At the Edge (5 page)

“Ants,” he said.

“You're getting them, too?”

“They don't bother me.”

“I forgot. You're Superman.”

“Really, they don't. Sit on my lap if you want. Get yourself up off the jungle floor.”

Silence.

Shit, now he'd done it. She probably thought he was a pervert.

“I'm okay,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You should lie down, try to get some rest.”

“I'm not tired.”

Ryan didn't believe that for a second. He
did
believe she was wound up. He turned to face her, trying to read her expression in the darkness, which was impossible. But even though he couldn't see her face, she was giving off some other kind of body language that he picked up on. “Will you tell me something, Emma?”

“Huh?”

“What happened up there?”

SEVEN

S
he turned to look at him. He wasn't sure why he'd asked. Maybe because he sensed she needed to talk about it.

Ryan felt a surge of protectiveness. He was naturally protective, but everything about this girl kicked it up to a whole new level.

“I don't know,” she said quietly. “One minute it was normal. And then there was a sudden jolt, and then we were falling.”

He waited.

“Mick was always so calm before. Always.”

“Walter McInerny?”

“Yeah, he was just such a pro. Nothing ever rattled him before, not weather or turbulence. But the look on his face . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she turned away. “Did you see his body?”

“Yes.”

“He was alive after the impact. And then I left him there in the wreck, and when I came back . . .”

“You did the right thing.”

“I should have stayed with the plane.”

“Hey.” He found her hand on the ground and squeezed it. “You did the right thing. You were trying to get help.”

She just sat there, holding his hand. He could tell she didn't believe him.

“Emma, look at me.”

He couldn't see her, but he felt her shift in the darkness, and he knew he had her complete attention.

“You work at the embassy,” he said. “I know you're aware that some of these islands have a dangerous element, especially here in the south.”

He couldn't discuss the details of his mission with her. He couldn't say the words “Al Qaeda” or “terrorist” or “Asian Crescent Brotherhood,” but he didn't have to. She was hearing him; he could tell by the way her grip tightened on his fingers.

“You know what's happened to tourists and reporters and missionaries who were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he continued. Everyone in the embassy knew the stories, even the ones that didn't make the press. “And I'm telling you, if you had been in that airplane, if you'd stayed with the plane like you're talking about, you'd be dead, too, just like McInerny.”

Actually, she might
not
be dead. And that was the worst part. Ryan knew all too well the kind of twisted shit these motherfuckers were capable of if they captured an American woman.

The rain drummed down on them, getting heavier by the minute. Ryan wanted to check his watch, but he didn't want to let go of Emma's hand. She was clinging to him. She was holding on to his fingers and his words, as though somehow he could make it all better, even though he couldn't. Not really. When all this was over, she was going to have a severe case of survivor's guilt and probably need a shitload of therapy.

Another shudder moved through her, and he cursed silently. He'd stayed back here to calm her, to help her rest before the op, and now she was more worked up than ever.

“You should sleep, Emma.”

“I don't want to sleep. I'm just . . . cold.”

“Come here.” Before he could really think it through, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She
was
cold—shivering, in fact, despite the mild temperatures. Her clothes were damp from the rain.

“You don't have to—”

“Here.” He grabbed his pack and slipped it between his chest and her back, giving her something to lean on, like a pillow. It also spared him the agony of having her sweet ass nestled right on top of his cock.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms to get rid of the chill, and it didn't take her long to lean back against him.

“I'm going to make your legs sore.”

His legs? No. “I'm fine,” he said.

She actually relaxed, sliding lower on his body and folding her hands in her lap. She rested her head against his pack and breathed deeply.

He continued to rub her, even though the friction was doing more than staving off the chill. She had smooth, feminine arms that felt delicate under his fingers, and he hoped he wasn't hurting her. But she seemed to like it.

“How much longer?” she whispered.

“Until they're back?”

“Until we go to the meet point.”

“We need to be there at 0200. Plenty of time for you to sleep.”

