miracle, they out-raced the enemy and ended up in calm water with not a soldier in sight.
All in all, a damn good day as far as Sam was concerned. They dropped Desi off at the small rural hospital near his village, then borrowed his brother’s, brother-in-law’s, sister’s, aunt’s truck to get them to where Sam had left the helicopter in a small clearing just outside the village.
“You can fly this thing?” Beth asked, limping slightly as she crossed the soggy grass to a group of men sitting in threadbare lawn chairs nearby. The five men rose as they approached. Desi had assured him that his uncles would protect the chopper with their lives. They didn’t look as though they’d had to forfeit any body parts as they greeted Sam and Beth with wide grins and handshakes all around.
Sam had retrieved his wallet from the pack, and now peeled off the local currency in payment. “Mbongo, thank you for protecting my chopper.” He offered the money, which they accepted with bows and great ceremony. Although he knew they didn’t understand his thanks, they got the gist. Money in hand, they traipsed across the weedy field to drive the truck back to the village.
“Is everything where it’s supposed to be?” Beth asked, eyeing the Blackhawk sitting incongruously in the middle of a field with five ripped and torn pieces of lawn furniture, a rainstorm of cigarette butts on the dry dirt surrounding them.
“Looks good,” he told her, as he did a visual scan. The rotors were intact, and the body looked untouched. “Don’t worry. I’ll check to be sure.” He took her hand as they got closer. The black paint gleamed dully in the late afternoon sun. “How’re your legs?”
“Muscle cramps. I’m good.”
Yeah. She was good. And exhausted. And so fucking brave that Sam wanted to throw the little tent to the ground and crawl inside with Beth right there and then. Not for sex, although God only knew he wanted that too. But just to keep her next to his heart. The image of them lying together, in a cool dim room, held enormous appeal.
They’d have that.
And everything else.
“Yeah, I can fly this thing. Here.” He opened the door. “Hop in while I do the preflight check.”
He lifted her up, his hands lingering on her narrow waist for a second before he deposited her in the leather seat.
Fifteen minutes later they were airborne. And an hour later they were in the Bombardier Challenger being flown back to Montana.
The company jet was sleek and came fully equipped. As soon as the pilot reached cruising altitude, Sam released their seatbelts and took Beth to the aft cabin where there was not only a luxurious bathroom, but also a bed.
Sam turned her into his arms the second he’d kicked the door shut. “There’s a bed back here.” His voice was thick as he pinned her to the wall and yanked down the fasteners to get her out of the LockOut. “We’re not going to make it that far.” Her beautiful breasts and the slope of her belly were exposed as he bit lightly on the tendons on her neck, enjoying the way her body shuddered in response and her arms came up around his neck, her fingers fisting in his hair.
Her skin was cool and soft, so soft. Sam multi-tasked as he backed her into the bathroom, stripped her out of the suit, and kissed her, all without missing a beat. “I wish I were an octopus,” he murmured against her mouth, freeing a hand to reach in to turn on the shower. “Then I could touch you everywhere I want, all at the same time.”
Beth’s eyes were filled with laughter as she helped him strip off his own suit, made complicated because he was so erect the skintight suit had to be peeled away carefully. “It’s a loooong flight.” She gave him a glittery-eyed inspection as he kicked the suit off each foot and stepped free. “You look like a—”
“Guy with a hard-on?” Sam hoped to God his reaction to her would simmer down just a little in a few years. It was damned uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing having this kind of erection anytime he was within five feet of her. Especially in public. He swallowed a laugh. Christ. This was never going to end. He’d be ninety and she’d walk into the room, and he wouldn’t need a walker.
“Oh, yeah.” She placed both hands on his chest, and pushed him ahead of her into the shower stall, which was already filled with steam.
Her fair skin looked incredible against the glossy black tile—not that Sam was taking time to admire the scenery. His mouth went dry as lust surged and intensified to the brink of pain. He backed her against the wall, then lifted her legs around his hips as the hot spray pounded his back. Arms wrapped around his neck, Beth gave a helpful little hop, then tightened her ankles in the small of his back.
He shuddered as he entered her moist heat. They both groaned at the exquisite sensation.
“Oh, God, Sam. This feels—Feels—” Unbearable. Wonderful. Intense. His body was hot against hers; the hair on his chest abraded her breasts deliciously. Elizabeth captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, her own tongue eager and demanding, her hips moving frantically against his. She loved the taste of him, the smell of his skin. She loved the way his body thrust into hers over and over again, so that she didn’t know where her body started and his began. “Harder. Harder. Harder,” she urged, her back slamming against the cold tile as he surged into her with a power and heat that made her body shake and shudder.
He devoured her mouth.
