Still pinning Yasmine, Colonel Cullen reached for his radio on the desk corner. Already the LMR squawked reassurance—only a hungry local trying to steal a box of rations.
Monica sagged against Jack. Adrenaline gushed from her pores in the aftermath. The irony of it struck her like a stray bullet.
They were nowhere near the terrorist compound. It was just a regular sunny day in Rubistan...interspersed with the occasional gunfire. And to think her mother left Red Branch, Texas, for this.
Jack eased his weight off her, his arm sliding until his hand rested just below her br**sts in the tangle, his leg moving in what turned into a firm, hot nudge between her legs that left her hotter. He stopped. His eyes widened with realization. Accidental positioning, sure. But no less potent.
She couldn't move, couldn't find air or space or anything but his face filling her vision. And the hell of it was, she found the hold of his stare just as captivating as the warm corded thigh between her legs.
Ten minutes ago she would have sworn she couldn't remember the sound of her mother's voice. But right now, Mama whispered through her head sure as a surprise honeysuckle spring breeze in the middle of the desert.
Sugar, this is exactly why I left Red Branch, Texas.
Chapter 6
Two hours and one disarmed local rioter later, Jack flattened a hand against the closed door outside Monica's quarters. He should go to bed. He would go to bed.
As soon as he looked at her again and reassured himself she was alive and not full of bullets.
Being a military spouse sure sucked sometimes—even when the marriage was a freaking farce. He'd sometimes wondered how Tina would have handled his combat missions. He'd never considered what it would feel like to be on the other end of the worry. Yeah, it definitely sucked, especially given he already understood how damned bad it cut being the one left behind by death.
One look and he would leave her alone.
A dumb-ass decision when his anger still crackled inside him, adding an extra blue tinge to the flame from his fear of losing her. Permanently.
Too many emotions fired, but then he'd never been one to play it safe. No question, the hungry look in her eyes when she'd stared up at him from their clinch on the floor had been anything but safe.
With two knuckles, he rapped twice. "It's me."
"Come on in." Monica's husky Texas drawl sucker punched him right through the shabby tin door. "It's unlocked."
Unlocked? He'd address that later when he wasn't mad and she wasn't in defensive mode. And when he could stop remembering the world of want in her eyes earlier.
He swung wide the door to the office converted into sleeping quarters. A desk, a couple of chairs and a shelf littered a corner by a door open to a tiny private toilet and shower stall. A thin cot stretched against the other wall with barely enough room for a restless night. But big enough if the two of them were absolutely in sync, the way he and Monica had always been in bed.
Eyes off the cot, pal.
Her military bag lay open on the desk to reveal neat stacks of clothes. Ziplocs sealed each toiletry from an accidental spill. Orderly. Clean. His germ-nut doctor-wife all but lived with antibacterial soap holstered to her hip.
The only time she got good and messy, sweaty and relaxed, was during a ball game. And sex.
Don't look at the bed.
Instead he studied the straight curve of her spine as she leaned against the windowpane. Silky caramel-brown hair fell free just past her at attention shoulders, a few waves crimping it after being contained in a French braid. More than air, he wanted to kiss his way up her spine, under her aloe-scented strands to her neck, coax her head to fall forward and that stiff posture of hers to go limp and languid.
Time to shut down those thoughts or soon he would be stiffer than her spine. "You should have that window blacked out so you can sleep during the day when you need to."
"Sure. Later." Monica traced a finger along the pane, drawing circles in the dirt. "I'm sorry for not explaining about Yasmine before."
At the ring of her honest regret, some of his anger deflated. Who was he to toss stones when he hadn't told her about Tina? "We all have our secrets."
He still wasn't sure why he hadn't told Monica, and now sure as hell wasn't the time to bring it up. Of course, he never talked about Tina, and it had been so damned long ago. Still, no question in his mind, wife number two would be pissed to learn there'd been a wife number one she never knew about. Another hole to dig himself out of.
Damn. They were one messed-up couple.
He sauntered across the room. Stopped at the other side of the window. Looked at her while she looked at the world where her mother once lived, where both her sisters lived now. He waited, since patience seemed to be his one trump card around her.
Monica's slim finger slowed on the glass. Without a word she ducked around him, riffled through her duffel bag and pulled out a pack of antibacterial wipes. He almost smiled at the predictability, but her need to tidy her world seemed somehow sad right now.