“Fine,” she said, feigning defeat. “Take me.”
His gaze darkened. “What?”
“Do your worst.”
“My worst is the best you’ve ever had, guaranteed.”
A thrill shivered down her spine at his boast, but she summoned a bored look. “Go ahead, if you must.”
He stood abruptly, lifting her off her feet. In the next instant, she was on the bed, flat on her back underneath him. He pushed her arms over her head and pinned them against the mattress. She didn’t protest. He stared at her for a long moment, breathing heavily. She stared back at him, calling his bluff. He wasn’t the dumb brute she’d expected. He had brains, as well as brawn. He thought he could pressure her into releasing him. What he didn’t realize was that they were both prisoners here. The only way out was over those mountains, together.
His grip on her wrists loosened. He collapsed, burying his face in her neck.
She experienced a strange mix of emotions. Sorrow, relief, guilt, sympathy...disappointment. And kinship, maybe. He didn’t want to help her, but they were connected. They shared a common enemy. They’d both suffered the traumas of war, even though he’d done so by choice, not because of a direct threat to his home and family.
She raised a hand to his hair, tentative. It still felt nice. So did his body, for that matter. The heavy weight of him reminded her of past pleasures, long forgotten. She stroked the nape of his neck lightly.
He lifted his head, his expression incredulous. She knew she was playing with fire, and she didn’t care. She raked her nails through his hair, encouraging him. She thought he might shove her away in anger, but he didn’t. His half-lidded gaze lowered to her lips.
Then his mouth descended.
The first contact was electric. She parted her lips under his, breathless. She’d wanted this from the first moment she set eyes on him. He was battered and bruised. He’d been in a dark place. So had she. Maybe that was what drew her to him. He needed comfort, and she ached to give it. He was her captive, her patient, her only hope.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking what he wanted. He tasted like mint and soap and male heat, a tantalizing mixture. She clutched his hair and moaned. He feasted on her mouth the same way he devoured plates of food, without finesse. She reveled in the possession.
Had it been this way with Khalil? This urgent?
She couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. Hudson kissed away those thoughts and inserted himself back into them. His tongue delved deeper and his body pressed harder. She could feel the exciting length of his erection. Desire pulsed between her legs. She shifted her hips against him.
He groaned against her mouth, his big hand squeezing her waist. It roved to her hip and back up again, covering her breast. This simple pleasure seemed to undo him. He broke the kiss and fumbled for a way underneath her clothes.
She might have let him continue, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped her to her senses.
Ashur.
He was coming down the hall.
Hudson heard it, too. He turned his head toward the open doorway, his hands still. They were about to get caught.
She pushed at his shoulders and he shifted to one side, allowing her enough space to move. She scrambled off the bed in a panic. He sat forward and folded his arms over his lap while she straightened her tunic. When Ashur appeared in the doorway, she made a face like a scolding auntie.
“Where have you been? I need a broom to sweep up this hair.”
Ashur muttered something about cleaning up after swine and went to do her bidding. It was his typical attitude, so she didn’t think he’d noticed her dishabille. She leaned against the chair, weak-kneed. When she glanced at Hudson again, his eyes were sharp.
“Are you married?” he asked in a hard voice.
“No.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if the question had left a bad taste in it.
“I’m a widow,” she said. “A recent widow, still in mourning.”
His expression didn’t change. “How recent?”
“Two years.”
“Two years is a long time.”
“In my culture, some widows stay in seclusion for the rest of their lives. Most do not remarry or keep company with men.”
“Is that your plan? Never remarry?”
It wasn’t what Khalil would have wanted, but she hadn’t imagined moving on. She also hadn’t imagined kidnapping an American and allowing him to take liberties. She didn’t recognize the woman she’d become.
Ashur returned with the broom, saving her from responding. He swept up the clumps of hair, his eyes downcast. She wondered what he’d done to make Hudson wary. Ashur was so full of grief and fury. He blamed all Americans for destabilizing the country. He blamed Hudson, in particular, for his father’s death. She couldn’t afford to get caught kissing the man. It might send Ashur over the edge.
“Do you require anything else, Queen Aunt?” Ashur asked.
She gestured for him to go. He did an exaggerated bow and left the room. She didn’t think it was funny, but Hudson’s lips quirked with amusement. She crossed her arms over her chest, studying him. “Are you married?”
“I’m divorced,” he said. “It’s what we do in my culture.”
“It is not uncommon here, either.”
“Really?”
She nodded and turned her attention to the map on the table. She was curious about his past, but she needed to focus on the journey ahead. “I can pay you after we reach our destination.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She didn’t ask what he wanted. She already knew. “Please, look at the map. Crossing the Zagros is not as dangerous as attempting to travel within Iraq.”
“Why can’t you stay here, in this village?”
“The Yazidi have offered a temporary meeting place, not a permanent refuge.”
He stood and joined her at the table, his brow furrowed.
She pointed to a tiny dot on the map. “We are here.” She traced the edge of the mountain range with her fingertip, until she
