to let her do it.
He was giving control of his body to her.
She could barely breathe as she sank to her knees beside him. The warm, bare, richly
tanned flesh lured her hands closer, closer, until the urge overcame her nervousness and her
fingers lightly skimmed over his stomach, his chest. Her heart hammered wildly. It was like
petting a tiger, knowing how dangerous the animal was but fascinated beyond resistance by
the rich pelt. She wanted to feel all of that power under her hands. Carefully she flattened her
hands along his ribs, molding his flesh beneath her palms, feeling the resilience of skin over
the powerful bands of muscle and, beneath that, the strong solidity of bone. She could feel
the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, the expansion of his ribs as he breathed.
Both heartbeat and breathing seemed fast. Swiftly she glanced at his face and blushed at
what she saw there, the heat in his heavy-lidded eyes, the deepened color of his lips. She knew
what lust looked like; she'd seen the cruel side of it on the faces of her captors, and now she
saw the pleasurable side of it in Zane. It startled her, because somehow she hadn't considered
lust in the proposition she'd made to him, and her hands fell away from his body.
His lips parted in a curl of amusement that revealed the gleam of white teeth, and she
felt her heart almost stop. His smile was even more potent than she'd expected. "Yeah, I'm
turned on," he said softly. "I have to be, or this won't work."
He was right, of course, and her blush deepened. That was the trouble with
inexperience. Though she knew the mechanics of lovemaking, and once or twice her escort for
the evening had kissed her with unexpected ardor and held her close enough for her to tell
that he was aroused, still, she'd never had to deal directly with an erection—until now.
This particular one was there for her bidding. Furtively she glanced at the front of his
pants, at the ridge pushing against the cloth.
"We don't have to do this," he offered once again, and Barrie flared from hesitance to
determination.
"Yes, I do."
He moved his hands to his belt. "Then I'd better—"
Instantly she stopped him, pushing his hands up and away, forcing them down on each
side of his head. "I'll do it," she said, more fiercely than she'd intended. This was her show.
"All right," he murmured, and again she knew that he understood. Her show, her control,
every step of the way. He relaxed against the blanket, closing his eyes as if he was going to
take a nap.
It was easier, knowing he wasn't watching her, which of course had been his intention.
Barrie didn't want to fumble, didn't want to underline her inexperience any more than she
already had, so before she reached for his belt she studied the release mechanism for a
moment to make certain she understood it. She didn't give herself time to lose her nerve. She
simply reached out, opened the belt and unfastened his pants. Under the pants were black
swim trunks. Puzzled, Barrie stared at them. Swim trunks?
Then she understood. He was a SEAL; the acronym stood for SEa, Air and Land. He
was at home in all three elements, capable of swimming for miles. Since Benghazi was a
seaport, that was probably how his team had infiltrated, from the sea. Maybe they'd used some
sort of boat to reach land, but it was possible they'd been dropped off some distance from the
port and had swum the rest of the way.
He had risked his life to save her, was still doing so, and now he was giving her his body.
Everything inside her squeezed tight, and she trembled from the rush of emotion. Oh, God.
She had learned more about herself in the past twenty-four hours than in the entire past twentyfive years of her life. Perhaps the experience had changed her. Either way, something had
happened inside her, something momentous, and she was learning how to deal with it.
She had let her father wrap her in a suffocating blanket of protection for fifteen
He was giving control of his body to her.
She could barely breathe as she sank to her knees beside him. The warm, bare, richly
tanned flesh lured her hands closer, closer, until the urge overcame her nervousness and her
fingers lightly skimmed over his stomach, his chest. Her heart hammered wildly. It was like
petting a tiger, knowing how dangerous the animal was but fascinated beyond resistance by
the rich pelt. She wanted to feel all of that power under her hands. Carefully she flattened her
hands along his ribs, molding his flesh beneath her palms, feeling the resilience of skin over
the powerful bands of muscle and, beneath that, the strong solidity of bone. She could feel
the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, the expansion of his ribs as he breathed.
Both heartbeat and breathing seemed fast. Swiftly she glanced at his face and blushed at
what she saw there, the heat in his heavy-lidded eyes, the deepened color of his lips. She knew
what lust looked like; she'd seen the cruel side of it on the faces of her captors, and now she
saw the pleasurable side of it in Zane. It startled her, because somehow she hadn't considered
lust in the proposition she'd made to him, and her hands fell away from his body.
His lips parted in a curl of amusement that revealed the gleam of white teeth, and she
felt her heart almost stop. His smile was even more potent than she'd expected. "Yeah, I'm
turned on," he said softly. "I have to be, or this won't work."
He was right, of course, and her blush deepened. That was the trouble with
inexperience. Though she knew the mechanics of lovemaking, and once or twice her escort for
the evening had kissed her with unexpected ardor and held her close enough for her to tell
that he was aroused, still, she'd never had to deal directly with an erection—until now.
This particular one was there for her bidding. Furtively she glanced at the front of his
pants, at the ridge pushing against the cloth.
"We don't have to do this," he offered once again, and Barrie flared from hesitance to
determination.
"Yes, I do."
He moved his hands to his belt. "Then I'd better—"
Instantly she stopped him, pushing his hands up and away, forcing them down on each
side of his head. "I'll do it," she said, more fiercely than she'd intended. This was her show.
"All right," he murmured, and again she knew that he understood. Her show, her control,
every step of the way. He relaxed against the blanket, closing his eyes as if he was going to
take a nap.
It was easier, knowing he wasn't watching her, which of course had been his intention.
Barrie didn't want to fumble, didn't want to underline her inexperience any more than she
already had, so before she reached for his belt she studied the release mechanism for a
moment to make certain she understood it. She didn't give herself time to lose her nerve. She
simply reached out, opened the belt and unfastened his pants. Under the pants were black
swim trunks. Puzzled, Barrie stared at them. Swim trunks?
Then she understood. He was a SEAL; the acronym stood for SEa, Air and Land. He
was at home in all three elements, capable of swimming for miles. Since Benghazi was a
seaport, that was probably how his team had infiltrated, from the sea. Maybe they'd used some
sort of boat to reach land, but it was possible they'd been dropped off some distance from the
port and had swum the rest of the way.
He had risked his life to save her, was still doing so, and now he was giving her his body.
Everything inside her squeezed tight, and she trembled from the rush of emotion. Oh, God.
She had learned more about herself in the past twenty-four hours than in the entire past twentyfive years of her life. Perhaps the experience had changed her. Either way, something had
happened inside her, something momentous, and she was learning how to deal with it.
She had let her father wrap her in a suffocating blanket of protection for fifteen
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