Dana Marton - Rogue Soldier

“So what was your plan?” He pulled his hood closer to his stinging cheeks, as the wind picked up and the clouds began dumping their loads in earnest, reducing visibility to a few yards. He shifted to shield Sasha from the elements as much as he could.

“Have them drive around in circles until fuel ran out, then take the dog teams and leave them stranded,” she said.

“Could have worked.”

“Whoa!” She pulled on the reins and brought the team to a slow halt. “Let’s give them a little rest.” She stepped off the back runners and came straight to Sasha, knelt in the snow and buried her face in the dog’s fur, murmuring words of reassurance he couldn’t understand.

“Come on, let me see you,” she said as she lifted the dog off his lap and took her into her arms. “You’re such a good dog.”

She checked the bandage, and he was happy to see no fresh blood gush forth when she pulled up the edge.

“Why don’t you set that up?” She nodded toward the jumble of furs he’d been sitting on.

“They’ll catch up with us.”

“Not yet. You cut the harness on the other sled. None of them can mush dogs worth anything, anyway. The weather is turning for the worse. We’re better off letting the huskies rest now so they’ll be ready to cover serious ground when the snow clears out.”

She made sense. He yanked at the furs. They were all connected, a patchwork that made a good-size cover, at least ten by ten or so, the large polar bear fur in the middle surrounded by wolf pelts. He spread it and crawled under it, held up one end to let her in when she came back with the dogs. The shelter was pretty low, supported by their heads as they sat on the sled, uncomfortable.

He took one of the rifles and jammed it upright into the front of the sled, using it as makeshift tent pole. One of the dogs growled at him when he stepped too close.

“They’ll get used to you,” she said.

He couldn’t resist needling her. “Scared to be alone with me? I thought these puppies could handle the cold.”

“They can. They’re here to keep us warm.” She didn’t rise to the bait.

Well, what do you know? She had matured.

Man, things had changed. For one, three years ago they sure hadn’t needed a dog team for heat. Their wild and crazy escapades had been plenty hot.

Obviously, she didn’t feel that way about him anymore. Walking out on him with the parting words “Drop dead” should have given him a clue.

He’d been hoping for a warmer reunion, had entertained some fantasies while sleeping in the snow on the way to her—about Tessa Nielsen jumping into his arms in gratitude. Of course, the woman never could appreciate a good rescue. He should have remembered that.

Sasha slid from between them, abandoning the humans for her canine family. Thank God her injury wasn’t worse.

“Reminds me of one of Grandpa Fergus’s stories about a whole winter he spent in a cave in the highlands,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

She was mad all right. She used to love his Grandpa Fergus stories.

They huddled in the dark silence of the tent. He assessed their situation and tried to come up with a workable plan, but it wasn’t easy with Tessa right next to him.

He could have recognized her by scent alone. She’d never been one for perfumes, but she had her own unique feminine essence that made him think of soft warm places and the way she would taste if he pressed his lips against her neck just below her ear. The way her eyes would glaze over if he dragged his day-old stubble over that sensitive patch of skin.

“So you and this Dr. Lippman, living out on the snowfields for months at a time, were…” He voiced the question that had been bugging him for days.

Two dogs snapped at each other, and she recognized them from sound, called them by name and calmed them down before returning her attention to him.

“Lovers? Is that what you want to know?”

The idea hurt. Man, he was an idiot. What had he expected? A woman like Tessa had probably had a dozen lovers in the past three years. Hell, she could get anyone. “Never mind.”

“We tried, but it didn’t work. We were much better at being colleagues than being a couple.”

Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders. He held back the need to ask what exactly “tried” meant. He wished he could see her face, but it was pitch-dark, their makeshift tent smelling like eau-de-wet-dog.

He moved closer in the direction of her voice, and they bumped knees. She pulled away.

She didn’t fool him, though. No way had she forgotten what they’d once had between them. She was probably hurt that he hadn’t come after her before this. Hell, he would have, but he’d been on one overseas assignment after another.

He remembered every damn night they’d ever spent together—in detail. No time like the present to refresh her memory. He reached out and found her, cupped her face.

“I missed you,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

Her lips were soft and warm, and he sank into the sensation awakening his body from head to toe. He tasted the corners, not wanting to push, even as he burned for the rest of her. Then he felt the barrel of a gun press against the soft spot under his chin.

“Get away from me, McNair,” she said, her voice as cold as the gunmetal.

SHE HATED THE WAY her body responded to him still, like a dog to the voice of his master, panting and jumping with excitement. Mike McNair did not control her. Not anymore. She’d worked hard to exile his memory and the emotions tangled up with it.

Tessa pulled back the gun and licked her lips to make the tingling go away. He was the devil’s own. God, she was glad he’d come. Just this once. Even if she would never admit it out loud.

The past had slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her the moment she’d seen him. The power he had over her scared her spitless, so she’d gone on the offensive and attacked him. The only other choice she had was to collapse into his arms, and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give him a toehold. If she did, he would take everything and leave her empty again.

They were so close she could smell his tangy scent, feel his breath feather her cheek. She tucked her hands under her armpits so she wouldn’t reach out to him in the darkness.

This was the man who took her virginity, ruined her career and broke her heart. In that order. Mike McNair was nothing if not thorough.

“Remember Captain Tchaikovsky?”

Of course she did. She grinned at the memory, glad it was dark and he couldn’t see her. Captain Tassky had been one mean SOB, called Tchaikovsky because he was considered a regular nutcracker. He was also the man who had sent Mike and Tessa into the woods with nothing but a pup tent and one knife between them for a two-week survival exercise. Which was exactly what Mike wanted her to remember.

“I haven’t thought about Special Forces in ages,” she lied.

“I thought about you every day,” he said in a quiet voice.

Damn it. Why did he have to be like that?

His uncanny ability to unsettle her without half trying drove her mad.

“Remember how it used to be?”

Right. Sex. That’s what he was all about. “Not really,” she lied again, hating that she had to. It should have been true. She should have forgotten it, him, long ago. There had been other men in her life, in her bed, whom she did barely remember, but she still recalled Mike’s touch with sharp clarity.

No way were they going to discuss sex. “They won’t all come after us. Maybe two. At least one will stay with the other three crates at the research vehicle. They’ll be faster than us. It won’t take them much to fix the other sled. We’ll be slowed by the weight of the crate we got.”