Her Kind of Hero: The Last Mercenary. Diana Palmer

in private practice. We’ll get you checked out before we fly out to the Bahamas.”

      His other arm, muscular and warm, was under her head. She could feel his breath, mint-scented and warm, on her lips as he searched her eyes.

      His free hand left her breast and gently cupped her softly rounded chin. “Soft skin,” he whispered deeply. “Soft heart. Sweet, soft mouth…”

      His lips pressed the words against hers, probing tenderly. He caught her upper lip in both of his and tasted it with his tongue. Then he lifted away to look down into her shocked, curious eyes.

      “You should hate me,” he whispered. “I hurt you, and you did nothing, nothing at all to deserve it.”

      She winced, remembering how it had been when he’d lived with his father. “I understood. You resented me. My mother and I were interlopers.”

      “Your mother, maybe. Never you.” He looked formidable, angry and bitter. But his black eyes were unreadable. “I’ve hesitated to ask. Maybe I don’t really want to know. When Lopez had you,” he began with uncharacteristic hesitation, “were you raped?”

      “No,” she said quietly. “But I was about to be. I remember thinking that if it hadn’t all gone wrong that Christmas…” Her voice stopped. She was horrified at what she was about to say.

      “I know,” he interrupted, and he didn’t smile. “I thought about it, too. What Lopez’s damned henchmen did to you at least wouldn’t have been your first experience of intimacy, if I hadn’t acted like a prize heel with you!”

      He seemed maddened by the knowledge. His hand on her face was hard and the pressure stung.

      “Please,” she whispered, tugging at his fingers.

      He relaxed them at once. “I’m sorry,” he bit off. “I’m still on edge. This whole thing has been a nightmare.”

      “Yes.” She searched his black eyes, wishing she knew what he was thinking.

      His thumb brushed softly over her swollen mouth. “Lopez will never get the chance to hurt you again,” he said quietly. “I give you my word.”

      She bit her lower lip when his hand lifted away, shy of him. “Do you really think he’ll come after me again?”

      “I think he’ll try,” he said honestly.

      She shivered, averting her eyes to the aisle beside them. “I hate remembering how helpless I was.”

      “I’ve been in similar situations,” he said surprisingly. “Once I was captured on a mission and held for execution. I was tied up and tortured. I know how it feels.”

      She gaped at him, horrified. “How did you escape?”

      “Bojo and the others came in after me,” he said simply. “Under impossible odds, too.” He smiled, and it was the first genuine smile he’d ever given her. “I guess they missed being yelled at.”

      She smiled back, hesitantly. It was new to relax with Micah, not to be on her guard against antagonistic and sarcastic comments.

      He touched her face with a curious intensity in his eyes. “You must have been terrified when you were kidnapped. You’ve never known violence.”

      She didn’t tell him, but she had, even if not as traumatically as she had at Lopez’s. She lowered her gaze to his hard, disciplined mouth. “I never expected to be rescued at all, least of all by you. I wasn’t even sure you’d agree to pay a ransom if they’d asked for one.”

      He scowled. “Why not?”

      “You don’t like me,” she returned simply. “You never did.”

      He seemed disturbed. “It’s a little more complicated than that, Callie.”

      “All the same, thank you for saving me,” she continued. “You risked your own life to get me out.”

      “I’ve been risking it for years,” he said absently while he studied her upturned face. She was too pale, and the fatigue she felt was visible. “Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s going to be a long flight.”

      Obviously he didn’t want to talk. But she didn’t mind. She was worn-out. “Okay,” she agreed with a smile.

      He moved back and she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and the tension of the past two days caught up with her all at once. She fell asleep almost at once and didn’t wake up until they were landing.

      She opened her eyes to find a hard, warm pillow under her head. To her amazement, she was lying across Micah’s lap, with her cheek on his chest.

      “Wakey, wakey,” he teased gently. “We’re on the ground.”

      “Where?” she asked, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.

      “Miami.”

      “Oh. At the airport.”

      He chuckled. “An airport,” he corrected. “But this one isn’t on any map.”

      He lifted her gently back into her own seat and got to his feet, stretching hugely. He grinned down at her. “Come on, pilgrim. We’ve got a lot to do, and not much time.”

      She let him lead her off the plane. The other men had all preceded them, leaving behind automatic weapons, pistols and other paraphernalia.

      “Aren’t you forgetting your equipment?” she asked Micah.

      He smiled and put a long finger against her mouth. His eyes were full of mischief. He’d never joked with her, not in all the years they’d known each other.

      “It isn’t ours,” he said in a stage whisper. “And see that building, and those guys coming out of it?”

      “Yes.”

      “No,” he corrected. “There’s no building, and those guys don’t exist. All of this is a figment of your imagination, especially the airplane.” “My gosh!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “We’re working for the CIA?”

      He burst out laughing. “Don’t even ask me who they are. I swore I’d never tell. And I never will. Now let’s go, before they get here.”

      He and the others moved rapidly toward a big sport utility vehicle sitting just off the apron where they’d left the plane.

      “Are you sure you cleared this with, uh—” Peter gave a quick glance at Callie “—the man who runs this place?”

      “Eb did,” Micah told him. “But just in case, let’s get the hell out of Dodge, boys!”

      He ran for the SUV, pushing Callie along. The others broke into a run, as well, laughing as they went.

      There was a shout behind them, but it was still hanging on the air when the driver, one of the guys in the cockpit, burned rubber taking off.

      “He’ll see the license plate!” Callie squeaked as she saw a suited man with a notepad looking after them.

      “That’s the idea,” the young man named Peter told her with a grin. “It’s a really neat plate, too. So is this vehicle. It belongs to the local director of the—” he hesitated “—of an agency we know. We, uh, had a friend borrow it from his house last night.”

      “We’ll go to prison for years!” Callie exclaimed, horrified.

      “Not really,” the driver said, pulling quickly into a parking spot at a local supermarket. “Everybody out.”

      Callie’s head was spinning. They got out of the SUV and into a beige sedan sitting next to it, with keys in the ignition. She was crowded into the back with Micah and young Peter, while the two pilots, one a Hispanic and the other almost as blond as Micah, crowded Bojo on either side in the front. The driver took off at a sedate pace and pulled out into Miami traffic.

      That