Hostile territory shadow.., p.5
Hostile Territory (Shadow Team Book 5), page 5
“Turn toward me.”
Her eyes widened as she blinked at him. “Why?”
Kilmer gave her an impatient look. “Jesus. You act like I’m gonna haul off and hit you.”
She raised her brows. “Well, that wouldn’t happen. I’d react. You wouldn’t get near me,” and she held his measured gaze.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to be social?”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you women are EQUALS to any man and to quit treating me like a second-class citizen?”
“Obviously not. Now hold still. I’ve got this headband put together. I need to see if it fits you or not. We wear headbands with radio mic near our lips. The radio itself stays up on your shoulder, protected in a waterproof bag.”
Sierra wasn’t expecting him to touch her. Her breath hitched and she froze for a moment as his huge hands seem to encapsulate her entire head. She saw something… an unknown emotion… fleetingly, in his eyes. Maybe a thawing as he worked the elastic headband over her head and then got his fingers tangled in her long hair. She usually had straight hair but, in this humidity, it curled here and there.
“Hold on,” she murmured, her hands flying up to his, untangling the strands of hair that had gotten trapped among his fingers. The utter pleasure of touching this man, his skin tough but warm, strong and yet surprisingly gentle, caught her completely off guard. Sierra felt like her fingers were burning from where they’d made brief contact with his. The strands released. She instantly jerked her hands away, gripping them in her lap. Her heart was doing funny things inside her chest. Racing. Heat was stabbing down from her breasts all the way to her lower body, and she felt like the downstairs staff were whining and wanting far more attention than they had gotten in a long, long time. Gulping, she closed her eyes, refusing to look up into Mace’s face. If he was shaken by their contact, he didn’t show it. In fact, his face had drawn into a grimace as if she was the last person on Earth he’d ever want to touch.
Her heart sank a little. but her skin skittered with heat and pleasure wherever his fingers brushed against her scalp. Her heart wouldn’t settle. She inhaled his scent like it was some wonderful fragrance. Was she finally awakening from the grief and loss of Jeb? It had been a long, hard two-year slog. Suddenly, Sierra was shaky inwardly, feeling horny as hell. If anyone had told her she’d feel like this out on an op, she’d have had a damn good uproarious laugh over it. She’d been out on dozens of ops and, with the exceptions of the ones she’d been on with Jeb, had never felt any kind of sexual magnetism between herself and her partner. Until now. Until sourpuss Kilmer. Geeze. Was she drawing in patriarchal men like him to her now? That thought made her eyes open wider. Terrible thought, really. Kilmer was the exact opposite of Jeb. He was a snarly Type-A leader who couldn’t even be nice if he tried. Jeb had been so kind and forgiving of others. He had been easy to live with and be around, unlike Kilmer. While Jeb was like a beautiful, polished diamond, Kilmer reminded her of an ugly, rough-cut lump of coal.
He stopped fiddling with the headband. “How’s that feel?”
Sierra opened her eyes, touching the band, repositioning it slightly. To her surprise, it wasn’t too tight or too loose. Kilmer was pretty good at judging the size of her head and that band. Swallowing, she croaked, “Okay. It feels fine. Thanks.”
He brought down his hand.
Instantly, Sierra jerked away from it as it approached her cheek.
“What the hell,” he snapped. He glared at her. “You’re acting like I’m going to hit you. I would never hit a woman.”
The fierceness of his low snarl hit her hard. She felt suddenly ashamed and tried to relax. “I just came out of an op in Somalia. Things went to hell,” she choked out, holding his angry glare. Sierra saw that she’d hurt his fragile male ego with her swift reaction. The moment she’d told him that, he’d scowled and dropped his hand away.
In a low growl, he said, “You should have said something.”
“Like you were all ears?” Sierra charged hotly beneath her breath so the others couldn’t hear her. “You haven’t exactly been the Welcome Wagon here, Sergeant.” She saw Kilmer grimace and then look away for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing several times. There were a lot of emotions swirling around inside him and she’d been too shaken by the unexpected appearance of his hand going for her cheek, to try and untangle and interpret them. Some were regret. Others, anger. And something else… something… something that Sierra couldn’t translate. He twisted his head in her direction, his gray eyes narrowed and stormy looking. His long hands were tense on his thick, curved thighs and she swore he was about to kiss her senseless.
