“Lisa . . .” he said hoarsely, warningly. She kissed his throat again, passionately, refusing to think of anything except how right it felt. . . .
“Love me,” she whispered against his skin. “Please, Sam, love me.”
Lisa heard the harsh indrawing of his breath with a little glow of satisfaction. It was intoxicating to realize that he wanted her, too. . . .
“Lisa . . .” He seemed still inclined to argue, so Lisa did what all her senses were clamoring for her to do. She touched him, blind in the pitch darkness, one hand sliding down over his hair-roughened chest, sensuously stroking his flat, hard-muscled belly, coming to rest at the waistband of his pants. There it hesitated for an instant, then slid inside, worming its way across his tightening abdomen to surround the huge, granite monolith that burned and throbbed at her touch.
As her fingers closed on him he groaned, then groaned again, his hands coming up to catch her shoulders and flip her onto her back with such force that she was momentarily robbed of breath. Then he was on top of her, his body hard and heavy, his breath coming in fast, hard pants. His mouth fastened on hers with a greedy passion that seemed to want to devour her. Lisa’s lips opened to him endlessly. Their tongues touched, warred, caressed. He kissed her hotly, and with fierce ardor she responded, wanting his possession more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. In the tiny part of her mind that was still capable of functioning, she realized dimly that this was what she needed, what she had been starved of for years: the hard, fierce lovemaking of a man. . . .
His hands were unsteady as they undressed her, popping the buttons from her shirt in his haste. Lisa moaned as his fingers found her breasts, closing over the soft mounds in a grip that should have hurt but didn’t. Then he was tugging at his pants and she was helping him, her mouth running greedily over his body, on fire for him. When he too was naked he pushed her back and she went willingly, her legs parting and her hands eager as she guided him to her. He thrust into her with hard urgency, and Lisa gasped with pleasure, thinking she would die of pure bliss. His answering growl inflamed her. She rose and fell with him as he moved in, then out, then in again, in a relentless, driving rhythm. Her head was thrown back, her mouth wide open as he took her, her nails digging mindlessly into his muscled back. There was no room in her head for anything except the wonder of her own need. Then his hands closed over her buttocks, lifting them so that he could thrust more deeply inside her, and his mouth clamped over hers with a harsh groan. Lisa could stand no more. Pleasure that had been denied for years burst gloriously inside her, and she cried out against his mouth. He felt her joy and responded with one final, savage thrust, holding himself inside her, shaking. Then it was over.
Lisa felt herself drifting off with his flesh still joined to hers and his body heavy and wet with sweat as he sprawled across her. Then, just before she gave in to the irresistible urge to sleep, she thought she heard him swear. . . .
II
S
AM
was coldly furious with himself. He strode away from the tent without a backward glance, slapping irritably at the insects that swarmed to feast on his sweat-dampened bare back and shoulders. Only after he had covered quite a distance did he slow his pace and take a cigarette from the pack in his pants pocket. Flicking a match to life with his thumbnail, he was annoyed all over again to find that his hand was still not quite steady. Dammit to hell, anyway! He knew better! He was here on this flat, grassy plain to do a job, not to play stud to some man-crazy little hotpants. She could cause all kinds of complications if he let her. The only sane solution was to get rid of her, fast, before she disrupted his concentration or, worse, caused trouble with his men.
The question was, how? If he was half as unsentimental as he liked to think, he would simply turn around now, return to her tent, cut her throat, and have done with it. End of problem. But damn himself for a soft fool, he knew full well he couldn’t do it. Cold-blooded murder of a beautiful young woman who had just eagerly bedded him was not his line.
He could send her away, of course. But where, and how? Salisbury, with its large, modern airport and jets that could whisk her out of the country, was the obvious where, but that posed additional problems. If she started babbling about her adventure, as she undoubtedly would, she could screw up his whole pitch. Besides, even if he was willing to take a chance that she might, if he asked, keep her mouth shut, how would he get her there? The small airfield nearby was now under the control of the guerrillas, which meant that he would have to send her to Salisbury by jeep. And that was impossible, too. To begin with, he needed every one of his men. They were a small group, specially selected by him for the job at hand, and all vital to its successful conclusion. He could not afford to send one of them careening off across the country as the chauffeur-cum-bodyguard of a stray young woman. Anyway, any move of that sort would be bound to attract a certain amount of attention, and that would be fatal. No, dammit, she would have to stay until the job was done, but he found that solution almost as unacceptable as the others.