———

No way on earth would she be able to sleep with those hands moving over her. She bit her lip, grateful for once that it was absolutely pitch dark and he couldn't see her. Emma's skin tingled. Her cheeks felt flushed. And the tips of her breasts were suddenly tight and achy.

She closed her eyes and focused on the rain. She tried to imagine them somewhere other than the jungle. She imagined him in her old apartment in Seattle, with a winter drizzle thrumming outside. She imagined him in her bed, keeping the cold away with his big, warm hands. She'd never had a man like Ryan in her bed before. Her ex-fiancé was an accountant, for heaven's sake. She'd never even been near a man like Ryan—not close enough to touch, anyway.

And he was definitely touching her. His hands were spreading heat through her, sending her mind careening in dangerous directions.

She had to stop. She was making it worse. Now not only her cheeks felt flushed, but her whole body.

His hands moved up. And down. And up. And down . . . Molding gently over her arms and wrists as he massaged away the chill. His thighs under her bottom felt solid and powerful, and she remembered the way he'd cut through the forest, carrying her so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing at all.

Good God. She couldn't seriously be having fantasies about the SEAL they'd sent to rescue her.

But she could. She
was
. And if he kept touching her with those strong, capable hands, she was going to melt into a puddle right here on his lap. Or flip herself over and attack him. She should tell him to stop.

Thanks, I'm fine now. No more chill! I'm about to burst into flames, actually, so you can stop—

He stopped.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and she got another warm flush.

His fingers rested on her forearms, and she felt a tug of disappointment. Just the stroke of his palms had given her a warm buzz that made her feel intoxicated.

Maybe it was fatigue or hunger or dehydration.

But it wasn't any of those things, she knew. Even in her shocked and disheveled state, she understood that
he
was doing this to her. From the moment he'd crouched in front of her by the stream and pinned her with those intense green eyes, she'd felt this overload of hormones rushing through her body. She was in survival mode, running on instincts. And her instincts were telling her to get close to this man, as close as humanly possible.

She wished he hadn't stopped stroking her. She didn't want him to move his hands away, so she rested hers right on top in a way that seemed natural.

But then it seemed much too quiet, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

She cleared her throat. “So . . . how'd a nice boy like you end up a SEAL?”

She heard a low rumble in his chest. Was it the “nice” or the “boy” part he found amusing?

“Is it some top-secret story or—”

“I went to college on an ROTC scholarship,” he said. “Served four years and then got into BUD/S. That's the SEAL training program in Coronado.”

“I've heard of it,” she said. “Was it hard?”

“Yes.”

The quick reply surprised her. She'd expected him to give her some macho line about it being a cakewalk or something, but the one-word answer sounded so honest. It made him seem human, despite his fearsome-looking exterior.

And a thought suddenly occurred to her, making her cold all over. She shuddered, and his hands tightened on her forearms.

“So Ryan . . .” Damn it. How could she put this? “I guess you guys travel a lot.”

He didn't say anything.

“I guess you spend a lot of time away from home?”

“Yeah.”

“Does your wife worry about you?”

She closed her eyes and cringed. Talk about clunky. But now that the thought had occurred to her, she had to know.

“I'm not married.”

“Oh.”

The word fell flat. He didn't return the question, because he didn't have to. He'd read her file. She was an open book, which seemed unfair now.

And . . . that was it. End of topic. Nothing about a girlfriend or an ex or anything else about his personal life.

She shifted slightly. The muscles in his thighs flexed, and she felt another shot of lust. It was ridiculous, and he was probably laughing his butt off at her. But at least she didn't have to feel guilty that she was snuggled up with some woman's husband.

“So you didn't like sleeping in the jungle with all the bugs, huh?” His voice was low in the dark.

“Well, it wasn't fun. But it wasn't the worst thing I've ever experienced.”

“No?” He sounded amused again. “And what would that be?”

My mom dying.

