he muttered. “When do we go?”
“As soon as the others arrive. Four or five days.”
“I can’t wait.”
She followed him back to his room, feeling giddy. His sarcasm didn’t bother her. It meant he was going to cooperate. She was eager to discuss the itinerary, but he stopped at the threshold, barring her entry.
“Unless you want to finish what we started, get away from me.”
She flushed with embarrassment. “Good night, then.”
He slammed the door in her face.
Hud spent the next three days recuperating.
Recuperating, seething in silence and fantasizing about Layah.
He couldn’t believe she’d played him like that. He’d intended to play her, not the other way around. He thought he could convince her to abandon her half-cocked plan by demanding sex, but she hadn’t blinked an eye at his crude proposition. She wasn’t afraid of him, and she wasn’t innocent. She was a young widow, ripe for pleasure. She’d stroked his hair and rubbed her generous breasts against him.
Damn it.
All he’d gotten for his efforts was an erection that wouldn’t quit. He kept reevaluating the kiss they’d shared, searching for signs of deception. She couldn’t fake chemistry. They had that in spades. The feel of her hands in his hair had turned him into mush. When their mouths met, it was like fireworks.
She’d wanted him, in that moment. They’d been on the same page, hungry for each other. He hadn’t imagined her heated response.
Then they’d almost been caught by Ashur, and she’d jumped up from the bed in a panic, as if she might get stoned in a public square for kissing him. A cold weight had settled in his stomach at the sight, and a little voice in his head whispered: She’s married. She looks guilty because she’s married.
She’d said she was a widow, and that made sense, but he didn’t trust her to tell the truth. She was holding him hostage. She’d kidnapped him and drugged him. Lying was a minor offense compared to her other infractions. Intuition told him she was hiding something, and he’d been burned by beautiful women before.
His cheating ex, for example.
He’d searched Layah’s room at the first opportunity. He hadn’t found a cell phone or any useful items among her personal effects, which he’d inspected thoroughly. The damp lingerie in her washroom had smelled like jasmine water, clean and intoxicating. It wasn’t his finest moment of reconnaissance, but no regrets.
This morning, he’d woken up antsy. He’d paced the room, considering his options. He didn’t want to cross the Zagros with a bunch of refugees, but he didn’t want to stay in this village. It was an insecure location, nestled against the mountains. He had no local contacts. The closest military base was hundreds of miles away.
After breakfast, he tested his stitches by doing a basic captivity workout. Fifty push-ups, two hundred curl-ups, five minutes of cardio. Halfway through, he heard a knock at the door. He paused, wiping the sweat from his face.
Ashur looked in on him. “Are you sick, American?”
“No, I’m training.”
“Kill-training?”
Hud smiled at the boy’s hopeful expression. He’d given Ashur a basic self-defense lesson yesterday. The boy was an apt pupil, eager to learn more close-quarters combat techniques. “What do you want?”
Ashur entered the room and dropped a pair of boots on the floor at Hud’s feet. “Layah says we go today.”
“Go where?”
“On our journey.”
His gut clenched with unease. He hadn’t expected to leave so soon. “Have the others arrived?”
“The others?”
“The other people in our party.”
“They came weeks ago.”
Hud dragged a hand down his face. She’d lied to him. The other refugees had been here all along, waiting for him.
“You are strong,” Ashur said. “The weather is good. We must go now.”
He tried on the boots. They were the right size, and almost new. Layah had waterproofed every pair with beeswax and oil, on his orders. He could argue that he was still too weak to climb, or simply refuse to leave, but neither option appealed to him. He didn’t feel secure here. His best option was to travel with Layah. He’d act as her guide, for now. He’d do whatever she wanted. A part of him was excited by the prospect.
A very stupid part of him that sometimes made his brain shut off.
He knew he shouldn’t touch her again. He was a Navy SEAL, and she was a refugee. He might be able to get away with seducing her as an escape strategy. Doing it for his own pleasure was a clear violation. It was unprofessional, unethical and unwise. Not to mention dangerous. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard with this woman. Bedding her would be hot, but he had to stay cool and keep his distance.
She’d been giving him a wide berth, so it shouldn’t be difficult. They’d hardly spoken since the kiss. She never came into his room. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. He smiled at the thought.
At some point, he’d get a chance to sneak off on his own. He’d have the advantage in the higher elevations. He didn’t know where they were, exactly, but they had to be close to Iraqi Kurdistan. The Kurds were reliable US allies, with an army of well-trained soldiers. They would take him to an air base.
He stood, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. His injury wasn’t bothering him. He’d done little but sleep and eat for two days straight. He could feel his body recharging, gaining back the weight he’d lost. A glance in the mirror in Layah’s washroom had revealed a stranger with sharp cheekbones and a delineated rib cage, but plenty of lean muscle. He touched his flat stomach, which was still full from breakfast.
“Hungry again?” Ashur asked as they left the room.
“I don’t think you’ve fattened me up enough,” Hud said.
Ashur made a snorting sound. “You eat more than ten men, American. You will be fat as a qurād soon.”
“What is that? A king?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, a king. Do you wish to learn Arabic? I teach you.”
Hud didn’t plan on being in the country long enough to bother. “You can be my interpreter.”
Ashur flinched at this suggestion, his smile fading. Hud was reminded of his last interpreter, who’d died a grisly death. Ashur couldn’t know that, but he seemed offended. “I will never work
