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“No, I’m all right.” He didn’t look convinced by her reassurance. When they descended the steep slope to the floor of the gorge, he kept himself positioned directly in front of her. He carried her down the last twenty feet, hoisting her over his shoulder despite her startled, then indignant, protests.
It was a waste of time for her to protest, though; he simply ignored her. When he put her down silently and started walking, she had no choice but to follow.
Twice that afternoon they heard a helicopter, and both times he pulled her into the thickest cover, waiting until the sound had comple
tely faded away before emerging. The grim line of his mouth told her that he didn’t consider it just a coincidence. They were being hunted, and only the dense cover of the forest kept them from being caught. Jane’s nerves twisted at the thought of leaving that cover; she wasn’t afraid for just herself now, but for Grant, too. He put himself in jeopardy just by being with her. Turego wanted her alive, but Grant was of no use to him at all.
If it came to a choice between Grant’s life and giving Turego what he wanted, Jane knew that she would give in. She’d have to take her chances with Turego, though it would be impossible now to catch him off guard the way she had the first time. He knew now that she wasn’t a rich man’s flirtatious, charming plaything. She’d made a fool of him, and he wouldn’t forget.
Grant stepped over a large fallen tree and turned back to catch her around the waist and lift her over it with that effortless strength of his. Pausing, he pushed her tangled hair back from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. She knew how lethal those hands could be. “You’re too quiet,” he muttered. “It makes me think you’re up to something, and that makes me nervous.”
“I was just thinking,” she defended herself.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“If Turego catches us…”
“He won’t,” Grant said flatly. Staring down at her, he saw more now than just an appealing, sloe-eyed woman. He knew her now, knew her courage and strength, her secret fears and her sunny nature. He also knew her temper, which could flare or fade in an instant. Sabin’s advice had been to kill her quickly rather than let Turego get his hands on her; Grant had seen enough death to accept that as a realistic option at the time. But that was before he had known her, tasted her and felt the silky texture of her skin, watched her go wild beneath him. Things had changed now. He had changed—in ways that he neither welcomed nor trusted, but had to acknowledge. Jane had become important to him. He couldn’t allow that, but for the time being he had to accept it. Until she was safe, she could be his, but no longer. There wasn’t any room in his life for permanency, for roots, because he still wasn’t certain that he’d ever live in the sunshine again. Like Sabin, he’d been in the shadows too long. There were still dark spots on his soul that were revealed in the lack of emotion in his eyes. There was still the terrible, calm acceptance of things that were too terrible to be accepted.
If things had gone as originally planned, they would have gotten on that helicopter and she would be safely home by now. He would never have really known her; he would have delivered her to her father and walked away. But instead, they had been forced to spend days with only each other for company. They had slept side by side, eaten together, shared moments of danger and of humor. Perhaps the laughter was the more intimate, to him; he’d known danger many times with many people, but humor was rare in his life. She had made him laugh, and in doing so had captured a part of him.
Damn her for being the woman she was, for being lively and good-natured and desirable, when he’d expected a spoiled, sulky bitch. Damn her for making men want her, for making him want her. For the first time in his life he felt a savage jealousy swelling in his heart. He knew that he would have to leave her, but until then he wanted her to be his and only his. Remembering the feel of her body under his, he knew that he would have to have her again. His golden eyes narrowed at the feeling of intense possessiveness that gripped him. An expression of controlled violence crossed his face, an expression that the people who knew him had learned to avoid provoking. Grant Sullivan was dangerous enough in the normal way of things; angered, he was deadly. She was his now, and her life was being threatened. He’d lost too much already: his youth, his laughter, his trust in others, even part of his own humanity. He couldn’t afford to lose anything else. He was a desperate man trying to recapture his soul. He needed to find again even a small part of the boy from Georgia who had walked barefoot in the warm dirt of plowed fields, who had learned survival in the mysterious depths of the great swamp. What Vietnam had begun, the years of working in intelligence and operations had almost completed, coming close to destroying him as a man.
Jane and her screwball brand of gallantry were the source of the only warmth he’d felt in years.
He reached out and caught her by the nape of her neck, his strong fingers halting her. Surprised, she turned an inquiring glance at him, and the small smile that had begun forming on her lips faded at the fierce expression he couldn’t hide.
“Grant? Is something wrong?”
Without thinking, he used the grip he had on her neck to pull her to him, and kissed her full lips, still faintly swollen from the lovemaking they’d shared in the cave. He took his time about it, kissing her with slow, deep movements of his tongue. With a small sound of pleasure she wound her arms around his neck and lifted herself on tiptoe to press more fully against him. He felt the soft juncture of her thighs and ground himself against her, his body jolting with desire at the way she automatically adjusted herself to his hardness.
She was his, as she’d never belonged to any other man.
Her safety hinged on how swiftly he could get her out of the country, for he sensed Turego closing in on them. That man would never give up, not while the microfilm was still missing. There was no way in hell, Grant vowed, that he would allow Turego ever to touch Jane again. Lifting his mouth from hers, he muttered in a harsh tone, “You’re mine now. I’ll take care of you.”
Jane rested her head against his chest. “I know,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THAT NIGHT CHANGED forever the way Jane thought of the darkness. The fear of being alone in the dark would probably always remain with her, but when Grant reached out for her, it stopped being an enemy to be held at bay. It became instead a warm blanket of safety that wrapped around them, isolating them from the world. She felt his hands on her and forgot about the night.
He kissed her until she was clinging to him, begging him wordlessly for release from the need he’d created in her. Then he gently stripped her and himself, then rolled to his back, lifting her astride him. “I hurt you this morning,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You control it this time; take only as much as you’re comfortable with.”
Comfort didn’t matter; making love with him was a primitive glory, and she couldn’t place any limits on it. She lost control, moving wildly on him, and her uninhibited delight snapped the thin thread of control he was trying to maintain. He made a rough sound deep in his throat and clasped her to him, rolling once again until she was beneath him. The wildly soaring pleasure they gave each other wiped her mind clear of everything but him and the love that swelled inside of her. There was no darkness. With his passion, with the driving need of his body, he took her out of the darkness. When she fell asleep in his arms, it was without once having thought of the impenetrable darkness that surrounded them.
The next morning, as always, she awoke slowly, moving and murmuring to herself, snuggling against the wonderfully warm, hard body beneath her, knowing even in her sleep that it was Grant’s. His hands moved down her back to cup and knead her buttocks, awakening her fully. Then he shifted gently onto his side, holding her in his arms and depositing her on her back. Her eyes fluttered open, but it was still dark, so she closed them again and turned to press her face against his neck.
“It’s almost dawn, honey,” he said against her hair, but he couldn’t force himself to stop touching her, to sit up and put on his clothing. His hands slipped over her bare, silky skin, discovering anew all the places he’d touched and kissed during the night. Her response still overwhelmed him. She was so open and generous, wanting him and offering herself with a simplicity that took his breath away.
She groaned, and he eased her into a sitting position, then reached out to unzip the flap of the tent and let in a faint glimmer of light. “Are you awake?”
“No,” she grumbled, leaning against him and yawning.
“We have to go.”
“I know.” Muttering s
omething under her breath, she found what she presumed to be her shirt and began trying to untangle it. There was too much cloth, so she stopped in frustration and handed it to him. “I think this is yours. It’s too big to be mine.”
