Mercenary Desires (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  MERCENARY DESIRES

  Jane Leopold Quinn

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  MERCENARY DESIRES

  Copyright © 2009 by Jane Leopold Quinn

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-498-6

  First E-book Publication: July 2009

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2009 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  To Emma Wildes, for encouraging me to write this story.

  MERCENARY DESIRES

  JANE LEOPOLD QUINN

  Copyright © 2009

  Chapter 1

  Rowdy Pierce confirmed the girl’s location when he heard her terrified screams. He shattered the rickety wooden door of the wattle and daub hut with a kick from his size twelve and a half boot. In the flickering light of an old-fashioned kerosene lamp, the young woman flailed her arms and legs at the man on top of her. He dove across the dim room, yanked the bastard off her, and without a second thought, slit his throat, dumping the son of a bitch face down into the dust.

  When he turned back to the woman, she’d scrambled to a sitting position against the wall, wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees to cover herself. She stared up at him with a wide-eyed look of horror and revulsion. He didn’t blame her for that. She’d been traumatized, possibly raped, and didn’t know the big, bearded man had come to rescue her. She didn’t know that for all his adult life, rescuing people was his job, first in the military, and now with his own company. He wiped the blood from his knife on the terrorist’s clothing, sheathed it in his boot, and approached the girl. There was no time to waste.

  * * * *

  Sara Stewart fought back the horror of this nightmare. Jewelry designers from Chicago weren’t generally kidnapped and held hostage on vacation.

  Suddenly, no one was on top of her, the attacker thrown against the far wall of the hut. Terrified and freezing cold in the nighttime of the Egyptian desert, she hugged her knees tightly to her chest. In this room, she’d been punched in the stomach, slimy fingers had squeezed her breasts, and she had bruises up and down her arms and legs. She knew it would be bad when the guy slapped her face and slammed down on top of her. He was going to rape her, and she wasn’t about to let him.

  She could breathe again. Dazed, part of her mind wondered why she wasn’t screaming. It felt like her own heart stopped beating when the man viciously slit her attacker’s throat and wiped the knife on the dead man’s clothing. He straightened, and then turned to look at her with a crazed, blood lust expression in his eyes. Did this guy kill his buddy so he could take his turn? Well, she’d fight him off to her last breath, if she had to.

  Her mouth hung open as she looked up and up to find the man’s face. Wild hair and beard streaked with gray, and a black eye freaked her out when she thought she was numb. The man loomed above her, legs parted, white-knuckled fists clenching aggressively. In jeans, camouflage shirt, and big brown boots, he looked every bit as ugly and dangerous as her vile captors. Whoever he was, why ever he was here, she’d kick, scream, and scratch him too. He may be bigger and stronger, but he wouldn’t get an easy rape.

  The man slowly crouched down to her eye level. She barely breathed, bravado almost deserting her. Green. Her captors were dark-eyed. This man’s were green. In the flickering light, his warm eyes glowed with bits of gold and rust in the irises.

  “It’s okay now. You’re safe, Miss.”

  The low, curt sounds coming from his mouth didn’t register at first, with the horror of all this still foremost in her mind. She stared into his compelling eyes and finally processed his words. English. He spoke English. American English.

  “Are you Sara Stewart?”

  She nodded, tears of relief trailing down her cheeks. “Are you American?” she croaked, her throat sore, voice scratchy from screaming.

  “Yeah,” he said again, clipped. “We gotta get out of here.” He stood and scanned the room. “Where are your clothes?”

  “T-tore ’em,” she whispered falteringly and hugged her knees more tightly.

  “Here.” The green-eyed man stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around her. “Put your arms in,” he ordered.

  She did, even though the action exposed her bare breasts. This was no time for modesty. Good God. His chest was all she could see—his hard pecs, bulging biceps, and flat belly. Dragging her gaze to his big, brown hands buttoning the shirt down her front, she clenched her teeth to control the panic. “Who’re you? Did my dad send you? How’d you know where I was?”

  He gripped her shoulders and ducked his head to look into her eyes. “My name’s Rowdy, ma’am. I’m getting you out. Don’t be afraid, but we’ve gotta go now!”

  He stood, pulling her to her feet. She’d known he was big, but the man was a giant. And thank God for that, because his shirt was long enough to cover her almost to her knees.

  “Can you walk? I could carry you, but I’d have to tip you over my shoulder, and I don’t think you’d care to flash your ass, er, your bottom. So, you need to walk under your own steam.” He steadied her with hands on her shoulders. “Okay?”