The kiss went on and on. Hot and wet. Tongues, slick and in constant motion, slid and slithered in a motion mimicking penetration. Her breath hitched and caught. She made a sound in the back of her throat and shuddered with the beginning of a hard fast climax.
“Not yet,” Sam muttered thickly, withdrawing a little and dragging in a harsh ragged breath, hard fingers gripping her ass cheeks. “Not.” He rammed home again, biting down gently on her earlobe. Elizabeth’s back arched as her body tightened unbearably. “Yet.” He pulled out, slick and hard. Hot and greedy.
He brought her to the very edge. Again and again. Prolonging the climax in a carefully choreographed dance that had her clawing his back as violent ripples wracked her body, making her pant and sweat and moan his name.
“Nownownow,” she chanted, ti
ghtening her arms and legs around him as he pounded into her, the sweet torture almost unbearable.
In answer, Sam crushed his mouth back down on hers as he thrust inside her again and again. Strong and relentless, he controlled the speed and intensity of his thrusts as if he could read her body’s every action and reaction.
Harder and harder. Closer and closer together, until she couldn’t tell where he began and she ended.
Elizabeth opened her eyes, and Sam’s were there, also open, waiting for her, consuming her with the heat of his gaze. She let her lashes fall, scared he’d see too much. I love you. I loveyou, Iloveyou. Blood thundered in her ears, roaring through her veins in a sweet blaze that left her shaking and needy. She held him with every well-toned muscle, inside and out, as he plunged into her like a hard-driven weapon. Hunger was its own reward and carried its own demand.
Elizabeth buried her face against Sam’s shoulder, but that didn’t muffle her scream as they climaxed together hard and fast.
“I’m a noodle,” she gasped, her legs refusing to unclasp.
“Since we’re here, might as well make use of the rest of the water.” Which was now decidedly cool. It felt good on her burning skin. Sam reached for the liquid soap in a container on the wall, and started washing her, starting with her hair.
Elizabeth leaned her head against the tiled wall, eyes closed as he used his large hands to wash her face and throat, then trailed his fingers over her soapy breasts until she muttered, “No fair,” and slid her legs from around his hips so she could stand. Her legs felt even more noodley than before.
She pushed the button on the container and got a handful of scentless soap in her palm. “You are a dirty, dirty boy.”
“Man.”
Her hands slicked down his sides, then honed in on his erection. Cupping his length, she smiled as her soapy fingers tightened around him. “All man, all the time,” she agreed. “This is going to take me some time, so lean back and close your eyes. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
Sam’s chuckle turned into a groan as Elizabeth skimmed her lips from his chest down to his rock-hard belly as her slick fingers went to work. “Just so you know,” she said, when her mouth reached the nest of crisp dark hair at his groin, “this is uncharted territory for me, so let me know if I don’t do it right.”
In answer Sam tangled his fingers in her wet hair. “You’re doing it—Jesus, Beth!” he said as she tentatively took him into her mouth and used her tongue to make his entire body jerk satisfactorily. “Per-fec-tly.”
Just before he came, Sam pulled her up, and kissed her.
“Didn’t you want to—”
“Plenty of time,” he assured her, grabbing another handful of soap. He skimmed his large hand down over her belly, then slid his fingers deep inside her, bringing her to a surprise, and immediate, climax before she knew it.
“Holy Mother of God. We’re going to kill each other.” She gasped as he withdrew his fingers and let her body sag against his as she fought to regain her breath and her equilibrium. “Give me a sec to get my breath, and then let’s get out of here. I want to make love with you in that bed I didn’t see in there.”
They took turns washing each other, then made love again slowly, the cold water pounding on Sam’s back spraying her and making her shiver deliciously.
After the longest shower in history, where the water ran cold as they ran hot, he carried her to the bed, where Sam turned the tables on her as he spread her thighs and feasted on her until she cried out mindlessly and begged for mercy. Thankfully he knew when to not take no for an answer, and drove her over the edge of an unknown precipice until her body was so attuned to his that she couldn’t imagine being anywhere than right here, with his mouth between her legs, and the hum of the plane’s engines throbbing through her body like an extra pulse.
Exhausted as they were, they made love again slowly. Then again, more quickly. Finally, too tired to move, they slept, curved around each other as the plane chased the sun.
THE PLANE LANDED AT an airfield Elizabeth didn’t recognize, although she knew where they were. Just outside Brandon. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. This was it. Elizabeth undid her seatbelt as the small plane taxied down the runway and into an enormous hangar. “Now what?” She was talking about more than just the next few moments.
The door to the hangar closed behind the plane, and they were plunged into semidarkness just before the lights in the cabin came to life.
Sam’s expression was unreadable. Back in Montana for five seconds and he was already the same old inscrutable Sam Pelton. “I’m going home,” he told her, shouldering his packs and starting off down the aisle.
