Close Quarters (9 page)

Then she sat there, breathing as if she'd been running from the sadistic men who had hurt her when she was still a teen. How could she have told Ben her secret shame?

And how could he sit there looking at her as if nothing had changed? As if he did not think any less of her. As if he felt nothing but compassion. Not even pity.

Her throat went tight as emotion choked and threatened to overwhelm her, a woman who prided herself on control.

“Can you put your hand in mine?” he asked in a voice so gentle he almost shattered her.

She was no weakling. She did not need to be babied. “I…yes, of course.”

“Then do it.” This time his voice carried a command, even as it was overlaid with that same consuming gentleness. He put his hand out.

She looked at it, the fingers square and masculine, marked with small scars that said he had experienced more violence than others would expect from his mild-mannered appearance. But she already knew that. His hand looked strong. It looked safe, and yet reaching out to connect with him was hard. Harder than she thought it would be, but after several long seconds, she laid her hand in his.

He closed his fingers around hers, not tightly, but softly as if she was fragile. “Come.”

She allowed him to tug her out of her chair at the table where they'd played
mancala
. He led her to the small benchlike sofa in the communal area of her and Tanya's chalet. Sitting down, he pulled her to the spot beside him. Their bodies were touching from shoulder to knee. It was closer to a man than she had been in a social setting since the horrors of her youth. Yet, she felt no fear, or even discomfort at Ben's nearness.

“May I?” he asked as the hand not holding hers hovered above her shoulder.

She nodded.

He smiled, dropped the arm around her and said, “Now, tell me about your parents. I bet your mother was beautiful.”

And for the first time since escaping Rwanda with her life, if not her innocence, she talked about her life before the Tutsi massacre. She told Ben about her mother, who had been beautiful, and her older sister, who had been pregnant when she bled her life out on the floor of their family home.

But she didn't think about that. She thought about the future her sister had hoped for. “They would have loved Johari.”

“I'm sure they would. Johari's a wonderful child any mother would be proud of.”

Fleur nodded, her rigid emotional suppression nowhere in evidence. His kindness infiltrated her heart as no other man had even tried to do in almost fifteen years.

She hadn't known her father as well as she wanted to, and she shared that with Ben too. “He was an important man, with little free time for his family. They killed him first.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I believe you.” How could she not when sincerity shone from his pale blue eyes. Eyes that continued to look at her with that tender desire she found so disconcerting.

“Did you have any other siblings?” he asked.

Pain she had never been able to let go sent its jagged edges through her heart. “A brother. I never knew what happened to him.”

“Was he older? Younger?” More than curiosity laced his voice. As difficult as she found it to understand, he genuinely cared.

“Younger. He was an unexpected baby, almost ten years younger than me.”

Horror reflected in his compassionate gaze. “He was just a little boy when you fled Rwanda.”

“Yes. I searched for him, but could not find him.” It was a failure she could never forgive herself for. “Then after the soldiers hurt me, I was in a delirium. When I woke, hidden in the storage room of a family my father had helped, my brother was gone. They sent me to family in Nigeria, but I live in hope my brother still lives
somewhere
.”

“That is a good hope to have.”

She heard his words through a tunnel as she gave into the tears she hadn't shed since man's evil had destroyed her life and those she loved.

 

After a quick stop at her hut and another at the medical building, Tanya led Roman out of the compound. She didn't normally leave the compound after dark, but she felt safe with her super-soldier. Wild animals and wild men had no chance against the danger that lurked inside this man.

She wasn't sure she did either, but she was taking the chance.

The guard nodded at them as they exited through the gate he'd opened for them.

“He didn't even ask why we are leaving,” Roman commented with an irritated scowl.

The sun had not set, though the sky was heading toward twilight. It was one of her favorite times of day in the African savannah. “I imagine he was showing discretion,” she said mildly.

“Screw discretion. That's sloppy security.”

“It's a medical compound, not a prison, or a military base either. We don't have to account for every minute of our day”—she paused—“or night.”

No matter how Sympa-Med might prefer it otherwise. She'd often wondered if the board of directors had served in the French Foreign Legion or something, with their military-like need for control.

Of course, they had a significant capital investment to protect, not to mention the fact they saw her and the other medical professionals as assets needing their own protection as well. Their attitude was understandable, if annoying.

