Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 7

  “I don’t understand you.” She pointed at her feet “One minute, you’re kind and thoughtful, but the next, you’re mean. You snarl at me, and that hurts, Kruze. Did I do something last night to make you mad? Are you still sorry you had to rescue me?”

  Those incredible green eyes widened. “I’m not sorry I rescued you, no, err. Nope.” Kruze liked that word. She could tell by the way he made the P pop again. “Just need to get moving, and you… and me… Shit.” He tugged at his rifle and gear bag straps, as if they weren’t already high enough on his shoulders.

  Bree took a step toward him. “I won’t be any more trouble,” she said softly. “Thanks to you, I woke up feeling good this morning. For the first time in months, I’m warm. Even my feet. I’m just sorry you had to come all this way to save—”

  With a growl, Kruze pushed her off-balance and slammed her against the cave wall. His hot mouth swallowed her next words and her breath. His hands cupped her head, and his strong fingers held her in place, as he ravaged her mouth. A wild yearning poured out of him, a hunger, as if he hadn’t eaten in days, maybe years.

  And just like their time together in Paris, her frustration vanished, and her resolve melted into a gooey puddle at his feet. But she was no gullible woman this time around. Giving as good as she got, Bree took hold of his jaw and matched Kruze kiss for kiss, lick for lick, and bite for bite. Loving the lush feel of his beard between her fingers, she stroked him, wishing she knew how to tame this fierce beast enough to make him want to stay.

  It was easy to get lost in the manly scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth, to forget the lesson she should’ve learned last time. When Bree nipped his upper lip, anguish growled out of him, and Kruze forced his tongue deeper into her mouth. Rocking his hips into hers, he mimicked with his tongue what she wished he were doing to her body.

  Bree was in as much torment as he was. Why was she repeating the same mistake she’d made years ago? Why had he jumped her so eagerly, and why on earth had she submitted to him so quickly? Did Kruze know who she was? Had he remembered? Was this how he played his love-’em-and-leave-’em game?

  His big hands settled possessively at her waist. My Lord, this man was trembling as if he needed to sit down. Or lay down. As if he were the weaker one.

  “You remembered,” she breathed into his hungry, open mouth. Testing him for the truth fueling this intimate conflagration.

  “Yes, yes, I remembered,” he replied hotly, his hands slipping under his jacket and up her sides. His fingers came to rest at the sides of both breasts. When his thumbs strummed her nipples, hope eternal sprang to life at what this meant. He remembered! Now she could tell him he was a—

  “Of course I remembered not to touch your backside, sugar. I’m the one who pulled those nasty shards of glass out of your ass. How could I forget?”

  Ooooh. Kruze remembered that. Not… that.

  Bree stopped the fervent kiss she’d planned to cover his face with. Needing more space, she let him go and stepped completely out of his warm embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shaking, and faced the truth. She—what had he said before? Regrouped? Yes. That was the word. She regrouped. She corralled her wild, foolish dreams and killed the damned things before they betrayed the most important person in her life, who most certainly was not Kruze Sinclair.

  Lord, what was it about this man that slipped through her defenses so easily? Not wanting to look at him, Bree dropped her gaze to the ground and wiped his kiss off her lips. She swallowed hard at how foolish she’d been—again.

  “Let’s just go,” she told the dirt floor. “The sooner we get out of here, the faster you’ll get back to your life.” But not into mine. You don’t deserve a second of my life. Not anymore.

  He stood there, the dolt, confusion flooding his handsome features, as perplexed as she was for the way the heated kiss ended. For a heart-stealing moment, Bree wanted to comfort Kruze. After the heat between them, he had to be shocked at her swift rejection. She surely was.

  But wasn’t that what stupid women the world over did? Let the men who’d hurt them before, even though they might not know it, hurt them again? Well, no damned more. Bree had a real life to get back to, and she wanted to be home now more than ever. Not stuck on some mountainside with a careless man who hadn’t the sense to hold onto the one good thing in his life. And she was good, darn him. He just wasn’t smart enough to see it.

  “Well, err…” How could such a handsome man sound so pathetic?