Kiss her?
What the hell was going on here? Taken aback by what she saw in his eyes, in his expression, thawing as it had for a split second, she knew he wanted to kiss her! WTF? It wasn’t as if she also hadn’t been secretly wondering what it would be like to press her lips up against that strong, beautiful mouth of his. She wasn’t exactly blameless in this moment, either. Sierra felt shaken doubly so. She’d thought all this was only one way. Did Kilmer want her? Man to woman? Impossible! He hated the very earth she walked on. He didn’t want her here with him. He didn’t trust her. And she was sure he didn’t think she could shoot and hit the broad side of a barn. She must be suffering from jet lag. And Sierra was sure that the cause of her confusion was because she hadn’t gotten the rest and down time she needed between missions. That her mind was wobbling all over the damn map with this prickly soldier. She was imagining things that weren’t there. Truly, she was sleep deprived. Maybe all of that was crashing down on her right now, distorting her perspective, making her jumpy and distrustful of this man’s intentions. It had to be her fault. He was looking at her right now like she was an alien that had just landed from another galaxy far, far away.
“You need to see if the mic is long enough to reach your mouth,” he grunted, waving a finger in her direction, making sure to get it nowhere near her face this time.
Fingers trembling, Sierra was more than a little aware of how to handle a headband mic. Why the hell didn’t he just hand the whole apparatus to her? Why did he WANT to put it on her? Touch her? It made no sense. The mic was too short, so she quickly lengthened it and locked it in place. He handed her the small radio in a case. She quickly plugged the jack from the headset into it and then looked back at him for approval. Damn, the look in his eyes… Her heartbeat increased. The man could strip her with those pale, narrowed eyes of his. The heat in his stare didn’t threaten Sierra. Rather, it made her feel suddenly warm and achy.
“Looks fine,” he grunted. He turned away and zipped his ruck closed by his muddy boots.
Her throat was dry. “Do you want me to wear it around camp here?”
“No. Just when we’re out hunting. Stow it in a plastic bag to keep it dry and together in one place.”
“I figured that much out.” She saw him scowl and turn, giving her a raking look.
“Tell me about your op in Somalia. What happened? You’re jumpy as hell.”
She pulled off the head band and stood up, stuffing the mic rig all down in the thigh pocket of her Cammy trousers. Sierra didn’t want to be this close to Mace. He unsettled the hell out of her, made her defensive and wary of him. Not that he’d given her a reason for any of those reactions. Licking her lower lip, she wanted more distance between them. It was better that way. At least, for her. Sitting at the end of another log, she said, “I was embedded in a SEAL team. We had orders to take out an HVT in Mogidishu.”
“And you were their sniper?”
“Actually,” she said, her voice becoming less strident, “there were two of us. Me and another SEAL. If one of us missed, the other wouldn’t.” She hitched one shoulder and managed a strained, quick, one-cornered smile. “You know their saying? One is none and two is one? I was number two.” She saw his face relax as he considered her story.
“The SEALs have their own sniper school now. Different from the Marine Corps school, though.” Mace Kilmer said.
Sierra replied, “Yes, their school is more SEAL specific to the types of ops they pull.”
“Then why didn’t they have a second SEAL instead of you?” he asked.
She saw his blunt stare and felt heat bolting down through her breasts, warming her as a woman. There was no anger in his eyes now. Just – curiosity and a teaspoon of interest. Interest in her story? Or interest in her? Shakily, Sierra sensed that Kilmer’s focus was directly on her. Maybe as a bug under his patriarchal male microscope? Certainly not a man interested in her as a woman, sexually speaking. “I don’t know. I don’t ask questions like that. I go where I’m assigned.” she said.
Mace rubbed his stubbled jaw, thinking for a bit. “You must be pretty damned good for those SEALs to have wanted you along in that hellhole. And you must have had a sniper history that made them want you on that op.”
Her brow dropped. “You been in Somalia?”
