Rogue Soldier. Dana Marton

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      “We tried, but it didn’t work. We were much better at being colleagues than being a couple.”

      Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders. He held back the need to ask what exactly “tried” meant. He wished he could see her face, but it was pitch-dark, their makeshift tent smelling like eau-de-wet-dog.

      He moved closer in the direction of her voice, and they bumped knees. She pulled away.

      She didn’t fool him, though. No way had she forgotten what they’d once had between them. She was probably hurt that he hadn’t come after her before this. Hell, he would have, but he’d been on one overseas assignment after another.

      He remembered every damn night they’d ever spent together—in detail. No time like the present to refresh her memory. He reached out and found her, cupped her face.

      “I missed you,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

      Her lips were soft and warm, and he sank into the sensation awakening his body from head to toe. He tasted the corners, not wanting to push, even as he burned for the rest of her. Then he felt the barrel of a gun press against the soft spot under his chin.

      “Get away from me, McNair,” she said, her voice as cold as the gunmetal.

      SHE HATED THE WAY her body responded to him still, like a dog to the voice of his master, panting and jumping with excitement. Mike McNair did not control her. Not anymore. She’d worked hard to exile his memory and the emotions tangled up with it.

      Tessa pulled back the gun and licked her lips to make the tingling go away. He was the devil’s own. God, she was glad he’d come. Just this once. Even if she would never admit it out loud.

      The past had slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her the moment she’d seen him. The power he had over her scared her spitless, so she’d gone on the offensive and attacked him. The only other choice she had was to collapse into his arms, and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give him a toehold. If she did, he would take everything and leave her empty again.

      They were so close she could smell his tangy scent, feel his breath feather her cheek. She tucked her hands under her armpits so she wouldn’t reach out to him in the darkness.

      This was the man who took her virginity, ruined her career and broke her heart. In that order. Mike McNair was nothing if not thorough.

      “Remember Captain Tchaikovsky?”

      Of course she did. She grinned at the memory, glad it was dark and he couldn’t see her. Captain Tassky had been one mean SOB, called Tchaikovsky because he was considered a regular nutcracker. He was also the man who had sent Mike and Tessa into the woods with nothing but a pup tent and one knife between them for a two-week survival exercise. Which was exactly what Mike wanted her to remember.

      “I haven’t thought about Special Forces in ages,” she lied.

      “I thought about you every day,” he said in a quiet voice.

      Damn it. Why did he have to be like that?

      His uncanny ability to unsettle her without half trying drove her mad.

      “Remember how it used to be?”

      Right. Sex. That’s what he was all about. “Not really,” she lied again, hating that she had to. It should have been true. She should have forgotten it, him, long ago. There had been other men in her life, in her bed, whom she did barely remember, but she still recalled Mike’s touch with sharp clarity.

      No way were they going to discuss sex. “They won’t all come after us. Maybe two. At least one will stay with the other three crates at the research vehicle. They’ll be faster than us. It won’t take them much to fix the other sled. We’ll be slowed by the weight of the crate we got.”

      “How long do the dogs need to rest?”

      They’d done a brief stint of Arctic training, but it hadn’t involved dogs. In that, at least, he would have to defer to her. “An hour would be fine, we haven’t come that far, but we can’t go out there until visibility improves. I don’t want to run them onto sharp ice or into a ravine or a creek.”

      She fell silent for a moment. “I hate leaving the other team behind.”

      “Why didn’t you bring them?”

      “We’ll be lucky if we can feed the ones we’ve got. The rest are better off at the trailer. It’s stocked for them.”

      “Makes sense.” He looked up as the wind shook their cover. “Did I mention I spent last winter in Siberia?”

      “Doing what? The Russian Army has exchange students now?”

      “Not exactly.”

      Damn him. He’d been on some secret mission. She should have been going on secret missions instead of stuck in research for the past eight months. She hoped he had frozen his ass off. No, no, she wasn’t going to think about him in terms of body parts. That would take her down the slippery slope as fast as an avalanche.

      “We have a good sled and good dogs,” he said. “We’re dressed for the weather. While we’re trapped here, we can get some rest, inventory our resources and figure out a plan.”

      Not bad. He had gotten in all three points under “eliminating fear and increasing your chances for survival” within two minutes flat: have confidence in your superior—which he apparently considered himself—have confidence in your equipment, focus on the task at hand. Captain Tchaikovsky would have been proud.

      “We have the dogs, the sled, the furs and some extra wood.” She rapped on the crate. “Two good rifles.”

      “A good knife, waterproof matches and a small survivor kit,” he added.

      She went through the pockets of the parka she’d taken. Her left hand came out with a bottle, the right with a cell phone. “Check this out.” She handed them to him, pulling back too fast when their fingers touched.

      “Well now, what’s the challenge in this? We’re as good as out of here.” The bottle cap squeaked as he unscrewed it, the air immediately filling with the smell of cheap booze.

      “You still go out with the boys?”

      “I lost touch for the most part. I’m not in the army anymore.” He screwed the cap back on.

      She’d figured that from his comment about Siberia. As friendly as things were between the U.S. and Russia now, they weren’t doing sleepovers just yet. “CIA?” He used to talk about giving that a try back in the old days.

      “For a while.”

      “And now?”

      “Now I’m here.”

      Fine. “Are you going to make that call?”

      He was some kind of special commando, while she was in the U.S.A.C.E., U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Hands down he had to have better connections.

      He was dialing СКАЧАТЬ