  Lifting her head, Bree gave it to Kruze straight. “Are we leaving or not?”

  The bleak shadow covering his face wasn’t what she expected. But the “Yes, ma’am” that snapped out of his mouth was.

  Bree knew she was breaking his heart this time around, but she needed to end this foolishness once and for all. Kruze didn’t deserve her, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to know her secret. Let him go, set him free, never see him again--that was the only way this foolish dream of hers wouldn’t turn into a nightmare.

  Wrapping herself up tight in his oversized jacket, she told him, “Let’s get the heck out of here.”

  Chapter Eight

  A man knew when he’d done something wrong. What Kruze didn’t know was what that something was, or why sadness glimmered in Bree’s pretty eyes now—a light-blue that, for some reason, looked hauntingly familiar—eyes that just moments ago glittered with lust.

  They’d both been caught up in the heat of the moment. But then she’d shut him down, and that just wasn’t done. Not to Kruze. It wasn’t right. He was the one who walked away. He was the player, not her.

  His indignation had barely lifted its ugly head, when the fickle hand of déjà vu reached out of nowhere, like a bolt of lightning, and slapped the back of his head. The hard-packed floor beneath his boots shifted, as if it were made of sand. That old familiar urge to hit rewind and start over with this woman, slithered across his shoulders, like a reminder, a memory of—something, damn it. Of somewhere. Somewhere else.

  He planted his feet just to stay upright. What the hell?

  Bree turned her back on him and faced the narrow exit, which was now the last place Kruze wanted to go. Damn it. He couldn’t catch his balance around this woman. Everything was backward. The hormones storming his brain didn’t seem to know how to stand down. His entire body wanted this perplexing, familiar-yet-strange woman. Damned if he knew why.

  For an awful moment, dizziness swarmed at his peripheral, pushing more darkness into the already dark cave. He pushed it back and away like a man. “Fine,” popped out of his mouth.

  Bree sighed, and what was he to do with an answer like that? Was that a sign of feminine disappointment or desire? Did she want him or not?

  Kruze took a step toward her, wanting another taste and another chance. But she must’ve expected that. Bree stuck her chin out, her nose up, and walked out of the cave into daybreak. Shit, that put her in danger of being seen and shot on sight. Why couldn’t she let him leave first?

  Leave first…

  Leave first…

  Leave first…

  His words echoed back like a pack of spoiled brats. Not like they meant anything or were important, and yet…

  He shook off the sensation that he’d done this exact same thing before, yet he knew he hadn’t. No way. He’d never bedded a woman in NYC, and he could count the times he’d been in Turkey on one hand. Bree hadn’t been with him, not in any sense of the word, until yesterday. He was sure, positive even. A man doesn’t forget a woman like her. And yet… he had forgotten that other Bree’s last name.

  Aggravated at how quickly the morning had turned to shit, Kruze stalked after this Bree, intent on giving her a piece of his mind. But when he ducked and exited the cave, she was nowhere to be seen. He turned and faced uphill. Ah, there she was, climbing but not knowing where she was going. Crazy woman.

  Grumbling at the female gender in general, Kruze hurried to catch up w
ith her. Still swathed in misty morning darkness, the sun would soon blast out of the East, and light them up like targets. They needed to be out of sight by then, and hopefully, at the coordinated landing zone. A brisk breeze watered his eyes as he climbed. By the time Kruze reached her, he was pissed at how far she’d gotten, and how far they were from the LZ.

  “Stop running away from me,” he ordered.

  She stopped and turned to look down at him. “I’m not running away from you, Kruze Sinclair. That’s your play, not mine. Which way are we going then?”

  Kee-rist, what the hell did that mean? His play? Bree was sure being a pain in the ass today. He pointed his chin uphill and to her right. “Might be smart to let someone who knows something lead.”

  “For your information, I know a lot of things,” she snapped, her tone heavy with unsaid words Kruze wished to Hell she’d just spit out and get into the open. Maybe then, he’d understand why she seemed to hate him so much today that she couldn’t stand to look at him.

