Army of Two (10 page)

The abrupt loss of contact was a shock. Her chest heaved as she struggled to understand what had happened. She toed aside the paddles and extended her hand to Mitch.

He wordlessly waved away her help. He sat up on his own, looking as shaken as she felt. He raked his fingers through his hair and swore.

So help her, despite where they were, despite the noise they’d just made, she wanted to drop to the floor beside him and continue what they’d started. Her body was thrumming with a mindless need for completion. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He snorted a laugh that held no humor. “Sure. Great. What about you?”

She wasn’t sure
how
she was. She wasn’t sure of anything.

Except that she wished they hadn’t stopped. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I wasn’t thinking.”

He found his cane among the paddles and stood. He stared at her for a long minute, then swore again and turned for the door. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”

Chapter 7

T
he cabin was slowly being reclaimed by the forest. Brush obscured the front entrance. An uprooted tree had fallen across the slope behind it in a way that left one large limb half covering the roof. Mitch didn’t believe it would be visible from the air, and the overgrown path that led to it was no more noticeable than a game trail. The interior was in surprisingly good shape, with one all-purpose main room and a small bedroom at the back. Much of the original furniture remained, and the structure’s solid construction had kept animal damage to a minimum.

It was the ideal spot to hole up in. Despite the fact that there was only one bed.

But that was a minor issue, Mitch reminded himself. He had to concentrate on survival, both his and Chantal’s. They were the only hope for the hostages. There was no room for personal feelings.

Right. Sure. He could tell himself that as many times as he wanted, but his body wasn’t listening.

Mitch sat up, flexing his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He’d spent the night on the floor in front of a cold wood stove on a pallet of boat cushions that he’d scavenged from the boathouse. He’d figured he wouldn’t get any sleep if he shared the bed with Chantal.

As it turned out, he hadn’t slept much anyway. For most of the night he’d been thinking about what it would have been like if he
had
shared her bed.

He drew up one knee, rested his arm on it and turned to look past the small wooden table and chairs to the bedroom doorway. Sunrise wasn’t far off, although the light that filtered through the front window was dim. Clouds had rolled in during the night, which was lucky since the overcast had kept the temperature from dropping as much as it might have. Chantal was lying curled on her side, her arms clutching a fold of the quilt they’d found in a trunk at the foot of the bed. It stank of mothballs, but she hadn’t complained. She’d barely spoken to him after they’d left the boathouse.

He couldn’t blame her.

What the hell had come over him? He’d known better. She’d been upset. She’d needed comfort. He’d blown it as thoroughly as he had the last time she’d kissed him.

Only this time, he hadn’t run. For one thing, he wasn’t capable of running. For another, he…

What? He wanted her? That was no excuse. He normally had no trouble controlling his impulses. Regardless of how good Chantal smelled, or how luscious her curves had felt against his body, he should have restrained himself. Where was his conscience?

Nowhere, apparently. The problem was, after spending a full day with the new Chantal, the old taboos that had kept him from regarding her as a desirable woman no longer applied. The ten-year gap in their ages didn’t seem relevant now that she was thirty-five. He didn’t report to her father. They weren’t living in the gossip mill of a military base. He had nothing to weigh on his conscience.

Except the lives of fourteen innocent people, including Chantal.

Mitch rubbed his eyes, then dropped his forehead against his palm. He was going in circles. He’d faced the fact that he was attracted to this woman. That wasn’t going to change simply because he found it inconvenient. He had to try harder to deal with it.

You’re an army man. You don’t have feelings unless they’re assigned as part of your duties.

She’d come uncomfortably close to the mark with that comment. He hadn’t always been that way, though. When he’d started out, every day had been a gift. He’d done his duty because he’d loved it, not because it was the only thing he had left in his life. Being a soldier was in his blood. Chantal had told him that she hated the army. Mitch had known military service was his destiny from the time he’d been old enough to understand what it was his dad did. Like Chantal, he’d been raised as an army brat, only his father had been a staff sergeant, not a general.

