Hot Soldier's Chase (The Blackjacks Book 1) Page 3

  She stared in disbelief. “That’s insane!”

  His only response was to shrug.

  She spoke with forced calm through the creeping panic that was wrapping itself slowly around her chest and beginning to squeeze. “It’s impossible. You’re not a superhero, and Lord knows I’m not. You’re going to get us both killed.”

  His gaze went a stormy, sea-tossed shade of blue. “Fine. What’s your better idea?” He couldn’t have sounded more irritated if she’d just lost his secret decoder ring.

  She racked her brains for a plan. She could navigate the subway systems of every major city in the United States. She could seat fifty congressmen at the same dinner party in such a way that nobody killed their neighbor. But she had no bloody idea how to get out of a jungle full of armed kidnappers.

  “My cell phone!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Can’t we just call someone?”

  “And where in that tight little outfit is your cell phone hiding?” His fiery gaze raked up and down her person, sending an involuntary shiver racing across her skin.

  She realized belatedly that she was without her purse. She was so used to having it slung over her shoulder, she hadn’t even registered its absence.

  “Any other bright ideas, Einstein?” he asked dryly.

  At this point she was desperate enough to try smoke signals, but she could imagine what reaction that idea would get from him. This whole thing was just too crazy to be real.

  To be real…

  And then it hit her.

  “Did my father put you up to this?” she demanded.

  “Your father?” Tex all but choked in obvious surprise. “You think your father kidnapped you?”

  “Of course not,” she answered indignantly. “I think he told you guys to stage a fake kidnapping and pretend to rescue me. That way you can run around acting like the macho jerks you are and prove to me how necessary the new sniper rifle is.”

  “To stage…” Tex trailed off, sputtering. His face took on a distinct flush.

  Yup. She’d caught him red-handed.

  “Miss Stanton, I assure you. This is most definitely not a fake kidnapping or a pretend rescue. Actual bad guys are chasing us as we speak, and the odds are excellent that they’ll kill us both if they catch us.”

  She waved a casual hand. “Whatever. I’m sure you guys cooked up a wonderful training scenario. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really care about the gun one way or the other. The main focus of my lobbying is in disbanding teams like yours who’d use the sniper rifle in the first place.”

  “Miss Stanton.” His voice rang with irritation. “I don’t care one way or the other if you believe me or not. But I do require that you do what I tell you to, when I tell you to do it. While you float around in your fantasy world of denial, I’m going to do my best to keep you alive and get you home.”

  She refused to play along with this whole stupid game. She struck a disdainful pose; but when his burning gaze locked on to her thrust-out chest, she wilted and crossed her arms defensively across her breasts.

  “Put these on.” He tossed her a wad of fabric and dangled a pair of combat boots tied together by their laces..

  A stale, sour smell, redolent of rancid refried beans, rose from the bundle. She held up the mess and made out a soiled, disgusting pair of army fatigues. She didn’t even want to think about their previous owner. She drawled, “My dear sir, the grunge look is so passé.”

  His eyes glinted and he drawled back, “But it’s all the rage in the jungle, my dear.”

  She tossed the repulsive things back to him. “Take some advice from a fashion trendsetter—dare to be different.”

  He shrugged as he tied them around his waist, where they were sure to get even sweatier and dirtier. “Let me know when you’re ready to put them on,” he commented nonchalantly.

  She stared at him, startled at his easy capitulation. A moment of doubt sliced through her. Maybe G.I. Joe knew something she didn’t. Maybe she should’ve donned the awful things. But then she bolstered her resolve. She wasn’t going to succumb to barbarism just because he insisted on pretending they were Jane and Tarzan running around in the jungle.

  Tex’s voice interrupted her turbulent thoughts. “Let’s get a move on,” he ordered.

  Her eyes narrowed. That was the very same tone of voice her father used when he waxed autocratic. It never failed to provoke her into doing the exact opposite of what he demanded, purely out of general principles.

