Page 9 of Sweet Betrayal

Her eyes darted everywhere, searching for the gate the soldier had mentioned. Why she was still following his directions, she had no idea. The guy was deranged. Standing out in the open felt like suicide.

But there was nowhere else to go. The hedge was too dense, and the houses were sealed tight. Aside from the moped rider and the men chasing her, the entire street was deserted.

Then she heard the faint, rhythmic sound of chanting. Prayer time.

That explained the lack of people. She sprinted on, the road curving beneath her feet. Still no gate in sight.

He did say the left fork… right?

A shout rang out. She turned.

Shit.

One of the men had spotted her, and he was charging up the road. At least he was alone, which meant they must’ve split up.

Adrenaline surged. Her legs burned. She pushed herself harder, and flew around the final bend?—

And saw it.

A plain wrought iron gate, about six feet tall, tucked into a recess at the end of the hedge. It was easy to miss, camouflaged by tangled bougainvillea and a stretch of chicken wire across the top.

She stumbled toward it, chest on fire. Her hand reached for the latch?—

The gate swung open from the inside.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. A man.

He seized her around the waist in one smooth motion, yanking her through the opening. Her scream caught in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” a voice growled in her ear.

CHAPTER 4

Sergeant Tom Wilde held the wriggling woman tight against his chest. Jesus—her heart was pounding like an M4 on full auto.

“It’s okay. You remember me?” His voice stayed low, steady. He didn’t want to spook her more than she already was. “This is one of the back gates to the embassy.”

She stopped writhing, but her legs gave out. He supported her as she collapsed, tightening his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. She fit snugly into his frame, her body soft and fragile, all heat and trembling femininity.

“You’re safe now.”

She looked up at him, wide eyes framed by the gray scarf. Beautiful, oval-shaped eyes. Panic, confusion… it was all there in her terrified face.

“You?” she panted, her chest heaving from the exertion.

“Yeah. Me.”

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure if he was real. “But I thought…” Her voice was sultry, husky, like the last note of a slow song in a smoky bar. It stirred something inside him.

“You thought I wasn’t going to help you?”

A hesitant nod. She glanced toward the gate, but he wasn’t ready to look away. Not yet.

She smelled like sweat and jasmine, her fear wrapped in something warmer and undoubtably female. Her mouth was parted, lips soft and enticing.

Then—footsteps. Heavy. Closing in fast.

“How many?” he barked, snapping out of it, dragging his gaze from her lips to the alley.

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