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Ian stared at the dark ceiling, listening the distant sporadic sounds of gunfire. What the hell was he doing? He never had meaningful sex with women.

He’d learned long ago that, if he didn’t kick the groupies to the curb immediately after the conclusion of sexual concourse, they interpreted being allowed to stay as practically a proposal of marriage. All the guys like him knew that groupies became stalkers at the drop of a hat.

He’d also learned a long time ago never to use the women he worked with as his dating pool. And, given that his work for the last decade had pretty much not included any women, it hadn’t been hard to abide by his long-standing rule.

Frankly, it felt strange to find a woman in his work environment. He came from a family full of boys. He’d mostly hung out with the guys on the football team in high school. In college, he’d hung out with his frat brothers. Then, into the military, and straight into the Special Forces.

Come to think of it, he’d never spent much time around women. Ever. Maybe that was why he was finding it impossible to actually sleep with one sprawled across him, now.

And this particular woman…he couldn’t seem to keep his damned hands off her. She was mesmerizing. So beautiful and sexy; all those miles of sleek legs and soft curves.

Not to mention, she could match him shot for shot with a handgun and a sniper rig—and then throw back shots of vodka like a pro, for God’s sake. How was he supposed to resist that?

She’d blown his cover completely to hell, and he couldn’t seem to generate even a smidgin of irritation at her for it. No question, he had it bad for Piper Roth.

He was going to have to leave Khartoum because of her, and his only regret was that he wasn’t going to see her again. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He deeply regretted the idea of not having hot sex with her, again.

She shifted against him, settling closer to his side, her head on his shoulder and her silky hair spread out over his chest. It was strangely comfortable. Who’d have guessed he could enjoy spending the night actually sleeping with a female? Bizarre.

In the midst of his newly discovered contentment, something dark wormed its way into his brain. He frowned up at the shadowed ceiling, struggling to put a name to it.

Fear. He was afraid of the way this woman made him feel.

Him. A hardened warrior, veteran of war zones from one corner of the globe to the other. Bloody terrified of a woman.

First thing in the morning, he was sending her on her way, and he was never looking back. Navy Intel would assign him to some other post on a far-flung continent, and he would get on with his regularly scheduled—female-free—life.

A plan in place, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.

He waited.

And waited.

Yeah, that wasn’t working.

He swore for a while in his head.

Fine. He would just lay here and enjoy the novel sensation of cuddling with a woman, then.

Tomorrow. She was out of here, tomorrow .

Piper woke up slowly, well-rested and blissfully content. The room was dim and cool, but the chest under her ear was warm.

Whoa. The chest? Her eyes popped fully open. The room spun a little and then settled, a garish seraglio of a bedroom took shape around her.

Right. Ian’s hidey hole.

Vodka.

The bathtub. Oh God, the bathtub.

And the sex.

Memory of last night slammed into her like a tidal wave.

Intense desire to do all of it again hit her in the next wave.

And then, a distant third, came the undertow of shame.

She was supposed to be a professional. Supposed to be proving to herself and her superiors that she could play in the big leagues.

That she was just as good as one of the boys.

Instead, she’d gotten drunk and fallen in the sack with the first commando she crossed paths with.

But what a hot commando. In her own defense, Ian McCloud was not an average, one-each commando. Plus, the two of them had narrowly avoided dying and been riding an adrenaline high. Allowances could be made in such circumstances, right?

Cut the bull, Piper. You screwed up and you know it .

The other side of her brain, the side with the red suit, horns, and a tail sighed happily. Screw, she had. And it had been fantastic.

“’Morning, Piper,” a deep voice rumbled under her ear. “How’re you feeling? Headache? Hangover?”

She propped herself up on an elbow on top of his chest and grinned at Ian, who lounged back against the pillows. “You were trying get me drunk, you bastard.”

He shrugged. “Do I look stupid? The hottest female in all of North Africa comes to my place for the night? Of course I ply her with liquid panty remover.”

