Jennifer Morey – The Secret Soldier (страница 8)
The woman waved and turned to go. Cullen squinted as he leaned his head out the door and caught rays of sunlight, watching her walk down the narrow street.
He wasn’t sure why being known as a newlywed bothered him. Maybe it was the shower, and Sabine’s determination to see it done. The woman had grit. She also had a body made for his hands and eyes that beckoned with green fire. She flared an instinctual response in him. The degree of his interest made him nervous. He liked his relationships comfortable, not out of control. He didn’t need that kind of intensity with a woman. His job gave him plenty of that. If he ever got married, it’d be to Mrs. Compatible and Good in Bed, not Mrs. Take My Heart and Twist It into a Pretzel of Agonizing Love. He’d seen what that could do to a man.
Back in the room, Sabine was as he’d left her, rumpled covers enveloping her, red hair tangled over the pillow. She looked very snug and content. He didn’t want to explore the other “verys” he thought she was.
Taking the basket out to the balcony, he set it on the table. At almost eleven, it was close to lunch.
An hour passed before he heard the sound of Sabine stirring inside the room again. He listened to the toilet flush, and moments later her bare feet trudged toward the balcony. He started to rise to help her but stopped when he saw that she was moving all right on her own, limping but all right. The T-shirt fell to just above her knees, exposing the bandages he’d wrapped around her tender shins. Her legs were skinny but spectacular. He bet they’d look even better once she healed and put on some weight. Just like the rest of her.
Cullen raised his gaze to her face as she looked across the Aegean Sea. Her mouth was slightly parted and her green eyes were the brightest he’d seen them since getting her out of Afghanistan. Their whites were healthy and the green color sparkled in the Mediterranean sunlight. The swelling on her lip had gone down, and the cut on her cheek was healing, though bruises still colored her skin and would for a while. She’d used the comb he’d bought in the village. Her hair was naturally curly, but it looked like soft, woven silk and fell to the top of her breasts. Even skinny, she was an extremely beautiful woman. All Irish with smooth, pale skin and striking features. Especially her eyes.
“Where are we?” she asked without looking at him.
He was glad she hadn’t noticed his scrutiny. “A village called Olympos. The north end of Kárpathos. It’s near Crete.”
“Wow.”
Cullen had experienced a similar reaction, despite his constant vigilance for someone with a camera or a gun.
He caught her furtive glance when she became aware of him watching her. She sat and reached for one of the bottles of water on the table, careful not to look at him. He had to agree it was strange being in a place like this with someone he’d just rescued. Especially at the cost of his team, the few that he’d dared bring on this mission.
The reminder of what he’d lost punched him again. Nothing had gone according to plan. Who had betrayed their mission and why? None of the men he’d hired were married, but the pilot and medic had parents Cullen would have to face when he returned to the States. He wasn’t looking forward to that, especially since he was going to have to lie about where their sons had died.
Sabine’s reaching for the basket diverted his attention. He welcomed it and watched her.
She glanced from the basket to him in question.
“Homemade pasta with cheese and onions. A local favorite.”
“Mmm.” She parted the cloth and lifted the ceramic bowl covered with a matching lid. Next came the bread.
“They make their own bread in outdoor ovens. You can smell it every once in a while.” The appeal of this place had penetrated his vigil more than once. But then, he’d always liked Greece.
“Mmm,” she murmured again, finding a plastic fork and starting to dig into the pasta.
It disturbed him how much he liked watching her. Her vibrancy. The look in her eyes, as if everything were new to her now.
When she sighed and put the bowl back into the basket, he knew she was full. She’d eaten less than half the
“How do you feel?”
She nodded, looking at the sea. “Better.”
A moment passed with only the sound of waves washing ashore in the distance.
“I want to walk down to the ocean,” she announced.
“Now?”
She nodded with a look of pure bliss on her face. How could he deny her after what she’d been through? “Are you sure you’re up for that?” It wasn’t far, but it would take a good hike to get there.