Mitch had been the first Redinger to become an officer. His family had been exceedingly proud of the accomplishment. So had Mitch. His life had seemed to be unfolding precisely as he’d planned. It was true, as Chantal had said, that he’d had career ambitions. There was nothing wrong with that. He’d been determined to prove his worth not only to the army but to his family and to himself.

At first, that crush of hers had been merely embarrassing, since she’d had a way of showing up wherever he was. He’d tried to regard her as a little sister and had striven for patience, but she’d misinterpreted his kindness as encouragement. As her pursuit had become more open, rumors had begun to circulate that he was sleeping with General Leduc’s daughter in order to gain her influence with her father.

As with any rumor, denial only fueled the speculation. It had been next to impossible to fight the sidelong glances and the barely veiled innuendos. He’d begun to lose the respect of the other officers. The same thing had been happening with the enlisted men: more than a few had approached the line of insubordination. Although the general had given him the benefit of the doubt, there had been a creeping strain in their relationship as well. If things had continued the way they’d been headed, Mitch would likely have ended up sidelined to some radar base in Alaska.

That final night, when Chantal had coaxed him to the Leduc house and had refused to take no for an answer, Mitch had run out of patience. He’d been less concerned about her feelings than the disastrous consequences of being discovered in such a compromising position. Afterward, he’d put an end to the problem by requesting a transfer himself.

The decision had changed his life. It had led him to enter the Special Forces. He’d embarked on a career path that suited him to a tee. He hadn’t contacted Chantal again because he’d convinced himself that making a clean break was the kindest thing he could have done for her.

He wasn’t proud of the way he’d put his ambition first. Nor was he proud of how very much he’d been tempted to take Chantal up on her offer.

Was that why he hadn’t been able to stop himself from kissing her yesterday? Because there was unfinished business between them?

Or because she was challenging his ability to feel?

He looked at his hand. He was rubbing his wedding band with the tip of his thumb, something he often found himself doing without thinking.

At times the ability
not
to feel was vital to a man’s survival. Focusing on his duty always helped.

His men regarded him as hard at times. That’s what a good commander had to be. He couldn’t show any weakness or indecision, not if he was to maintain discipline. For the same reason, as an officer he couldn’t join in the camaraderie the enlisted men enjoyed. Being able to channel his emotions into his job was an asset in his line of work.

It had taken years of dedication to mold Eagle Squadron into the elite force it was now. The team members were as tight as brothers, as loyal as any family. They would be willing to die for each other as readily as they would be willing to kill. As he’d told Chantal, a team couldn’t function at its best if tension existed among the members.

The history between him and Chantal presented enough of a problem. What had happened yesterday took the tension to a whole different level.

Something scraped against the cabin’s front window. Mitch automatically reached for his gun before he realized the noise had been made by a twig brushing over the glass. A breeze had come up. The light was strengthening. He could see the shadow of Chantal’s lashes on her cheeks. Her lips were parted and lax against a corner of the quilt that she’d tucked beneath her chin. Watching her as she slept, it was hard to believe the heat of their kiss. How could a mouth that soft have drawn him in so tightly? How could such a sweet-looking face have inspired the passion that had broken through his restraint?

He returned his gaze to his ring. It would be seven years this December since Dianne had died. He hadn’t had any desire to commit to another woman since then, though he did have the sexual needs of a normal, healthy male. He hadn’t lived like a monk for the last seven years, yet he’d never experienced the overwhelming lust that Chantal had triggered. He’d known the location wasn’t secure, he’d seen she’d been overwrought, and yet he’d been making love to her mouth. If he hadn’t tripped over those paddles, he was sure in another few seconds they would have been doing the real thing.

So what would happen if he walked to the bedroom, lay down beside her and used another one of those kisses to wake her up?

He rose to his feet. He stood where he was for a full minute before he managed to make himself turn to the door and leave the cabin.

This morning, at least, duty won.

