To the Brink (9 page)

And when the fighting finally stopped and the trembling began, Darcy just held on tighter.

"It's okay. It's okay," she whispered over and over again. "You're going to be okay. You have a friend now. You have me. Hold on. Just hold on to me. We're going to get through this. We're going to get through this together."

She lied. She knew she lied. She didn't know any such thing. But a lie was much less painful than the truth this woman had lived.

So Darcy lied for her. To ease her mind. To quiet her. To convince her of something Darcy was no longer sure she believed herself.

And she lied for herself because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate, let alone believe.

Finally,
finally,
the poor soul fell silent. Fell asleep—or passed out—in Darcy's arms.

Thank you, God.

Darcy let out a relieved breath. And continued to hold her. No matter that her arms ached and her hands were going to sleep. She held on.

And that's how they stayed. Darcy was not going to let her go. Because the truth was, Darcy needed this woman almost as much as she was needed by her. After too many hours of uncertainty, Darcy needed something to think about other than herself.

Exhausted, she let her cheek rest on the woman's dirty hair. Darcy closed her eyes ... and tried to think about anything but where they were, what would happen to them, and the sad truth that the only plan she had was staying alive until Ethan found her.

If
Ethan found her.

If he found
them.

She'd been so certain that he would. But the longer this went on and the more feral the arguments among her captors, the less certain she was that Ethan could even locate her, let alone rescue her.

To combat those thoughts, she mentally pictured Ethan slinking through the jungle at this very moment, searching for her. But mostly, she simply thought of him. Of the husband she'd never stopped loving long after love had ceased to be enough to keep them together.

Chapter 7

LIMA,
 
PERU

EIGHT YEARS EARLIER

Darcy wasn't a total innocent. But
neither was she a player. She'd had relationships. And they'd been important to her. She never engaged in sex with a man just for sex's sake. Had never slept with a man without knowing him, liking him, and respecting him, either.

At least she hadn't until she met Ethan Garrett.

Yet here she was. Half-dressed and horizontal with a man she had met less than three hours ago at a formal embassy dinner party. A man who had wanted her with an urgency that had thrilled and excited her and left her breathless.

Above the thrill, though, beyond the rush, a curious and warming tenderness was far and above the reaction that took hold in the aftermath of the stealth in which he'd just taken her.

My God, had the man taken her. In truth, he'd lost control. His need had been huge. For her. It was humbling and empowering. Yeah. She had the power at the moment, and considering the will of the warrior lying beside her, that was the biggest surprise of all.

The only thing she clearly understood was his embarrassment. Well, we just couldn't have that.

"So, Rocketman ... is there more where that came from?'

And just like that things were okay. The look in his eyes shifted from mortified to "all was right with his world."

He undressed her slowly then. And made her tremble. He had such a soft touch for a man with such big scarred and calloused hands. And he had such a fine smile.

Between silly, sexy banter and deep, drugging kisses, he laid her back down. And taught her things about sensual pleasure she'd never known she was capable of feeling.

"Here?" he whispered, his mouth making love to her breast while his fingers delved deep inside of her, stroking, finessing, finding the most exquisitely sensitive places.

"Um," she sighed, and moved against his hand, loving the feel of his wet mouth playing with her nipple, the slight stubble of his cheek abrading the soft tissue of her breast, the skill of his hand where he caressed her.

He rose above her, his eyes dark and dangerous as he knelt between her legs. With his hands on her knees, he eased her thighs apart. "I want to look at you. I need to look at you."

She'd never felt so exposed. Or so vulnerable. Or so totally, wholly sexual.

"You're so pretty. So pink. And so slick and wet," he whispered, watching where he touched her, then watching her face as he told her what he wanted to do to her.

Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily around his fingers as she imagined his mouth there where he said he wanted to make love to her.

She'd never known. Never experienced the true meaning of craving—for one man's hands, one man's mouth, one man's body—until Ethan taught her the extreme measure of the word.

And the pleasure ...
My
...
God.
So much pleasure as he slid off the end of the bed and dragged her by her hips to the edge. His face was intense and dark, intent on complete possession as he knelt on the floor and draped her legs over his shoulders.

"I'm going to take you so high," he promised, his warm breath feathering over her clitoris before he made a first, lingering sweep with his tongue. "So high."

He was selfless. He was relentless as he made good on his promise. And he was single-mindedly, ruthlessly thorough.

She gripped the sheets at her hips and simply drowned in the exquisitely carnal indulgence of his mouth making love to her. Gentle, then aggressive. Giving, then greedy.

She came with a cry and a burst of raw, electric sensation. And when he slowly brought her down with gentle nuzzling, settling kisses against that part of her that he'd made the center of her universe, she didn't even try to stall a groan.

