Forget the knife lust, Barnaby’s mind had become consumed with another hunger altogether. The ever-present need to kill had been surmounted by his need for Jane. Not since 1553 had he wanted a woman so badly.
Not any woman, but Jane, this woman with a fierce commitment to her job despite personal danger, a sweet smile that greeted him every morning, and a body that seemed designed to nestle perfectly against his own.
Speaking of which, when she gave that breathy sigh against his mouth, the perfection of the sound sent a jolt of desire into his hard cock.
He slid his fingers inward along the skirt fabric. The heat between her legs felt like the sweetest, most perfect warmth, and he inched his fingers upward. Her delicate floral scent, like those yellow apricot flowers here in Saigon, surrounded him.
God’s teeth, what he’d give to see her treasures for himself! But without light, his other senses became amplified, as if his mind wanted to imprint the memory of her into his soul. Every sound she made set his nerves on edge. Every sweep of his rough palm over her silky skin elicited an answering tightness in his groin. The tiny noises she held back as they both tried to remain unheard ... he wanted to be inside of her posthaste.
When she gripped his arm where the bullet had passed through, he couldn’t reconcile the mixture of pain from his rapidly healing wound and the pleasure of her hands on his body. He wanted more of her contradictions—pleasure with pain, sweet but seductive, soft and tough. Her invasion of his senses threatened to render him senseless. He had to have more of her.
Hooking her undergarment with a finger, he slowly drew the lightweight fabric down her legs until she stepped out of it.
The wondrous world of her flesh and her pleasure was his to explore. Verily, he wanted to feast upon her, take his time, draw out her passion. But whatever might occur outside the door necessitated a more time-sensitive encounter tonight.
As he brushed a finger over her core, he absorbed the surprised gasp with his mouth. She was eager for him if her pelvis rocking against his hand was any indication.
Leaning back to unzip his pants, he thanked the holy host that modern garments had much faster access for times like this.
He couldn’t see it, but his cock, hard and ready, pointed toward Jane. Obviously, it knew what it wanted.
He leaned into her, his damp tip brushing over her soft flesh before it stopped at her closed thighs. She shifted and bumped against the wall.
With the close quarters, he needed a creative solution to this untenable conundrum. Patting over the shelving in the closet, he found a solid metal level that would do brilliantly.
“Lift your leg a bit,” he whispered.
She nipped and licked his lip, making him forget his name. Then she complied, and he directed her foot and trim ankle to a shelf a few feet off the ground.
Another stroke of her soft flesh, and she trembled enough to rattle the shelving. He separated her folds and nudged the head of his cock into her slick core.
Pressing her bent leg outward, he swiveled her hips to accept more of his shaft. Heaven and hell shot through his body at the contact, and he wanted to drive into her, mark her as his own, and fill her completely. With brute force of willpower, he held his Indebted strength in check. Barely.
With slow, looping movements, he stroked until she gloved him. As he kissed her again, he pushed the rhythm faster, picking her off the ground with each thrust and swallowing her moans of pleasure.
When he nudged her leg open further, the bliss of seating himself so impossibly deep inside pushed him to the edge. The skirt material bunched at her waist; he shoved the bra up over her breasts. Barnaby wanted to contact all of her, all at once.
As her faint cries hit that perfect high pitch of the calm before the storm, he slowed down. Oh, sweet torture! She could torment him like this until the end of time, with nary a complaint from him.
Unable to resist, he sped up and thrust faster than was humanly possible, driving her beyond normal human response, pushing his pleasure beyond anything he’d experienced before.
With a death grip on his shoulders, she clutched at him and released with a hoarse gasp that she bit off. Beautiful spasms held him a willing prisoner inside of her body, and he followed a few seconds later, pouring out his release inside of her core. He wanted to fill her with himself, wanted to brand her ... as his own?
Cold fear clutched at his chest as he struggled to reconcile his mind: two halves of an ill-fitting whole. What future did he have with this fierce and sexy woman in his arms? Did he really want to number her in his various tuppings over the centuries? He had nothing to give any woman besides a romp in the sheets.
As a matter of fact, had Jane known about Barnaby’s true disgusting nature as a cursed Indebted killer, she might have preferred to take her chances with the VC.
With reluctance and guilt, he eased out of her and kissed the salt from her brow. He wrapped his arms around her trembling frame as his mind spun.
What a pickle. He couldn’t play fast and loose with her emotions in this stressful situation. Yet, that’s exactly what he was doing, wasn’t it?
All he could offer her was this sweaty, quick slaking of their mutual need in a dark closet. Unacceptable. Not enough for a woman like Jane.
Not for the first time in more than 400 years, he felt inadequate and unworthy as a man.
He helped her back into her undergarment and smoothed her skirt down. Tucking her into his arms again, he rested his chin on her silky hair and fought back his shame.
Unworthy as a man? Laughable.
He was no man. He was an ungodly scourge upon this world.
Barnaby, the wretched creation of Satan, was the thing nightmares were made of.
• • •
It had taken all of Jane’s focus to keep from crying out at the delicious release in Barnaby’s arms. She had no idea that he had such strength, but when he held her as he drove deep inside, she craved more of the power in his arms, in his muscled frame, in his protective spirit.
He pulled away to readjust his clothing, and she did the same. In an unconscious move, she caught herself leaning toward him. He was her anchor in a sea of insanity that swirled around her.
And now, he drifted away from her. Fitting, since The 5th Dimension belted out “Up, Up and Away” on the radio, in all their flute-punctuated oblivion to the ridiculous circumstances here in the altered reality of Vietnam.