  Tex stopped several yards in front of her and looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

  “This is nuts,” she announced, not budging. “I’m not playing along with your stupid game.”

  He glared for a moment and then sighed with long-suffering patience. “Indulge me. Let’s pretend that what I’ve said is true. Let’s pretend someone very dangerous is chasing us and that we need to get away.”

  “And then what? You’ll drag me all over creation and put me at risk of serious injury or worse?”

  “You won’t get hurt. I promise.”

  She stuck out her chin stubbornly. “I refuse to let your delusions of invincibility get me hurt or killed.”

  “My what?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

  “You heard me. I’ve got you figured out. You have some sick, hero complex thing going and need to prove to me how studly you Special Forces guys are. I won’t buy into it.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned deliberately and began to walk away.

  Even though she could still see him, the loss of his strong presence terrified her for some reason. Regardless of whether this was Quantico’s back forty or a real jungle the Air Force had flown her to for this little demonstration, it still pressed in on her menacingly, squeezing the air out of her lungs. An unidentified creature of some kind screamed, and she jumped with fright. What the hell was that?

  She lurched into motion as Tex and the safety he represented disappeared from sight. She tripped over her high heels and went down to her knees. Abruptly the panic she’d held at bay until now tightened into a death grip. He couldn’t leave her alone out here, damn him!

  Scrambling inelegantly to her feet, she stumbled toward him. She rounded a big tree and there he was. Waiting.

  Silently he held out his hand to her.

  Disdaining his offer, she brushed the dirt off her skirt.

  He shrugged and turned away, pressing forward into the morass of green.

  She glared at his retreating back. There was nothing she hated worse than a military man who thought he could push her around. First her father and now Tex Monroe. If only she and he weren’t deep in a jungle where she’d get lost in a New York minute, she’d give him a piece of her mind!

  She clamped down on her ire and followed him. Lifting her skirt high above her knees, she climbed gingerly over a giant tree root in her path. One of her heels sunk into the soft soil on the other side and stuck fast. She had to bend down and tug it free with her hand, then slip it back on her foot. Her Manolo’s were totally ruined, damn Tex anyway.

  That root was the harbinger of things to come. Kimberly spent the next two hours chasing after Tex. She slogged along the damp floor of the rain forest, scrambling over more roots and fallen logs than she could count. Her ankles twisted every third step, her feet were screaming in protest in her ridiculous shoes, her calf muscles were in agony, and even her hips were protesting the notion of hiking in three-inch stilettos.

  As if that was bad enough, she had to dodge slimy vines and hanging moss, bat aside giant fern leaves, and push through more brambles than she ever wanted to see again for the rest of her life. Her panty hose were trashed in a matter of minutes, and then her legs themselves got scratched and scraped all to hell.

  She was going to kill her father when she got home. Only a congressman with his clout could have arranged this elaborate a demonstration for a civilian.

  Furthermore, she was going to launch a congressional investigation of the
Special Forces that would make their heads spin. She’d nail them for reckless endangerment, kidnapping, misappropriation of funds in running this outrageous exercise…

  As the trek rolled on, she pressed her lips more and more tightly together. Her jaw ached from clenching so tight for so long. It was all she could do to keep from railing at Tex. The only thing that stopped her was the realization that throwing a major fit was exactly what the Air Force wanted her to do. A giant tantrum, conveniently caught on hidden cameras no doubt, would totally destroy her credibility with the press and Congress if she tried to complain about this junket.

  As if this whole stupid chase-through-the-jungle scenario wasn’t torturous enough, she had to go to the bathroom. Bad.

  The day grew warm, moisture dripped from the leaves and humidity hung in the air, sending her smooth hair into waves and curls all around her face. Any semblance of makeup had melted down her face long ago. She undoubtedly looked like a clown from a horror movie. Not that she particularly cared about impressing Tex Monroe.

