The Woman Left Behind: A Novel Read online

  He lifted his head and his gaze burned as it raked over her face. “Shit. Fuck. I shouldn’t do this.”

  Now she thought about pushing him away, and maybe delivering a punch or two in the process. Damn him, he didn’t get to jerk her back and forth like this. But in any physical contest he was going to win, unless he deliberately let her hit him, and where was the satisfaction in that? Instead she stretched a little, moving her body against him, and smiled a faint, ironic, and utterly beckoning smile. “Then don’t. I’m sure you’re strong enough to get away from me.” As she spoke she burrowed her fingers under the hair at his nape and lightly stroked.

  If anything his eyes got even hotter, more intent, and his gaze moved down her body. She didn’t have to glance down to know her nipples were tight and fully erect, the points showing even under her sweatshirt. She could feel their tightness, and the way every breath she took rubbed them against the fabric.

  A dull red flush darkened his cheekbones.

  He lifted his gloved hand, clamped the tip of one finger in his teeth, and pulled the glove off. He let the glove drop out of his teeth onto her chest, then slipped his big hand under the band of her sweatshirt, moved up to clasp over one small breast before sliding over to the other, then back. His rough palm rasped over her tender nipples, making her gasp, bite off a moan.

  “From day one,” he said roughly, and she knew what he meant. From day one, this had been between them. She’d tried to ignore it, stifle it, forget about it. Evidently he’d been fighting the same attraction. “If you weren’t on the team, we could—” He broke off, shook his head. “You’re too damn good with the drone. Having you there will give the team a layer of protection we didn’t have before. I could have made things so tough for you that you couldn’t make the cut, but that wouldn’t be fair to either you or the other guys.”

  “That hasn’t changed,” she pointed out, her breath coming faster as he continued rubbing her nipples. She turned her head against his shoulder, inhaling the utter maleness of his scent, the warmth of his body heaven on her chilled skin. Pound-pound-pound. He had to feel her heart slamming against his palm, and she didn’t care. Months of bruising herself against his hostility and coldness were abruptly washed away as if they’d never been.

  Frustration darkened his face. “As long as you’re on my team, this can’t happen.”

  “Then get your hand out from under my shirt,” she snapped, and kissed his throat.

  A primal sound vibrated in his chest. In one rough movement he was on top of her, one muscled thigh pushing between her legs to spread them wide, then he took his place between them. His mouth crushed down on hers again, his tongue making forays that she welcomed with her own tongue. Why should she make things easy on him? He hadn’t been easy on her. She wanted him to suffer a little, wanted him to think about what he wasn’t getting. She welcomed him with her entire body, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting her hips to cradle the hard ridge of his erection against her softness. A purely sexual pleasure speared through her, an effervescent joy that despite everything she was in his arms and he was in hers, that his hand was on her skin, and for these few stolen minutes there was nothing else.

  She strained against him and his hips moved in rhythm as if there were no layers of clothing between them. He was so heavy despite bracing some of his weight on his arms, and she loved the pressure of him. Everything spun away; the fact that they were lying in a wet field of weeds, that their ride was on the way and would soon arrive, that the only way they could be together was if she failed in the training and despite herself she would try again, try her best not to fail. For now there was just this, the hard jut of his penis against her just where it needed to be, the fast spiraling lash of pleasure that started between her legs and spread upward, hot and liquid and so intense she moaned.

  Briefly she tried to control her surging response but just as quickly surrendered to it because she wanted this moment, this pleasure. She came, driven by months of denial, of being painfully aware of him and having to keep it all under a lid nailed down so securely none of the other guys had any hint of it. He had known, though, maybe by animal instinct, and now like any predator he was moving fast on his prey. That was how she felt, like his prey, at his mercy, and she turned the tables on him by giving him all her sensuality, her femaleness, the wildness and completion of her response. She cried out, her voice hoarse from screaming, and dug her nails into his neck.

  He swore viciously under his breath but cupped her ass in both hands and lifted her, grinding her, giving her more pressure, more pleasure, riding her through it.

  She knew what he wanted. He wanted to strip her pants off and get inside her right there in that wet, muddy field, uncaring whether or not their privacy could be interrupted at any minute. She knew because that was what she wanted, with a degree of sexual madness she’d never before experienced.

  And she wanted more—more Levi, more time, more of his companionship, his touch, his taste, more everything. The hunger she felt couldn’t be satisfied by occasional stolen moments; she wasn’t built that way, to be content with a clandestine relationship.

  He rolled off her, breathing hard and scowling at the sky. Helplessly she stared at him, devouring every detail of his features, the strong bone structure of his lean face, the level dark brows, the curve of his mouth. He was a breathtaking man, not because he was handsome but because he was so damn masculine he practically oozed testosterone. When she thought the word “warrior,” he was the image she saw, muscled and lethal. He would look as natural with a sword strapped to his back as with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Civilization was a light cloak that he could throw off as needed; he was one of the rough men, as were all the men on the GO-Teams, ready to do whatever needed doing.

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, but despite what had just happened between them, she felt constrained. Their make-out session hadn’t changed anything. He was still the leader of that team, and he’d do whatever was necessary for their operational stability because their very lives depended on it. Her job was to safeguard them as much as possible, to provide an extra set of eyes looking for trouble or gathering information without exposing them to unnecessary danger.

  If she were in an arguing frame of mind, she’d yell at him that the guys wouldn’t mind at all if she and Levi began a relationship, but she’d be lying. It would make a difference. The others would subconsciously begin looking for signs of favoritism, which would foster resentment and a lack of trust. Any argument between her and Levi would necessarily cause tension among the others. That was just how team dynamics worked; a disagreement between any two members was one thing, but throw sex into the mixture and it became combustible.

  She turned her head and stared at the sky as grimly as he was, and for the same reason. As things stood, she had two choices: she could quit training and have Levi—for how long was up for debate—or she could stay on the team and deal with the bitter truth that they couldn’t be together.

  She. Couldn’t. Quit. Doing so would betray everything she was, every sense of self. Maybe she drove herself past what a sane person would do, but didn’t the guys also do that? Being who they were, doing what they did, required more of them than, say, a regular nine-to-five job.

  She had been happy with that nine-to-five job, but now this was her reality, and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, turn her back on it.

  She rolled to her knees and picked up her goggles. Her clothes were wet all along her back, and on her right side. Her elbows and knees had mud on them, evidently from when they’d landed and skidded along the ground. Her forehead was beginning to sting, and she suspected there was a scrape there. Bits of weed clung to her braid, which was no longer stuffed down the back of her shirt. Fingering her face, she found some dirt and debris and wiped it off as best she could.

  Silently Levi got to his feet and began gathering in the parachute, pulling it the rest of the way to him. She picked up his goggles, and the glove he