Barnaby? Oh, he remained physically close, even dropping light kisses on her forehead once more and draping his arms around her. But the intimacy she longed for? Gone, like a curtain had fallen between them.
As she should have expected. Men in the service here didn’t want a forever kind of girl, and tonight’s bad decision proved that point.
If only her soul didn’t crave more of him.
If only he didn’t seem to fit her in every way possible.
Had to be the stress of war. No woman would be fool enough to believe that forever could come from stolen moments in a closet, hiding from the enemy.
So just like that, while she reeled from the amazing sex, Jane shoved the pieces of herself back together again.
Footsteps traveled down the hall outside the office, and she tensed. Barnaby put a hand up on the metal shelf, shielding her with his big frame.
She tugged at her wrinkled clothing.
The door flew open, and light speared her eyes.
“Larson, are you in there?”
Peeking out from under Barnaby’s arm, she spied the general’s furrowed brow. The air left her in a big whoosh, and she sagged against the wall.
“Yes sir.”
“What ... are you doing in there?” he asked.
“Hiding from Charlie, sir,” Barnaby growled, still staring at Jane. With the closet light streaming in from above and behind him, she still couldn’t make out his expression.
After a full five seconds, he relaxed his rigid posture and held a steady hand out to her. When she took it, Barnaby guided her over the canvas bags and out of the closet. He briefly explained to the general how they had evaded the VC.
The older man rubbed his jowls. “I’m glad you two are safe. When I didn’t see you in the bunker downstairs, I worried that both of you ...”
“Barnaby’s quick thinking saved us,” she said, trying to smooth her hair into a semblance of regulation appropriate.
Chopper blades split the air in the distance. Pops of gunfire outside made her flinch.
“What happened?” Barnaby asked.
“VC breached the building. The marines finally flushed the VC out, sealed the breach, and swept the premises, but it wasn’t without casualties.” He grimaced.
Men died defending the embassy while Jane had enjoyed a quickie with Barnaby. Guilt tasted sour on her tongue.
The general stared at her above the rims of his glasses, his tired eyes drooping. “You’re out of here, Larson.”
“Pardon, sir?”
“You’re leaving on the next transport.” He pointed upward.
“But I have to—”
“Intel says these attacks are going to get worse before they get better. Any nonessentials—”
“Nonessentials?”
“Okay, not really in your situation, but I refuse to put a woman in the line of fire. The world’s gone mad out there, Larson, and I don’t care how good you are at your job. I will not have your blood on my hands.”
“Thanks,” she bit out. Nothing like boiling down her value into a way to prevent someone’s feelings of guilt.
He crossed his arms. “Other women and also children of staff are getting evac’ed tonight. You do good work, Larson, and we’re going to miss that. But these orders come from your ... superiors.”
When she opened her mouth one more time, Barnaby cut her off. “I can’t agree more, sir. Where does she need to go?”
What? Barnaby wanted her to leave, too?
“To the roof,” the general barked. The hum of the chopper had gotten louder. “Now.”
“Roger,” Barnaby said.
“Sir?” Jane asked his retreating back.
He spun on a heel. “You’ll have a letter of recommendation from me when you get back stateside. I’ll see to it.” He waved his hand. “Go on, now. I have work to do here.”
Nothing felt quite so awkward as the uncomfortable silence that filled the room. What could she do? There was no arguing with the general this time.
“So, we’d better ...” she said.
Barnaby gave a brief nod. “Right.”
After she collected a few things from the desk, he guided her up the stairs and onto the roof, where several American and South Vietnamese women and their family members stood.
On the horizon, soft flashes of light flickered in the night sky, followed a few seconds later by poofs of sound that made her shiver, despite the thick, humid air. Off in the distance, bursts of tapping echoed back to where she stood.
In a minute, she was going to leave all of this. For what? Would they call her back in-country after the fighting ended? Would she be relegated to the typing pool? Or worse, would she be discharged from the only work that had given her empty life a purpose?
More importantly, what about Barnaby?
Even now, he assumed a stance that partially blocked her from the debris blowing from the landing helicopter. Still protecting her.
As the soldier in the copter yelled for her to get aboard, she looked up at Barnaby. The stark pain on his face squeezed her heart.
“I want to see you again.” His shout cut through the rotor noise.
“What?”
“I’ll find you.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. Tell me where.”
Only a few steps away from the landing skid on the helicopter, she jerked toward him when he caught her by the upper arm. He kissed her until her head swam.
Cupping her face in his hands, he stared at her, as though to memorize her face. “Do you trust me?”
The question took her aback. She had no reason not to trust him, as a matter of fact.
He brushed her hair back. “Where should I look?” he asked next to her ear.
If she didn’t get reassigned, she’d go to the closest thing she had to a home. “San Francisco.” No way could he find her there. And no time to give detailed instructions.
His eyes had gone jet black, probably a trick of the shadows. “I will find you.” The intensity in his promise made her shiver.
Then he boosted her into the aircraft and stepped back, a blank expression on his handsome face.
I’ll find you.
A nice sentiment.
As the helicopter lifted off, an odd whistle caught her attention, right before an explosion obliterated the rooftop.
Waves of sound and light shoved the helicopter into a sick pendulum, threatening to dump her out of the open side door, until the pilot righted the vehicle and pushed the helicopter higher.
She searched the burning rooftop.
Barnaby?
Between flames and smoke, dark shapes littered the rooftop, some writhing, others still.
Barnaby?
Squinting in the smoky air, she scanned the carnage.
A body lay, unmoving, right where Barnaby had stood.