Captive Of Fate. Lindsay McKenna

are you doing this?” she asked, suddenly distrustful, remembering the senator’s words of warning.

      “Do you think the military is without a heart, Miss McIntire? That I can’t take pity on people that are less well off than I am? You look bushed, and I have a weak spot in my heart for women anyway. So, if you want to share my room for tonight, you’re welcome. Simple as that.”

      She gave him a measuring stare. There was nothing simple about this man, her instincts told her. She tried to probe beyond the honesty expressed in his face and voice. “What do you mean ‘share’ your bedroom?”

      He shrugged lazily, picking up several papers and perusing them. “What do you want it to mean?” he retorted coolly.

      “Damn you!” she hissed under her breath, her eyes blazing with the green fire of anger. “I have no intention of sleeping with you!”

      “You could do a lot worse. Besides, with the temperature dropping like it is, it’s going to get awfully cold before morning. Two bodies make more heat than one. It’s simple logic.”

      “You’re out of your mind, Colonel! I wouldn’t sleep with you if hell froze over!”

      He seemed to enjoy her explosive tirade, smiling as she stood there trembling visibly with fury. “Too bad,” he murmured, putting the papers back down. “But since you can’t stand the military and hate the sight of me, I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble sharing the same floor, Miss McIntire. I like to think that the women I sleep with look forward to the experience, and I don’t feel like getting my throat slit by you. Rest assured, we’ll have a line of demarcation between us tonight. Fair enough?”

      Alanna drew in a deep breath, still distrusting that glint in his gray eyes. “Marines have a reputation as far as women go,” she accused.

      “That we enjoy them? I can’t deny one word of it. Go get cleaned up, and quit looking like I’m going to pounce on you or something.”

      She felt human again after she got cleaned up with the aid of a small bar of soap and Colonel Breckenridge’s olive green washcloth and towel. Taking her small suitcase, she pulled out a set of well-worn jeans and her only pair of socks and canvas shoes. The room was quiet except for the constant chatter of the radio transmissions drifting through the thin wooden door. She turned her back away from it, slipping off the damp blouse and bra, drawing a thin sweater over her head. It would be just like him to come in unannounced, she thought. God, how he provoked her! She hated his cool logic and his constant sniping at the political people she worked for.

      His “bed” was a sad-looking affair. Alanna left him one green blanket and took the other one and the sleeping bag. She placed them strategically in the corner opposite his huge pack and the remaining rumpled blanket. Taking a mirror out of her purse, she tried to decide what to do with her drying hair.

      She noticed dark circles beginning to appear beneath her large green eyes and touched one hesitantly. She was exhausted, although fighting with the Colonel seemed to increase her adrenaline, and the cold water had washed away some of her tiredness. Trying to make the best of the situation, she sat cross-legged on the floor and patiently parted her long hair, then wove the strands into two thick braids, tying the ends off with rubber bands she carried in her purse. Her stomach growled, and she looked up toward the door, frowning. Where could she get something to eat? Groaning, she got up, realizing she would have to talk to Colonel Breckenridge, again. Trying to put a choke chain on her temper, she slipped out the door and walked over to the desk where he sat.

      For an instant, Alanna felt her heart tighten with compassion for him. He was resting his head in one hand, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he studied a map in front of him. Gone was the mask that he seemed to hide beneath. Instead, the lines of weariness were accented at the corners of his narrowed eyes and around his mouth. He sat up, inhaling deeply as she quietly approached him. His eyes flared briefly with an unknown emotion as he took in her form.

      “I didn’t know you could work miracles,” he murmured, putting the compass on the map.

      “What do you mean?” She sounded defensive again. Damn. She was beginning to understand that if she lost her temper with him, it only made communicating more difficult. Alanna tried to compose herself and forced a smile she did not feel.

      “You look like the girl back home,” he commented, motioning toward her braids. “A farm girl from Iowa or some small Midwest town. None of that better-than-thou Washington stamp on you any longer.”

      “You mean less sophisticated?” she asked, restless beneath his hungry look.

      “No, you still have class. That would show through no matter what you did or did not wear.”

      Alanna blushed scarlet, and she automatically touched her cheek, put off balance by his unexpected, brusque compliments. “Colonel—”

      “You’re very pretty when you blush, Alanna. Feel better now that you’ve got on some dry clothes?”

      “Yes. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, nervously shifting her feet. “I’m afraid to even ask if there’s food available up here. Is there?”

      “If you’re a refugee from the village or part of the relief effort, yes. There’s a small chow hall in operation at the end hut on the northern perimeter of the base.”

      “But I’m not a refugee, am I?” she growled back, understanding his faultless logic.

      “In a sense you are. Thrown completely out of your element into a set of circumstances that you’re unprepared for.”

      “I’m not some poor, lost waif! If you’ll just tell me where I can buy some food…”

      “Right now, with supplies running low, there isn’t any amount of money that will buy food.”

      She raised her eyes skyward in reaction. “What do I have to do to get some food!” she asked tightly. “Would it go better if I begged?”

      Matt shook his head. “You wouldn’t make a very convincing beggar, lady.” He slowly rose, as if stiff. He flexed his right shoulder in a rotating motion, frowning.

      “Did you hurt yourself?” she blurted out, before she could stop her concern from expressing itself.

      “Hmm? No. Old wound. It gets cranky when the weather is damp and cold.” He studied her. “It’s nice of you to care, though. That’s a new twist for a political dove from D.C.”

      Alanna seethed inwardly, gritting her teeth. “God, you’re so distrustful of my every action!”

      Matt laughed, picking up his poncho and shrugging into it. “I have a hard time trusting any politician. Were you born a liberal, I wonder?”

      “Don’t make fun of what I believe in, Colonel. I won’t change my views or ideas for food or shelter. Just because you’re a born soldier, that doesn’t give you the right to be rude to me.”

      “Maybe you’re right. I owe you an apology. Why don’t you go settle down, and I’ll rummage around the chow hall and get something to eat for both of us. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Anyway, we need to get some food into you so you won’t look so damn skinny.”

      Alanna grudgingly admitted he was right on one point: she was skinny. It was a result of the long hours she put in at the senator’s office. Trudging back to the small, barren room, she pulled the blanket over her shoulders and lay down on the inviting sleeping bag. Rolling the other blanket into a makeshift pillow, she closed her eyes for just a moment. Her thoughts spiraled around Matt Breckenridge. Despite their arguments, she found herself inexorably drawn to him. He was nothing like Paul. Just the opposite in fact. Paul was so distant, so detached that she doubted he knew what it was to lose his temper. And she had never lost hers in those years either. Now, with this Marine officer, it was like the Fourth of July every time they got within ten feet of one another. Paul had taught her to control her emotions. But Matt Breckenridge actually seemed to enjoy her outbursts. She sighed