She ought to be appalled, but he was so sexy flashing those dimples of his at her that she couldn’t possibly stay outraged for long. “You are so damned good looking,” she groused, “how am I supposed to stay mad at you?”

He ran his fingertips lazily down her spine until her breath caught and her body went limpid against his. He cajoled, “Don’t be mad, honey pie. It’s a big compliment. I don’t normally seduce women.”

“What? You seduce goats?” she quipped.

His palm smacked her rear end lightly. She stuck her tongue out at him and he smirked back at her.

“But you seduced me,” she commented. “Why? And don’t tell me I look like a goat.”

“Wait. I thought you seduced me.”

“Hah! You definitely did the plying of liquor, tempting with a warm bath, and seducing of the naked female in your tub.”

“I guess that makes it your turn to seduce me.”

She had to give the guy credit. He was an equal opportunity hooker-upper. The word hooker-upper made her smile, and she rubbed against him catlike. “Where’s that vodka bottle?” she demanded.

“We’ve both got places to go and things to do today, sweetheart. Or aren’t you up to the challenge of seducing me sober?”

“You did not just say that.”

His eyes glinted in amusement and challenge. “What are you going to do about it, hotshot?”

“Impatient. Men are all so bloody impatient.”

“When it comes to sex, hell yeah,” he declared.

Laughing, she rose up over him and flung her leg across his hips. Her vision was okay, but her head still spun a little after the potent vodka last night. She wouldn’t want to try a long distance, high accuracy shot with her sniper rig right about now.

Dammit. She hated not being in complete control of herself. She fought to clear her head, searching for clarity of thought. Logic. Focus.

Crap. The only thing she could focus on right now was Ian’s eyes, clear and green in the filtered morning light. She sank into them unwillingly, but inevitably.

To hell with fighting. Later would be soon enough to pick up the burden of her control issues. She tore her gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes and stared down at his washboard abs.

“Nice scar,” she commented, tracing a recently healed knife scar on his stomach.

“Thanks. My future brother-in-law gave that to me.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

One corner of his mouth turned up sardonically. “If my baby sister didn’t love the guy so much, I’d gut him. But he makes her happy.”

“Protective of family, are you?”

He looked startled at her observation.

She laughed. “Let me guess. You style yourself inscrutable and unreadable to all, especially women.”

“Well…yeah.”

“Hardly, Tonto.” She sensed an argument coming on, and to distract him, drew her fingernails down his chest toward the line of dark hair disappearing between her legs. His mouth, opened to make a snappy comeback, shut abruptly.

Mission accomplished. He was officially distracted.

“I like your chest,” she murmured.

“I like yours, too.” He reached for said chest, and she inhaled sharply. The man was not without weapons of his own in their private little war. Speaking of which, at long—belated, last—her survival instinct finally kicked in and her brain started functioning. A little.

What the hell was she doing sitting naked on top of this man?

She barely knew him. She would never see him again. He would break her heart and leave her in the dust without a backward glance. But dammit, he was so very addictive. If only he didn’t know it. If only she knew him.

“Tell me something about you,” she murmured. “Something personal.”

“Like what?” Thank God. He sounded a little distracted, too.

“Anything.”

“I have four brothers and a sister. They all work for the government or law enforcement agencies.”

She’d always wanted to be part of a big family.

Instead, it had been just her brother, her dad, and her.

Not that her old man had ever functioned as much of a father.

He’d been a drill sergeant before her mother had come along, wrecked his career, and abandoned a toddler and an infant with him. He’d raised his kids like raw recruits.

Ian’s fingers played her body like a freaking violin, stroking her into a quiet frenzy.

She was not going to lose control this morning, dammit. He was not playing fair.

She was supposed to be in control of herself this morning! In control of this wild heat that erupted between them every time they got naked together.

Her old man always said the best defense was a good offense. Eyes narrowed, she leaned backward a little and reached down for erection jutting against her backside.

She wrung a groan from him and satisfaction filled her. Better.

