Her spine met the unrelenting cot, Blake's arms sliding from beneath her. She clamped her jaw shut until her teeth hurt from holding back the urge to call for him.
As silently as he appeared, he slipped away. Leaving behind a churning mix of hope and tears.
Music blasting around him, Drew stood with his officers, keeping track of the impromptu Ranger party, and waited for Yasmine to start pumping out the tears in the argument with her sister.
Something that never happened.
Damn but the woman had grit and fire, pulling no punches when it came to battle. Drew chuckled low like most of the rest of the room. That little pageant piece of history on Major Hyatt would rain more hell on the flight surgeon's head than anything else Yasmine could have tossed out there. Hyatt would no doubt have a crown painted on her helmet by sunrise.
Steam all but blew from Major Hyatt's ears, yet Yasmine stood down her sister from seven inches less height. His Sheba had regal down to a fine art.
His Sheba? Shit. Where the hell were LifeSavers when a guy needed them?
Doc Hyatt pulled back her shoulders with a long-suffering breath, plastered a smile on her face before turning back to the clump of fliers standing nearby with goofy-ass grins on their faces.
"All right, gentlemen, I want to clarify something straight out of the gate here. You have exactly one hour to razz me about the pageant gig. And after that, if anyone touches my tiara, I can guarantee his annual physical will include a most uncomfortable and cold-handed hernia exam."
The group of flight-suit-clad warriors groaned. More than one covered his groin as coughs echoed even from the Rangers.
"That's right, flyboys," Hyatt crooned. "Turn and cough. Just turn your head and cough."
Apparently fighting dirty ran in the genes for these women. Doc Hyatt would be just fine. Yasmine, however, he wasn't so certain about. Her smile didn't come close to reaching her brown eyes as she turned with a snooty little sniff and strode away unnoticed by everyone—except Special Agent Keagan keeping watch.
Drew waved him away and started after her himself.
Huh?
His boots kept moving toward her, anyway, dragging his body right along. Hell, he didn't know why except that a monosyllabic fella like Keagan wouldn't be much help to Yasmine. And he simply couldn't walk away, not with hellish images from his shift in the command center still hammering in the back of his mind, of the stoning, of just how few rights a Rubistanian woman had around here.
No way was he letting her walk anywhere unprotected.
Tracking Yasmine down the hall, Drew followed, kept enough distance so she wouldn't hear him and turn until they were well away from the crowd. She stopped in front of her closet-room, twisted the knob and disappeared inside.
Okay, safe and set for the night. He only needed to call for a guard. Let her cry her eyes out in her pillow or whatever it was women did to vent frustrations. Personally, he preferred a trip to the gym or shooting range. But, oh well. To each his own.
And still his feet wouldn't carry him away.
He just wanted a few more minutes with her to reassure himself. To blast away the image of her face superimposing itself over that of the condemned woman earlier. Yasmine was getting to him, no question, and at the moment he couldn't recall a single reason why he should leave.
He surrendered and knocked.
"The door is unlocked as ordered."
Twisting the knob, he swung the door open to find her sitting on the edge of her bed, scarf in her lap. Gleaming black hair streamed down her back.
Lust rolled over him like an M-l tank charging across a fiat stretch of undefended desert.
Yasmine stared up at Colonel Cullen filling her doorway. Finally he was with her. Of his own will. Alone. Now, when she looked foolish and felt far too open.
She could almost hear her mother whispering in her ear. Watch out what you wish for, sugar. You might just get it.
Yasmine considered covering her hair, even if she couldn't quickly twist it into a knot again. But of course seeing a woman's bare head was nothing special to this American man. She twined her favorite rose scarf around her fingers.
She resorted to sarcasm, better than crying. "Well, this is certainly a change, you following me."
He hooked his hands on his gun belt, standing in the open doorway, half in, half out. "Would you rather I call Keagan?''
"You know better and I find it spiteful on your part that you would make me say it."