Candace Irvin - Crossing The Line

A swift glance to his flank confirmed it.

Though Eve still dogged his boots, she now winced with every step she took. He’d lay odds her bandages had loosened, given the soft gasp that escaped despite her obvious efforts to hold it back. Rick switched the machete to his right hand and took up the swinging rhythm again. Forty more whacks and he found what he’d been seeking.

He stopped short.

Evidently too short, because he was forced to drop the machete and whirl about to grab Eve by the shoulders and steady her before she went down.

She promptly shrugged out of his grasp.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “No harm done.”

She smoothed the sweat from her brow as he slid his M-16 rifle and rucksack from his aching shoulders, dumping both on the ground at their feet.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Rest.” He flicked his gaze to the sweat-drenched T-shirt beneath her matching olive-green flight vest. She’d long since unzipped the top of her coveralls and peeled the sleeves down to tie them about her waist. “You need rest. So do I.”

He suspected she knew the last was an exaggeration but she let it pass. He chalked up another point in her favor. Accepting their individual limitations and depending on one another to make up for them would only help the both of them reach San Sebastián in one piece. He unhooked one of the green plastic canteens from his web gear and unscrewed the stopper before he passed it over. She accepted the water without argument, earning another point for not bothering to wipe the spout before she drank. His-and-her germs were the least of their worries.

She passed the canteen back. He polished off the remaining water before dumping the empty canteen down next to his ruck. His web gear followed and she wisely added her flight vest to the pile. She could probably use something to eat. Lord knew he could.

But first, her ribs.

Rick bent down, shifting his rifle off his rucksack so he could open the rear pouch and pull out the extra makeshift bindings he’d stashed within. In his haste, however, the personal effects of their men spilled out onto the jungle floor. He cursed his clumsiness beneath his breath as he tried to gather up the watches, wallets, spare dog tags and additional items before Eve noticed.

It was the least he could do.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough.

She snatched up the ring he’d removed from Carrie’s right hand. “What the hell are you doing with this?”

He stood slowly, reaching for her.

She jerked from his touch and stepped back before he could stop her. “Well?” The emerald fire in her eyes had chilled to ice.

He sighed. “That’s Captain Evans’s ring. She was—”

“I know what it is. I asked what you were doing with it.”

He ignored the iron set to her shoulders and stepped closer, grasping them gently as he calmly explained what she already knew. “Eve, be reasonable. Carrie probably has a mother and a father who may be grateful we were able to bring a piece of her back home.”

Once again, she tore herself from his touch. But this time, the chill was gone from her eyes. They were on fire now, swirling, raging. And something else.

Pain.

A pain so deep, he swore he felt it searing into him.

“I don’t give a damn what you thought, Captain Bishop. Carrie Evans was part of my crew, not yours. You should have consulted me. The truth is, we may never be able to retrieve those bodies and you know it. This ring was supposed to be buried with Carrie. And for your information, Carrie doesn’t have any family. I was her family. Her sister—and with Sergeant Turner gone, the only family she had left!”

What the hell?

Rick stood there, too stunned to move as Eve clenched the ring into her fist and stormed out into the eight-by-eight-foot clearing he’d decided would serve as their bivouac site for the night. Her fury propelled her to the opposite side of the clearing. But there, she ended up tangled in the dense undergrowth as well as the vines hanging between the trees. She lashed out at the vines, but that only seemed to make it worse. He heard her cry out as a thick branch came snapping back squarely across her ribs.

He winced as she cursed.

A moment later he caught her muffled sob. An inexplicable punch to his heart followed, almost as if he’d taken a bullet.

Confusion capped it off.

How could Eve and Carrie possibly have been sisters?

Family members weren’t allowed to be stationed within the same command. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time to demand an explanation. Even from where he stood, it was obvious that Eve Paris was devastated.

Rick retrieved the fresh roll of bindings and stuffed them into his right cargo pocket as he stood. He snagged his M-16 next, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he headed across the clearing. Eve’s back was to him, her shoulders quaking silently as she stood staring off into the rapidly darkening jungle. It was obvious she and Carrie had been close. So close, he was beginning to wonder how the woman had held it together for as long as she had. He reached out only to force his hands to halt in midair. Each time he’d touched Eve before, she’d pulled away. There was no sense aggravating her again. Least of all now.

So what the hell was he supposed to do?

Were she one of his men, he’d know exactly what to say, how to handle this. He’d done it often enough. But how did he comfort a soldier he didn’t even know? A female one at that? For the first time, Rick experienced a twinge of regret at serving the majority of his career within the Special Forces, one of the few remaining holdouts in this man’s Army.

In the end, he gambled.

Reaching out again, he let his hands drop until they gently cupped her quaking shoulders.

As expected, she stiffened.

But then she turned and stared up at him silently.

Good God, how could he have spent twelve hours with this woman and only now be noticing how tiny she was? Even in her boots, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. The soft gold of her hair still curled about her face despite the heat and constant exertion of the day. Even with the purple bruises that had darkened along her left cheek and jaw, Eve Paris was a stunning woman. But the longer he stared, the more he noticed the emotional ravages of the day.

Her complexion for one.

The ivory shade of earlier this morning was gone. Grief had stained her high cheeks and stubborn jaw bright red. Even her gently bowed lips were flushed, but the effect only served to make her seem even more delicate than he’d first imagined.

In the end, it was her eyes that did him in.

Puffy and red from crying, the emerald irises seemed darker now, larger…and silent tears were still streaming from the corners of her eyes. Mesmerized, he reached out and smoothed his thumbs up her cheeks, catching the damp warmth as it continued to trickle steadily down.

Time froze as her tears mingled with his sweat.

His breath froze.

Seconds later he succeeded in jump-starting his lungs, but it was too late. He was already leaning down. Closer and closer, until he was breathing her scent. He caught her tears with his lips, absorbing the salt with his flesh. Even as his actions stunned him, they seemed right. This seemed right. And a moment later, it only seemed natural to cover those soft swollen lips with his.

To his surprise, her mouth parted.

And then he was kissing her.

Softly at first. Lightly. But over and over. Though he knew better, he couldn’t find the strength or the sanity to stop. Nor did he want to. He gently grasped her bottom lip with his and caressed it, then slipped the tip of his tongue slowly inside. He used his mouth to draw her in closer until he was drawing her very essence into his own. She tasted of the early-morning sun and of the evening rain—but also of sorrow. A sorrow so heavy and so profound, he could feel it slipping down into his soul. Driven to ease it, to comfort her, he deepened the kiss. But he didn’t dare touch her with his hands for fear that he’d injure her ribs. So he used his lips and his tongue instead.