One of his powerful arms wrapped around her waist and he neatly reversed their positions without separating their bodies.

He was willing to allow her the temporary conceit of thinking she was in charge of their sex, but at the end of the day, he was master of all that took place in his bed.

His weight and strength pinned her to the mattress, and reluctantly, she had to admit she liked it better this way.

The corded muscles of his arms, braced on either side of her head, were irresistible. She reached up with both hands to grasp his taut muscles and hung on for dear life. His eyes blazed, silently daring her to look away.

As if. She wanted to hold out, to defy him and all his overwhelming maleness, but all at once she capitulated. Why fight the pleasure? This was fantastic. Best. Sex. Ever.

She gave herself over to this crazy thing that exploded between them every time they spent two minutes alone in the same room and to the sex. How was it possible the sex just kept getting better every time?

She shattered without warning into a thousand tiny pieces—sharp, shiny little shards of pleasure that sliced her from head to toe until pleasure bled from every part of her body.

At least Ian had the good grace to look a little stunned, too. She would hate to have had her mind completely blown by what turned out to be, for him, mediocre sex.

“What the hell do you do to me?” he finally muttered.

Hah. And here she was, thinking the exact same thing.

Without warning, he pressed up and away from her and rolled out of bed in one quick, muscular move.

She felt…bereft.

Ian’s movements were sharp, almost angry, as he jerked on clothes and started throwing gear and supplies into a reinforced nylon duffel bag. She pressed up onto a surprised elbow. He looked like he was packing. In a hurry.

“Going somewhere?” she asked cautiously.

“Getting the hell out of town before one of the many bad guys out there finds me and puts a bullet in my head. If you had the sense of a flea, you’d be doing the same thing.”

Stung, she sat up and threw her feet over the side of the bed.

Quickly, she retrieved her lingerie and yanked it on, followed by her clothes.

Damned if she would let him get the last word and accuse her of having no sense.

She twisted her hair up on top of her head and jammed her slouchy hat over it, snatched up her rifle, and paused as she reached his door.

As brusquely as she could muster past her hurt at his abrupt attitude shift, she remarked, “It’s been fun, McCloud. Don’t run into a bullet with your name on it.”

She made it downstairs and nearly a full block from his hooch before the tears came.

What an ass. He’d loved her into oblivion and then all but thrown her out of his bed. She was no more than a casual lay to him.

Well, dammit, he’d been no more than that to her, either. So there. To hell with him.

She dashed away the tears that would give away her disguise as a man and stormed back to her apartment. She was so done with him. Ian McCloud could rot.

“Missy McCloud?” a scratchy voice asked.

Piper started. Looked around. And spotted the blind charwoman. “Mala. I’m glad I ran into you. Here is your melaya .”

She fished the voluminous garment out of her backpack and hoped the woman had not been cold overnight without it.

Surreptitiously, she wrapped a half-dozen of her high-calorie protein bars inside the cloth, along with the handful of local coins that had amassed at the bottom of her bag during her stay in Sudan.

“Fatima. She have message for you.” The old woman gestured with her bony, dry hand for Piper to come closer. “She send t’anks fo’ shots and food. She say white men you lookin’ fo’ be goin’ south. Ragala Village.”

“Where’s that?” Piper asked, startled.

“Beyond Talodi. Bad country, ‘dat.”

“How so?”

“Peoples die mo’ often ‘dan live when ‘dey go into ‘dat bush. You no follow. You send Mr. Ian. Yah?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll ask him to go for me.”

“You stay heah’. You be safe ‘ere in ‘de big city.”

God almighty. If Kahrtoum’s warring slums were safe, she would hate to see Mala’s idea of dangerous.

“Go on, now. Git off street. Bad men, ‘dey lookin’ for you. Stay in house for a few days, yes?”

“Yes, of course” she answered distractedly. “Bad men looking for me? Which ones?”

The charwoman cackled a little crazily, unnerving Piper more than she cared to admit. “All of ‘dem, chile. All of ‘dem. Dey’s coming for you.”