Читать книгу Navy Seal Rescue - Susan Cliff - Страница 14
ОглавлениеLayah drummed her fingertips against her forearms as she waited for Hudson to return from his shower.
Her captive continued to surprise her. She’d expected more resistance. Navy SEALs were elite soldiers, but they were still soldiers. They followed orders from the higher ranks. She’d been prepared for him to cite United Nations regulations and demand transport to a US air base. Hudson hadn’t done any of those things. He hadn’t even turned her down.
She didn’t trust him to cooperate, no matter what he said. He might be waiting for his wounds to heal before he attempted an escape. But if he left, he wouldn’t get far. This village was sparsely populated, and the Yazidi guarded their land with rifles. They were more likely to shoot him than help him flee.
Hudson seemed to be playing along with her for now. Maybe he wanted money in exchange for his services. Maybe he wanted something else. He looked at her with desire in his eyes, the way men often did.
His interest wasn’t unusual, but her reaction to it was. Her pulse raced in his presence. She felt nervous and short of breath, like a schoolgirl with a crush. She wasn’t sure how to catalog her response. She hadn’t been drawn to a man since Khalil. Her physical needs had been buried with her husband, along with her broken heart.
Layah didn’t believe Hudson had resurrected her feminine longing. She was excited by the situation, not his searing gaze and hard-muscled body. He’d killed a guard yesterday. She’d rescued him from certain death. She wanted him to like her, and she had to keep him close. It was only natural to feel nervous around him. She’d been numb for so long that she’d mistaken an adrenaline rush for attraction.
Yes. That was it. Adrenaline.
She had to stay focused on her plan. Hudson was a means to an end, nothing more. She couldn’t afford to get distracted.
He emerged from the outdoor shower in the clothes Ashur had given him. The items were borrowed from one of her male cousins, and they fit well enough. Hudson was tall and broad-shouldered, rangy like Khalil had been. About the same age. Her husband would have turned thirty this year, had he lived. Her chest tightened at the thought.
There was a large open sink next to the shower hut for washing hands, dishes and everything else. Ashur provided Hudson with a new toothbrush, still in the wrapper. Toiletries were prized items in this remote area, but she’d splurged on a few luxuries for her captive. He’d been beaten and tortured by the Da’esh. Under her care, he’d be treated well.
When he was finished, Ashur escorted him back to his room. She gathered her maps and notebook, along with her medical bag, before venturing that direction. Ashur was carrying an empty tray down the hall.
“He eats like a pig,” Ashur said in Assyrian. “It will cost a fortune just to feed him.”
“He’s worth it.”
“That’s what you said about those thieving Turks.”
She shooed him away in annoyance. Ashur thought he knew everything, and was quite happy to argue with her about any choice she made. From the start he’d insisted that they didn’t need a guide, especially a foreigner.
She paused in the doorway. Hudson sat at the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. His trousers molded to his long legs and the polo shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. She found no fault with his appearance. He looked good. His hair was a honey-brown shade, like his eyes, and his skin had the same warm tone.
He was handsome. Striking, even.
She entered the room and placed her things on the table. “How do you feel?” she asked, aiming for a polite, professional tone.
“Almost human.”
“Any pain from your suture site?”
“Not really.”
“Can I take a look?”
He twisted at the waist to give her access. She sat down beside him and lifted the hem of his shirt halfway up his back. The bandage was still clean and intact, so she left it alone. The bruises on his side had darkened to an angry purple in some places. When she touched him there, he sucked in a ragged breath.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
She palpated his ribs gently. “Were you kicked?”
His expression was flat. “I can’t remember.”
She didn’t believe him. Perhaps he’d learned to give no information, even when pushed to the limit. She was barely pressing him. She didn’t feel any broken ribs, just warm flesh over hard muscles. She tugged his shirt down, trying not to imagine the horrors he’d endured. “I have painkillers.”
“I don’t need them.”
Her gaze rose to his. He’d shifted toward her when she finished her exam. Now they were side by side, and too close for comfort. She could smell the soap he’d used, which conjured an erotic image of water flowing down his naked body.