A truly decent man would no doubt scrap the whole business rather than endanger a hair of that silvery-blond head, but he had known for years that decency wasn’t one of his strong suits. He needed the money, that was the thing; a hundred thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at. It would give him and Jay a big head start on the kind of life he had always wanted for them, would let them make a down payment on a ranch and stock it with cattle. There was no way he was going to kiss goodbye the chance of a good life for himself and his son just because some sexy little female had managed to get herself mixed up in a situation that might be the death of her. He had done more than anyone could reasonably expect by bringing her back to camp with him, when every vestige of common sense he possessed had urged him to leave her unconscious in the jungle. But some long-buried chivalrous instinct had surfaced, and to the slack-jawed amazement of his men he had picked her up and slung her into the back of the jeep. And, like all impulsive acts, this one was turning into a disaster of major proportions.
From the moment he had carried her into the tent and turned the beam of his flashlight on her, he’d known he had a problem. The red, oozing cuts and welts adorning her body hadn’t been enough to disguise her long-limbed beauty. He had felt the first unwelcome stirrings of desire as he’d stripped her of her ruined clothing, and had had to force himself to forget that blondes had always been his weakness. He had reminded himself that she was hurt, and helpless, and that by picking her up in the jungle he had, however reluctantly, made himself responsible for her welfare. So he had continued to tend her hurts, reasoning that it would save trouble among the men if he was the only one to get near her. Somehow he’d managed to convince himself that he was in total control of his bodily urges, but then, of course, he’d had no way of knowing that the little witch would lure him into her bed on the pretext of a nightmare and then proceed to handle him in a way no red-blooded male could resist. The raging lust she had aroused had demanded instant satisfaction, and he had lost his head and taken what she had begged him to take. And God, it had felt good! Better than any sex he had had in years. Just remembering the feel of that soft, silky body writhing beneath his was enough to make his mouth go dry. Which was exactly why he mustn’t remember, he told himself savagely. If anything was to be salvaged from this shambles, he would have to put her body out of his mind. From now on he would stay far from her. The job would be finished in less than three weeks, and then he would be back in the good old U.S.A. with enough money to buy any woman in the world.
The job, not the woman, was the important thing, Sam reminded himself, and it was one that only a crack bunch of commandos could pull off. Three months of painstaking effort had gone into assembling this squad, which numbered fifteen, plus himself. Another three months had been spent in training them. Soldiers who fight for money, mercenaries if you would, were the most professional of professionals. They had to be, because their lives depended on their skills. But it was on how well the group functioned as a team that the success of the job would hinge.
As the leader, Sam was well paid for his efforts, half in advance—fifty thousand cool smackers already safely tucked away in a U.S. bank—the other half when it was done. Plus expenses, of course, which had already been considerable. The men got less, amounts ranging from ten to fifty thousand dollars depending on what Sam felt their contribution was worth. And so far everything had gone like clockwork. They’d managed to get into the country without attracting attention, set up their base camp, and start the wheels grinding slowly into motion. Soon it would all be over. The only snag in the smoothly oiled plan was the woman. . . .
Assassination wasn’t really his bag, but the offer had been made at a time when he was desperate for money, and he had accepted. He allowed himself no regrets. A nameless group of backers was willing to pay, and pay well, to have Thomas Kimo, one of Rhodesia’s foremost rebel leaders, killed in such a way that it would look as though supporters of a rival rebel leader had done the deed. The whys and wherefores of the proposed act had not been explained, but Sam had deduced that the murder was meant to cause an outbreak of infighting among the revolutionaries. While they were busy killing one another, Sam surmised, the ruling party would be consolidating its hold on the government. If he had guessed correctly, it was a good plan, and one that just might succeed. Not that he cared either way. Political convictions were the kiss of death for a professional soldier.