“Yeah. Nothing pretty to write home about, believe me.”
“Oh,” she laughed a little nervously, “that’s one thing you and I can agree on.”
He studied her, the silence lengthening between them. Finally, he said, “So what happened to you over there? Something did. You’re too fresh from it, and too reactive.”
CHAPTER 4
Mace had to get a hold of himself. When Chastain came out of her hut wearing only a muscle shirt and cammies, he felt like his world suddenly changed. He had no explanation for it. She walked tall and proud with her shoulders back, the sleek feminine muscling of hers showing clearly, in every inch of exposed skin, that she was all athlete. He saw the hog’s tooth on a leather thong around her neck. Every Marine who graduated from sniper school was given one. It just made her look all that wilder. A woman of nature. In tune with everything around her. Sierra was damned buff, no fat on her. He couldn’t keep from staring at her breasts beneath that shirt, the lush curves of them straining against the material. Her hair was long and loose, a thick, black cloak flowing over her shoulders and down her upper body, the tips slightly curled inward just above her breasts. The way she walked, with her casual cat-like grace, told him plenty about why she’d been able to keep up the demanding five-mile trot. She’d handled the run like a pro.
Why the hell should he be so drawn to her? She was smart-mouthed, in-your-face, and intolerant of anything remotely prejudicial toward her as a woman. Mace believed in women. He just didn’t want them out here in this unforgiving jungle. The Russians had captured Lauren Parker. Thank God, Nik Morozov had been there when all that went down and had, later on, helped rescue her from being raped and then killed by those degenerates. Scowling, Mace sat on a log, waiting for her to answer his question. He saw the stubborn set of her jaw. Those damned lush lips that he wanted to kiss, were compressed. Those cypress-green eyes of hers were wary-looking. He could smell her scent. A female fragrance that set his entire lower body on high alert. Damn, the last thing he needed was a hard-on to top off his discomfort with this whole deal. That would be more than embarrassing. It was unprofessional and something she didn’t deserve.
When he’d placed the elastic radio band around her head, he’d enjoyed touching her silky, slightly-frizzy hair. Sierra had been so close, and he’d deeply inhaled her woman’s scent like the starved predator he felt he was. She had been tense, not trusting of him. Worse, when he’d lifted his hand to adjust her mouth mic, she’d all but bolted, jerking back from his hands. That had startled Mace. The terror he saw, for just that moment, in her eyes had tunneled through his chest, slammed into his heart, and squeezed it. He couldn’t explain why she had such a hold on him. All they did was fight and snipe at one another. And he knew he was at fault. He’s the one who had refused to welcome her or shake her hand. Was it any wonder she didn’t trust him? No.
The very instant she could, Sierra had butt-shuffled away from him, putting more space between him and her on the damp log. Now, he lamented that teenager-level knee-jerk behavior of his earlier. A good leader made the people he worked with feel welcomed. Like they were a part of the team. And Mace was, if nothing else, a team man. He had a lot of pride. Maybe too much. It wasn’t like him to tell her he was sorry. It just didn’t come easy to him. Never had. He cast around for a way to apologize without saying it right out loud. Bothered by Sierra’s reaction, he asked about her op in Somalia. Mace saw her eyes go dark with pain. She hunched forward, elbows on her thighs, hands clasped tightly between them.
“I was over there for three months,” she began in a low, clipped tone. “Me and the SEAL team were on the rooftop of a three-story home, camouflaged, waiting for an HVT to go to the building where he gave his pep talks to his murdering thugs.”
“That was a damned dangerous situation,” Mace said, catching and holding her gaze. Sierra looked exhausted. He hadn’t realized so until this moment. Her skin was a beautiful gold color, natural, and it had hid the smudges beneath her eyes. Guilt ate at Mace. He’d deliberately set a blistering pace to wear her down, to prove to her that she couldn’t handle being an operator on an A-team. She’d handled it without a problem. Why was he doing this? The intel from his CIA handler, Jorgensen, said that S. Chastain had ranked in the top ten percent of snipers in the Marine Corps. She knew her business. And there was no question, she was a professional and he’d been an absolute jerk.