“Do you go walking like this a lot?” he asked.

She shrugged. “When I need to clear my head. Sometimes, when I get homesick.”

“You get homesick?”

“Don't sound so surprised. I love my family, even if I get along with my parents better with thousands of miles between us. I miss them. I miss Beau.” Despite Roman's presence at her side, or maybe because of it and the reminder of home, melancholy swept over her for a second. “Sometimes, it just hurts that I'm not there to get to know Elle better.”

“It's only going to get worse when they have kids,” he said with a clear tinge of regret, sounding like he knew exactly what she went through.

Considering his career and how it kept him away from his family, he probably did.

“I know.” The thought of not being there to get to know her nieces and/or nephews hurt on a level she'd never once considered when making her life choices.

“It's hard.” For that flash of moment in time, super-soldier Roman Chernichenko sounded borderline vulnerable.

“It is.” She reached out and took his hand, surprised by both her daring and the fact that he curled his strong fingers around hers. “You miss your family.”

“I do. My
baba
, I mean grandmother, she's not getting any younger.”

“She and your mom are good at playing the age card, from what I've seen.” Those two knew exactly what to say for maximum emotional impact from the Chernichenko siblings.

“You've got that right. Whoever thinks Jewish mothers have a corner on the guilt market has never met a Ukrainian
baba
.”

She laughed softly. “I'll concede that point. My own parents are good at lecturing, but if they had your mother or grandmother's knack for zeroing in on emotional weakness, I doubt I'd have made it back to Africa the second time.”

He snorted. “Hell, if you had my
baba
, you wouldn't have made it the first time.”

“She's a scary lady.”

“You won't get any arguments from me.”

“Is she why your family doesn't know what you really do?”

“No one knows what I really do.”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

“I know enough.”

“And?” he asked.

“What?”

“Does it bother you?”

“That you're some kind of mysterious super-soldier? No, I don't think it does. Especially after today. I keep thinking about what would have happened if you hadn't been there.” Images she desperately wanted out of her head played like a disgusting video set on repeat. And she couldn't find the off button.

“Don't.”

“I can't help it.”

He stopped and pulled her to face him. “I'll help you forget.”

“I'm counting on it.” Her certainty that sex with Roman would be enough to dominate her thoughts, to keep them away from the ugliness of what had almost happened at that roadblock, fed her determination to act on her desire for him.

In case he needed more invitation than the meaning behind her words to start something, she tilted her head in blatant provocation.

Showing he could take a hint, he lowered his head until their lips almost touched. “I'm leaving in weeks, if not days.” His breath teased across her lips in small, warm gusts as his words took anchor in her mind.

His stillness demanded acknowledgment of the warning.

“I know.”

“I won't be back.”

“I had that figured out.”

“Good.”

“Your lips against mine would be better.” And then, because she was done talking, even if he wasn't, she moved the minute distance necessary to bring their mouths together.

His lips were firm and soft at the same time, responding instantly to the pressure of hers. He wasn't a passive man and he didn't simply accept her kiss, but immediately pulled her body into his, crushing the blanket she had grabbed from her room between them. His mouth molded to hers, and then shaped the caress of their lips into something hot and carnal. Something unlike any kiss she'd ever before experienced. She'd never felt a kiss as if the connection of lips was the epicenter for a Richter-ten quake that shook her whole body.

Every single one of her nerve endings buzzed with sexual tremors that rolled through her body, only to crash against each other in the heated flesh between her thighs. Never had she been so ready for intercourse with so little provocation. She didn't know what was making her respond this way to him and she did not care.

She craved him with a hunger so intense, she felt the cramp of need deep in her womb. It was so primal, it scared her, but the fear only fed the need instead of checking it.

Sounds came out of her, whimpers and moans that she'd never before made. Roman liked them too. Every time she made one, he did something to intensify the kiss. Thrusting his tongue between her lips and taking possession of her mouth's interior, then tightening his hold on her until there wasn't even air between their bodies, he growled against her lips with his own sexual gratification. Rubbing his hand over her bottom, he kneaded curves firmed by all the walking her life with the traveling clinic required. Finally, burying his other hand in her hair, he held her head in place for an increasingly ardent lip-lock.

