Temporary forgetfulness rode the surge of nerve-tingling pleasure from her br**sts against unyielding chest, his erection hard against her stomach. Nerves and heat throbbed, gathered lower until Monica backed toward her cot, one step, two with Jack's saunter rolling his h*ps against her in a sensuous promise. She let her knees fold, not too difficult at all. Jack's arms held her upright.
Her eyes fluttered open as she eased her mouth from his. "I thought you said you wanted me if I wanted you. Well, you can be sure I want you very much right now."
His hands slid up her arms to her locked grip behind his neck. In spite of her whimper of denial, he untwined her hold on him. "I'll probably kick myself later. But as tempting as it is to take you up on your offer, I wasn't talking about wanting this from you."
Something so deep and sad shifted in his chocolate-brown eyes that she ached to cup his bristly jaw in comfort. Started to do just that when he lifted her hands in his.
He kissed her closed fingers before releasing her. "Don't forget to lock up after me."
The door clicked closed behind him, and without the support of his shoulders beneath her hands, her knees finally gave way. She sagged to the edge of her cot, rattled to her roots by how much she still wanted him, and not just on a sexual level, but for foot rubs and Froot Loops.
And he'd walked out on her.
She'd been ready and more than willing to give him everything, and still he'd left. Her conscience niggled with the reminder she wasn't giving him everything. Just her body, and that hadn't worked for them in the months past.
God, she was too tired and confused to sort through it all. She fell back, head on her pillow and stared through the cleared circle on her windowpane. Her sister waited out there. She needed to focus on that, couldn't deal with anything more. So she watched the sun climb on the same horizon her sister watched, and tried to pretend the connection held something more than a surreal television-screen quality.
Inside the C-17 mobile command post, Blake Gardner stared at the screen filled with black-and-white satellite feed from a recent flight of the Predator unmanned spy drone shooting images of the terrorist camp. He watched for Sydney to appear. Had seen the same footage countless times and still his heart drummed in his chest.
The inactivity of this waiting game was killing him. He'd chosen the Navy, specifically the SEALs, for his branch of service because he'd never been able to sit idle for ten seconds since childhood. A trait that worked well for him when growing up on his uncle's farm.
But it bit right now. While his work as a SEAL often put him into play early in any joint military action, there was no way around the teeth-grinding wait this time.
He folded a fresh piece of gum into his mouth right on top of the old one and chewed out his frustration with spearmint rather than the nicotine buzz he used to get from dipping. After thirty-six hours' more planning at this godforsaken air base, they would finally launch into the next phase, bringing him that much closer to where Sydney waited for rescue. Waited for him?
A low hum of activity circled around him even though he stayed silent. Flatbed pallets down the center track of the cargo hold carried all the high-tech computer systems of any bunker command center.
Colonel Cullen clipped through last-minute questions for Korba's crew, calling for counterintelligence affirmations from OSI Agent Max Keagan and ADVON leader Captain Baker. They'd worked most of the night, would finish up soon, then sleep through the rest of the day for their night flight.
Sydney had to know he wouldn't leave her in there. If he'd needed to infiltrate alone, he would have done it for her. But he understood enough about his job and his fellow team buddies to know. This was better. Even if the extra wait was killing him, slowly, each day a whittling knife-swipe against his soul.
Not much longer. The HAHO—high altitude, high opening—drop with oxygen masks would allow them to maneuver their glide for nearly an hour over the gulf waters into the area around the coastal training camp. Then two more days to recon for additional intelligence before the rescue and Ranger drop.
The image focused on the portion of the compound where the NGO hostages were allowed out once a day. Studying their schedule was critical. He stopped breathing, knowing what the screen would show... now.
Three figures were escorted into the small fenced-in patch of sand. One man. Two women.
Cutting-edge technology from the Predator fed in a digital image as clear as any television screen. Yet even if it had been the less-detailed satellite images, he would have known in his gut which one was Sydney. The same gut that had carried him through ops in the bowels of Baghdad—missions she and he had bitterly disagreed on.
Guilt turned him into a pummeled workout bag. He should have fought harder at talking her out of coming here. Except he couldn't talk her out of her job, her calling, any more than she could talk him out of his. They both had the same goal. Peace. And two diametrically opposed ideologies on how to get there.
He'd given up on a second chance at building the family with Sydney that neither of them had ever had growing up. But he sure as hell wasn't giving up on her.
Blake leaned closer on his forearms, wanting like hell to crawl through the screen to get her. Even knowing it was old footage he'd memorized didn't stop him from looking again, like staring at her framed photo that once perched on his dresser beside the picture of his uncle who'd taken him in as a teen after his parents died.
Again he studied her hunched posture. Arms wrapped around her waist? The now-familiar twist closed his throat, just as powerful as the first time he'd seen the satellite feed. She wasn't a woman easily bowed. What pain was she hiding?
The image faded to static.
A discreet cough pulled him back to the cavernous belly of the plane. Too many eyes pinned him with a sympathy he didn't want. Couldn't handle.
Colonel Cullen rose from his seat. "One last point before we break for chow." His controlled, quiet tones rumbled with authority on a roll. "It hasn't escaped my notice that this mission is rife with conflict of interest. Now, I let this slide because you all happen to be the best available for the mission."
The Colonel's steely gaze swept Korba, Baker. Him. Of course the Colonel couldn't argue that this Afghanistan-seasoned SEAL platoon from Virginia was anything but the number-one choice.
"But if I find any of you allowing your personal agendas to risk the life of even one of my men, I will smack you down so hard and so fast, your children will be born dizzy." The steady stare of a commander held the air captive for five seconds. "Is that understood?"
Blake nodded without checking to see if the others did, as well. He couldn't risk anyone finding