Rick retrieved the fresh roll of bindings and stuffed them into his right cargo pocket as he stood. He snagged his M-16 next, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he headed across the clearing. Eve’s back was to him, her shoulders quaking silently as she stood staring off into the rapidly darkening jungle. It was obvious she and Carrie had been close. So close, he was beginning to wonder how the woman had held it together for as long as she had. He reached out only to force his hands to halt in midair. Each time he’d touched Eve before, she’d pulled away. There was no sense aggravating her again. Least of all now.
So what the hell was he supposed to do?
Were she one of his men, he’d know exactly what to say, how to handle this. He’d done it often enough. But how did he comfort a soldier he didn’t even know? A female one at that? For the first time, Rick experienced a twinge of regret at serving the majority of his career within the Special Forces, one of the few remaining holdouts in this man’s Army.
In the end, he gambled.
Reaching out again, he let his hands drop until they gently cupped her quaking shoulders.
As expected, she stiffened.
But then she turned and stared up at him silently.
Good God, how could he have spent twelve hours with this woman and only now be noticing how tiny she was? Even in her boots, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. The soft gold of her hair still curled about her face despite the heat and constant exertion of the day. Even with the purple bruises that had darkened along her left cheek and jaw, Eve Paris was a stunning woman. But the longer he stared, the more he noticed the emotional ravages of the day.
Her complexion for one.
The ivory shade of earlier this morning was gone. Grief had stained her high cheeks and stubborn jaw bright red. Even her gently bowed lips were flushed, but the effect only served to make her seem even more delicate than he’d first imagined.
In the end, it was her eyes that did him in.
Puffy and red from crying, the emerald irises seemed darker now, larger…and silent tears were still streaming from the corners of her eyes. Mesmerized, he reached out and smoothed his thumbs up her cheeks, catching the damp warmth as it continued to trickle steadily down.
Time froze as her tears mingled with his sweat.
His breath froze.
Seconds later he succeeded in jump-starting his lungs, but it was too late. He was already leaning down. Closer and closer, until he was breathing her scent. He caught her tears with his lips, absorbing the salt with his flesh. Even as his actions stunned him, they seemed right. This seemed right. And a moment later, it only seemed natural to cover those soft swollen lips with his.
To his surprise, her mouth parted.
And then he was kissing her.
Softly at first. Lightly. But over and over. Though he knew better, he couldn’t find the strength or the sanity to stop. Nor did he want to. He gently grasped her bottom lip with his and caressed it, then slipped the tip of his tongue slowly inside. He used his mouth to draw her in closer until he was drawing her very essence into his own. She tasted of the early-morning sun and of the evening rain—but also of sorrow. A sorrow so heavy and so profound, he could feel it slipping down into his soul. Driven to ease it, to comfort her, he deepened the kiss. But he didn’t dare touch her with his hands for fear that he’d injure her ribs. So he used his lips and his tongue instead.
He tasted, soothed and caressed.
And then he tasted again, all the while resolved to take just this kiss and nothing more.
Until it changed.
He knew Eve felt it too. Somewhere deep inside it just…changed. The hunger swelled, ignited, consumed.
And then the kiss changed.
She was clinging to him now, reaching up to rake her fingers into his hair, kneading them down the back of his neck, pulling him in tight, molding her lower curves to his now aching erection until all he could think about was peeling that damp T-shirt from her chest as he had earlier, until there was nothing between them but bare skin and the lace of that tantalizing pale-green bra.
When her fingers grabbed his shirt, he caved in to temptation and did the same.
She gasped—and he cursed.
Her ribs.
But as he jerked back and stared at the shock exploding amid the pain and desire still swirling within those wide green eyes, the reality of his actions slammed into him with the force of an Abrams tank grinding a swath of hothouse flowers down into the dirt.
What the hell had he just done?
Chapter 3
Eve stood there, her mouth gaping, liquid heat still flooding her body. Heat that had nothing to do with the sweat still trickling down the back of her neck and in between her breasts. It had to do with him.
Bishop.
Captain Rick Bishop. Her fellow stranded soldier.
And that steamy kiss.
Why on earth had he done it?
Who was she kidding? She hadn’t even tried to stop him. She’d just stood there, like some doe caught in the cross-hairs of a hunter’s scope. And then she’d kissed him back.
Grief. That’s what it was. It had to be.
Shock. Uncertainty.
Yes, even fear.
She’d experienced them all today. They both had. But that was no excuse and she knew it. She and Bishop were trapped behind enemy lines. They had no business engaging in sexual misconduct. According to the Army’s code of professional ethics and morals—hell, according to her own—that’s exactly what they’d just done. From the way the color had bled from the man’s face as well as the terse working of his throat, he felt the same way.
“Please…forgive me. There’s no excuse for what I—”
“It didn’t happen.”
He reached out. “Eve—”
“No.” She jerked away from those dangerous hands before they could seduce her again and strode into the clearing. Perhaps the shadows of the jungle beyond would reinforce her sense of exposure and reduce these roiling feelings that that kiss had stirred within her.
They didn’t.
She felt just as safe as she had since the moment Bishop had implicitly assumed command. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes and down her cheeks, but that didn’t help either.
She could still feel that kiss.
Dammit, it hadn’t happened.
She punished herself with a sharp breath, grateful when the resulting stab succeeded in fusing her thoughts back on her ribs. Once again, she welcomed the pain. The constant ache had served to keep her grief over Carrie sealed up and tucked away until she could risk dealing with it. Until she could risk dealing with the memories. So far, the throbbing had kept them at bay.
How long would the reprieve last?
Promise me you won’t hate me…
But she already did. She couldn’t help it. Despite Bishop’s constant presence, the loneliness had begun to creep back, slowly but steadily. She hadn’t felt it in years, but here it was. Like the cold, familiar companion it was.
Taunting her, stifling her.
“Eve?”
She stiffened, only to feel foolish moments later. After spending the last twelve hours watching Rick Bishop in action, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d