Their bodies rocked together and she yanked at his shirt, desperately needing to touch bare skin. When her fingers pressed into rock-hard abs, he yanked his mouth from hers to suck in a deep breath and let out a dark curse in what she was pretty sure was Ukrainian. Though it wasn't one she'd heard before from his siblings.

Mewling like a needy cat, she chased his mouth, but had to settle for his neck, kissing and nuzzling him as she took in his scent on a primitive level she couldn't begin to explain. Had her years in Africa brought her closer to the primal woman at her core? She'd never thought so, but what else could explain the way she responded to him on such an atavistic level?

“Damn, this is going too fast.” The chagrin in his tone was tempered by an endearing confusion. Roman Chernichenko was not used to being out of control.

She was glad she was not the only one reacting so strongly.

“No.” She fiercely shook her head. “Not fast enough.”

But he was pushing her away from him. “It's too open here.”

She looked around them. Typical of the savannah, there was nothing but long grass between them and the compound. In the slowly falling twilight, anyone with decent eyesight could be watching. This time of year, full dark came late, which was why she'd been leading him someplace they could be alone, away from interested eyes
and
ears. Living in the compound was like living in a small village and gossip was just as rife.

She had no desire to be the subject of it.

“You're right.” She turned and started walking again. If she didn't, she was going to throw herself back into his arms. “Let's go.”

T
hey'd been walking about five minutes in what she hoped was mutual impatient-to-get-there silence, when he asked, “So, where are we going?”

“My favorite thinking spot. It's a good place for solitude, away from people anyway.” There was a stand of baobab trees about twenty minutes' walk from the compound, their huge multilayered trunks creating the closest thing to real privacy she'd been able to find.

“You aren't alone right now,” he pointed out, as if she could miss his six feet, five inches of walking musclebound sex.

“I don't want to be.” What she wanted was to be alone with
him
.

“I'm glad to hear that. If you did, it would put a serious cramp in my plans for the evening.” His deep voice was laced with sexy humor.

She doubted he needed the affirmation, but she gave it to him anyway. “Mine too.” And how.

When they reached the trees, she didn't pretend a shyness she was not feeling. She quickly laid the blanket over a soft spot of ground where she'd taken a nap more than once. Dropping the condoms she'd gotten from the clinic on one corner, she turned to face Roman.

His steel-gray gaze devoured her with tactile intensity. “I want you.”

“Yes.”

“You want me too.”

She nodded, her throat suddenly too tight to speak.

He shrugged out of his shoulder holster and carefully laid it near the small pile of condoms. He made no comment about the fact she'd grabbed more than one. So, she'd been thinking ambitiously. She didn't think that with Roman Chernichenko she would be disappointed.

She started to unbutton her top, but he shook his head. She gave him a questioning look.

“I want to do it.”

That sounded really, really good. She let her fingers fall away from the button.

He smiled, his expression all too easy to read for once. For the next few hours, she was his.

She'd show him it went both ways, but she wasn't about to reject his desire to undress her. The very thought added to the moisture in her panties and that was a good thing as far as she was concerned.

He peeled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the corner of the blanket opposite the condoms and his weapon. He un-buckled his utility belt and removed it, once again putting it in easy reach near his shoulder holster.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his camo fatigues, but did not push them down his hips. “Come here.”

“You're going to leave your pants on?”

“As isolated as this spot may feel, we are not in a secure location. I cannot undress completely in case I have to protect you.” He said it as if thinking of their safety first came naturally, which she was sure it did. The idea that he'd played out possible scenarios in his head and determined staying partially dressed was the best course of action was a little disconcerting though.

They were so different, but that wasn't even what had her most concerned right now.

“But, how?” She couldn't wrap her mind around the logistics. She hoped he had, because she was not giving in to her desire for a temporary connection for nothing more than mutual masturbation.

He smiled, the expression so darn sensual, her knees about buckled. “Don't worry,
liúba
, we'll use those condoms, every last one of them, but I won't be naked.”

She'd heard Mat call Chantal that once. Tanya hadn't asked what it meant; it had been obvious. It was some kind of Ukrainian endearment. It didn't really matter if it was closer to
sweetheart
than
honey
. The point was, Roman had just used it on Tanya.

And her stupid heart clutched at his doing so. She could not afford to forget this was just sex. Nothing lasting. He'd made sure she knew that, even if part of her wished it could be more.

“What about me?” she asked to get her mind off that particular scary amusement park ride.

