Page 13 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

Abruptly, his eyes glowed like hot golden embers. She glanced down with a frown and realized she was wearing only a soft cotton camisole and her skimpy bikini panties—the pink satin ones with red hearts and a sassy little bow. Emphatically not the white cotton granny panties Father Ambrose had given her to wear with her nun outfit. But nobody was ever going to see her in her underwear as a nun, right?

Swearing under her breath, she glared at Drago as his gaze slid higher, pausing on the unmistakable swell of her breasts before finally, belatedly, lifting to her face.

She snapped, “Could you have the decency to look away while I get some clothes on?” Her irritation owed a lot more to her reaction to him than his to her. The way those golden eyes had devoured her had made her feel feminine. Sexy. Fabulous.

If she had to keep her hands off the gorgeous arms dealer for very much longer, Father Ambrose was so going to owe her for her Herculean restraint. She supposed nuns everywhere would expect her to behave in a manner fitting of their vows. But good grief, it was hard! Especially with Drago sprawled out on her floor like some sort of reclining god.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he was obediently staring at the wall to his left. Who’d have guessed an illegal arms dealer could behave with any chivalry at all. For surely, what he was doing wasn’t legal. The Colombian government wouldn’t be thrilled at the idea of militant insurgents getting their hands on weapons and ammunition.

She yanked the dress over her head—she really was starting to loathe the sack-shaped thing. She silently vowed to cut it into pieces and use it to clean something really nasty when she got home. Or maybe she’d just ritually burn it.

“Can I look now?” Drago rumbled, laughter in his voice.

“I’m decent.”

“Honey, you’re a whole lot more than—” He broke off while she gaped.

She was a whole lot more than what? And he’d called her honey. Not to mention his voice had been dripping with seduction when he started to make that comment. Was he truly attracted to her? Even in this revolting getup?

“Here. Let me put my wimple on,” she said dryly. “Maybe that will help you remember who I am.”

He sat up, propping one arm on an upraised knee while he shoved the other hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry…again. I can’t seem to get it through my head that you’re a nun. You just don’t…” He trailed off, looking flummoxed.

She just didn’t what? She didn’t know who was more frustrated, him or her. She would give her right arm to hear how he’d have finished that sentence. But it wasn’t as if the nun could go fishing for a compliment, darn it.

She sighed and changed the subject. “Did you have any luck finding the guy who knows about the children?”

“You doubt my skills?” he asked darkly.

It was her turn to be flustered. “I—no—of course not—” She huffed. “So what did you find out?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my business deal went?”

Okay, that was a definite teasing tone in his voice now. He’d been messing with her a minute ago. Jerk. “No, I’m not asking,” she declared. “I think it’s reprehensible that you’re arming violent and lawless men like Enrique and turning them loose on the population of this country. Hasn’t Colombia had enough violence? It’s men like you who make the insurgency drag on and on and continue to put children at risk.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, Sister. I confess: I’m a bad man. Will you forgive my sins?”

“Only a priest can grant you absolution,” she snapped. She had no idea if that was true or not, but Drago didn’t seem to know any different.

He muttered low enough that he probably hadn’t meant for her to hear, “I’d love to do a little penance with you.”

She pursed her lips. “Am I going to have to clobber you with this lamp again to knock a little sense into your head?”

Laughing, he scrambled back toward the door. “Please, no. My skull’s thick but not that thick. I think you already split my head in two.”

“Oh, come now. I can hit a lot harder than that.”

His eyes sparkled with humor, glinting like nuggets of pure gold, and her breath caught. With his features relaxed and open like this, it was impossible to believe he was a hardened criminal. “I’ll pass on the batting practice,” he chuckled.

“Do you need a couple of aspirin? I’ve got some in my bag.”

“No. I’ll be fine. I’ve taken a lot worse hits than that in my day.”

“Do tell.”

He rose to his feet and, in the tiny room, she was abruptly aware of just how large he really was. Not only did he tower a foot taller than her, but he had to be double her weight. And every ounce of it was rock-solid muscle.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, alarming her mightily until he commented, “Worst hit I ever took was this one.” He pointed at a long scar that bisected his torso. “I got it in a knife fight in Rio de Janeiro a few years back.”

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