A smile spread on her face. The transformation hit him like a fist to the gut.
Then those green eyes so full of new life met his. “I want to walk on a beach. I really do.”
Cullen struggled with the inclination to do anything she asked as long as she kept smiling like that. The feeling was a bit too strong for his liking. But a walk on the beach wouldn’t hurt. “Okay. I went down there while you were asleep. There’s a small beach down the hill from here.” Secluded and easy to watch for anyone pointing a gun, too. He could plug them off the hillside if they tried to come after them. He ignored the fleeting thought that instead of going to the beach he should get a cab so they could leave the island that afternoon.
Sabine went into the bathroom to change. While she was in there, he stuffed a pistol good for a thousand yards in the waist of his jeans, letting his short-sleeved shirt hang over to conceal it. Then he waited for her at the door. She emerged in the dark blue lounge pants and long-sleeved white henley shirt he’d brought for her. The outfit would cover her bruises. He led her down the narrow stairs to the first floor of the pension. No one was in the sitting area of the entry.
Outside, Cullen watched Sabine for signs of fatigue. She started to breathe heavier as they walked down the street. At the footpath he’d discovered yesterday, he stopped.
“It’s a steep descent.”
“I’m fine,” she said, dismissing him to gimp down the footpath on her own.
Impressed by her courage and spunk, Cullen followed. He caught himself looking at her butt as she moved down the hill and had to force his gaze elsewhere. Rocks and brush painted the hillside, ending where a sandy inlet sloped into the ocean. Gentle waves lapped the shore, the only sound to be heard other than their footsteps.
“Oh,” Sabine breathed.
He stepped down the last of the incline, and his booted feet sank into fine, white sand. She was like a painting now. Hair sailing in a slight breeze, eyes full of appreciation that might not have been as profound had she not come so close to losing her life.
She sat on the sand and removed her hiking boots and socks. Then she rolled the hem of her lounge pants to the edge of her bandages, just above her ankles. Rising, she walked to the shore and went into the water, but only far enough to get her feet wet. That salt water would hurt her raw wounds like a thousand bee stings. Cullen removed his boots and rolled his pants up to follow her.
Waves splashed against rocks and crawled over the sand. Offshore, the water was so clear it looked like pool water, glittering, translucent cerulean fading to deep sea.
“Have you ever been to Greece before?” she asked.
“Many times,” he answered. “But never here. I’ve been to Santorini and Athens.”
“You speak the language like you’re from here.”
“My grandmother was born here.” It caught him off guard how easily that came from his mouth, personal information he usually never divulged.
“You’re Greek?” She gave him a survey, as though confirming it with her eyes.
“Partly. My mother married an Irishman. I had a knack for languages in college.”
“What was your major in college?”
“Political science.”
“What did you do after that?”
He just looked at her, knowing her questions were deliberate. He couldn’t tell her much about himself, particularly what he did after college. Not when a media frenzy awaited her return. Public curiosity would leave his company—which didn’t overtly exist and never could—too vulnerable.
“Did you join the military?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
Her mouth pursed and she stopped strolling through the water. “What’s your name? You can at least tell me that much.”
He stopped, too, and faced her. “Rudy.”
“That’s a stupid name. Even for a code name. Tell me your real name.”
He wanted to, and that heightened his concern. “Sabine …”
Pivoting, she resumed her walk through the water, her steps not as smooth as before, frustration giving her verve even as she limped. But that only managed to intrigue him more.
He caught up with her, noticing the subtle jostle of her breasts.
“I’m sure you know everything about me,” she said bitterly.
“I know your name is Sabine O’Clery and you’re thirty-three years old. Not married, no kids. I know you’re from Colorado and for some reason took the contractor job in Afghanistan.” He knew more but now was not the time to tell her.
She glanced at him. “I speak Farsi. There was a need for people like me there. I liked the idea of contract work because it gave me an opportunity to make more money and see interesting places.” She grunted her laugh. “At the time it seemed like a good idea.” Her face grew haunted and she stopped walking, staring out to sea.