  Her angora sweater stuck to her skin in a hot, fuzzy mess. Her feet were killing her, and her ankles swollen from countless falls off her oh so low heels. And to think she’d chosen this pair of shoes for the outing to the firing range because they were sensible!

  Finally her bladder got the best of her resolve never to speak to her lout of an escort again. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat politely.

  Tex glanced back over his shoulder. The impact of his gaze sent a hot tremor through her. “What?” he asked shortly.

  “I need to make a little stop. Have a bit of privacy…” she trailed off delicately.

  “Why?” he asked bluntly.

  “I need to, uh, relieve myself.”

  “Ah. Okay, but make it fast.”

  She frowned. He wasn’t being the slightest bit helpful, here. She had no idea how she was supposed to go about doing such a thing in the middle of a jungle. He just stood there, staring at her like he expected her to drop her drawers and go for it right in front of him.

  Heat started creeping up her neck. “How do I… How does one, uh, proceed in this sort of situation?”

  “In what sort of situation?” he asked innocently. The jerk was enjoying her discomfort. Only her status as a lady prevented her from throttling him. “How does one…do the deed…in a wilderness environment?”

  “Well now—” he crossed his arms in exaggerated consideration “—I just unzip my fly, whip it out, and water the nearest tree.”

  She clenched her fists until her fingernails dug painfully into her palms. Her whole face felt hot. “You, sir, are a boor. I would appreciate it,” she gritted out, “if you would show a little respect for my feminine sensibilities.”

  His eyebrows shot straight up and unholy amusement lit his gaze. “Feminine sensibilities, eh?” He chuckled. A little bit more politely he added, “I suppose women out here just go behind a bush and squat. You can drip dry, or there are plenty of leaves to wipe with.”

  Leaves? Oh, Lord. The way this day had been going, she’d pick poison ivy for the job. What did poison ivy look like, anyway? Why oh why, had she dropped out of the Girl Scouts? What did it matter if the uniforms had been hideous?

  Somehow she got through the operation without dying of embarrassment. When she emerged red-faced from the bushes, Tex turned without comment and resumed walking. He marched on in front of her, setting a grueling pace. Not even the ongoing view of his outrageously hot ass alleviated her suffering. A headache started to throb behind her eyes, radiating outward to encompass her entire skull. She felt rotten in just about every way a person could feel rotten. And he just kept pushing deeper and deeper into the jungle.

  Dark thoughts swirled in her mind. Why stop her lobbying campaign at merely disbanding the Special Forces? She’d get all the Special Forces soldiers thrown out of the military. Heck, she’d push to have them institutionalized as menaces to society!

  Fueled by her fury, she stomped along behind him. She batted away the insects that swarmed around her head but didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. He must be too big a jerk for even a fly to bite.

  Finally, blessedly, the dense underbrush thinned out into an easy walk on a carpet of dead leaves. God, that felt good to her aching feet.

  Tex abruptly veered to the right and headed for a steep, heavily overgrown slope. He started up the difficult, nearly vertical climb. She stopped in her tracks and stared in shock.

  She’d marched through thorns that had ruined her clothes, put up with swarms of biting bugs, and sweltered through hours of sticky jungle heat, but she’d be damned if she’d tromp up some hill just so G.I. Joe could prove his point about some damned gun.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, outraged. “We can go this way with no hill and no wading through brambles!”

  He gave her an infuriatingly bland look. “That’s why we’re not doing it. The bad guys will choose that path because it’s easy. So, we’re going this way.” He pointed up the hill.

  Her patience snapped. She’d had it with this bozo pushing her around as if he was the kidnapper. “Look, mister. I’ve been a good sport about this little nature hike from hell, but I’m tired. I’m hungry, and I’m thirsty, and I don’t do mountains. The trickiest terrain men lead me across is a polished marble floor when I’m wearing three-inch spike heels.”

  Tex turned around slowly. He stared at her coldly.