She suppressed the urge to inhale deeper. “Do you need...anything else?”
His eyes darkened at the question, dropping to her lips. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he was thinking. She’d been a wife for long enough to know what men liked. What they craved, what comforted them.
“I wouldn’t mind a haircut,” he said.
“What?”
He let out a choked laugh and lifted a hand to his head. He made scissors with his fingers. “A haircut, you know. Snip snip?”
“Oh. Yes. I will get Ashur.”
“No, not him.”
“No?”
“I don’t want him near me with sharp objects.”
Her stomach fluttered with unease. “What has he done?”
“Nothing much. He’s okay. I just prefer you.”
“I apologize for Ashur. He is a difficult boy.”
“Is he your son?”
She rose to her feet abruptly. Anguish speared through her. “He is my brother’s son.”
Hudson gave her an assessing look, but didn’t ask more questions.
She busied herself by searching through her medical bag for a pair of utility scissors. “I will cut your hair.” She gestured to the only chair in the room, a simple wooden stool by the table. “Come sit.”
He sat down and stared out the window. A villager was leading his herd down the rocky hillside in the distance. She liked the deserts and the valleys of her homeland, but there was something tranquil about this mountain backdrop. She turned her attention to Hudson’s hair. “How short?”
“I don’t care.”
She did her best to cut sparingly, in even amounts. There were matted tangles and singed ends, as if he’d been burned. She tried to remove the damage without leaving any bald spots. When she was finished, she set aside the scissors and touched his newly shorn head. His hair looked choppy, but felt nice. She murmured in approval, running her fingers through it.
He made a grunting sound of pleasure.
She glanced down and realized he was staring at her breasts, which were about an inch from his face. She’d been so intent on her task that she’d forgotten to keep a polite distance. She hadn’t meant for this mundane act to become so intimate. The air between them turned electric, charged with sexual energy. He was leaning into her hands, like a cat that wanted more petting. She froze, her fingers still threaded in his hair.
He glanced up at her, his jaw tense.
“Sorry,” she said, releasing him. Before she could step back, he slipped his arm around her waist.
“Are you?”
She was startled by his sudden movement. His expression revealed hunger, not anger, but she had to be careful with him. His injuries hadn’t made him weak or slow. If he wanted to overpower her, he could.
“Are you sorry for touching me? For getting too close? Or for holding me against my will?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not.”
He arched a brow at this claim. When she tried to twist away, he pulled her closer. She braced her palms on his biceps, her pulse racing. Maybe he could sense her excitement, as well as her deception. Because she liked his arm around her, strong and immobile. She liked his taut face and hard body. She could lie to him, but she couldn’t lie to herself.
He lifted one hand to her face. “Let’s make a deal.”
Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. He didn’t want to help her. He wanted to regain control of the situation by any means necessary. Although she might enjoy his methods, she couldn’t let him manipulate her.
“I take you across the mountains, and you take me however I like.”
“I rescued you,” she choked. “You owe me.”
“This isn’t a rescue. It’s forced labor.”
“We help each other. It is fair.”
“No. If you want my services, you have to buy them.”
“I can’t pay you.”
He brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “Sure you can.”
Arousal coursed through her, unabated. Her body didn’t care about his motives. It longed for a respite from grief and pain. One sensual interlude, to make her forget her troubles.
“You’re not free until I am,” he said in a low voice. “You can walk away from my deal as soon as I can walk away from yours.”
She couldn’t acquiesce to his demands, no matter how tempted she was. She couldn’t allow him to gain the upper hand. He seemed excited about turning the tables on her and giving her orders. A flash of intuition told her he wanted freedom, not sex.
“Fine,” she said, feigning defeat. “Take me.”
His gaze darkened. “What?”
“Do your worst.”
“My worst is the best you’ve ever had, guaranteed.”
A thrill shivered down her spine at his boast, but she summoned a bored look. “Go ahead, if you must.”