  He was being considerate, but his body vibrated with impatience. His gaze galvanized her, and she nodded. She’d do whatever she had to. It hardly mattered that her feet were bare. “Okay.” She shook so hard her teeth rattled.

  “You’ll be all right.”

  The assurance came in a deep, confident rumble. No smile, but then he wasn’t a cheerleader. He was her hero.

  Stepping in front of her, he drew a gun, opened the door, looking right and left. He wrapped his big hand around hers, and drew her out of the hut behind him. Right now, his confidence was all she had, and she tightened her grip on him. He swept the gun slowly from side to side across the open space. A full moon, bright enough to glimpse his face, showed his fierce, intently aware expression. She ignored the pebb
les cutting her feet as they crept along. Any pain was worth it just to get out of this hell.

  “Where’re we going?” she whispered.

  “Shh…stay behind me.” He tugged her in closer.

  His deep voice did little to calm her. She’d believe they were out of there when they were out of there. Her heart still thudded in fear, and his body was rigid with tension.

  Suddenly flattening both of them against a wall, he spread his palm across her stomach. He grunted a wordless warning.

  Her heart rate kicked into double-time. She could barely hear with her pulse pounding in her ears. Holding her breath and digging her fingernails into the wooden wall behind her, she was afraid to touch any part of him, not daring to distract him. He was her only protection.

  For what seemed like hours, two men nearby spoke Arabic to each other, then finally drifted apart. Her rescuer and she had been invisible in the deep shadows.

  He held still a moment longer, took her hand, and whispered directly in her ear, “Run.”

  She tucked her sweaty hand into the hot, dry lifeline of his and took off. He hadn’t asked if she could run, just took it for granted. And by God, she had no intention of failing him.

  Chapter 2

  Rowdy jammed his nine millimeter into its holster when they successfully reached the stand of palm trees at the edge of the compound. There was no time to waste. He had to get the girl into the Egyptian clothing he’d brought as a disguise, get her on the horse, and get the hell away from here.

  “Water,” she panted. “Please.”

  He held a canteen of water up to her lips. “Not too fast. Take it easy.” Then he handed her a pair of white, ankle-length cotton drawstring pants. Poor kid. She stood so quietly, so passively, just holding the pants in her hands. He couldn’t blame her for wilting after what she’d been through, and the added run through the compound seemed to have sapped any remaining stamina.

  “Sara!” he muttered, taking the pants from her. “Are you with me?” Her shaky hands were ice-cold. “You need to snap out of it now! We’ve got to ride, and you have to be alert. Don’t collapse on me now.” Shit, of course she was traumatized, but they didn’t have time for her to wallow in fear. She glanced up at him and nodded briefly. It was enough. She’d heard him.

  Turning her around, he held the pants in front of her as if she were a child and urged her to step into each leg. She leaned back against his chest for balance, and a soft, round ass brushed his cock. He sucked in a breath at her awkward movement. Holy Christ, now isn’t the time to get your dick going, boyo.

  Mentally shaking off the burst of testosterone, he lowered a dark blue abaya over her head and the shirt she still wore, then wound a matching hijab around her hair and shoulders. The Egyptian robe and scarf covering her light hair would make her almost invisible if they ran across any other desert travelers.

  She took a step and doubled over with a gasp. “My feet!”

  Christ. He’d forgotten about that. He didn’t have time to doctor them now but had to do something to help her. Sweeping her into his arms like a baby, he deposited her sidesaddle on the waiting horse, then tore another hijab in half to wrap several times around each foot. She wouldn’t be walking for a few hours, and this would be enough protection until he could clean them.

  He also donned a dark abaya, mounted up behind her, lifting her leg over the pommel so she sat astride. Deafening explosions broke the quiet of the night and lit up the sky over the compound where she’d been held.

  She jerked at the sounds and peeked around his shoulder. “Oh, my God, it’s gone.” She ducked back into the shelter of his body and dug her fingernails into the arm he held across her stomach.

  “I set explosives before I found you. The fires’ll keep the bastards busy for a while!” With that, he nudged his heels into the horse’s ribs, slapped the reins on its neck, and they flew off across the desert toward the pickup point.

  * * * *

  Exhausted and overwhelmed, Sara sank into the arms of her rescuer. With a name like Rowdy, she had no doubt he was American. Gratefully relaxing into the protection of his strong arms and broad chest, she rolled her head on his shoulder, thankful for the feel of the dry desert air blowing in her face. Freedom. She’d been taken hostage two days before from an archeological site. Terrified she’d die in that horrible place, or the kidnappers would rape her, she’d intended to fight to her dying breath. Her rescue by a white knight made her deliriously joyful to be free again.

