Soldier of Fortune

“Then I’ll have to be sure I don’t seduce you, won’t I?” he teased.

She smiled up at him, feeling oddly secure. “Please.”

He drew in a long breath as they walked. “I thought this was all going to be straightforward and simple,” he murmured. “Maybe I’d better put you on a plane back to Chicago, little one.”

“Cold feet?” she muttered.

“Not me, lady. But you might wish you’d stayed home. I don’t know where my mind was when I dragged you over here.”

“You said you trusted me.”

“I do. Totally. That’s why I wanted you with me. The way things are turning out, I’m going to need you more than ever. When we get to my friend’s finca,” he said quietly, “someone has to stay behind to handle communications. We’ll have powerful radios and we’ll need updated information. The finca we’ll be staying at is only miles from the one where Martina is being held.”

She felt uneasy as she studied his hard face. “You’re not going in there alone?”

“No—with those old friends I was telling you about.”

“Couldn’t you stay behind at your friend’s finca?”

“Worried about me?” He laughed. “Gabby, I’ve dodged a lot of bullets in my time. I was in the Special Forces.”

“Yes, you told me,” she grumbled. “But that was a long time ago. You’re a lawyer now, you sit behind a desk…”

“Not all the time,” he said, correcting her. His eyes studied her quietly. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. About my private life.”

“You could get yourself killed.”

“A car could hit me while I’m standing here,” he countered.

She glared at him. “I’d be without work. One of the unemployed. Everything I’d do for the rest of my life would be horribly boring.”

“I’d miss you, too, I guess,” he agreed, laughing. “Don’t worry about me, Gabby. I can take it as it comes.”

“Do I even get to meet this man you call Dutch?”

He shook his head. “You’ll meet enough odd characters in Central America. And Dutch hates women.”

“You aren’t Mr. Playboy yourself,” she muttered.

“Aren’t you glad?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Would you like a man who had a different woman every night?”

The question shocked her. She struggled for an answer, but he’d already opened the door of the rental car and was helping her in.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. She went back to the hotel with him, her eyes full of ruins and Romans and maddening traffic. She had a bouquet of flowers that J.D. had bought from an old woman near the Fountain of Trevi. She couldn’t wait to get into her room and press one of the flowers, to keep forever. She buried her nose in them lovingly.

Across the room, J.D. was speaking fluent Italian with someone on the phone. He hung up and turned back to her.

“I have to go out for a little while,” he said. “Lock the door and let no one in, not even room service, until I get back. Okay?”

She studied him quietly. “You won’t go getting into trouble while I’m not around to rescue you, will you?” she said, teasing him.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Watch yourself.”

“You, too. Oh, Jacob!”

He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“They suit you.” He studied her face and smiled. “You look like one of them. Ciao, Gabby.”

And he was gone. She stared at the door for a long time before she went to put her flowers in some water.

Chapter Three

J.D. didn’t come back until late that afternoon, and he was strangely taciturn. He shared a silent supper with Gabby and then went out again, telling her tersely to get some sleep. She knew he’d found out something, but whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it. Apparently his trust in her had limits. And that was disappointing. She climbed into bed and slept soundly and without interruption. Part of her had hoped for a nightmare or an earthquake that would bring him running into her room. All her wild fantasies ended with him running into her room and catching her up in his hard arms. She sighed. This was certainly not the trip she’d envisioned. It was turning into a wild tangle of new emotions. A week before, she couldn’t have imagined that he would tell her he wanted her.

* * *

They flew to Mexico the following morning. Several hours into the flight Gabby shot a worried glance at J.D. He’d hardly moved in his seat since takeoff, and she’d busied herself looking at clouds and reading the emergency instructions and even the label on her jacket out of desperation.

He seemed to sense her searching gaze and turned his head to look down at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

She made an odd little gesture. “I don’t know,” she said inadequately.

His eyebrows lifted. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know that.” She let her eyes fall to the vest of his gray suit. “Will we stay in Mexico City?”

“Probably not. We’re supposed to be met at the airport.” He reached over and took her slender hand in his big one. The contact was warm and wildly disturbing, especially when she felt his thumb moving slowly, sensuously, against her moist palm. “Nervous?” he taunted.

“Oh, no. I always go running off into the dark unafraid,” she replied with a grimace. She glanced up. “I come from a long line of idiots.”

He smiled at her. It was a shock to realize that he’d smiled more at her in these two days than he had in two months back at the office. Her eyes searched the deep brown of his, and the airplane seemed to disappear. He returned the look, his smile fading. His nostrils flared and the hand holding hers began to move slowly, his fingers probing, easing between hers. It was so sensuous she felt herself tremble. His hand was pressed against hers, palm to palm, fingers tightly interlocked, and when it contracted it was almost an act of possession.

Her lips parted in a soft gasp, and his eyes narrowed.

“Bodies do that,” he whispered under his breath, watching her reactions intently. “Just as slowly, just as easily.”

“Don’t,” she protested brokenly, averting her face.

“Gabby,” he chided gently, “don’t be afraid.”

She ground her teeth together and struggled for composure. It wasn’t easy, because he wouldn’t let go of her hand despite her token protest.

“You’re out of my league, Mr. Brettman,” she said unsteadily, “as I’m sure you know. Don’t…don’t amuse yourself with me, please.”

“I’m not.” He sighed and turned sideways so that his head rested against the back of the seat. Then he coaxed her face around to his. “You’ve never known the kind of men you’ll meet when we get where we’re going. I thought,” he continued, smiling at her stunned look, “that it might be easier for you if we got in a little practice along the way.”