“Oh, you'll be nude, all right.” He was clearly deeply satisfied by that fact.

She cocked her head, giving him a frown she wasn't sure she really felt, but she felt like she had to give at least a token protest. “That's not fair.”

“I'll change your mind.”

“You're arrogant,” she said, but she was smiling.

“Nope.”

“Let me guess, it's not arrogance because your confidence is justified.” She waited for him to say something cocky like he'd never had any complaints, but he didn't.

He just smiled again. And darned if it didn't work.

She crossed the distance between them without feeling the ground beneath her feet or hearing her own footsteps. She felt as if she was in an altered state of reality and yet, she was wholly there. With him. But only him. Nothing else registered to her senses. Only his presence. The tall, muscular strength of him, the subtle masculine scent that was his alone, the dark predator that lay beneath his gorgeous masculinity.

He removed her blouse first, his eyes dilating with lust at the sight of her simple cotton bra holding in curves that she'd never considered much to write home about. He traced the edges of the undergarment, raising gooseflesh wherever his fingertips went. “Sexy.”

“Don't make fun.”

He cupped her chin and met her gaze, his oh-so-intense. “Do I look like I'm kidding?”

“No.”

“You don't need barely there lace to tantalize a man. Right now, I'm so turned on, I could pound nails with my dick at the thought of seeing your hard little nipples for the first time.”

“How do you know they're small?” she challenged, wondering if it made a difference to him. Though her breasts were not large, her nipples weren't proportionate, the areolas the size of silver dollars. She'd always felt funny about that, like she was not as feminine as she could be. It had made her modest in the girls' locker room at school.

Quinton had never commented one way or another, but he hadn't been all that interested in foreplay. Their life in the Peace Corps had not lent itself to lots of private free time together for prolonged lovemaking.

“Are they?”

“Take off my bra and find out.” After her years providing medical care to people of all shapes and sizes, she'd outgrown any serious self-consciousness she had about her anomaly.

It seemed silly to worry about not looking like a center-fold model when she'd treated children born with deformed limbs and adults left horrifically scarred by violence.

A sexy laugh accompanied the flick of knowing fingers that unhooked her bra faster than she had ever done. Grasping her straps in each hand, he tugged, peeling the cotton away from her B-cups.

His smile grew when he saw her already erect peaks. More like frozen raspberries than eraser nubs, they tightened almost painfully under his heated gaze. Would he touch them? Sometimes she did, when she was self-pleasuring in her bed at night. It always made her climax faster. But the other couple of men she'd tried to have relationships with hadn't been any more interested in exploring her breasts than Quinton had.

“Delicious.” Roman's deep voice made the word sound dirty.

Chills shivered through her and, despite her more mature view of her own body, she had to concentrate on keeping her arms at her sides and not hiding her breasts like a shy virgin.

“I bet they're sensitive too.” He didn't wait to test his theory, immediately brushing his knuckles over the very tips.

Moaning, she swayed forward. It was so different having someone else touching them, even that brief a caress.

“
Sukin sin
,” he growled.

Breathless from the touch, she forced out a whispered, “What?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Not a son.”

“I know. Damn, don't I know?” He sounded as affected as she felt.

And she liked it. She wanted to affect him as deeply as he did her. She wanted to smile, but licked her suddenly dry lips instead.

Without warning, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the blanket. With an animalistic sound from deep in his throat, he laid her down on the side with the condoms and his weapons.

“You are so damn sexy.” It sounded like more an accusation than a compliment as he leaned down to crash his lips to hers.

The feel of his hard chest against her already sensitized nipples wrenched a cry from her that the kiss could not quite stifle. She grabbed his shoulders, rubbing herself back and forth, almost crying with delight at the sensation of his silky chest hair abrading her hard peaks. The abundant dark curls felt so good against her body.

He slid his mouth from hers, brushing along her cheek and down her nape. “You're something else.”

“Something good?”

“Something
fantastic
.”

“I'm glad.” Her breath caught as his mouth did something incredible right where her neck and shoulder joined. Oh, man, that was going to leave a mark. And she didn't mind. She might never admit it, but the idea added another layer to the out-of-control desire bombarding her every sense. “You are too,” she gasped. More than fantastic. “There are no words.”

He tipped his head up and grinned at her, his expression not making any sense in her overheated brain. “Told you.”

