Target Engaged

Chapter 13-2

“If…” Carla took a deep breath, which caused several truly amazing shifts in her anatomy.

Lucky didn’t begin to cover how Kyle was feeling at the moment. Awed came much closer. How was it that a woman like her was with him? He couldn’t make the pieces connect.

“If,” she started again, “you assholes keep looking at me that way, you’re going to end up being the laughingstocks of this beach while I demonstrate how much I really know about hand-to-hand combat. I will start handing out personal, customized lessons in five, four, three…”

She wasn’t looking at the others, though of course she’d be tracking them in her peripheral vision. She was glaring directly at him.

He got the message, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “You’re gorgeous,” he managed to breathe out.

She rolled her eyes. “You are all such guys.” She bent to gather her swim gear, not kneeling, but thoughtlessly bending right over at the waist, and then began crossing the beach.

None of them could do more than stare, and Kyle couldn’t begrudge them one bit of it.

“God.” This time not even Richie managed more than a whisper.

Carla walking away from him in her leathers had been a treat.

But this was…

They followed as soon as they were able to move.

Carla hit the first stall off the beach that sold women’s clothes. Aruba was Dutch. The beach was lined with orderly resort hotels. Their lobbies in turn would be lined with frigidly air-conditioned shops that catered to the ridiculously wealthy. She’d be more uncomfortable there than she was walking up the beach so close to naked that guys were having trouble walking past her.

She was surprised that the heat rising from her anger didn’t simply bake the t-shirt dry. Of all the goddamn jerks. Okay, she could understand the others, kind of. In their world, women either belonged in khaki or were something found in stateside bars.

But, damn it! She’d thought Kyle was better than that. Since when did stunned-puppy-dog eyes have any part in her world?

He said she was gorgeous. He was full of s**t!

Though there was no denying the heat between them. She liked that he wanted her—when they weren’t in the middle of a mission!

Man but he was making her nuts.

So, she avoided the resorts and worked her way back into the areas inland from the beach. They still catered to the tourists, but they did it without the ostentation and Gucci labels.

Despite Aruba having been a Dutch colony for centuries, a Latin feel pervaded the air. There was a mix of small shops, restaurants, and cheaper hotels without their own beach front. There were also hundreds of stalls, carts, and blankets rolled out on the sidewalks. It was too carefully quaint, testifying to how much of their economy was based on tourism, but that didn’t concern her at the moment. There was still a sleepy feel, as it was only shortly past sunrise, but most of the locals were already in place to garner every dollar they could.

She was hailed in Dutch, English (which she pretended not to know), German (which she didn’t), then Spanish. She hoped to God she could find something in the stall that wouldn’t plaster the word Aruba! or worse, I (heart) Aruba! across her chest.

Carla bought a floppy straw sunhat, big sunglasses, sandals, and the most covering sundress that the woman had, which wasn’t saying much. It was a wraparound in a bright floral pattern whose yellows were far too reminiscent of the despised bikini. It plunged down between her breasts and stopped short of mid-thigh, but it was better than the t-shirt and bikini, which she kept as underwear, that had earned her so much attention in the two blocks she’d stalked from the beach.

She’d left it to the boys to clear out any of her sudden fans. If it was left up to her, she’d probably end up in jail on a murder-one charge. Actually, no probably about it.

At least her guys had gotten their s**t back together by the time she was done shopping. Two had hit a couple stalls and come back with shorts and touristy t-shirts—Duane had actually fallen for the I (heart) Aruba! trap, which did look pretty good stretched across his muscles—while two others stood guard on the stall she’d entered. The old Arawak proprietor with her wrinkle-buried eyes and matronly bosom had clucked her tongue knowingly when Carla had eyed the rear exit of the stall as a potential means of escape.

A grimace, twenty euros from her waterproof money belt, and she rejoined the guys. They dumped their swim gear at the back of a still-closed rental stall. The guy would simply assume that someone had accidentally returned their gear to the wrong place, and he’d quietly add it to his inventory when none of the other vendors squawked.

Kyle had been first shift to guard the stall where Carla had shopped. Had tried not to imagine what was happening while the matrona was holding up a nearly sheer swatch of cloth as a temporary dressing room.

When the other guys came back, he’d gone and bought clothes for himself. Creating that small amount of distance from Carla was a relief.

He couldn’t afford to get stupid about her or it would damage the team. It would fall apart if he was worrying about her and not prioritizing his own role in this. Well, that certainly sounded like his problem, not hers. And Dad had taught him how to deal with such things. He would pound the problem aside, find his center, and stay focused on Carla’s capabilities as a soldier, which were awesome. He’d still place her as Number One on his list of who he’d want guarding his back.

But then he returned to the booth as she wended her way out of the shadowy rear—past piles of t-shirts and racks of dresses and handbags—to once more stand in the sunlight.

Offset by the bright floral flirtiness of the dress, her darker skin simply glowed. Her hair had already dried in the arid heat into a thick tangle that he couldn’t wait to run his hands through. The dress covered more than the bikini and wet t-shirt, but what it hid, it implied and the impact was equally powerful.

Lucky beyond what he deserved? No question! Fear he was going to screw it up…

Well, there was a new thought. Until two nights ago, it had simply been the best relationship of his life. But everything had ramped up and now he couldn’t imagine not being with Carla.

He offered her his arm. She glared at him, then on a huff of exasperation, slipped her hand around his elbow.

