"Of course." Understatement of the century.

She missed both her parents. How easily she had taken for granted something like a cruise with them to celebrate her graduation from the university.

Tears burned after all. Much more talk of her parents and she would start blubbering all over this man who already found her childish enough.

"Urn—" she tried to sniffle up her tears "—I think I would like to spit some more fire now if you do not mind."

A whisper of air brushed by her cheek a half second before his hand fell to rest on the back of her head. His fingers cupped the base of her skull with firm comfort.

No movement. No stroke. Yet the heavy touch of his hand against her hair was so alien and sensual. Forbidden, which made it all the more arousing. She held still and savored the moment because undoubtedly once she looked up, things would change forever. Either he would jerk away and scramble for his nice safe distance from the woman who seemed determined to chase him down hallways.

Or he would kiss her.

And that scared her all the more because then her lies would someday send this honorable man running faster than any meaningless age difference.

Chapter 11

He should run. Drew knew it deep in his battle-seasoned bones that insisted a wise man who wanted to live to fight another day understood when to retreat.

Right this moment with his fingers buried in Yasmine's dark hair and her exotic scent drifting all around him, he wasn't feeling particularly wise. As a matter of fact, he was feeling downright reckless and unable to stop staring at a perfect pair of lips. Perfect lips on the face of the most exasperating woman he'd ever met.

With her jet hair caressing her face, she looked more American, less foreign, more approachable. Drew cupped the back of her skull with a firmer touch, nudged her forward and, God help them both, Yasmine didn't need much persuasion. If she'd shown any resistance, he could have scavenged the grit to pull away.

Instead she drifted forward into his arms with more of that fluid grace that sent lust hammering through him until he couldn't think about anything but getting na*ed with her. Taking the release his libido demanded with sex, long, hot, physical sex, her hair tangled around their sweaty bodies as they both worked through whatever the hell insanity twisted them inside out.

Lust. It had to be lust along with the sense of the forbidden. He refused to consider it could be anything more. Once he kissed her, she would become like any other woman in his mind, and therefore easy to walk away from. The sooner he kissed her, the sooner he could forget her.

Yeah, that made sense.

His mouth met hers partway, slanted over, found the unique feel of her. Taste of her. Mint toothpaste and pure Yasmine.

His other hand slid up to grasp her arm, his fingers wrapping around the delicate give of womanly flesh. In a world of hard dirt beds and harder decisions, he'd forgotten anything could be this soft. Brushing another kiss over her lush mouth, he tried to stay gentle, to remember this woman was half his weight. Half his strength.

Half his age.

Damn, but he didn't want to remember that just yet with her lips moving under his. Parting with enough encouragement to assure him he hadn't misread a thing here.

"Well, Colonel, I never would have expected a big, bold man like you to be a shy one." Her warm breath and challenge washed over him and washed away the last of his restraints, as well.

A growl rumbled in his chest. His fingers tightening in her hair, his other hand dropped to her waist, pulling her nearer. She leaned into him, br**sts to his chest and, ah, shit, but he'd never hated the bulk of his Kevlar vest more. The bulletproof protection shielded him from the feel of her softness giving against his unyielding chest, a sensation that surely would have knocked him on his ass faster than any bullet.

As if he wasn't already falling. The warm velvet inside of her mouth had him harder than hell and in need of more. More of her.

Her hands feathered over his head, through his close-shorn hair, down his neck, teasing him with the sensation and notion of having those soft hands all over him. He explored the warm recesses of her mouth, more softness, and wondered how hot and soft the rest of her would be.

At the hesitant touch of her tongue to his, he discovered the answer to a question he damn well didn't want answered right now. Innocent. The word blazed through his mind.

She might talk a good game about her informed decisions, but her information leaned more toward book knowledge. Her in-the-field experience was definitely limited.

Her enthusiasm, however, seemed boundless. She wiggled closer. Ah, hell. What now, Cullen?

While her untutored enthusiasm wasn't a turnoff, it sure as shit brought a splash of cold water reminding him he had no business doing this. With her. To her. She would have to find another man, another day.