It was the truth, but she wouldn't say it. This conversation was lighthearted. He was trying to distract her.

“Hmm . . . let's see. There was the time I got a flat tire on the Pacific Coast Highway in the middle of the night. That sucked. There was the time I came down with tourista in Mexico. Also not fun. There was the time my fiancé dumped me three weeks before our wedding.”

His body shifted under her. “No way. Someone seriously did that to you?”

So he
hadn't
known. And here she'd gone and told him.

“He waited until after the invitations were mailed. Impeccable timing, as always.”

“What's his name?”

She paused. “Hunter Bevins.”

“Why'd he do it?”

She couldn't believe they were talking about this, and she was annoyed with herself for bringing it up. But it was definitely distracting her from their looming adventure. “I think he was scared. You know, of making a long-term commitment like that.”

He grunted. “You're better off without him. Life's hard enough without going around saddled with some loser who's not up to the challenge.”

She giggled.

“What?”

“How can you call him a loser? You've never even met him.”

“Don't need to.”

She smiled in the darkness. Most women wouldn't consider Hunter a loser by any stretch of the imagination. He was smart and nice-looking and had a well-paying job. Everything about their relationship had been so easy and drama-free, right until he'd broken up with her. He'd even been low-key about that, too, as though he were canceling a prom date and not the rest of their lives together. It was his mother who had flipped out.

Ryan shifted under her, and she felt the hard lump of the pistol holstered at his thigh, which quickly snapped her back to the present.

“What about you?” she asked, wanting to continue with the distractions. “What's the worst thing you've ever experienced?”

He got very still. “Losing my sister.”

Emma's heart clenched. She didn't need to ask if he was serious; she could hear it in his voice. “What happened?” she asked, because no matter what people thought, changing the subject didn't make it easier.

“Leukemia.”

So much bitterness loaded into that one word.

Emma's heart was beating faster now. She hurt for him. She knew that kind of pain, and it never went away. It just became a steady ache.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“Thanks.”

She shivered, but it was from emotion this time instead of chill.

“You still cold?” His hands moved up her arms again.

“A little.”

She rested her head on his pack. It smelled like him—masculine and earthy. She inhaled deeply and felt his thighs shift beneath her. She was going to put his legs to sleep. But he'd dragged her up here, hadn't he? So he'd just have to put up with it.

She liked being with him. Liked talking to him. So many awful things had happened, so many unspeakable, horrible things in the last twenty-four hours. And she hadn't even really absorbed them all. She felt this dizzying churn of emotions inside her, and even the simplest things—like peeing in the woods—seemed terrifying. But when he touched her, she felt shielded from all of it.

He continued his movements, stroking heat into her body. His palms felt warm and firm, and his steady breathing was like a drug to her system. She should really move away and let him get some rest, too. But her eyelids were impossibly heavy, and she didn't want to move onto the cold, hard ground again.

She took in a long, deep breath of him and closed her eyes.

———

Ryan knew the instant she fell asleep. Her breathing steadied, her body went lax, and the heat of her skin seeped into his bones.

He couldn't believe he'd done this to himself. He'd hauled her onto his lap, and now he was going to have to spend the next hour in hell.

He tipped his head back against the tree trunk and tried to think about the rain and the ants and the burning hunger in his belly—anything besides that barely-there scent of coconut that was driving him crazy. He wanted to scoop a fistful of her hair into his face, but she'd probably reach up and slap him, and he wouldn't blame her a damn bit.

Fuck.

The thought of her slapping him didn't help at all. It was actually kind of hot.

He closed his eyes. He went back over the operation and through the list of boneheaded decisions that had gotten him to this point.

For starters, he'd assigned himself the eastern search quadrant, knowing that gave him the highest probability of finding her. When he
had
found her, he'd disregarded all mission discipline and allowed himself to look at her as a woman and not some crash survivor he needed to rescue. And then he'd compounded
that
mistake by letting her sweet-talk him into staying here alone with her.