The five of them had entered one end of the market wearing swimsuits and not much more. They exited the other wearing tourist outfits and small backpacks. Carla also carried a colorful straw bag that he’d bought for her.

They each now held a variety of clothes, sunscreen, toiletries, a couple of guidebooks, and several ridiculous gewgaws that clearly labeled them as tourists traveling light. Personally, he’d been unable to resist a small, fuzzy moose toy with Aruba stitched into one of his broad antlers. Would it be breaking security if he gave it to Mom for Christmas? Probably, but it was still too damn cute.

They’d laughed together over Indonesian curry chicken and fries from the curiously named Mrs. Kelly’s food truck, but that didn’t make it any less delicious. Indonesia and Aruba had both been Dutch colonies for well over three centuries.

For one moment, Kyle and Carla were wandering alone, the other three guys off this way or that.

“I’m sorry it upset you earlier. I want you to know that you look absolutely fabulous in that dress.” She now owned slacks, shorts, and several tops, but she hadn’t changed into them, for which he was eternally grateful.

Carla looked over at him, her eyes hidden by sunglasses and the wide straw brim of her hat.

“Um, thanks. I’m sorry if I overreacted, but I’ve never worn girl clothes before.”

“Never?” He tried to imagine that. Women in bars, especially the ones who hung out in the Green Beret bars seeking the target-eager environment, always wore girl clothes—though often so scanty that the word clothes might be an exaggeration.

“Come on, Kyle. Do I look like a senior prom kind of girl?”

He inspected her as she stopped to look at a vendor of local jewelry. He could tell that she wasn’t browsing, that it’s what she thought a girl was supposed to do to maintain her cover. A glance revealed that Carla had no piercings. So he couldn’t buy his girl earrings. Then he spotted a fine chain of silver from which dangled a small sailboat of carved amber wrapped in silver filigree. It was actually quite pretty work.

He waited until Carla grew bored with the inspection of earrings and necklaces, less than sixty seconds, and wandered off to see what Chad was up to. He was probably purchasing a pink Swiss Army knife labeled with the inevitable Aruba! because the man simply couldn’t breath right without having a weapon.

Kyle quickly purchased the tiny sailboat necklace. The vendor’s smile said he’d cleverly been ripped off, but Kyle didn’t care to take the time for a bartering session.

He slipped up behind Carla. Lowering the sailboat down in front of her long enough to hear her brief gasp before he secured it around her neck. The boat sailed between the first rise of her breasts.

She turned to study him and he took both of her hands. “No, you don’t look like a prom girl. You look like someone who was the prom queen and has now grown into a stunning woman. And—” He cut her off on the verge of interrupting.

She scowled.

“—no, it does not make you one iota less the soldier I want fighting beside me.” Then he did something he’d never done before. He kissed her in broad daylight in front of others.

With a soft damn you against his lips, she melted against him. The woman who flowed against him was as unexpected as the soldier in form-clinging leathers. This time she didn’t grab and devour. She didn’t take control and demand. Instead, she simply slid her hands around his neck and held on.

He felt a desire to protect. If he were rich, he would set her up in the penthouse of one of these towering resorts looming above the market. He would lavish her with—

Kyle was going mad.

He curled his arms around her. A sigh, he swallowed. He…

…opened an eye and spotted Duane, standing there with arms folded across his I (heart) Aruba! chest and a grin on his face. He opened the other and saw Chad and Richie in similar stances.

“There’s a cliché here waiting to happen,” Duane observed.

“Something about getting rooms, or were you thinking of the girl cooties one?” Chad asked him.

“The name is Bond. Kyle Bond,” Richie offered up. That broke them up and everyone laughed.

Everyone except Carla, who had remained nestled against Kyle’s chest.

Nothing to lose?

He had the whole world to lose and it was curled up in his arms.

Carla wished for heat to rise to her cheeks. She wanted to feel embarrassed, put upon, something that she could fight back against.

Instead, she stood in the circle of Kyle’s arms among the bustle of the now lively market and felt desirable and beautiful. No one had ever bought her jewelry. A tiny sailboat of hope that someday she could sail free.

Jewelry and a dress. And a kiss that hadn’t fired her up, but rather melted her down. She was such a write-off. They should decommission her and sink her right here in the Caribbean Sea, a wreck for people to dive down and wonder at. For a moment longer she let herself remain curled against Kyle’s chest and breathe in his smell of new shirt and salt air, let herself be…

She was not ready to finish that sentence, but her brain tried: Loved? What had her brain been thinking? That was not going to happen—ever. Well, at least she knew which part of her had died first. The only ones she’d ever wanted love from were dead and buried in Arlington.

Pushing back from Kyle’s chest, not so fast that he’d be offended or think her ungrateful, she moved from the circle of his arms.

He let her go, but kept hold of her hand to tuck once more around his elbow.

She needed that at the moment. Needed to stay grounded. A quick glance at the guys showed that they weren’t offended or jealous or looking at her as if she’d somehow changed from the soldier who’d spent six months training close beside them. Rather, they smiled as if somehow it had been their doing that she and Kyle were together. It made the…a mushy word tried to sneak in but she suppressed it…bond she felt for them that much stronger.

She offered her first true smile since coming ashore and found it returned, and it was one of the best feelings she’d ever had. Right up there with the kiss she’d received.

“So—” She hated that she had to clear her throat before she could continue. She stroked the bit of jewelry lying so consciously on her chest. “I heard there was a real sailboat around here somewhere.”