  She shifted in the saddle for a more comfortable position. Something hard prodded her backside. Is that what I think it is? My white knight is turned on? Nah, it’s probably just an adrenaline rush. Erection or no, the arms around her were thickly-muscled, his chest broad and hard. He enveloped her in warmth and security as he silently guided the horse across the sands. Surely he was an honorable man and wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.

  * * * *

  “We’re making a pit stop. I’ll get your feet cleaned up.”

  Rowdy’s voice jolted her awake. The back of her head must have hit his face, and they both grunted an ‘ow’ at the same time. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “’S'okay.” He climbed off the horse and swung her into his arms.

  She hastily clung to his neck, her face even with his. Wow! How manly is this? It’s so romance novel. She couldn’t really see what he looked like under the beard—the moon wasn’t that bright—but his nose had a little flat spot on the bridge, his lips looked full and sensual, and he sure was in great shape. Without even breathing heavily, he strode to the edge of a pool of water, placed her gently on the ground, and hunkered down by her feet.

  “They’re not too bad.” She’d forgotten they were even scraped up.

  “Well, let’s see,” he said, as he unwound the scarves. “Give ’em here.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Let me do it right. You don’t want them to get infected.” He glanced at her. “I have the medical kit right here.”

  “Okay.” Let him take care of you. Their gazes connected. Her face grew hot remembering the hard length of his penis. He shook his head once, briefly, and focused his attention back to her feet. She let out a breath and hunched over, watching him smooth a wet cloth, then his fingers, over the abrasions on the soles of her feet.

  “Damn, they’re beat up. Sorry you had to run.”

  “It’s okay. I would’ve run over hot coals to get away. I wish you’d let me do that.” She blinked back tears at the sharp, prickling pains.

  “Hold still,” he ordered, but then softened his touch, sliding his thumb along her arch.

  Reflexively pulling her foot out of his hand, she sobbed and fell back into the grass, covering her face with her hands. One minute she’d been sketching ancient jewelry designs, the next she’d been blindfolded, tied up in some dirty hut, and terrified that her life was going to end in blood and pain. Now she was with another stranger at an oasis in the middle of the desert. Millions of stars blinked brightly overhead, and her mind spun at the fusion of horror and beauty.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “This just doesn’t seem real. Who are you anyway?” She pushed herself up, feeling too vulnerable lying down. He wrapped her feet in gauze and slipped on soft sandals without acknowledging her breakdown.

  “I was hired to retrieve you.”

  He pitched his voice low as he tucked the medical supplies efficiently back into the kit. She only heard one word. “Retrieve?” She tried to see his face, but his chin was down.

  “Yeah.”

  She licked her lips. “Are you in the military?”

  He rubbed a long forefinger across the canvas of the kit. “No.”

  “Um.” Distracted, she caught herself gaping at his enormous hands.

  “Used to be.”

  “Oh.” It was like squeezing out information bit by tiny bit.

  “I work for myself now.”

  “Okay.” The whole conversation took less
than a minute. He’d first hunkered down by her feet, but now that she was sitting, they were nose to nose.

  His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Why were you in Egypt?”

  His voice sounded painfully accusatory to her vulnerable ears. Intimidated by his tone, she replied softly. “The tomb. It’s the first tomb to be opened in the Valley of the Kings since the Twenties. My dad knows some people who could get me in to see it.”

  “You didn’t consider the danger?”

  “There wasn’t supposed to be any.” She shivered at his obvious disapproval.

  “Are you an archeologist?”

  “No, I’m not quite that intrepid. I design jewelry and have a shop in Chicago. I was going to create a series based on the ancient pieces.” She stared out into the desert, realizing under the circumstances how inane her story sounded.

  “You’ll be all right once you get home and put this behind you,” he said dismissively.

  Her gaze searched his face. Infuriated now, she wished she could see him more clearly. “It’s not like I asked for this to happen. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to ordinary people like me.”

  He shifted his head, his eyes intently focused on her. “Well, it certainly can and did happen. The Middle East is a dangerous place these days.” He lowered his lashes, seemingly watching her mouth.

  A frisson of sensual feeling coiled through her—or maybe it was just an ordinary shiver. Could be confusion, or gratitude. She rubbed her hands up her arms, pulling the abaya tighter. His big hand was planted next to her hip which put him too close. The darkness, even with the huge expanse of sky and stars above them, made this all oddly intimate.