"My ... God," she managed on a trembling breath.

His dark eyes were soft with laughter and lust and a smug male expression that told her he was pleased with his results as he gazed up the length of her body. Whispering soft kisses against her pubis, he nuzzled between her legs as if he couldn't get enough of the taste and the scent of her wasted on sex and decimated by his devotion to ruining her.

With a final kiss to her belly, he stood, then, burying a knee into the mattress, lifted and shifted her until he slid her back up the bed with her head on the pillows.

Lord, he was beautiful. She'd been right. Beneath his dress uniform, he was all lean muscle and carved sinew. And the proud erection that jutted toward her was irrefutable proof that he was far from finished with her.

He stretched out on top of her, suited up again, slipped inside of her, and with long, deep strokes and lush, lazy glides took her on another incredible ride.

No ten-second wonder, this time. He made sure he drew out the process, extended the pleasure that she'd thought he'd already wrung out to the very last drop. She'd thought wrong.

Huge and thick and hard, he plunged into her again and again. She clung to him as he burrowed his big hands beneath her hips and tipped her up and against him for better contact. And she felt herself shooting for the top again.

Her heartbeat rioted out of control; her blood pooled and throbbed at the miraculous spot where they joined until, with a final, deep thrust, he pushed her over the brink and into oblivion.

Good. It... was ... so ... good.

"So, how you doing?" he asked several long moments later as he lay beside her, his head propped on one hand, gently caressing her breast with the other.

"I'm... urn ... can I think about that for an hour? Maybe two?"

She felt as much as heard the rich rumble of his chuckle against her side. "I take it you're well on the road to ruin?"

Ah yes. There had been talk about ruination, hadn't there? And she'd more or less told him to bring it on.

"Here's another question. I'm not going to hear any talk about Rocketman from you again, am I?"

Eyes closed, she smiled and arched into the wonderful feel of his rough hand playing so gently with her breast. "Depends," she said, turning her head on the pillow to look at him.

She lifted her hand and caressed his jaw.

He turned his face into her palm and lightly bit her. "On?"

"On what kind of punishment you plan on meting out if I do."

The smile he gave her was playful and sexy and just a little dangerous. "I was thinking more along the lines of a reward."

He reached across the bed for her nightstand and his roll of Life Savers. "Want some candy, little girl?"

JOLO ISLAND,
 
PHILIPPINES

PRESENT

Adrenaline pumped through Ethan's blood like he'd been straight-lining caffeine. His heart beat so hard he could hear it in his ears, feel it in the tips of his fingers. His hands shook with the rush of it; he had to steady his binoculars on the log directly in front of him so he could focus.

Hunkered down on his belly behind the cover of forest grass and a rotting tree trunk approximately three feet in diameter, he peered through his binocs at the terrorist encampment twenty meters away. He ignored the mosquitoes buzzing around his face, was only peripherally aware of the screech of a hornbill echoing through the treetops high above.

He only had eyes for one thing. Darcy.

They'd found her. And she was alive.

She's alive.

Thank you, sweet Jesus God, she's alive.

Now they just had to figure out how to keep her that way. Her and the unexpected other hostage.

Hell. Just what they needed. A twofer.

They'd caught up with the slow-moving Abu Sayyaf band a little over two hours ago. Had shadowed them from a distance, looking for an opening or a weakness that would help them plan for Darcy's extraction.

It had been just half an hour or so since the tangos had stopped and made camp. For the first time since this started, Ethan was not only getting a good look at Darcy; he was also getting his first long look at what they were up against.

The tangos were a ragtag band of older men, young militant bulls, and a few hungry-looking boys. Christ. Some were no more than kids but every one of them had an abundance of one thing to feed on. Hate. Hate that was spoon-fed along with their deadly jihadist doctrines.

Yeah. Some were boys—and they'd grease him in a heartbeat if he gave them the chance. He didn't plan to.

He scoured every area of the tight perimeters of the camp. The most vigilant were the younger ones—no doubt motivated by a do-or-die edict and yet another kind of hunger: to convince the men that they had earned their place among the ranks.

Their weaponry was pretty much what he'd thought it would be. He spotted several AK-47s. Funny how the Russian-made Kalashnikovs always managed to find their way into terrorist hands. So had enough knives to stock a butcher shop, as well as an ancient but no doubt effective shoulder-mounted RPG launcher.

Big surprise. They were outgunned and outnumbered—by his best count, by around thirty to three. And besides being familiar with their surroundings, the tangos had another advantage. They had nothing to lose.

Ethan did. He had everything to lose.

On either side of him, almost invisible in their salad suits and face paint, Dallas and Manny were also well into recon mode, counting heads, assessing weaponry, already plotting the best method of extraction.