If only the real Bahijah had been bright enough to carry this off. Of course if Uncle Ammar had been smarter, he would not have sent his niece. How stupid to think she would be loyal to him—a man who was nothing more than a fourth cousin interested only in the inheritance of anyone with whom he could claim even a distant relationship.
Ridiculous since everyone in this small country was related somehow. Too bad Ammar had slipped away from justice once before.
She hated stupid mistakes. Of course, babbling stupidity could well drive this man away. "Faris is a very old and honored name here. It means 'wounded soldier on horseback,' which my grandfather says—"
"Where does your brother live?" His mouth smiled. His eyes didn't.
"Outside the capital."
"What are you here to do?"
Boil up goat and horse meat for servicemen who are told they are eating beef, you ignorant male. "I am on the cooking staff."
A pride-pinching duty given her true status, not that she could let that show.
She wiped her hands on her apron. "I need to collect the vegetables now or there won't be an evening meal."
The flyer intelligence contact scooped up a handful of dates and backed away. "By all means, then, don't let me keep you."
Making tracks toward the pantry, she scanned the sparse crowd. Searching. She would need to find another candidate, soon. And if her uncle's information was correct, she would have many, many more men to choose from by the week's end. Failure was not an option.
Only survival.
How much torture could one guy survive in a single night?
Icy shower pellets stung Jack's skin. Talk about caught between a rock and a hard place. Stay in the shower until his Johnson succumbed to terminal shrinkage or step out there and explain to Monica exactly why she wasn't going on the mission to Rubistan. Either way, he was dead meat.
At least the cold water worked enough numbing magic so he didn't have to face her with his Johnson saluting.
Jack opened the shower door. Monica's gaze flicked him like a brief brush of a flame before shifting away. She thrust a towel at him.
"Thanks." He tied it around his waist before grabbing a second towel and scrubbing his head.
"I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just want to get my sister back."
He peered at her through the fluffy white folds. The pain staining her eyes threatened to level him.
Draping the towel around his neck, he clutched the ends to keep from gripping her shoulders to pull her to him. "You'll see her soon. Just be patient a while longer."
"Oh, Jack, you know I don't do patient well, never have."
Her early graduation from college and med school attested to that. At thirty-four years old, Monica always lived life on fast-forward while he took his time.
Images blindsided him of how impatient she could be while he took his time stroking her to the edge, holding back. Now, Jack. Now. Her husky drawl reached to him through vivid memories.
Space. Pronto. He angled past her and out of the too damned small bathroom. Fishing in the top drawer, he yanked black sweats free. What a dumb-ass idea to strip down. What had he expected to accomplish? >His shirt went up and off, revealing bronzed man and the cut of shoulder blades. She shook with the need to stand, wrap her arms around his waist and lean her cheek against his bare back. What she wouldn't give to soak up the warm comfort of his skin against hers. To inhale the spicy musk of sweat and Jack.
His thumbs hooked on his boxers.
She bolted to her feet and spun away. Palms flat on the window ledge, she stared at the canvas of
heavy blue curtains blocking early morning sun. Counted to ten while straightening the part in the coarse fabric. Then to twenty while evening out the cord pulls.
He always did this to her, damn him. Muddled her world by never acting as she expected. Like with the rescue mission. Part of her wanted to kiss every inch of his beard-stubbled face in gratitude, while the rest of her wanted to scream in frustration because he hadn't told her.
Fears for her sister quivered through her, threatened to spill free, but she contained them with an airtight will. Ziploc tight. She'd looked for comfort in Jack's arms before and landed herself in an Elvis wedding chapel, for God's sake.
How humiliating. And yet the humiliation was nothing in comparison to the burn of betrayal. He'd known how she'd felt about waiting to be sure before committing. She'd shared her deepest fears with this man and yet he'd pushed her the minute she'd let her guard down.