  “You just think you know, smartass,” he threw back at her. “Where’s the landing zone, huh?” Now he sounded like an idiot teenager. Yet he couldn’t quit. “Where are we supposed to get picked up? Where’s our predesignated LZ?” he asked with attitude, “and who’s picking us up? Besides your buddies with the yurts back there?”

  “What yurts?” she asked haughtily, her hands on her hips and those pale-blue eyes full of contempt.

  The first light of dawn had barely breached the dark edge of the mountains. Without looking back, Kruze stabbed a finger downhill. “Those gawddamned yurts,” he hissed, striving to keep his voice low, so it didn’t travel to the bastards camped below. “Kee-rist, a yurt’s a big, big tent. Kinda hard to miss them.”

  Bree’s upper lip curled. “And you’re an ass. I’ll ask again, what yurts? I don’t see any tents, much less any big, big tents.”

  Kruze jerked around, pitching his sharp gaze downhill to—absolutely nothing. “Shit! They were right there. I was just looking at them. Two yurts.” He pointed at where the rebel camp had been just moments ago. The true danger of their predicament stampeded over him like a herd of yaks. While he’d been kissing Bree, Josephus had broken camp. Where the hell was he?

  “Get down,” he ordered, pointing to the rocky ground as if he could force Bree to obey.

  Oddly, she ducked low and crouched to her knees. “Is he here? Do you see him? Where are they?”

  Kruze hadn’t a clue, but he could guess. “He’s moved his vehicles and his women forward. See? That portion of the road is clear now. But his men…” Kruze let Bree figure out where they were. Snapping his rifle off his shoulder, he lifted the scope to his eye and searched the area between the road and here. He didn’t need trouble now. It was nearly time to rendezvous, damn it. Go time. Also known as that window where a man had everything to lose. Where his ass was not yet completely out of the fire, and where Hell could still break loose. Where any one of Josephus’ men could hit his mark and end Bree’s life.

  He heard it then, the far-off thwack, thwack, thwack of USAF chopper blades beating the high thin air of this ungodly altitude. Kruze grabbed Bree by her elbow, holding her tight, while he set a quicker pace to the granite outcropping at their right. “See those rocks up there? We need to be on top of them in ten minutes. These guys won’t wait if we don’t show, especially when they start taking fire. Run.”

  Kruze had to give it to her, even with nothing but socks, Bree could run.

  Two AH-64E Apache combat choppers had just cleared the mountain crest and veered toward them. The distinct silhouette of a rowdy UH-60 Black Hawk hovered like a giant black bumblebee on their six. That bird was his goal. The other two smaller choppers were combat capable, not search and rescue. They only carried pilots and co-pilots. No PJs. But Kruze and Bree were still too far from the LZ, and not going to make it by the time those birds landed. They needed to go a helluva lot faster, climb higher and better. Without a word, he jerked her into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder and ran for her life. Not his. Bree was the only one who mattered today. She would live, damn it!

  Of course she struggled and squirmed against him. “Put me down. Let me go. I can run.”

  He didn’t waste time arguing, his eye on the goal, not the drama on his shoulder.

  “I won’t hold you back, please, Kruze, put me down.”

  He had nothing to say. There was no try in this morning, only do. Only run fuckin’ fast.

  In seconds, the Black Hawk’s double skids hovered before they touched down on the only horizontally flat enough place to land for miles. Kruze put all he had into making the last hundred yards before the rebels attacked. He knew damned well they were behind him somewhere, close enough to fire on Bree and him. He didn’t dare waste time looking.

  Sweat ran down his forehead, over his brows, and into his eyes. He blinked to see clearly, fighting the burn stabbing his side and the twitching muscles in his hindquarters. As if he didn’t have enough problems, the skidmark from yesterday’s ricochet was screaming for attention. He’d slapped on a bandage last night. Guess it really did need stitches.

  Just a couple more minutes. That was all he needed to get Bree on that chopper, toss her inside, and wave goodbye. Get her safe and on her way home. Out of there.

  God help these flyboys if the rebels had RPGs or LAWs. Or any propelled armament that could take the choppers down. Damn it. So much could happen in these last harried seconds.

