Dangerous to Hold by Merline Lovelace

had no idea what his life was like outside this jungle. For all she knew, he had a wife and a houseful of kids tucked away in New Jersey. Which might explain why he was so good with Teresa and Ricci and Eduard.
    The thought sent a rush of mingled pain and determination through Sarah. She’d made a fool of herself once, and hurt a lot of people in the process, herself included. She wouldn’t do it again.
    Nor, she decided with a rush of determination as she glanced around the hut, would she sit here any longer like some weak, gutless wimp, totally dependent on a man she couldn’t allow herself to trust. She was Sarah Chandler, she reminded herself. Daughter of one of the most powerful men in Washington. A personality of some force in her own right for many years. Her reputation might be a bit tarnished these days, and her self-esteem a little dented, but, dammit, she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going to wallow in her misery any longer. She’d done that once, with disastrous results. Once she’d tried to find an antidote to her shame and hurt in alcohol. Once she’d lost control of herself to the point that she’d plowed her Mercedes into the side of a D.C. metro transit bus. Not again. Never again.
    Surging to her feet, Sarah marched over to the stack of clothing, hers and Teresa’s, folded neatly atop one of the crates. Within moments, she’d shed her borrowed clothes and the suffocating black robe enfolded her from head to toe. She tied the limp strings of the wimple at the base of her neck, making sure no tendrils of hair escaped it or the black veil. Drawing in a deep breath, she headed for the door.
    The reminder that the men outside would expect her to exercise her supposed medical skills made her pause with one hand on the warped wooden door. After her near panic with Eduard, however, Sarah had had time to reflect. She realizedthat there couldn’t be any serious injuries or maladies awaiting her treatment in the camp. If there were, she would have been forced to attend to them before now. Two weeks with Maria had taught her how to administer penicillin, if necessary, and treat minor jungle ills. Assuming that they even had any medical supplies in camp. After the fiasco with the needle, Sarah wondered.
    As soon as she stepped outside, she felt an immediate sense of relief. Air marginally cooler than that inside the hut swirled through the clearing. The camouflage net strung across the camp like some huge, rippling parachute provided a measure of shade. She waited while her vision adjusted after the dimness of the shack, then peered around the littered clearing. Debris from the abandoned, tumbledown huts lay interspersed with empty tins and crates the rebels had discarded. The packhorses cropped desultorily beside the stream. Sarah caught a flash of red in the bright, dappled sunlight and lifted her skirts to head for Teresa.
    The black-robed figure was halfway across the clearing before Jake saw her. Surprised and furious that she would disobey his order to stay inside, he jumped up and strode to meet her. Before she could get a word out of her mouth, he grasped her arm and spun her around.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing? Get back in the hut.”
    She pulled her arm free. “No.”
    â€œNo?” He stared at her, clearly taken aback. “What do you mean, no?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLook here, Sister Sarah—”
    â€œNo, you look. I’m tired of not being able to breathe in that stifling shack. I’m tired of being afraid to face these men. And I’m particularly tired of the way you say that.”
    Jake reared back, astounded at the sudden attack. “The way I say what?”
    â€œThe way you say ‘Sister Sarah.’ In that half-mocking, half-patronizing tone.”
    He glanced from Sarah to the hut and back to Sarah again,trying to figure out just what the hell had happened in the fifteen minutes or so since