“What?”

“You aren't going to mind me keeping my fatigues and boots on.”

Heck, he was so amazing, she didn't think she'd notice if he painted his face black and put his gun back on, but she wasn't about to admit that. “I've still got my pants on. We'll see when I'm naked,” she taunted.

“Oh, yes, we will,
moyá prekrásnyy liúba
.”

“What does that mean?”

He shook his head, looking like he'd rather not say.

She just waited, not moving, now more interested than she thought possible in the translation.

“‘My beautiful sweetheart,'” he gritted out finally. “Happy?” He said something else in Ukrainian, but she didn't ask him what
that
meant. She had a feeling she did not want to know.

She did smile, however, figuring it was safe because he was now focused on divesting her of her walking shoes and the rest of her clothes as efficiently as possible. The efficient movements, if not the sense of urgency, stalled once she was bared to his gaze. He rocked back on his heels and just looked. He didn't say anything, but his heated gaze said enough to have her breath growing shallow and the moisture between her legs increasing.

Finally, he reached out and ruffled the curls over her mound. “So pretty.”

“Yes?” She'd read lots of women shaved or waxed nowadays. That wasn't practical when water restrictions limited her showers to single-digit minutes in the morning.

“Oh, yeah.
Vrodlývyy
,” he said in a guttural tone, deep with need. “That means ‘beautiful' by the way,
Miss Curiosity
.”

His obvious and declared admiration made it easy for her to acquiesce when he pushed her thighs apart to reveal her most private flesh to his gaze. She shivered when he cursed reverently.

She would have said something, she wasn't sure what, but all the air in her lungs deserted her. She didn't know men could find that part of her body exciting to look at as well as touch.

Only he touched too, gently rubbing her labia with his thumbs. “You're nice and wet.”

“You're hard.” There was no missing the oversized beef-stick pushing against the front of his camos. “We're even.”

One finger slipped inside her, curving up and rubbing a rich bundle of nerve endings he seemed to find by divine instinct. “Are we?”

She yelped and arched upward, hoping he took that as the encouragement it was and not a sign to stop. She hadn't known that spot was there. Oh, she'd heard about the female G-spot, who hadn't? She'd thought she didn't have one though, but she'd been wrong. So gloriously wrong. He seemed just as adept at reading her reactions as he was at touching her body because he did it again. And again…
and again
. Afraid to lose the oh-so-perfect stimulation, she tried to hold her body still, even though her muscles wanted to jerk in response to the sharp pleasure.

Warm wetness spread from his finger down his hand and he used it to lubricate her nether lips and the pleasure spot at the top. She sighed with luxurious delight, her body tipping toward the touch, no matter how much she tried not to move.

“Like that?” he asked, no doubt in his voice about her answer.

She garbled out something that should have been “yes,” but sounded more like a yowl as his thumb slid over her clitoris once again. She was more than a little glad they hadn't tried to do this on the down-low in one of the medical exam rooms, or something. She'd never been a screamer, but she sensed that was about to change. She'd already made more noise than during any other sexual experience she'd had before.

“I want to touch you,” she panted out between moans and other sounds she wasn't sure how to translate.

He pushed his pants down just far enough to free his massive erection. “Touch away.”

She had to look first. She reached out without quite connecting. “It's darker than the rest of you.” Quinton hadn't been. “I didn't know it could be.”

He shrugged. “It's the way I am made. You are darker there too, your intimate lips a pretty dark raspberry that matches your succulent nipples.”

Heat filled her face. “Stop it.”

“What? Telling you how beautiful you are?”

“You're…I…men don't talk about that, do they?”

“I don't know what other men do.” And his tone said he didn't care either.

“It's embarrassing.”

“It's hot.”

“Yes,” she had to agree with a soft breath.

“You said you wanted to touch?”

She nodded, her heart hammering.

“Then do it, sweetheart.”

She nodded again, this time her hand reaching out, her fingertips just barely brushing him. The brief feel of the heated silk over steel drove her need higher and she wrapped her hand around his hard flesh. They both groaned. That was going to feel so good inside of her. He was big, but not so huge it was going to hurt. He was thick, but not too thick. Some latent feminine instinct told her that despite the fact she'd never been made love to by a man of his size, it was going to feel absolutely wonderful.