  Kruze forced another burst of energy, demanding the large muscles in his legs and ass to give him more, to give Bree everything, gawddamnit. She would not die in this piece of shit country, not on this stinking mountain. She would live!

  Several armed airmen climbed out of the safety of their ride and took position around their bird, weapons drawn. They fired over Kruze’s head. He kept running, climbing, and cursing. Thankfully Bree kept still, just holding on. He only needed another few seconds and—

  WHOOSH! A gawddamned rocket zipped over the chopper’s whirling blades, missing the helo entirely, but too damned close.

  “No!” Kruze couldn’t stop the despair in that scream. Yet he ran, his heart pumping, his soul holding to the promise of safety that was now within reach. They were so close.

  Another WHOOSH! Only this one came from one of the combat choppers. Guess Josephus didn’t realize these birds were armed with the latest technology in warfare, namely the Integrated Helmet and Display Sighting Systems, aka HADSS. Which meant the chopper’s thirty-millimeter automatic M230 Chain Guns were already slaved to the pilots’ and co-pilots’ helmets’ heads-up displays. With the slightest move, the helo’s guns now tracked their enemies.

  Blinking the stinging sweat out of his eyes, at last! Kruze was at the open side door of the Black Hawk and pulling Bree off his shoulder. Two airmen in tactical gear and helmets reached out and jerked her inside. In no time, they had her strapped into the nearest jump seat and harness. Kruze tossed his rifle and gear bag onto the floor next. Strong hands landed on his biceps, another on his ass, and he found himself tossed to the helo’s cold floor. Leave it to the USAF to take charge and do what they did best. He couldn’t complain; that floor felt damned good.

  He crawled up onto the open seat beside Bree and endured being strapped and harnessed in by another overzealous airman. These professionals were good at what they did; they were quick and concise. The battle between the USAF and stupid, stupid Josephus still roared outside. But the combat helos held their ground and were pounding the living shit out of the entire area. Kruze had no idea which direction that first RPG came from, but the USAF seemed to. They’d set off another landslide with their brand of armament.

  Still breathing hard, Kruze dipped his sweaty head into his hands and thanked God for the red, white, and blue. The good guys. He was so proud to be part of them.

  Unexpectedly, Bree’s hand landed on his knee, and Kruze covered it with his much larger hand. Not knowing what to expect, h
e cocked his head and faced her. Like him, protective earphones had been clamped over her head, and her hair was whipping around her face. Around his face, too. She looked tired but genuinely relieved. That much was good.

  He smiled at the natural, domestic feel of the moment, an ordinary end to an extraordinary nightmare. Kruze wanted to pull Bree into his arms and kiss the hell out of her. But he waited, no longer sure how to proceed or how far to go if he did.

  He patted her hand, urging her to return to the gentle woman he’d kissed less than twenty minutes ago. “Hang on,” he shouted over the noisy rotor blades when the chopper lifted off and immediately veered hard to the left, away from the battle.

  A weary glance answered him. No soft words in his headset, just that tired glint in her eyes. Bree eased her hand out from under his and turned her shoulders to the still open side-door.

  Well, shit. Kruze rolled his neck until it cracked. So this was it then, the end. Looking out the opposite window, he ran a gloved hand over his face. But then he thought better, put the index finger of his glove in his mouth, bit down, and tugged the damned thing off. Stuffing it into his pants pocket, he wiped his face properly—ending with his fingers in his beard. Man, a hot shower and a shave would feel good. A beer would be better. Scotch on the rocks, too. Maybe both. Anything to deaden the painfilled shadows creeping steadily back into his life. He could feel the darkness closing in. The randy playboy he always feigned to be around his brothers, faded like dust in the rotors.

  Bree seemed damned glad to be leaving him, not that he blamed her. But it hurt just the same. He chalked the stupid ache in his chest to the goodbye looming in his future. Goodbyes were meant to hurt, to be depressing, and sometimes slow to recover from. Like that goodbye in Panama so long ago. And why the hell was he thinking of Juliana now? Here? What did that goodbye have to do with this one? Kruze hadn’t a clue. He’d done his best, saved the girl, and in the process, had the shit beaten out of his empty heart again.