  A reflexive shiver shot down her spine. Her father got that look in his eye when he was about to hit something. Or someone. Her insides quivered in abrupt trepidation.

  Tex stated with ominous calm, “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on our route.”

  Kimberly spluttered for several seconds, her intimidation rapidly transforming into indignation. Finally she found her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I don’t give a tinker’s damn where you walk with your prissy toy-boys back home,” he said. “Right now, we’re going up this hill.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Feel free to climb whatever cliff gives you a testosterone rush, Tarzan. But I’m going that way.” She pointed down the valley.

  He stalked back toward her, radiating a menace reminiscent of her father’s battle rages. Despite decades of experience with them, she still felt a rush of the same terror she had as a child. But then years of bucking her father’s rigid rules flowed over her and instinctive defiance kicked in.

  Rule number one popped into her head. Never show fear. Not to Daddy. And certainly not to Tarzan the Ape Man. She dug in her feet and stuck out her chin as Tex approached her. He walked right up to her and didn’t stop until his chest was practically touching hers. His nose wasn’t more than a foot away from hers and his diamond-hard gaze bore into her.

  Lord, he was big. And strong-looking. And mad-looking.

  Her father would have bellowed like a bull, but Tex’s quiet voice fell menacingly flat upon her ear. “Let’s get one thing straight, Jane. I’m the trained Special Forces officer. You are the untrained civilian. Until I hand you back over to the U.S. government safe and sound, I’m in charge of this operation. Got it?”

  She glared back at him. Electricity crackled and popped in the air around them. The energy pouring off of him all but knocked her over. This was no obsequious congressional aide she could push around. A thrill of something spicy and dangerous raced down her spine.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips were generous, sensuous in shape. He’d be a great kisser. She could feel it. An errant impulse struck her to reach up and snatch the kiss hanging like a threat between them.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “Well what?” she asked breathlessly.

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t try those seductive female tricks on me. We’re climbing that hill if I have to drag you up it by the hair. Now, are you going to come along nicely or do I have to play hardball?”

  The bubble of sensual anticipation in her stomach deflated, leaving behind an unp
leasant emptiness. So much for kissing. She glared furiously at him. “Has anybody ever told you you’re a sadistic jerk?”

  He grinned wolfishly. “All the time, Miss Stanton. All the time.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tex tore his gaze away from the mesmerizing blaze of green leaping in her eyes. His hands itched to grab her shoulders and drag her up against him. He could all but taste the kiss she obviously wanted. Damned if he didn’t want to give her a whole lot more than just a kiss.

  How could a woman who was so stubborn and so damned infuriating make him so hot so fast? He liked his women down-to-earth and sweet. Low maintenance. This virago looked like she’d just as soon tear his head off. And she’d already firmly established herself as a royal pain in the butt.

  An exercise, indeed. What nonsense. Uncle Sam would never waste good training dollars trying to impress a spoiled brat like her. Guilt pricked him for pushing her so hard, but he’d had no choice. Somebody’d gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap her and getting her out of this jungle was going to take all the tricks in his bag, including moving unexpectedly fast.

  Once they scaled this last ridge, they would stop and take a rest. But he wasn’t about to tell her that after her tantrum. No way was he letting her think she ran this show. She had to understand that staying alive meant taking orders from him.

  He gave her his best pissed off glare. “Look, lady. I’m out here busting my ass trying to keep you alive. I don’t need any flack out of you about climbing hills or anything else.”

  She scowled up at him defiantly, her green eyes snapping and her rounded chest heaving. It figured. The woman he was stuck rescuing would have to have a body made for sin and wear clothes that were tight in all the right places.

  He growled, “Quit looking at me like I’m going grab you and kiss some sense into you.”

  She blinked, startled. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Her breathing accelerated even more.

  Damn. His hands reached out of their own volition and wrapped around her upper arms. He watched in shock as he pulled her near. He registered vaguely that she didn’t resist him at all. She was warm and supple against him. All woman. Damn.