Page 26 of D-Day

“Hellion fits so goddamned well,” he growled, but reached for his boot laces and toed out of the tan boots, then undid his gun belt, draping it over the unused stall, stripping off the camo pants, taking his briefs with them. His erection jutted out, thick and hard, the tip slick with moisture, indicating his desire.

She pushed the door open, and his hot blue gaze raked down the length of her as scorching as a flaming ocean. Her breasts swelled beneath his stare, her nipples tightening to the point of pain, and a liquid kind of heat settled between her thighs.

“This is going to have to be quick, and”—he emphasized the word—“quiet.”

He turned to secure the stall door, and she watched the muscles in his wide back flex and roll.

She nodded, knowing it wasn’t going to be an easy task. She felt suspended as she reached out and set her hands against his hot, damp skin, his chest expanding at her touch. There was something so fascinating about the heat and hardness of a man’s chest, but she bit her lip remembering how he’d said he was using the gym to get through the day, escaping into sweat and burning muscle to try to keep from thinking about her, wanting her. D-Day, as formidable as the assault on the Germans that had saved the Allied war and kept the world safe from Nazi aggression.

She stepped into his arms, and he made a very soft sound as he crushed her in a hard, fierce embrace, his hand roughly tangling in her wet hair, stunning her with the rush of wanting.

He brushed his mouth across hers, the raw surge of desire always the same—intense, uncontrollable, ravaging. She opened her mouth, needing the feel of him, the life of him. D-Day shuddered, grinding his mouth against hers as he crushed her even tighter. Her breath catching, she swallowed the moan she couldn’t utter.

She instinctively parted her legs so he could touch her intimately and appease the hard, demanding ache he’d created from the moment she’d set eyes on him. He didn’t hesitate to push his fingers deep, deep inside her body. She bit back another moan and arched her hips, then gasped when he dipped his head and sucked hard at her nipples, his mouth wet and hot, using his free hand on the stiff crest that wasn’t being worked by his demanding mouth. While his fingers pumped rhythmically inside her, she sent her hands into his shaggy hair and writhed against him as he drew out the breath-stealing pleasure, until she was panting and whispering his name. He sucked her harder, her nipple aching and burning with a frenzy of heightened, delicious pain. He rubbed her ruthlessly, until, with a soft exhalation, she came in long, hard shudders that seemed to go on forever. Her release was so strong and intense, her body seemed to become one endless wave of pleasure.

He pressed her back, his fierce expression and his tight jaw was nothing to the hot blue of his eyes. “God, I want you endlessly,” he whispered raggedly, his breathing hard and fast. He said it in despair, as if she was something he’d never be able to have. Not in the way that mattered the most.

But she knew she already belonged to him—her body, her heart, and even the very depths of her soul. But he had to believe it for himself and accept that he was worthy of her unconditional emotions. That was something she couldn’t force on him.

She framed his face so he had no choice but to look down at her and see the sincerity in her eyes, and the emotion she knew was reflected in her expression. “I crave you endlessly,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened as he lifted her like a feather and growled, “Wrap your legs around my hips and hold on. She needed no urging as she slipped her legs around him. He shoved into her, hard, his gaze turning hot and hungry as her body closed tightlyaround him. He pulled out of her slightly, dragging the length of his dick against her still-sensitive flesh, as if he was trying to draw out her pleasure. His jaw hardened against a groan, she was sure as he shuddered and thrust back in just as hard and deep this time. It was torture to feel this good and unable to make a sound, but her arching hips told him what her mouth couldn’t.

“More,” she murmured huskily. “I want all you have to give, every fucking drop.” Physically and emotionally, she was his, he just didn’t know it yet.

