Page 4

Grinning, he pushed up and back, gaining his feet and swinging his oversized sniper rifle into a firing position at his hip all in one move.

“What’re you gonna do? Blow my guts out with that thing?” she grumbled as she climbed painfully to her feet.

“Think of it as insurance against having to run around like a maniac any more in this heat.”

She rolled her eyes, glaring. “Your place or mine?”

His mouth twitched with humor. “Where’s your hidey hole?”

“Back by where that guy got beat to death.”

“Dharwani’s men are probably swarming all over there by now. My place then,” the guy answered.

“Lead the way.”

He snorted. “You first. Head for that building over there.” He lifted his chin, indicating where to go.

So much for making a break for it. At least he sounded American. They were marginally playing for the same team, then.

He looked American. Back in the States, she would say he looked like a California surfer with that deep tan of his. If she was lucky, he had the always-be-nice-to-girls mentality of an American, too.

Scowling, she picked up her rifle and slung its strap over her shoulder.

Following his directions, she clambered across a combination dump and graveyard behind an apartment building.

Such was the breakdown of humanity in this place that the dead hardly got civilized burials.

She’d only been here a few days and the place was so depressing she was started to be affected by it, herself.

Her captor directed her down several blocks’ worth of back alleys and narrow side streets to an innocuous two-story, thick walled, mud building.

“Stop here,” he ordered as she approached a door leading into the building from the alley.

This was his hideout, huh? Not bad. It was close to the action but sitting in the no-man’s land between warring factions.

He reached around her with his left hand to insert a key in the door’s modern, double-action deadbolt lock. He kept his right hand on the trigger of his rifle and his eyes on her the whole time, though, giving her no opening. Cautious SOB.

Of course, if their positions had been reversed, she would’ve been no less cautious. She peered into the black maw beyond the door and couldn’t make out a thing.

“Up the stairs,” he bit out.

She was getting good and sick of that drill sergeant tone of voice of his, but he had a big damned gun pointed at her. She heard him locking the outside door behind them and accelerated, racing up the concrete stairs, forcing him to sprint up the stairs behind her.

A small landing at the top held only another locked door. She stopped just short of it. He joined her, breathing easily— show off —and she said dryly, “I assume you’ll go first so I don’t set off your booby traps?”

He took hold of her right arm above her elbow. She jerked it away, but he was ready and maintained his grip. He snapped, “Chill out. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“I could say the same for you,” she retorted.

“I had the shot first.” Not by much, but by enough.

She’d just swung her rifle toward the odd movement on a nearby roof, just zoomed in her telescopic sight, just frozen in shock at the sight of another sniper when he’d swung his weapon her way and stared back at her.

It was the nastiest surprise she’d had in a very long time.

He shoved her through the door and swung her around, pushing her up against the wall in one hard, fast move. He leaned in close and snarled, “I don’t appreciate having sniper rigs pointed at me a whole hell of a lot, lady.”

She glared back at him as he loomed over her. “And I don’t appreciate being chased all over a damned war zone. You forced me to expose myself a hell of a lot more than I wanted to.”

“You ran away.”

“You chased me.”

“What’s your name?” he demanded. “Who do you work for?” His hazel eyes blazed like arc welding torches, so hot they incinerated her from the inside out.

“Who says I work for anybody?” she purred.

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“Who do you work for?” she retorted.

“Can’t you guess?” he growled, stepping even closer to her.

“In this town, you could be working for anyone. You’re just a hired gun,” she accused. A big, hot, sexy hired gun.

His voice dropped in pitch and timbre, sliding across her skin like velvet sandpaper. “Is that what you are?”

She stared up at him, and he stared back at her. It became a silent contest of wills, and the tension stretched tighter and tighter between them.

All at once, it broke.

He surged forward, plastering his mouth against hers as she all but assaulted him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and a lustful leg around his hips. His hands grabbed her ass and lifted her against him. He slammed her back against the wall, and she moaned greedily.

She grabbed a handful of his sun-bleached hair and pulled on it, forcing his head back so she could kiss his neck. The salty sweat-and-man taste was sharp and savory on her tongue, and she devoured it hungrily.

