Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (9 page)

"Oh." She looked out at the couples on the dance floor, and her pulse did the two-step. "Sure. Why not?"

Their departure from the table would give Juliet and Tristan a moment alone, and from what Emma could tell, sparks were flying between those two. Juliet would undoubtedly beat her to achieving their mutual goal.

With a light hand on her back, Jeremiah guided her onto the crowded parquet square. He found a corner near the band and pulled her gently to him, hooking an arm around her waist.

As the front of their bodies came together, the breath reversed direction in her windpipe. She tried to look casual, draping her left arm around his neck. As he caught her hand in his, she realized they'd never held hands before.

It felt perfect—safe and warm in contrast to the chilly air-conditioning. She swallowed hard and looked up at him, only to find him studying the band.

"Where's Sammy?" he asked on a tense note.

She pulled back to look at him. "At Kids' Zone. Why?"

He glanced at her and went back to looking at the band. "Just curious."

She suspected it was more than that. "I thought of you today," she said, managing to capture his attention. "I wondered what poem you would recite if you'd been there, gazing down at the jungle canopy while it rippled in the breeze."

He sent her a fleeting smile. "Not everyone enjoys my penchant for recitation. My colleagues are like, 'Seriously, dude? We're about to take out some insurgents and you're quoting Shakespeare?'"

Laugher erupted from her. "Well, why not? No one can match Shakespeare."

"Right? Plus, he wrote the perfect line for every conceivable operation. Picture us in an ambush and I whisper, 'Something wicked this way comes.' Or we're helping the DEA arrest a notorious drug lord, and I say, 'There is something rotten in the state of Chiapas.'"

She laughed again, recognizing the allusions. "I take it this won't be your first trip to Mexico."

"I've been to the interior but not to the beaches."

"Is that where you arrested the 'notorious drug lord'?" she asked lightly.

However, he was quite serious when he told her, "Yes, only
El Cuchillo
escaped from prison six months later."

"Oh, I think I saw that in the news," she recalled. "Doesn't his name mean knife in Spanish?"

"Yes, is does. And you can imagine how he came by it."

She shivered without wanting to. "Has he been caught again?"

"Not yet." A crease appeared between his eyebrows, letting her know that that fact weighed on him.

"That must be discouraging. But you still love what you do. Right?"

"Because of my brothers," he admitted. "We're all family in the Teams. I feel like I belong. Like I'm indispensable."

In her mind's eye, she imagined a platoon of tightly knit warriors sharing their hardships and triumphs. It was her turn to quote Shakespeare. "'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.'"

"Damn right. Plus, I've had access to some awesome training," he added, glancing at the band then back at her. "I'm actually a medic now."

He still struck her as distracted. "Seriously?"

"Yep. I get to sew guys up and administer morphine and tie tourniquets." He glanced at the band again.

Maybe he was simply nervous. "I guess you don't faint at the sight of blood," she surmised.

"Only my own," he admitted.

The song came to a lingering end, with the keyboard player holding out the last note. He leaned toward the mike and in an Irish accent said, "That's it for the band tonight. But don't leave just yet as the talented Jason is here to play your favorite soundtracks from the 60s and 70s. Thank you for listening. We're the Sequels and we'll be here all week."

A smattering of applause moved through the audience, and the band members withdrew, leaving their instruments. Remaining on the dance floor, Jeremiah watched them go.

The new DJ immediately struck up a song from the Bee Gees, but Emma could tell dancing wasn't on Jeremiah's mind anymore.

"Care to take a walk?" he asked.

"Sure." She let him grab her hand and lead her at a fast clip out of the club into the corridor. They pushed through an airtight door onto the moonlit deck where the object of his interest was lighting up a cigarette in the smoking area.

Jeremiah led her to the railing where he pretended to admire the view. A waning moon glinted on a dark sea that stretched to eternity.

"Why are we following the guy in the band?" Emma whispered.

He swung her a guilty look. "Sorry. I didn't think you'd noticed."

"A woman always knows when she's not the center of attention."

He took a step closer. "Don't sell yourself short, English. Trust me, I'd rather take you on a romantic stroll, but there's something about him that makes me suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?"

He looked like he might tell her something then shook his head. "Nothing you should worry about."

"You still think something bad is going to happen?" Apprehension tickled her nape.

He regarded the band member one more time and slid his gaze slowly over her, warming her with his regard.

"I want to show you something." He seemed to have come to a decision.

"Okay," she said cautiously.

"Do you trust me?"

It was herself she didn't trust. "Of course."

"Come with me," he invited.

Holding out his hand, he swept her back into the ship and into the elevator. To her relief, he pushed the button to the fourteenth floor, the topmost level aside from the pilot house. They weren't headed to his cabin, but where was he taking her?

The elevator doors parted with a
ding
onto a short hallway with violet carpeting.

Emma prickled with excitement.

With a finger to his lips enjoining her to silence, Jeremiah drew her into the hallway. He led her briskly toward a closed door designated CONFERENCE ROOM and jiggled the handle. The door was locked.