He sank back in, grasping the solid partition at her back, withdrew, and surged deep again, his strokes lengthening, his pumping hips gaining momentum. His thrusts grew urgent and demanding, giving her no quarter. Friction, pressure, and heat fused together in waves of sensation, until her entire attention was focused on the connection of their bodies and the impatient, restless need swelling inside them. His stance was all flexing muscle, his heavy shoulders beneath her arms, his back beneath her palms, his hips where her legs were wrapped, and the thick, powerful flexing of his buttocks as he pumped into her.

Their gazes were fixed on each other, his breathing shallow as his climax washed over him, that jaw clenching, his face contorting as he arched against her hips, pulsing hot and hard inside of her, shuddering from the sheer force of his orgasm.

She clasped him tight, knowing that no other man would be able to make her feel this complete, this kind of intimate connection, this sweet, stunning joy. Panicking at the thought of losing him in so many ways, she instinctively knew he was it, that no man could ever give her what he gave her.

He then whispered to her that they were leaving in the morning to seal the deal with the twins, but he would be back, and she had to stay strong and on her toes. Once theygot the shipment to the Ambongs, they were going to get the information they needed to end this mission.

She nodded as they dried off and got dressed. Before he left, he framed her face in his hands, seized her mouth with his, as if his next breath of air could only come from her. His kiss was deep and voracious, and laced with a desperate kind of passion she could taste with every sweep of his tongue and the aggressive way he’d possessed her body.

The next day, she woke to the sound of those chopper blades, but by the time she got out of her bunk and to the flap of her tent, the sleek black bird was in the distance. Her heart tightened.

“Glad they’re gone,” Greg said, and she turned to see him watching that dark speck disappear. She nodded, even as her heart worked at keeping everything concealed. He would be back. That was a given.

After breakfast, they set up in the big tent as people started to arrive. They worked all morning to screen patients and then prescribe the correct treatment. For active TB patients, a regimen of four drugs—isoniazid with rifampin, pyrazinamide, and ethambutol taken for six to twelve months was prescribed, for latent TB, short-course treatment for three months with isoniazid plus rifapentine, and the drug-resistant patients got a regiment with a combination of pteromalid, and linezolid.

Greg and the Filipino doctors were so gratified that so many people had turned out. They wanted to go from village to village in the interim to make sure everyone who needed treatment got it.

For the next two days, they did just that, feeling as if their intervention was working very well. As they were returning to camp, the road was blocked by vehicles. Their driver got out but was immediately slammed in the face with the butt of an automatic weapon. Someone started yelling at them in Tagalog, and it was so rapid and angry that Helen couldn’t make outwhat he was saying. When they didn’t respond, one of the men grabbed her and dragged her out of the van.

Another man came up to her, grabbed her by the hair and shouted, “Who are you?”

“American medical workers,” she replied as her scalp burned. Behind her, she felt a spike of fear run through the group. It was in their eyes and on their faces.

He smiled and shoved her toward another man, going for the van. Suddenly, he dropped to the ground, and gunfire ripped around her. She ducked behind the van, keeping her head down until the men who had accosted them were neutralized.

She wondered if it had been D-Day coming to their rescue, but when she looked toward the thick jungle, it was Taer Ambong who emerged with his brother just behind him. He heard the small ripple of commotion when the medical team recognized the warlords. Somewhat friendly faces.

The twins were arguing, but she had no idea why. Monique, Drs. Aquino, and Bacunawa came out of the van and tried to see to the men littering the road, but the men with the twins pushed them back. Monique argued, and one of the men slapped her across the face.

Taer came up to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. Lando was looking at her with an angry scowl. Suddenly, one of the men lifted from the ground and pulled the trigger of the pistol in his hand, only to be shot dead. The medical team huddled together as Taer made a sound of pain and he collapsed to the ground.

Lando rushed over and knelt, speaking rapidly in his language as blood started to seep into the lower part of Taer’s shirt. She and Greg went immediately over to him as Greg lifted the blood-soaked material to inspect the wound. Lando turned to look up at her. “This is your fault,” he shouted, the anguish forhis brother threaded through his words. He turned to his men and told them to get a litter ready.

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