“Yeah,” she muttered, rubbing her brow for a moment, “but it was what it was. Then again, all ops are.” She shot him a wry look. “You know that better than most. Right? Hunter-killer teams do the dirty work behind the scenes. It’s the most dangerous kind of work.”
Her huskily spoken words made him feel good. She had such a sensuous, low voice. Purely feminine, smoky, setting him on fire. And if Mace didn’t know better, he swore he’d seen yearning in her eyes earlier—for him. The WAY she looked at him whenever he caught her glancing in his direction, felt purely like a woman-to-man gaze, reflecting his own appreciation and connection with him. It took everything he had to not respond to that heated look she’d just given him. Mace didn’t think for a moment she was flirting. He knew how women flirted, and what Sierra was doing certainly wasn’t that. Maybe he was just wishing that it was. Hell, he was so damned horny. It had been three months, way past time, for him and his team to land in Cusco for a week. There, they could get real food, hot showers, shave, find a woman who wanted to have sex with an American, and enjoy some downtime from the tension that always lorded over them.
He needed a woman so fucking bad. And maybe, because of his own state, he was misreading Sierra’s look. He had to be.
“Did you tail your target?”
Sierra nodded, rubbing her face. “Yeah, but things went sideways after we ex-filled off the house roof. Our car broke down halfway out of town. A group of thugs came at us with machetes and knives.” Lifting her chin, she muttered, “Go figure. We’d made good our escape from the area of the HVT take-down. Only to have the car engine blow, leaving us in a very bad situation with a local gang. They saw us and came in after us. They didn’t know who we really were.”
Grimacing, Mace growled, “You’re lucky to be alive.” He found his heart pounding with dread for her. She was incredibly confident, naturally beautiful in a way he’d found very, very few women to be. Sierra wore no makeup. An operator wouldn’t. The odor would tip off tangos that she was in the area. A single scent or fragrance could get her killed. There was something about Sierra that Mace couldn’t quite define. All he wanted to do was stare at her, lose himself in her, and that was the craziest reaction he’d ever had to any woman. Ever.
“We got into a skirmish, found another vehicle, a beat-up truck, got it going and got the hell out of there. THAT was a nightmare.” She snorted softly. “Sitting up on a rooftop was a piece of cake in comparison.”
Mace nodded and saw the pensive look in her face. “Look, Merrill is going to make us some breakfast and then I want you to sack out for a while. We aren’t going anywhere for a few days. Things are pretty up in the air right now and this is one of the safest places I know of, except to sit in a bar in Cusco drinking pisco sours,” and he gave her a grizzled smile. Instantly, he saw her eyes lighten, and he groaned inwardly as her full lips parted. The way her slender neck curved into her shoulders made Mace ache to reach out and stroke it, feel her pulse beneath his fingertips.
“That sounds great. If there’s anything I can do to fit in? Take up some task that needs doing?”
He liked her team spirit. “I’ll think about it,” was all he said. “Just keep your weapons oiled daily. This high humidity will start rusting out a gun barrel in a day if you don’t pay attention.”
“Not to worry. In my book, cleanliness is next to godliness.” She stood up, rubbed her palms against her thighs. “In fact, I think I’ll do that right now, give the weapons an oil protection.”
“Good, because you can count on thunderstorms and rain nearly every night.”
Grimacing, Sierra walked away. Just the sway of her hips and that fine butt of hers made his hands itchy to cup those firm cheeks. He had it bad! What he should be doing is setting out a watch schedule. The Russians were always around. There was only one real way in and out of this place, save for that one rally point the men had built a year earlier. The one they had then hidden and camouflaged. But he still needed a man on guard on that trail a mile out of the meadow.
Sierra gathered up her hair into a ponytail with a thick rubber band. The thickness of it loose was too heavy. It made her feel overheated to wear her it all down. She brought out a bottle of Tabasco sauce, a jar of Bacon Bits, and a package of fresh, shredded cheese. She took it all over to Cale, who had the cooking duties. He was squatted down, a big black iron skillet on the metal grill in one hand, pushing at least a dozen eggs around in it.
