Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover. Diana Palmer

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      She wrapped her arms around herself. J.D., noticing the gesture, pulled her closer. She let her head fall onto his shoulder quite naturally and closed her eyes while the men talked.

      Laremos’s finca was situated in a valley. The house seemed to be adobe or stucco, with large arches and an airy porch. It was only one story, and it spread out into a garden lush with tropical vegetation. She fell in love with it at first sight.

      “You approve?” Laremos smiled, watching her with his dark, lazy eyes. “My father built it many years ago. The servants in the house are the children and grandchildren of those who came here with him, like most of my employees. The big landowners who hold the fincas provide employment for many people, and it is not so temporary as jobs in your country. Here the laborers serve the same household for generations.”

      She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the drive except that the small, dark man beside First Shirt had his rifle in his lap and kept watching the countryside. Now he stood beside the car, rifle ready, while the others went into the house.

      It was dark for a moment until her eyes adjusted; then she began to see its interior. There were tiny statuettes, obviously Mayan, along with bowls of cacti, heavy wood furniture, and Indian blankets all around the big living room.

      “Coffee?” Laremos asked. He clapped his hands and a small woman about First Shirt’s age came running with a smile on her face. “Café, por favor, Carisa,” he told the woman in rapid-fire Spanish.

      She nodded and rushed away.

      “Brandy, Archer?” he asked J.D.

      “I don’t drink these days,” J.D. replied, dropping onto the comfortable sofa beside Gabby. “First Shirt, have you been able to get any intelligence out of the other camp?”

      “Enough.” The short, sandy-haired man nodded, also refusing the offer of brandy. “She isn’t being mistreated, not yet, at least,” he said, watching the younger man relax just a little. “They’re holding her in the remains of a bunkhouse on a finca about six clicks away. They aren’t well armed—just some rifles and grenades, no RPGs or other heavy stuff.”

      “What is a click? And what’s an RPG?” Gabby asked.

      “A click is a kilometer. An RPG is a rocket launcher,” J.D. explained. “It makes big holes in things.”

      “Like tanks and aircraft and buildings,” First Shirt added. “You must be Gabby. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

      She was taken aback. Everybody seemed to know about her, but she’d never heard of any of these people. She glanced at J.D.

      “So I brag about you a little,” he said defensively.

      “To everybody but me,” she returned. “You never even pat me on the head and tell me I’ve done a good job.”

      “Remind me later,” he said with a slow smile.

      “Could I freshen up?” Gabby asked.

      “Of course! Carisa!” Laremos called.

      The Latin woman entered with a tray of coffee, and he spoke to her again in Spanish.

      “Sí, señor,” Carisa murmured.

      “I’ve asked her to show you your room,” Laremos explained. “Archer, you might like to take the bags and go with them. Then we can talk.”

      “Suits me.” J.D. picked up the cases and followed Gabby and the serving woman down the hall.

      The room had a huge double bed. It was the first thing Gabby noticed, and she felt herself go hot all over, especially when Carisa left and she was alone with J.D.

      He closed the door deliberately and watched her fiddle with her cosmetic case as she set it down on the dresser.

      “Gabby.”

      She put down a bottle of makeup and turned.

      He moved just in front of her and framed her small face in his hands. “I don’t want you out of my sight any more than you have to be. Laremos is charming, but there are things about him you don’t know. About all these men.”

      “Including you, Mr. Brettman?” she asked gently, searching his eyes. “Especially you?”

      He drew in a slow breath. “What do you want to know?”

      “You were one of them, weren’t you, J.D.?” she asked quietly. “They’re more than old friends. They’re old comrades-in-arms.”

      “I wondered when you’d guess,” he murmured. His eyes darkened. “Does it matter?”

      She frowned. “I don’t understand. Why should the fact that you served in the Special Forces with them matter?”

      He seemed torn between speech and silence. He drew in a breath and rammed his hands in his pockets. “You don’t know about the years before you met me, Gabby.”

      “Nobody does. It has something to do with trust, doesn’t it?”

      He met her searching green eyes squarely. “Yes. A lot. I’ve lived by hard rules for a long time. I’ve trusted no one, because it could have meant my life. These men—First Shirt and Laremos and the rest—I know I can trust them, because under fire they never failed me. Laremos, maybe once—that’s one reason I brought you along. Against my better judgment,” he added dryly. “I’m still not sure I could live with myself if anything happened to you here.”

      “And that’s why you want me in the same room with you?” she probed delicately.

      “Not quite,” he admitted, watching her. “I want you in the same room because I’ve dreamed of holding you in my arms all night. I won’t make any blatant passes at you, Gabby, but the feel of you in the bed will light up my darkness in ways I can’t explain to you.”

      She felt her heart hammering. He made it sound wildly erotic, to be held close to that massive body all night long, to go to sleep in his arms. Her breath caught in her throat; her eyes looked up into his and her blood surged in her veins.

      His fingers moved down to her throat, stroking it with a deliberately sensuous lightness. “Is your blood running as hot as mine is right now?” he asked under his breath. “Does your body want the feel of mine against it?”

      He bent and tilted her face up to his, so that he could watch her expression. His mouth opened as it brushed against hers.

      “Stand very still,” he whispered, opening her mouth with his. “Very, very still…”

      She gasped as his hard, moist lips began to merge with her own. She tasted him, actually tasted the essence of him, as he built the intensity of the kiss. His hands moved down her back, bringing her torso against his and letting her soft breasts crush against the hardness of his chest. His teeth nipped roughly at her mouth as he drew slowly away. His eyes were blazing—fierce and passionate and hungry.

      “I like it hard,” he said СКАЧАТЬ