Operation Summer Storm (7 page)

Summer sincerely hoped it was.

Chapter Five

When she thought of private islands, images of luxurious accommodation and resort style pools with a cocktail bar immediately sprang to mind…Los Cavernas left a lot to be desired.

Next to the hanger, a small timber structure more like one long open room served as both office and sleeping area for the men with the kitchen, set up inside the hanger. The shower consisted of planks nailed together to form a raised floor and a timber frame that supported two forty-four gallon drums of water, which were old fuel drums—the slight whiff of aviation fuel, still intact and a makeshift shower head…

Five star luxury this was not.

Summer gingerly picked her way towards the shower; not a very exciting prospect considering there was no hot water, but decided she’d get it over and done with sooner rather than later. Rounding the corner of the house, she froze.

Tate stood with his back toward her in all his naked glory, lathered in foamy soapsuds. A stream of delicious froth trickled from his shoulder, down a wide, tanned back and over the tight firmness of two perfectly rounded butt cheeks. The white of the soap contrasted starkly with the darkness of the hair on his legs as the soap continued its journey down the back of his muscular thighs and calves to pool on the sand beneath two large feet.

This was not good. This was not professional. Damn it—she’d always envisioned herself as capable and intelligent…hard to believe now with her mouth hanging open, practically drooling at this picture of male perfection before her.

He hadn’t seen her. There was still a chance she could avoid an incident. She should just turn around, walk back down the beach…run. Turn around and run before he sees you. Holding her breath, she eased the weight from her front foot. Her heart thudded inside her chest and she was sure it would give her position away at any moment. One more step and she would be back behind the house…

The loud crack of a branch from behind her made her spin around and scream as the biggest lizard she’d ever seen came running out of the undergrowth toward her. Still screaming, Summer bolted, skidding to an uncertain halt outside the open shower stall as Tate dropped the soap and spun around.

“What the hell?”

Summer’s eyes widened in alarm as he stood there before her naked and covered in soapsuds. Only her terror of the reptile with his fixed, beady eye on her saved her from dying of instant mortification then and there. Slowly she turned back to watch it fearfully and inched closer to the shower stall as she watched the huge lizard prop itself up on its front legs and sway back and forth, seeming to weigh up Summer as his next meal.

“He won’t hurt you. It’s just a water monitor,” Tate’s low voice behind her came out in a rush of relief.

She turned her head to see he’d snagged a towel, and was lowering a large black gun.

“You always take a gun into the shower with you?” her voice was still unsteady, and she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to accept the fierce looking reptile was harmless.

“Old habit.” He shrugged and she found her gaze tangle with his in the dark, sensual mist that reached out and held her captive. “You never know when a beautiful woman might come running out of the jungle screaming for help,” he added, and she saw the note of amusement creep into his expression.

“S…sorry. I… Sorry,” she stammered, then turned and fled toward the beach, her face flaming and her heart thudding faster than a heart had a right to be thudding.

* * * *

Later, Summer helped set up their camp for the night. The men made a fire and she lent a hand to help cook. Having something to do at least made her feel useful. All afternoon and evening she’d avoided looking at him.

Lord, she couldn’t even think his name. Just the thought of it brought images of things she had no business thinking about at the moment, to mind. She shook her head to rid herself of the memory of happening upon a naked mercenary in the shower. It didn’t work any better this time than it had the first hundred or so times.

The warm balmy evening almost took on a party atmosphere with the campfire and cookout—if you forgot the fact this time tomorrow they would be on their way to a distant jungle to break her sister out of God only knew what kind of prison.

The men ate with ravenous appetites as they sat on the ground around the campfire, but she’d lost hers. Giving up the pretence of eating she got up and scraped her plate. She was too restless to go to her bedroll someone had thoughtfully set up for her inside the cabin. Having all day to simply sit and let someone else handle the details was not her style.

She snagged the shirt Tate had lent her earlier, shrugged it on over her T-shirt, and walked down to the beach. Standing at the water’s edge, she stared out over the dark water and fought the urge to cry. She was so tired. Now that she’d stopped moving, she felt the strength she’d found to get her this far begin to waver.

The sand felt cool beneath her bare feet; the salty air filled her nostrils along with another scent. Turning her face, Summer breathed in the warm fragrance of Tate Maddox’s shirt, and smelled the heady mix of sand, sea and man.

As always, her thoughts were on her sister but she was also trying to come to terms with the out of character decision to accompany these men on their impromptu mission. She understood why Tate was so furious with her for forcing him to take her along. He was right—she had no business involving herself in something like this, but that was before her peaceful life had been turned on its head.

Sometimes you have to make a choice—you can stay safely in the comfort of your circle...or you can face your fears and bravely step outside it. The time had come for Summer to face her fears. It didn’t mean she was convinced she was doing the smart thing…but she knew it was the right thing. Her sister needed her and, no matter how strained their relationship, she was going to be there for Willow.

* * * *

Tate watched her leave the camp and followed her down to the beach. He found her huddled in his shirt and staring out at the ocean. His gaze traced the shapely curve of her calf muscles and thigh to where they disappeared under the hem of his long shirt. She looked so small and alone and he wondered if she realized how transparent her tough act really was to everyone else. His mind rewound back to this morning as he’d taken the opportunity to feast his eyes on her standing on the beach, her wet shirt outlining every detail from the lacy white bra to everything underneath. Her breasts, still heaving from her swim to the shore had tantalized and teased his already over-stimulated imagination.

He ran a hand through his short hair now as he bit back a curse. What was happening to him? Had he forgotten she’d blackmailed her way into his life and at this moment held the only thing that could literally save four lives in her hands?