Death had come calling this morning, and they’d both cheated it. They were alive. Blood coursed hotly through her veins, laced with so much adrenaline she felt like she could fly.

“What’s your name?” he ground out. For emphasis, his tongue swirled inside her ear and made her leg, the one supporting her weight, nearly buckle.

“Piper,” she gasped.

“You’re so damned hot, Piper.”

Said the pot to the kettle . She gasped as he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her entire eight with ease.

He spun away from the wall and sat her on the edge of his dining table.

She flung open her knees as he surged between them, his hands moving restlessly across her back while his mouth roamed across her face, neck, and shoulders.

She could just eat him alive. “Tell me your name,” she gasped.

“No.”

Bastard . Her nylon ammo vest fell away beneath his nimble fingers.

His shoulder holster dropped away beneath her hands.

Her thigh knife and its garter-sheath hit the ground as he stroked his hand from her hip down her thigh.

Her hands slid down acres of man-chest to his waist, and she fumbled at the buckle she found there. His ammo belt thudded to the floor. “Your name,” she panted.

“No,” he ground out. Her bandolier of shells and flares slid off her shoulder and thunked onto the table behind her.

Taking her with him, he spun away, knocking over a chair in his haste. She oomphed as he backed her into the refrigerator, then returned the favor by spinning him against the wall. A picture frame hit the floor and broke as he yanked her up against him.

She lifted the throwing knife out of the neck sheath behind his head and let it fall to the floor as her insides melted and her body molded to his. She wanted him inside her so bad she could hardly think.

Pocketknives, wrist knives, spare ammo clips, and spotter’s scopes clattered down around them.

They peeled each other’s long-sleeved camouflage shirts off, and he tall but tore her tank top off, shoving it over her head. In return, she shoved her hands underneath his t-shirt.

Lord, his skin was hot to the touch. His abs—holy God. They were slick with a sheen of perspiration, rippling with muscle, and hard as oak. She leaned forward to inhale the musky scent of his deodorant, exploring the male wonderland of his torso with her mouth and hands.

She yanked down his pants zipper, eliciting a groan from him. “Tell me your name,” she demanded yet again.

“Ahh, God, no,” he groaned as her fingers went exploring.

Frustrated at his refusal to give her a name, she staggered a step back from him. Who was she kidding? She was going to have hot monkey sex with him right here, right now, even if she didn’t know his damned name.

They hopped around awkwardly together for a minute like one-legged kangaroos, yanking off their pants and boots, finally managing to discard them. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her swiftly into the bedroom.

He followed her down to the mattress and she reveled in his weight crushing her.

He was as urgent and driven as she was, all restless energy and surging lust as his hands and mouth, teeth and tongue roved across her body hungrily.

They rolled and struggled like a pair of wrestlers, testing each other’s power and flexibility in another contest of wills.

Eventually, his superior strength began to prevail once more.

Normally, she hated being overpowered by any man. But today, it turned her on like crazy.

He braced himself over her, but she gripped his biceps forcefullly and ground out, “No.”

Disbelief blossomed in his stare.

“Tell. Me. Your. Name,” she bit out from behind clenched teeth. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done: stopping herself from grabbing him and going for it.

“Ian,” he finally groaned.

She drove upward, and his entire body uncoiled as he met her, driving downward and pinning her to the mattress with his glorious size and strength.

“Yes, Ian. Yes. Like that,” she panted. “More.”

Pillows went sailing. She clenched the brass spindles in the headboard and his fists closed over hers, gripping tightly, making her his willing captive. He stared down into her eyes and she stared back, holding him in her thrall as surely as he held her in his.

Pressure built to epic proportions inside her and she fought to hold it back. To let it build until its explosion tore her completely apart. And Ian, damn him, did the same. His jaw muscles rippled as he clenched his teeth, visibly fighting against the explosion building inside him.

Quickly, it turned into a contest to see who could last the longest without having a gigantic, soul-destroying orgasm…while at the same time pushing the other person over the edge.