“Sam?” Frank Leads, his second in command and a good friend since they had seen combat together in ’Nam in 1964 and ’65, had managed to come up on his left flank without his hearing a thing. Damn, he must be getting old! Too old to play this kind of game much longer. Thirty-nine this past month, and beginning to feel it . . .
“You okay?” Frank’s question was guarded.
Sam grunted an affirmative reply, absorbing as much of Frank’s typically bulldog expression as he could see through the darkness as his friend came to stand beside him. Frank was acting peculiarly. . . . There was no way he could know what had just happened with the woman—was there? Hell, he hoped not. Frank knew how he felt about women in general, and had many times heard his views on the folly of getting sex mixed up with business. The man would laugh his head off. . . .
“So what are you going to do about her?”
Sam’s mouth twisted wryly. Frank did know.
Sam flashed his friend a derisive look and turned to start strolling back toward the camp.
“What did you use, radar?” The question was dry. Sam punctuated it by taking a long drag on his cigarette.
Frank snorted, falling into step beside him. “Who needed it? You could hear her mewling like a scalded cat all over camp. You had to be either killing her or humping her, and somehow I didn’t think you were killing her.”
“Ummm.” Sam was remembering the way she had cried out her pleasure at the end. The sound had sent him over the moon, but thinking back, he could see that it must have been damned loud. To his consternation, he felt hot blood creeping up over his cheeks. Christ, he was blushing! Like a high-school kid! Thank God for the darkness. If Frank saw his face turning red, he’d never live it down for the rest of his life.
“So what are you going to do about her?” Frank repeated his question patiently.
Sam grimaced. “Hell, what can I do? Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” Frank exploded after a moment’s stunned silence. “You can’t do nothing. She could queer the whole thing!”
“What would you suggest?” Sam was getting sick of the whole topic. He felt like kicking himself for ever bringing her back with him in the first place, and as for what had happened later . . .
“We have to get rid of her. One way or another. If you’re too squeamish—now—I’ll do it.”
“No!” Sam’s refusal was sharp. “Dammit, I’ve just been all over this. She hasn’t done anything to deserve killing, and there’s no way to make sure she’ll keep her mouth shut if we let her go. So, she stays.” His voice went hard on the last three words.
After a moment’s pregnant silence, Frank sighed heavily. “Somehow I had the feeling you were going to say that. All right, you’re in charge here. I just hope to God you know what you’re doing. But you realize she’s going to cause trouble with the rest of the guys. Some of them can’t so much as see a woman on the street without getting all het up.”
“I know.” Sam’s reply was thoughtful. “She’ll have to be kept out of their way—kept confined to her tent, maybe. Riley could sort of watch over her—he won’t be affected.”
Frank guffawed at this. Riley Bates’s lack of interest in the opposite sex had been a standing joke for all the years they’d known him. Scuttlebutt had it that he’d stepped on a mine in Korea and had his vital equipment blown off. Maybe true, probably not, but either way the man was a hell of a soldier, and in a situation like this that was all that mattered.
“Good idea. But she’ll have to leave the tent sometime—you know, call of nature and all that.” Frank lowered his voice slightly, suddenly sounding embarrassed.
Sam grinned, his teeth a white flash in the darkness. He felt better knowing that he wasn’t the only one to be reduced to blushing adolescence by the presence of a woman in their midst. “She can go—with Riley as escort,” he said. “Do him good.”
Both men chuckled at the irresistible picture this conjured up, and they were still grinning as they reached the camp. The small circle of tents was quiet. Frank yawned widely, clapped Sam on the back, and went off to bed. Sam made a quick tour of the camp, making sure that the men assigned to guard duty were awake and alert, then turned in.
Sunlight filtering through the open tent flap woke Lisa the next morning. She stretched, yawning, her eyes sleepily blinking open. Despite her various aches and pains, she felt as relaxed and contented as a cat in the sun. She hadn’t felt this good in years, she marveled, not since before she had married Jeff. What was responsible for this delicious sense of well-being? What . . . ?