Chantal’s molars watered as she looked at the skewered trout. She broke off a piece and rammed it in her mouth. The delicate flavor burst over her tongue like a symphony, but she was too ravenous to take the time to savor it as it deserved. She swallowed fast and took another piece. Nothing that Walter had been able to whip up in the Aerie’s kitchen with all its state-of-the-art gadgets could come close to this taste. “This is delicious,” she mumbled, not wanting to stop chewing long enough to empty her mouth. “How on earth did you manage it?”

Her mother would have been appalled at her lack of manners, but it felt glorious to eat something substantial again. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been. She could feel her energy return with each morsel she swallowed.

She and Mitch were sitting on a piece of driftwood a few yards from the lakeshore. The boughs of a birch tree cut the wind to a light breeze. The Aerie and its long dock weren’t visible from this cove, so Mitch had decided there was little risk of being spotted if they ate outside. Though the cloud cover thickened, the rain it promised held off for now. The air was pleasantly crisp and for the first time in over twenty-four hours, she was feeling more like herself. Mitch had been right. She’d needed rest. She’d also really,
really
needed food.

He had already finished his fish down to the bones. He flicked what was left into the water and used the empty skewer to point downward. A shallow, metal tin rested on the rounded pebbles at his feet. “That’s what’s left of a kerosene lantern that I found in the cabin. I made it into a mini camp stove. The advantage of using that is the kerosene burns clean. Firewood would have smoked.”

“Is that what they teach you in the Special Forces?”

“No, I think I saw it on
MacGyver.
”

Her cheeks puffed out with a laugh. She swallowed fast, not wanting to lose a speck of the trout. “How did you get the fish?”

“I took some fishing gear from the supply cupboard in the boathouse.”

Her smile faded. “You went back on your own? When?”

“Just before dawn. You were still sleeping.”

“You should have woken me up.”

“You were safer where you were. The cabin’s not on the lodge’s map, and it can’t be seen from the air.”

She cleaned the last of the meat from her fish, got rid of the bones, then sucked the juice from her fingers. “I could have helped you.”

He looked at her mouth. “I managed to find a number of useful items. Matches. Rope. A fish-cleaning knife.”

She could feel his gaze as if he’d touched her. He’d been careful not to, though. He’d made sure there was plenty of space between them on the driftwood log, just as he’d made sure to knock on the cabin door before he’d invited her outside for breakfast.

She was grateful for his matter-of-fact approach to their sleeping arrangements and to the necessities that arose while living together. He wasn’t making a big deal out of keeping his distance from her—he was simply doing it. Obviously, he wanted to avoid a repeat of what had happened yesterday evening. Of course, so did she. That was the only sensible course of action. She still couldn’t believe what had come over her. She stopped licking her fingers and lowered her hand to her lap. “Thanks for the meal.”

“My pleasure. I’ve put out a few baited lines. As long as you can stomach the idea of more fish, that’ll be our lunch, too.”

“It sounds great.”

“I found a spring behind the cabin. How’s the water quality around here?”

“Excellent. We pump our water from the lake. We run it through a reverse osmosis filter before we supply it to the guests, just to be sure there are no contaminants, but the water from the spring should be as safe to drink as it is.”

“Good. In that case, here.” He handed her a clear plastic bottle filled with water. “I found the bottle in the boathouse, too. I cleaned it out and filled it from the spring.”

“Thanks.”

“You can keep it with you. Make sure you stay hydrated.”

She marveled at how efficiently he was seeing to their physical needs. She took days to plan a menu and obtain supplies for a party of guests. “You’ve really been busy.”

“Just taking care of priorities. How’s your head this morning?”

She paused to consider his question. The headache that had dogged her yesterday had reduced to a distant throb. She hadn’t noticed the absence of pain until he’d asked. “Much better,” she said. “How’s your ankle?”

“The swelling’s worse, but that’s to be expected. The pain’s not as bad.” He held up his cane. “I should be able to get rid of this branch before long.”