Another man? Drew's grip tightened. Primal possessiveness snarled through him. What was it about this small bit of a woman that had him twisted in knots until he forgot who the hell he was, even where he was?

Where he was. In front of an open door.

He tore himself away from her. "Shit."

Swaying, she blinked. She dropped her hand to his chest to steady herself. "Shit? Well, thank you very much, Colonel. I do not believe I have ever been so prettily romanced after a kiss before."

Not too steady himself, Drew gripped the edge of her cot. Beside her hip. A hip his hand itched to explore. Irritation throbbed in time with his erection. "Lady, if you were looking for romance, you picked the wrong man to hit on."

She straightened away from him. Hurt or embarrassed or just plain pissed? He couldn't tell for certain. But look out, she was spitting fire.

"To hit on? And I assume little, defenseless me hauled a big man like you right into this room and forced a kiss."

"Anyone who calls you defenseless is an idiot."

And he was acting like an idiot himself. Funny as hell and yet not funny at all that frustrated hormones turned a man cranky at any age.

The fact that he had no business taking a test run with this woman made him crankiest of all. Twenty years in the field had taught him well that live fire exercises sometimes left a guy taking a bullet. And he sure felt gut-shot at the moment.

None of which was her fault. "But yeah, you're right. No one forced me to kiss you."

He let himself touch her hair again, to reassure the innocent part of Yasmine that he wanted this. Wanted her. And yeah, because at the moment he was a weak-willed man around her.

Drew hooked a silken strand behind her ear. "You're a damned pretty woman and I let myself get caught up in the moment. I'm madder at myself than I am at you. Hell, anyone could have walked by. The talk would have been...bad. For both of us."

To say the least. His hand fell to his knee.

Scooping her scarf from the floor, he started to push to his feet so he could get the hell away from her before he repeated his mistake. Or made a worse one. "Which is all the more reason I should—"

"What is your name?"

She stopped him half rising with just her voice.

His hand fisted around the scarf as silky as her hair. "What does that have to do with anything?" He lowered back to one knee, jabbing a thumb to his chest, which had his last name stitched on. "And I know you can read English. Cullen. My name's Cullen."

"No." She stroked her finger over the name tag. Her slim finger seared right through Kevlar more effectively than shrapnel from a mortar round. "I mean, your given name. Everyone calls you Colonel Cullen or simply by your rank. You do not wear tags that I have seen with your complete name."

Something done for battle-time safety. The less information the enemy had about a POW, the better. Many of the fliers opted not to wear anything that gave away crew position for just that reason.

Now she wanted his full name. The request stirred suspicions he didn't want with the taste of her still filling his mouth. He stayed silent so long he could feel her anger growing in a power struggle of wills.

Almost as powerful as the one going on inside himself. The soldier within him shouted warnings to stay on guard. The man inside demanded he was honor bound to a few things because he'd kissed an innocent woman.

A damned pissed innocent woman. "Have I overstepped, Colonel Cullen? Silly me, but I thought since you had your tongue in my mouth a few moments ago, it would be all right for me to know your name."

God, she made his head hurt. And turned him on all at the same time.

She folded her hands in her lap, a prim contrast to her lips still full from kisses stirring a whole new host of fantasies.

"Having your name does not equate with some grand commitment. I realize that while you are attracted to me, Colonel, you are not interested in anything more. Territory well covered and understood. And of course you also believe we have nothing in common because of our differing ages and cultures, and you are too honorable to offer a fling."

The buzzing in his ears quieted. Was she propositioning him? If so, her blush at a simple word like "fling" made "flinging" with her even more out of the question. Although flinging her on her back was a mighty damned enticing prospect.

With his hand clenching around her scarf still in his fist, he focused on her blush instead of her words.

"But even if nothing more happens, we did kiss." Her all-out smile tipped her mouth and his world. "Quite wonderfully at that. And after we have left here, I would like to know your name when I think of this moment."

Her words trickled through with images of her reliving what they'd done because it moved her, as well. The woman might be innocent, but she was a seductress with simplicity. Like the understated allure of her scarves hiding her hair. Damn but she got to him.

"Drew. My name is Drew."

He waited for her to say it, prepped himself for the inevitable impact of hearing his name softened by her lightly accented voice.