“Oh.” Her stomach hurt, but she didn’t complain as she rose to follow him. She’d expected it really. Hoped that they might have a future together, but known that was highly unlikely. Known all along that she’d only had him temporarily. The knowledge didn’t lessen the ache of loss in her chest. It didn’t make the prickle in her eyes go away. She swallowed the almost unbearable disappointment as she drank in the sight of his tall muscular body just a few feet in front of her as he strode toward the door to the plane which now stood open.
He paused in the wide aisle and turned around to face her again, blocking her way. Reaching out, he cupped her jaw and Elizabeth heard the thud-thud as the packs dropped to the carpeted floor behind him. “When I say I’m going home, I mean I’m going wherever you are. I love you, Beth. Have from the moment I laid eyes on you. I want to marry you. I want to take you to Italy, and make love to you in the sunshine, and in moonlight. I want babies with you. And a dog. And a garden for the kids and dogs to play in, with room for our tent. I want the whole package, Dr. Elizabeth Bennett Goodall. With you.”
Heart singing with happiness, she wrapped her arms around his neck, lips curved in a triumphant smile. “I love you, Sam.”
“Marry me,” he whispered against her waiting mouth. “I promise you the adventure of a lifetime.”
“Yes,” she said when he let her up for air. “Wherever you are will be my adventure. Let’s go home, my love.”
ATLANTA
HEAT
LORA
LEIGH
PROLOGUE
SOME WOMEN A MAN knew to stay the hell away from. It was a self-preservation thing. Survival instinct. The lone wolf that reveled in its independence and sexual freedom knew when it was staring in the eyes of a sensual trap. A woman capable of making the male animal stand up, take notice, and tremble in his military boots.
Mason “Macey” March was a man who liked to live on the edge, though. He was all about the challenge, the risk, the excitement, whether it was a mission or a woman, or a terrorist out to destroy the world. He was a man who stared out at life with a defiant snarl and dared it to take first blood.
He was a man staring at his own destruction, and he had enough sense to recognize it, and to be equally terrified and drawn to it. Like a spectator to a train wreck. It was going to be bloody. It was going to be a mess. But he couldn’t look away because she had him by his soul and he knew it. One kiss. That was all it was going to take. One touch and he was going to be a goner. He was aching to touch.
Hazel-green eyes twinkled mischievously over lightly freckled cheeks. Lush lips curved enchantingly, and made a man wonder about the things that mouth could do even as it threatened the fit of his dress whites.
Softly curved, temptingly delicate, and trouble with a capital T. Messing with this woman was the ultimate insanity, but no one had ever accused him of being sane.
“You know, Lieutenant March,” she drawled in a seductive Southern accent. “You could always slip out the back door. I bet the admiral won’t even realize you’re gone.”
He stared down at her, eating up the vision of her below the neck even as he kept his gaze steady on hers. Wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let the admiral catch him leering at his goddaughter’s ample breasts. The way the sapphire blue silk clung to them, held ove
r the luscious mounds with the tiniest of straps. Her long chestnut hair fell down her back in thick soft waves, making his hands itch to touch it.
“Sweetheart, the admiral would fry important portions of my anatomy if I dared.” He attempted to smile, but he was damned close to swallowing his tongue as he caught sight of those sweetly curved mounds lifting in a sigh. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a sheen of moisture popping on his brow as he fought to control the hard-on threatening beneath his slacks. This wasn’t the best place to prove to the admiral that he really was nothing more than a dog panting after a pair of pretty tits, as the bastard had recently accused him of being.
He didn’t pant after tits. He revered them. Worshipped them. He was nearly drooling over them. Maybe that did make him a dog.
He watched Miss Emerson Delaney smile. A playful curve of her lips that was a warning in and of itself. And beneath that silk was the faintest hint of nipples hardening.
“You know, I could help you sneak away,” she whispered playfully. “Admiral Holloran is, after all, my godfather. I’ll make your excuses. You aren’t looking well, you know.” She was laughing at him. Playfully. In amusement. But she was getting a kick out of the fact that he didn’t dare piss the admiral off at this point. He’d already been busted down in rank for one misdemeanor; he didn’t need to get brought down again because Emerson was in the mood to play.
“Don’t do me any favors, imp,” he growled.
She pouted back at him playfully. “But Macey, doing you a favor would just make my day complete. Didn’t you know that?”
He snorted. Likely story. If he didn’t get the hell away from her the admiral would barbecue his ass.
“Do me a favor then and find someone else to harass, kid,” he told her. “I’m in enough trouble.”
He caught the narrowing of her eyes as he made his escape, quickly. Before he lost control and let his gaze drop to those incredible breasts.
Okay, so he was a tit man. He couldn’t help it, and she had the most incredible set he’d ever seen.