He stood abruptly, lifting her off her feet. In the next instant, she was on the bed, flat on her back underneath him. He pushed her arms over her head and pinned them against the mattress. She didn’t protest. He stared at her for a long moment, breathing heavily. She stared back at him, calling his bluff. He wasn’t the dumb brute she’d expected. He had brains, as well as brawn. He thought he could pressure her into releasing him. What he didn’t realize was that they were both prisoners here. The only way out was over those mountains, together.
His grip on her wrists loosened. He collapsed, burying his face in her neck.
She experienced a strange mix of emotions. Sorrow, relief, guilt, sympathy...disappointment. And kinship, maybe. He didn’t want to help her, but they were connected. They shared a common enemy. They’d both suffered the traumas of war, even though he’d done so by choice, not because of a direct threat to his home and family.
She raised a hand to his hair, tentative. It still felt nice. So did his body, for that matter. The heavy weight of him reminded her of past pleasures, long forgotten. She stroked the nape of his neck lightly.
He lifted his head, his expression incredulous. She knew she was playing with fire, and she didn’t care. She raked her nails through his hair, encouraging him. She thought he might shove her away in anger, but he didn’t. His half-lidded gaze lowered to her lips.
Then his mouth descended.
The first contact was electric. She parted her lips under his, breathless. She’d wanted this from the first moment she set eyes on him. He was battered and bruised. He’d been in a dark place. So had she. Maybe that was what drew her to him. He needed comfort, and she ached to give it. He was her captive, her patient, her only hope.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking what he wanted. He tasted like mint and soap and male heat, a tantalizing mixture. She clutched his hair and moaned. He feasted on her mouth the same way he devoured plates of food, without finesse. She reveled in the possession.
Had it been this way with Khalil? This urgent?
She couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. Hudson kissed away those thoughts and inserted himself back into them. His tongue delved deeper and his body pressed harder. She could feel the exciting length of his erection. Desire pulsed between her legs. She shifted her hips against him.
He groaned against her mouth, his big hand squeezing her waist. It roved to her hip and back up again, covering her breast. This simple pleasure seemed to undo him. He broke the kiss and fumbled for a way underneath her clothes.
She might have let him continue, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped her to her senses.
Ashur.
He was coming down the hall.
Hudson heard it, too. He turned his head toward the open doorway, his hands still. They were about to get caught.
She pushed at his shoulders and he shifted to one side, allowing her enough space to move. She scrambled off the bed in a panic. He sat forward and folded his arms over his lap while she straightened her tunic. When Ashur appeared in the doorway, she made a face like a scolding auntie.
“Where have you been? I need a broom to sweep up this hair.”
Ashur muttered something about cleaning up after swine and went to do her bidding. It was his typical attitude, so she didn’t think he’d noticed her dishabille. She leaned against the chair, weak-kneed. When she glanced at Hudson again, his eyes were sharp.
“Are you married?” he asked in a hard voice.
“No.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if the question had left a bad taste in it.
“I’m a widow,” she said. “A recent widow, still in mourning.”
His expression didn’t change. “How recent?”
“Two years.”
“Two years is a long time.”
“In my culture, some widows stay in seclusion for the rest of their lives. Most do not remarry or keep company with men.”
“Is that your plan? Never remarry?”
It wasn’t what Khalil would have wanted, but she hadn’t imagined moving on. She also hadn’t imagined kidnapping an American and allowing him to take liberties. She didn’t recognize the woman she’d become.
Ashur returned with the broom, saving her from responding. He swept up the clumps of hair, his eyes downcast. She wondered what he’d done to make Hudson wary. Ashur was so full of grief and fury. He blamed all Americans for destabilizing the country. He blamed Hudson, in particular, for his father’s death. She couldn’t afford to get caught kissing the man. It might send Ashur over the edge.
“Do you require anything else, Queen Aunt?” Ashur asked.
She gestured for him to go. He did an exaggerated bow and left the room. She didn’t think it was funny, but Hudson’s lips quirked with amusement. She crossed her arms over her chest, studying him. “Are you married?”
“I’m divorced,” he said. “It’s what we do in my culture.”