Instead she watched him, chewed her bottom lip. "Would it upset you or break some sort of rule that would send you running if I say your given name aloud?"

"You make me sound mighty damned wimpy."

Yasmine slipped her fingers through the waterfall drape of her scarf trailing from his hand, twined it around her wrist, linking them without touching. She tugged. "Wimpy? I think not."

She was playing him. He could feel it with every stroke to his masculine ego, and still she made him smile.

"When have you ever sought permission or followed my orders, Sheba?" he asked, as close as he could come to telling her that hell, yes, he wanted her to say his name. The higher he climbed in the ranks the less often he heard his given name and right now he wanted to hear it on her lips more than he wanted a regular bed and a real U.S. of A. meal.

"Thank you for following me instead of sending the spiky-haired intelligence officer who only answers in grunts." She looped the scarf tighter around her wrist until their hands met, held. "You are a sensitive man, Drew Cullen."

Oh, yeah, good thing he'd prepped because his name sure as shit sounded good coming out of her mouth. Then her words smoked into his mind. "Sensitive?"

Her smile turned downright wicked. "In a completely non-wimpy sort of way."

He laughed, which broadened her smile, which made him smile again, too. Which sobered him. "I'll think about you, too, after I leave this place. You make quite an impression on a man, Yasmine." He allowed himself to say her name and even let it hang in the air between them for an extra second. "If things were different..."

"If-onlys are a waste of time once a choice has been made, and you have obviously already made yours." Her eyes pinned him as she lobbed the verbal grenade.

One he couldn't afford to touch.

At his silence, she untwined their fingers he hadn't even realized were still linked. "You may leave my room now, Colonel."

Not Drew. Colonel. And already he regretted that he wouldn't hear her say his name again. "I'll have someone stationed outside your quarters shortly."

He turned his back and left, closing the door behind him. She'd told him clearly enough that she wanted him, too, and didn't want marriage. Good God, most men would jump at the no-strings opportunity. What the hell was wrong with him?

Must be sleep deprivation screwing with his brain or he wouldn't even consider turning the knob on her door for round two. He needed to get the hell out. Check on his men. Then land on his cot for some shut-eye before he did something irrevocable.

Drew stepped away from the door, his hands fisting at his sides. Closing around something in an odd deja vu moment from when he'd first found her note in his hand.

This time, his fingers closed around rose silk he'd somehow forgotten to give back.

Taking in Monica's tight-lipped smile as she fielded another "tiara" joke from the crew dogs, Jack could tell she'd hit her limit. Sure she was holding her own with the fliers. She'd saved face after the hissing match with her sister, even if Monica would spend the rest of her career with the call sign "Tiara'' now that Hippocrates had been overturned. But he could see the strain on her face after months of stress from Sydney's capture, a drunken wedding. An impending divorce.

The Yasmine confrontation had been the spat that broke the camel's back. Which cinched it for him regarding whether or not to tell her about the stoning ordeal. The last thing she needed was anything else to worry about. Odds indicated it wasn't Sydney, anyway, and he didn't intend to worry Monica until they had firmer intel on the incident. He flipped the wireless e-mailer clipped to his web belt again to check for an update on Sydney and...

Nothing. Shit.

He needed to get Monica away from here and leveled out, just in case the worst came around later. He ignored the damned voice of reason in his head that insisted he was concocting excuses to be with her. To reassure himself she was alive in a place where women were killed all too easily.

Jack angled sideways into the circle of fliers and gripped Monica's upper arm, tugging her toward the hall. "Time to go."

The feel of her under his hand sent a jolt of hunger through him that he was too damned raw to fight tonight.

Her smile pulled tighter, leaving high cheekbones prominent. "I'm okay.''

"I know you are. But things are winding down anyhow. I'm tired, but I won't be able to sleep if I'm worried about you. We had a deal when I let you come here. You're not walking around alone when there's an option otherwise." Especially not while the images of that woman being crushed to death under thousands of pounds of rocks and cement pounded hard and fresh in his memory at a time when Tina had decided to crawl back into his head.

Yeah, Monica wasn't the only one about to snap.