Page 50 of In A Faraway Land

More yelling.

A man’s voice shouted in English that casino guests weren’t supposed to be in that hallway.

Footsteps walked away.

Quiet, outside.

Terror seeped out of Flicka’s body, and she rested her forehead against Dieter’s spine. The cotton warmed her chilled face.

Dieter’sarm closed around her, and he held her against his back.

Flicka moved her arms around his tight waist, feeling the muscles under his shirt. Her heart was still pounding in her chest.

The scent of his cologne—cinnamon and fresh fields—drifted through his shirt.

On her back, she felt Dieter’s thumb move, stroking her.

Even in this crazy situation, he was trying to soothe her.

Flicka turnedher head, resting her cheek against his back.

As she moved, her lips brushed his shirt, almost kissing his spine and his broad, muscular back.

His arm wrapped tightly around her.

Her heart jumped and her hands were shaking, but not from fear.

Outside, everything was still quiet.

The shaking in Flicka’s body changed into something else.

Dieter pivoted in her arms. He was breathing heavily,too. Flicka was standing so close to him that she felt the shivers rolling off him. That cologne of his smelled warm and delicious, like a clean man smothered in baked apples and vanilla ice cream. The funny image made her giddy and caused her mouth to water.

He whispered, “I think they’re gone.”

“Yes.” Her hands slipped up his chest to his shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her fingersfound the back of his neck, and she raised up on her toes. Her body thrummed with energy, somethinghungry.

“Flicka, what are you—”

Her mouth found his in the dark, and she kissed him.

His mouth opened above hers, and his arms tightened around her waist.

The faint malt of the beer he had been drinking lingered when she kissed him. Flicka melted against him, feeling the hardness of his thighsand flat stomach with her body in the dark.

He felt so good, strong and solid and powerful in her arms. She wanted to feel more of him.

Her fingers found the crease where his shirt tucked into his waistband. She plucked the fabric, pulling it out.

Dieter drew back from her, his breath harsh in his throat. “What are you—”

“Make love to me,” she whispered, so sure of what she was saying anddesperate to touch his skin.

The intake of his breath swelled his chest under her hands.