What was so damn irresistible about her to make him, a hardened veteran, for God’s sake, feel like some kind of teenager?
His gaze locked onto her as he tried to rationalize his emotions. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, not in an obvious sense, but the way her jaunty little ponytail swung side to side as she moved, drove him crazy sometimes.

He clenched his jaw tightly. One look at her big eyes and full mouth did something to his loins, made parts of him jump in a way no other woman had done in…well…ever. He frowned at the thought. It had to be he’d been too long without a woman. That’s all. She was the first female he’d seen up close and personal in a long time. It didn’t help that he’d seen the hot desire in her gaze earlier when she’d caught him in the shower.

At least the attraction thing wasn’t one-sided.

It wasn’t only that he found her attractive. He had to admit-reluctantly he liked her audacity… but he’d cut off his own balls before he’d admit it out loud though.

“You should stay near camp,” he said roughly, nearly startling her from her skin. Great going, Ox. Way to impress the lady.

She recovered quickly with a shrug that didn’t fool him any more than her other acts of bravado. “I just felt like being alone for a while.”

They stood in silence as the waves crashed against the beach.

“Why are you the one coming after your sister?” Tate finally asked. At her puzzled frown he added, “Don’t you have a boyfriend or husband who could have stepped in?”

Summer brushed a stray strand of honey-blonde hair from her face before answering. “Nope. It’s just Willow and I. Our parents died when I was nineteen. Willow was almost twenty-one, then she lost Michael six months ago…I don’t know how she’s handling…all of this,” she admitted nervously.

“You know, I can’t promise everything’s going to turn out fine,” he told her seriously—strangely relieved there was no husband waiting at home for this maddening woman who had given him nothing but further headaches to add to his already shit-full life.

When she looked at him with those big blue eyes he almost wished he could take it back and promise her anything just to see the sadness disappear but he couldn’t do that. She deserved to hear the truth, and the truth was he couldn’t give her any guarantees—on anything. Her sister was a hostage. The men holding her were hardened rebel soldiers with a burning hatred for foreigners. For all they knew her sister, along with the medical team she’d been taken with, might already be dead. She had to be prepared for something like that no matter how painful the thought.

“I know,” she whispered dropping her head to look down at the sand between their feet and shivered.

“Come on. Let’s get a warm drink into you.”

They turned and headed back to the camp separate and apart. When he put out his hand to help her up the slight embankment at the edge of the tree line, she accepted it with only the smallest of hesitations.

* * * *

After pitching in with the clean up, Summer sat down near the cozy fire with a grateful groan.

“So, are all Aussie’s as crazy as that mad guy who used to catch crocodiles down there?” Tupper threw at her across the small fire, startling her with the direct comment.

“Yes; all Australian men wrestle Croc’s as a hobby.”

The echoing scoffs and grunts from around the fire made her smile. Men, it seemed, were the same the world over—testosterone ran rampant through their veins. Where a man saw someone wrestling a twelve-foot, thrashing crocodile as brave—a women saw it as completely psychotic…

As the men talked amongst themselves, Summer begin to drift off. Stifling a yawn, she got to her feet and said goodnight. It occurred to her that finding herself alone on an island with four strange men should have felt at least a little threatening, but she was surprised to find that it wasn’t. Did she find them attractive? She couldn’t deny it; they all were, in a rough man’s kind of way but did she feel as though any of them could attack her? Without a doubt she did not. There was no real reason she could put her finger on about the feeling—but she knew with them she would be safe. They had a certain honorable dignity about them that was obvious even though she knew Tate Maddox must occasionally feel like wringing her neck.

The sky above was clear and bright with countless stars. Tipping her head back she stared up at them in wonder for a few minutes then climbed the stairs into the long-house. She’d been designated a cot off to one side of the room, in deference to some illusion of privacy, she thought with a small tug of gratitude. Shrugging out of Tate’s long shirt, she decided to sleep in her shorts and T-shirt. She didn’t want a repeat of the other morning, being caught out in her underwear.

As she began to unzip the edges of her sleeping bag, she froze. Something wasn’t right. The bottom of the bag moved. Carefully, she took hold of a corner of the fabric and in one quick movement, ripped it open. A flash of brown and green reptilian skin and a set of black eyes staring back at her was enough to make her drop the sleeping bag and let out a blood curdling scream. Within moments she was surrounded as the men came running, guns at the ready.

“What happened?” Tate demanded.

“There’s a snake in my bed,” she said with a shudder.

The men looked at one another and exchanged smug grins, lowering their weapons to check it out.

“Never fear darlin’ there’s four of us; we’ll handle it.” Del drawled, flexing his muscles and making a show of warming up before he attempted to pull back the bedroll. The other men stood nearby, grins plastered over their faces as they watched Del clown around.

Summer frowned; she didn’t appreciate providing them with entertainment.

Crouching over the bag, Del threw it open. There was a moment of stunned silence…

It was gone.

Summer immediately scrambled up on top of the desk, scanning the room frantically.

“Are you sure it was a snake. Maybe you just imagined it?” Tate suggested doubtfully.

Summer felt her heart racing, somewhere in the room, a very big, very ugly snake, was on the loose.

“I’m positive it was a snake and if I were you, I’d be watching where you stand,” she warned.

“Well, it’s gone now. You probably blew its ear drums out with that scream—” Del stopped mid-sentence when she yelled out another warning as a flash of something emerged from beneath a cot. Raising, it flattened out its wide head in a terrifying display of aggression.