Ingrid Weaver - Eye of the Beholder

He hesitated. “What’s your guess?”

“From what I saw of this place, these drug smugglers are very rich and powerful. You said the local police were probably involved, didn’t you?”

“It’s the only way to explain what happened at the airport. We hadn’t known Leonardo Juarez was operating out of Rocama. To have a base as well established as this house, his influence must stretch all the way to the top levels of the government. Someone had to have been bribed back at the airport in Jamaica, as well, so the hijackers could get aboard your flight in the first place.”

“It must have been tough to apprehend a member of the Juarez family. I don’t think our government is going to let him go.”

“That’s my guess, too. But either way, I’m not going to let you die. I promise you.”

“Why do I believe you, Rafe?” She pressed her head to the hollow of his shoulder. “I don’t understand. I never believe promises, but I believe you. Is that a reaction to the situation, too?”

“No. I’m just a trustworthy kind of guy.”

She made a sound that was too shaky to be a laugh. “And isn’t it just my luck that we have to meet like this?”

“A woman like you must have someone waiting for her to come home. You must have your pick of men.”

“A woman like me?”

“Refined, classy.” He lowered his head, catching the scent of lemons. “Beautiful,” he added softly.

“Thank you.”

“And once you get home, you’re going to regret what you’re doing now.”

“You’re wrong. I have no one, Rafe. No boyfriend or lover to go home to. Only a day planner full of appointments and an apartment full of books.” She rubbed her lips against his chin. “So don’t tell me about regrets.”

He tipped his head away. “Glenna, don’t.”

“Why? Are you married?”

“No.”

“Then do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?”

“With this face?”

She braced the heel of her hand against his chest and lifted her head. Her features were no more than a pale blur, but the fierceness in her expression was somehow immediately discernible. “That man shouldn’t have called you ugly, Rafe.”

“Hey, I’m used to it. I know what I look like.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Are we talking about the same thing here? Didn’t you get a good look at me in the light?”

“If you mean your scars, yes, I saw that. I had already felt them.”

“What?”

She brought her hand to his face. Butterfly light, she brushed his ruined cheek. “When you were unconscious, I felt them. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been.”

He jerked his head away from her touch.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” And that was another lie. The pain she caused wasn’t physical, like the ache in his leg, but it was no less tangible.

She sounded as if she actually cared. She didn’t, of course. The tenderness in her voice and in her fingers was merely a byproduct of this situation. It was textbook hostage-scenario psychology. She was grateful to him, she regarded him as her rescuer, she was mistaking gratitude for attraction.

He couldn’t take this personally. He could have been anyone else and she would have been behaving the same way. Any warm body would do in the dark. She needed comfort, she needed understanding. She sure didn’t need his own body reacting as if this were real. He would be the worst kind of bastard if he took advantage of her vulnerability.

She curled her legs and snuggled against him, pressing her breasts to his chest. “What you look like makes no difference to me, Rafe.”

There, she had just proved him right, he thought. “Glenna…”

“It’s what you are inside that matters.”

God help him if that was the case, because he was as much a monster on the inside as he was on the outside. “Glenna, you don’t know me.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve seen what you do.”

“All I am is a man trying to do his job.”

“Are all you Delta Force heroes so noble?”

He snorted. “I told you before, I’m no hero. And I’m sure as hell not noble.”

“Then there’s no reason you can’t hold me, right?” She lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder. “You did it before.”

He didn’t want to argue with her twisted logic. “Glenna, we should be conserving our energy right now. Try to rest.”

“Mmm. You said we should wait two hours before we move, right?”

“More like one hour, forty-eight minutes now.”

“Then we have enough time.”

“For what?”

Her breath tingled over his lips. “For this,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to his.

He could blame it on surprise, but he’d known this was coming. He could blame it on his weakened state, but he’d been in worse shape than this before and had remained in control of the situation. So there really was no excuse for the way he sat there and let her kiss him.

Oh, man, it felt good. Her lips were cool and sweet and he could have wished that the moment might last forever. He could have wished it, but he didn’t. He knew better. The deeper they got into this now, the worse it was going to be when they were back in the world.

He said her name, a caution, a warning. But instead of pulling back, she slid her tongue along his parted lips.

The intimate contact jolted him. Had he thought she was cool? No, there was passion in this woman. He’d known that from the moment he’d focused his binoculars on her face. He’d wanted to know what was beneath her layer of control. Now she was showing him.

But she thought he was noble, she thought he was a hero. She wouldn’t be kissing him if she knew the truth.

He clasped her cheeks. He started to ease her head away.

She made a low sound in her throat and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Rafe shuddered. Instead of pushing her away, he slid his fingers into her hair and returned the kiss. One hour, forty-one minutes, he thought. Then they had to stop. Then they had to move.

In the meantime, he was enough of a bastard to give her what she wanted.

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