"What are you doing?" she whispered as he pulled a credit card from his wallet and worked it into the space between the door and the frame. As the lock released, he pulled the door open and propelled her into the dark room ahead of him.

"We'll get into trouble," she protested as he closed the door behind them.

"Not if we don't get caught."

The room smelled of lemon polish and leather seats. In the dark, she made out a large conference table.

"This way."

He led her toward a window. Edging the curtain aside, he exposed a sliding glass door that opened to a balcony. He slid it ajar and drew her outside with him.

Warm, fragrant air greeted them. Unlike the balcony off her cabin, this one was spacious and situated at the very back of the boat, high above the water between two large stern lights, one red and one green. Crossing to the railing, she stared out at their frothy wake—a pale ribbon on the otherwise black sea.

"If something goes wrong on this ship, I want you to come here. If the door is locked like it was tonight, use the card key to your cabin to break in."

Jeremiah's words had her spinning around to regard him.

"There aren't any exterior cameras, so no one would know you're back here. Plus a helo could hover overhead and drop a line to pick you up."

What he was describing made the zip line sound like child's play. "You can't stop worrying, can you?" she asked, wondering if she truly ought to be concerned.

His tormented gaze drifted over her, lingering on her breasts. "I was hoping you could help me with that."

This is it
.

As in her office on the fateful day when she'd sent him away, she stood poised on a ledge where her decision to jump or to stand still would make all the difference. The zip line had taught her that living more dangerously didn't always result in catastrophe. She could enjoy the ride without peril. With a nod of determination, she opened her arms to invite him closer.

Suddenly, he was kissing her, surrounding her with his warmth, filling her with generous and gentle kisses that had nearly driven her beyond the point of no return five years ago. This time, there wasn't any reason, aside from her own fears, to stop. This time, she would allow herself the fulfillment she'd denied them in the past.

"I want you, Jeremiah," she murmured against his hungry lips.

He groaned and pulled her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her, too. Then he lifted his head, and she opened her eyes to see his twinkling like the night sky. He stepped away from her, causing her to shiver. But with graceful speed, he crossed to the two padded lounge chairs, the only ones on the balcony, and pushed them together.

"Lie down with me," he invited, dropping smoothly onto one of them and patting the empty space beside him.

Slipping off her sandals, Emma reclined next to him, sitting back to look up at the heavens.

"Oh, wow," she marveled. The balcony offered them a front row seat to a star-spangled sky.

"We have the cosmos to ourselves." He pointed out several constellations. "There's the Little Dipper. And there's Orion."

"That must be Venus," she added, spying what appeared to be a brilliant star on the horizon.

Jeremiah rolled onto one shoulder to look at her. "There are seven billion people on the Earth," he said, threading his fingers through hers. "What are the odds that we both ended up on this ship?"

Did he have to bring that up again?

"It's not a coincidence," he insisted.

"Did you really bring me here to gaze at the stars and talk about fate?"

His answering silence made her feel suddenly superficial. Did he think her a horny old lady? She started to look away when he caught her chin with the tips of his fingers, turned her face to his, and kissed her.

As with the kiss he'd unleashed upon her in the hallway outside her cabin, this one struck her as stormy and uncertain. Like a bolt of lightning, it impaled her with a white-hot desire to be filled by him. Over the faint throbbing of the engines and the gurgle of water far below, she surrendered to passion, to fate, to attraction... to limerence.

Chapter 6

The kiss deepened. Passion beat Emma's heart like a native on a drum, accelerating the tempo of their merging. Curling her fingers into the material of his shirt, she drew Jeremiah closer, needing his essence, his heat. He reached behind her, releasing the bar that propped her seat up and lowering the back of it steadily. When she was lying flat, he rolled up and over her, causing her chair to groan in protest.

Nibbling the length of her neck, he summoned a shiver of desire that drew her nipples into hard peaks that rose against the fabric constraining them. His clever fingers sought and found the zipper on the side of her tight dress. Deftly, he tugged it open. Sliding the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, he peeled the dress downward, exposing her modest breasts with anticipatory zeal.

She glanced down self-consciously, but even to her own eyes, the supple mounds, pale in the starlight, with nipples standing erect, looked beautiful.

"I've been waiting all evening to do that," he stated gruffly.

"Naughty boy," she scolded.

"You have no idea."

Lowering his head, he revered each breast with swirls of his tongue that had her cradling his head, even as she pressed her hips against his hard thighs. Her yearning spiraled to new, dizzying heights.

Cool air touched her heated center as he pushed up the hem of her dress. She lifted her hips to accommodate him. Putting one foot on the floor, he sat up to better see her. She lay half naked and wanton with her dress rucked around her waist, her immodest lace panties offering a scant barrier.

"I'm dying to quote Byron right now, but I don't want to sound corny," he admitted.

She knew immediately the poem he was thinking of, and her heart seemed to swell.
She walks in beauty, like the night...

How much she wanted to believe he saw her as the best of dark and light! Yet even if he did, those feelings would be fleeting, ephemeral at best. The passion they felt now would grow watered down and eventually disappear altogether. The tragedy of romance!