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"I could put some barbed wire around my nethers."
"Don't you dare," she said, coming forward and into his arms.
Her kiss was as wanting, hungry, and open as a baby bird's mouth. It had been so long since he'd had a woman press against him like this, her arms tight on his shoulder blades, he'd almost forgotten the delightful feel of breasts crushed against his chest, or a round hip just where his hand could fall as he tested the curves.
He lifted her easily and she laughed, pulling at his ears. She still had the day's sweat lingering between her breasts. It smelled like salt and sun and that powerful, caressing scent that women carried like a secret weapon for infighting. One of her heels pressed against the small of his back; the other rubbed the back of his leg. His pants seemed insufferably confining.
They worked together to get him out of them.
She dropped to her knees, employed her mouth, but he hardly needed encouragement.
"Now. Hurry. God, I'm so fucking horny!" she said.
They didn't even bother disturbing the bed. The tamped-down grass was cool and smooth inside the tent's shade, and there was less chance of breaking it as she bucked and gasped under his thrusts.
After, she played with his hair. "God, that was good. I even forgot about Zak while you were doing that Morse code with your tongue. Why didn't we do this four years ago?"
"I had someone else then. Or I thought I did."
"That redhead? She could be pretty if she tried. And cut back on the attitutde."
Valentine let her be wrong. He didn't want to talk about Malita and his daughter. In the rather formal, most recent letter, she'd been described as half monkey, half jaguar, climbing trees as easily as most kids walked.
Valentine felt strangely uncomfortable at the mention of Duvalier.
"We could try making up for lost time," he said, changing the subject. He reached for her.
* * * *
So began a love affair carried out as discreetly as could be managed in a camp full of soldiers.
Luckily Kentucky was full of glades, quiet hillsides, and swimming holes. Valentine had a tough time being spared from his duties, shorthanded as the headquarters was with their losses and Bloom still needing a long night of uninterrupted sleep. They had a magnificent yet lazy, four-hour afternoon fuck when Valentine had a midnight to four/eight to noon watch.
Once she tried to use her mouth on him as he was supervising the empty headquarters tent-empty save for one sleepy radio operator with his back to them-and he had to send her back to the Bulletproof camp.
Good thing too, because Duvalier came in soon after. She extended her tongue at Tikka, disappearing into the dark in a disappointed flounce.
"That Reaper the Wolves thought they saw turned out to be a scarecrow," she said. "Some clever clod rigged it to a little track so the wind blew it around his cornfield."
She looked at his trousers. "You trying to win a blue or something?"
Valentine, embarrassed, finished zipping up.
"Odd that we haven't had more trouble with Reapers."
"They keep away from big bodies of men, at least if they're alert. Too many guns. Plus, I don't think the legworm ranchers like Reapers poking around in their grazing lands."
"Any problems between the Moondaggers and the ranchers?"
"I went into Berea right after they left and played camp follower. They left the townies alone. Of course, the Kentucks hid their girls and showed their guns."
"Si vis pacem, para bellum" Valentine said.
"No, these guys favor buckshot and thirty-oughts," Duvalier said. "Does the Atlanta Gunworks make the Sea-biscuit mace-'em? I never heard of it."
* * * *
After his duty, he retired to his tent. He heard someone tap outside.
