He realized Shylah’d had the same shit life, thrown away by her parents and sold to a doctor who believed that all experiments on throwaway female children were justifiable, no matter what he did to them. Draden had grown cold and something had broken inside of him. Shylah had grown warm and strong, refusing to let Whitney’s evil poison her.
He stopped abruptly, just outside the door of the hut, and turned to her, framing her face with his hands. Her skin felt petal soft. Her bone structure delicate. She looked elegant, there in the forest in her camouflage cargo pants, a gun in her side holster, hair braided and wound into an intricate figure eight, and those long lashes fanning her cheeks. She would tempt a saint, and he was far from that. Even acknowledging he was physically attracted and that attraction was strong, he knew he just plain liked her. Admired her. He didn’t admire many people, especially women. Too many had come at him for all the wrong reasons.
Draden knew he shouldn’t, but he touched her mind, just to see if she was falling apart. To his shock, she wasn’t. He expected to hear screaming. Crying. She knew she was going to die. She resolved to save a bullet for herself—and for him, if he was too far gone to do so for himself. She also was certain he would do the same.
He’d almost forgotten she’d been raised military. He’d joined the GhostWalker program knowing he’d be put into situations where there was no way out. He’d joined anyway. He believed serving one’s country was a decent way to go. All along, he knew he’d been the one to make the choice and he had his reasons.
Shylah hadn’t been given a choice, but she’d been raised military and she was as much a patriot as he was. She also knew she was going to die at some point. She had resolved to get away from Whitney, and that meant death. That was the price. Still, she was willing to pay for her freedom, but she wanted to choose how and when. She’d chosen. It was that simple. There weren’t going to be hysterics. Once she’d gotten past the initial shock, she had made up her mind to be his partner and get as many desires checked off the list as possible—just as he had done.
“I’m going to kiss you.” He needed to kiss her before he opened Pandora’s box. Once he saw what was in the hut, he’d know if there was a chance for her. Strangely, his heart pounded as he waited for her answer.
Shylah continued to stare into his eyes, taking him somewhere he’d never been, but it was a place he was willing to go. He’d felt physical attraction when he was with other women. He’d never felt like this—wanting to know everything about her. Everything. Her opinions. Her friends. What she liked or didn’t like. He’d never cared, and he’d never shared anything about himself with other women. He wanted Shylah to see past his physical appearance to him. He needed her to care who he was.
“I was hoping you would.”
Her velvet-soft tone stroked his cock like the touch of fingers. That soft voice wrapped around his heart and squeezed like a fist. Those eyes, like the darkest night, sin and temptation, called to him. He bent his head. He didn’t have to go too far because she was tall enough for him to reach without stooping down.
Her arms slid around his neck, a slide of petal-soft skin. That familiar delicate scent enveloped him. Then her lips were under his. Cool. Firm. Soft. So inviting. His tongue demanded entry and she parted her lips and let him take her over. As a teen, working in the nursery, he had eaten his share of peonies. He’d become a little addicted to the taste of the flower. The petals were mild, but as a whole, they had a distinctly different flavor. If it was an acquired taste, he’d managed to develop a need for it.
That faint, elusive wintergreen was there, and he chased it. Cool heated fast. He nearly crushed her, pulling her into his arms, locking her there while he fed on her mouth. While he poured everything he was feeling but couldn’t say into her. His body recognized her. Knew her. Needed her. Every cell. He’d never been so acutely focused on another human being.
Heat coursed like molten lava through his veins, spreading through his body, moving straight to his groin until he was full and aching, pressed tightly against her. She knew, but it didn’t stop her from responding, kissing him back, giving him everything. In that moment, he felt like he belonged. He had a home. A woman. He had it all. Right there in the middle of a forest, with a virus eating his insides, he had it all.
Draden lifted his head just inches from her tempting mouth. “Did you practice kissing? Because I think that’s your greatest weapon.”
“If I said yes, you’d start wondering who I practiced with since we despised Whitney’s supersoldiers.” There was mischief in her eyes and teasing in her tone.
He laughed. He stood outside a hut where madmen had brought a virus that potentially could wipe out mankind, that virus eating away at him, but he was laughing. Because of her. Shylah Cosmos. She was so damned beautiful, inside and out, that he was shocked she would even look at him.