“It is not uncommon here, either.”
“Really?”
She nodded and turned her attention to the map on the table. She was curious about his past, but she needed to focus on the journey ahead. “I can pay you after we reach our destination.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She didn’t ask what he wanted. She already knew. “Please, look at the map. Crossing the Zagros is not as dangerous as attempting to travel within Iraq.”
“Why can’t you stay here, in this village?”
“The Yazidi have offered a temporary meeting place, not a permanent refuge.”
He stood and joined her at the table, his brow furrowed.
She pointed to a tiny dot on the map. “We are here.” She traced the edge of the mountain range with her fingertip, until she reached the outskirts of Turkey. It wasn’t her final stop, but he didn’t need to know that. “I want to go there.”
“What about the Kurds?”
“What about them?”
“They won’t help you?”
“Kurdistan is not stable, due to border conflicts with Turkey and Iran. They have also taken Assyrian lands in the guise of protecting us. They are your allies, not ours.”
“This country,” he muttered.
“What about it?”
“It’s a goddamned mess, that’s what.”
“Yes, it is. We live in rubble left by the US intervention.”
He made a sound of skepticism. “Your wars go back centuries, before the US was even founded.”
“Before your ancestors stole land from the natives, you mean?”
He tapped the surface of the map. “There’s snow and ice on those mountains. We need special gear for that.”
“I have gear.”
“Do you have crampons for everyone?”
“Yes. Come see.”
She escorted him to another room. She had tents, canvas packs, climbing rope, crampons for icy terrain, and a pile of boots in the corner. He picked up a boot, arching a brow. They were desert-style castoffs from a US military base. Or perhaps stolen. She’d bought the gear in bulk and not asked questions.
“These aren’t for snow.”
“They are all we have.”
He pulled out one of the tents and studied it. “What about sleeping bags? We’ll freeze to death at night.”
“We will use wool and sheepskin, like the nomads.” She showed him her stack of sheepskins. There were two rectangular pieces for each hiker. One covered the front of the torso and one covered the back. There were ties at the shoulders and on the sides. “This can be worn and used as a sleeping mat.”
“How?”
She laid the two panels flat on the ground. The sheepskin offered warmth and padding. “The wool cloaks are versatile also. They become blankets.”
“What if they get wet?”
“I have ponchos.” She found the plastic hooded ponchos. “See?”
He rifled through one of the packs, studying the gear. It was a mix of modern, traditional and low-budget items, all painstakingly collected. She had stainless steel water containers that could be used for cooking. Food rations in sealed tins. He tossed out whatever he deemed unnecessary. When he was finished, he lifted the pack with one hand to test its weight. His bulging biceps mesmerized her.
He dropped the pack with a thunk.
“Is it too heavy?” she asked.
“How do you expect that old man to strap on a fifty-pound pack without falling and breaking a hip?”
“Ibrahim is not coming. He returned to his home in Telskuf.”
“No old people? No kids?”
“Only Ashur. He will have a lighter pack.”
Hud grunted in response, his gaze moving down her body. “You don’t know what you’re in for. Grueling fourteen-hour hikes. No rest stops. Elevation sickness. Dangerous terrain. Bad weather.”
“I walked across the Syrian Desert for sixteen days. I think I know.”
“This won’t be like that.”
“It is a journey my people have taken before.”
“Yeah, who?”
“My mother and father. They guided Assyrian refugees from other countries into Iraq when they were young.”
He cursed under his breath at this revelation.
“We will make it. I am confident.”
“Do you have guns?”
“Of course.” Those were easy to get here, unlike climbing gear. “As many Kalashnikovs as you like.”
“Great,” he muttered. “When do we go?”
“As soon as the others arrive. Four or five days.”
“I can’t wait.”
She followed him back to his room, feeling giddy. His sarcasm didn’t bother her. It meant he was going to cooperate. She was eager to discuss the itinerary, but he stopped at the threshold, barring her entry.
“Unless you want to finish what we started, get away from me.”
She flushed with embarrassment. “Good night, then.”
He slammed the door in her face.
