She stepped from the shower, dried, then wrapped in the towel. She ran the comb through her hair, brushed her teeth, then stilled. Did she hear something? A quick turn of the knob and the water flow to the sink stopped. Straining, she heard nothing. She turned, walked into the bedroom and froze.
A man clad from head to toe in American military camouflage and heavily armed stood staring at her. Before she could speak, he moved lightning fast. A hand covered her mouth while the other tugged her close from behind.
"Shush.” His warm breath tickled her ear. But his deep, southern drawl touched her in other places making her shiver as he continued to whisper. “I'm Staff Sergeant Mitch Sinclair with the Marines, ma'am, and we're here to take you home."
Allie bit his hand lightly, causing him to jerk it free from her mouth. She twisted in his grip, grappling for the towel that had loosened, leveled her gaze on his, and whispered on a hurried breath, “I can see that. Give me a second to dress and I'm out that window behind you."
Without giving him a chance, she shrugged from his grip, dropped the towel and lunged for the clothes on the bed. She tugged on the sweatshirt and sweatpants without bothering with the undergarments. Grabbing the socks, she noticed there were no shoes, so she tossed them back on the bed.
Mitch's jaw dropped. The most perfectly rounded bottom stood within arm's length and he couldn't do a thing about it. He spun on his heels, weapon drawn and guarded the door while she dressed. Think mission. Think bad guys. Think Kwan.
That did it. Pure heat sizzled up his spine to curl in his gut. Images of some of the grisly innocent deaths inflicted by that man's hand flashed inside his head, chilling the unwanted sensation of desire. But not for long. She touched his shoulder and he turned to face her. Deep, brown eyes framed by wet golden hair melted his soul.
"No shoes,” she whispered.
"It'll have to do. Let's get you out of here first."
Mitch cautiously peeked through the open window. With a nod, Sergeant Lou Randle appeared on the other side. He helped the hostage through the window, then followed. As his feet touched ground, he noted the undergarments still lay on the bed. Knowing she wore nothing under those sweats sent a spike of need straight to his loins. What was wrong with him?
A knock on the door jarred him into combat stance as he backed away from the building. The moment they hit the woods, Kwan Sung-hee discovered he no longer held Allie Summers captive.
"Find her. Kill her,” echoed behind them in heated Korean.
Mitch had no intention of allowing that to happen.
Chapter Three
Lou took point of the four-man team, leading the way through the thick trees. Radio controller Sergeant Eric Wise fell in behind Lou. Sergeant Dean Richards brought up the rear making sure the enemy didn't engage. Even with the woven canopy of branches and leaves, rain pelted them. Mitch followed Allie making sure she didn't fall. Bare feet made her slip and slide through the torrential downpour. Though she didn't complain, the wooded terrain and underbrush attacked her feet. He shifted his weapon to hang easily accessible across his chest. Matching her shorter strides, he strode beside her just in time to catch her when her foot caught on a root.
"Thank you,” she managed to whisper.
"Not a problem, ma'am.” He scooped an arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her waist, tugging her against his weapon and his chest. She gasped. Both arms laced around his neck as if frightened he'd drop her. A smile threatened his lips, but he swallowed it. He bench-pressed three times her weight. There was no way he'd drop something as light as this hot morsel. Awareness of her feminine essence captivated his system. Cradled in his arms was a temptation he struggled inwardly to resist. Visions of her naked bottom flashed behind his eyes as he readjusted his grip. Thinking of her like that was wrong. He reprimanded his libido to back down, took a breath and forced a natural even tone. “We've a long distance to cover. It's too difficult to do without shoes and keep pace."
"I…” The retort stopped dead in her throat.
"You managed about a quarter mile barefoot. Leave the rest to me."
As if she'd accepted her fate as his burden to carry, she leaned into him no longer fighting the predicament. He sensed her exhaustion as she lowered her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. Dean whipped out a neatly folded, camouflaged rain poncho from his side pack pocket.
"This might help warm her some.” He draped it over her like a blanket, tucking it in around her.
Each tuck of the poncho tightened her presence in his arms. His intent had been simply to increase their pace and alleviate any further damage to her feet. The discomfort in his chest had nothing to do with the dig of his weapon into his flesh and everything to do with the woman in his arms.
"You done?” Mitch stated in a point-blank tone.
"Thank you,” Allie mumbled from beneath the cocoon of rain-resistant nylon.
"You're welcome, ma'am.” Dean touched the brim of his combat helmet, shot Mitch a raised eyebrow told-you-so look, then fell into place guarding the rear.
Hours passed and the rain didn't let up. He was grateful for the unusual warmth in the late November climate. Otherwise, no matter what gear they wore, they'd be fighting hypothermia. Clutching her close, Mitch forged through the woods and, along with his men, kept moving south at a steady pace. With the persistent downfall, the odds of flash floods in this region increased. The trek to the Imjin River consisted of miles of treacherous terrain downhill. During the rainy season, the river was prone to torrential currents yet it would provide their greatest chance of escape. It had been their main entrance into North Korea without being seen and if luck remained at his side, it'd be their exit without incident.
Crossing the DMZ-demilitarized zone-and entering Yonchon, South Korea was their only hope of refuge. Captain Hayward waited at the base camp set up outside Yonchon for word of their mission. There would be no formal military action to rescue Mitch and his men should they fall under fire or capture. Their top-secret objective warranted no scrutiny from the press. The outside world wouldn't know of their victory or failure. It was the way of the Force Recon Marine. Knowing they'd completed their mission successfully equaled the only glory Mitch required. For fifteen years, the Marine Corps had been his life, his reason to live.
Holding the phenomenal length of woman in his arms, his world seemed to hunger for a new direction. Mitch glanced at the sleeping beauty. Her lips pursed in a slight pout as if begging for a kiss. Thick eyelashes fluttered for an instant and he sensed she dreamt. The sudden twitch of facial movements led him to believe a nightmare tormented her rest.
Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and whispered, “Rest, Allie. You're safe. I promise no one's going to harm you.” Not sure why he did it, he brushed a gentle kiss across her furrowed brow. The momentary touch caused his mouth to water and increased his desire to taste her lips to their fullest. The insatiable need jolted him upright, straightened his spine taut, and instinctively tightened his grip around his precious prize.
Oh, God, give me the strength to complete my mission and walk away to live another day as a Marine
Allie started to balk when he first lifted her into his arms. She was an independent woman and needed no assistance in walking or running for that matter. Exhaustion gripped her system overriding her normal strong-willed attitude. The ache in her legs and the sting of multiple cuts to the bottoms of her feet aided in her decision to accept his help. The pit of her stomach heated when he shifted her close and carried her like a damsel in distress. Out of the two men she'd dated, neither ever lifted her, much less treated her as delicately as this big, tough Marine.