“That was totally unfair. Now, just because you said that, I’m going to have this image in my head and I’ll not be able to get it out.” He ran his thumb over her lips, listening to his heart pounding in his ears. Roaring really. For her.
“I can’t help it if you took that all wrong and now you’re perving on the idea of women practicing—with each other.” Her eyes were wickedly laughing at him. She leaned into him, her tongue sliding over the seam of his lips. “Let’s get this done. I’m wiped out and need sleep, and you’re pretty exhausted as well.”
He kissed her again. Instantly he was swept up in her fire. Flames licked at his body and electricity sparked and crackled in his bloodstream. Little whips of lightning struck his cock over and over as he indulged himself with that heated taste he was already so addicted to. He wasn’t as careful this time, taking it up a notch, needing that burn to consume him. He wanted the fire. The flames. That lightning striking him, sending his body into a frenzy for her.
He was more alive in that moment than he had ever been. He devoured her, getting a little high off the taste of her. The owner of the nursery had shown him that peonies could be candied, and that sweet taste would linger in his mouth after he consumed the exotic garnishes in numbers. He felt that way now, kissing her, tasting candied peonies and knowing they were all for him.
He pressed his forehead against hers, drawing in air, looking down at her flushed face and the sweep of her long lashes. “I’m not certain you’re entirely sane for making the decision to risk your life like you did, but thank you. In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve given me the best experiences I’ve ever had.”
He would never have admitted such a thing if he hadn’t known they were dying. She deserved to know she made his life so much better. That she was special. Exceptional. “You look like an innocent angel, Shylah, but you kiss like fucking sin.”
Her eyes danced at him, lighting her face. Her skin was pale and creamy, her freckles a dust of gold. That fist inside him closed tightly around his heart and squeezed hard. She got to him every time.
“You ready for this?”
She nodded. “If we can raise your unit, do you think I could speak with Bellisia and Zara? Tell them good-bye.”
It was the first time her voice broke, and that got to him. He swept his arm around her shoulders and brought her in close to him. “Sure, but I’m going to ask them about this habit the three of you developed, practicing your skills on one another.”
Color swept up her face, but she laughed, just like he hoped. “I didn’t say that, and don’t you dare say something like that on an open channel.”
He laughed. “I like that you think I would. It might keep you in line. You’re always tempting me when I have work to do.”
He got exactly what he’d hoped for. Shylah laughed and smacked his chest with the flat of her hand.
Draden kissed the top of her head and then took the lead, moving up the stairs to the door of the hut. He pushed open the door with two fingers. He didn’t have gloves, so he used a wad of paper towels he’d gotten from the ranger’s cabin, but wasn’t certain why. He
was already infected. Habit maybe. Stepping in front of Shylah might protect her from a bullet, but not from the virus he was certain he shared with her. Still, he did it. He couldn’t help needing to shield her.
He looked around the hut. It was very typical of the remote labs the Navy set up when helping the WHO contain an outbreak of Ebola. He was very familiar with the Navy’s solar-powered lab in a box, and knew he was looking at one. The three virologists had set up the field lab just as they would have had they been assigned to help the WHO with the outbreaks.
Ebola, he was well aware, had killed over eleven thousand people in six countries. As recently as the year before there had been an outbreak in the Congo and another outbreak had just been reported, not more than a week earlier. Looking at the extremely well-put-together field lab, Draden wondered if these three men had worked on any of those outbreaks. It was certainly possible with Whitney’s ties to the military.
“They brought a solar-powered lab in a box with them and quite a few hazmat suits along with gloves. You have to wear three layers of gloves. They have air respirators. See where the remains of the suits they’ve used have been incinerated? In that barrel? They clearly have been taking precautions to make certain they didn’t get infected.”
Draden tried to keep the little sneer from his voice. It was there in his mind. “These men, for whatever reason, allowed an entire village to die,” he murmured aloud. “For what? Money? I detest the fact that they would trade a few dollars for human lives.” At the same time, the hazmat equipment meant the virologists weren’t vaccinated, and that wasn’t good.
Shylah shrugged. “I’ve never had money one way or the other, so I certainly don’t understand it.”
“I have,” Draden confessed. “I grew up on the streets and had to fight for everything I ever got. In the end, some woman who owned a modeling agency saw me and turned my life around, at least monetarily. Then I found I had just traded one jungle for another. I thought having money was the answer, but believe me, sweetheart, it isn’t.”
“Power?” Shylah guessed.