Rescuing Casey Page 8

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  Beatle ignored the tears in her eyes, hoping they were a result of being happy and pleased, and not sad or frightened. He helped shift her until her head was in position. He nodded at Truck, who had his hand on her back under the ropes. He let go, and, when Casey didn’t immediately protest the position or say she was uncomfortable, got to work on cleaning her arm and replacing the IV.

  Beatle picked up the first bucket of water and carefully lifted it. “This might be a bit chilly,” he told Casey, then he slowly poured the water over her head.

  Casey’s eyes closed and she sighed as the water from the stream cascaded through her hair. It took several rinses to get the worst of the gunk from the strands, but Beatle worked slowly, running his hand through her hair each time, squeezing the water out and making sure it got to every part of her head.

  When the water ran relatively clear, he pulled his little stool over and sat.

  “What are you doing now?” Casey asked quietly, her eyes still shut.

  “Shhhhh,” Beatle admonished, smiling. It was obvious she was enjoying the attention. And he was enjoying caring for her. More than he ever thought he would. He picked up the small bottle of shampoo he’d taken out of his pack and squeezed a healthy dollop into his hand. He slowly worked the soap into her hair and lathered it up.

  Casey groaned, completely lost in the sensation.

  She didn’t even flinch when Truck growled after his fourth attempt to reinsert the IV. Beatle saw him move down to her hand to try that vein, but turned his attention back to Casey’s hair. He massaged her head as he worked the lather through her silky strands.

  Her eyes were still shut as his fingers moved to her nape and massaged the tight muscles there. Soap was dripping onto his lap, but Beatle ignored it. Nothing was more important than helping make his woman feel clean and whole again.

  After several minutes of massaging and washing her hair, he asked, “Ready for a rinse?”

  She nodded and Beatle stood once more. He repeated his actions from before, this time making sure none of the suds dripped onto her face. When the water ran clear, he sat and picked up the small chamois he always carried. He dried her hair as well as he could with the cloth, then picked up a comb.

  “This probably won’t feel great,” he told her reluctantly. “I wish I had a nice soft brush to use, but it would’ve taken up too much space in my pack.”

  She smiled, as he’d intended her to. The hand without the IV lifted as she said, “I can do it.”

  Beatle grabbed her hand, then kissed the palm and gently placed it back on her belly. “I got this, sweetheart. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  “Do your worst,” she told him. “I can take it.”

  “I know. You’re amazing,” he said, then got to work. It took quite a while, as her hair was thick and extremely tangled, but he went slow, as promised, and did his best not to pull on her scalp as he worked the comb through her hair.

  Even after he’d taken out all the snarls, he ran the comb through her hair over and over. His hand followed, caressing the strands with each stroke. Beatle was surprised how much he enjoyed taking care of her in this way. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought of doing for a woman before, but it was intimate. Cleaning her, grooming her.

  And with each swipe of the comb, she groaned in delight. Her face was completely relaxed and her lips were curved up in a slight smile. Beatle made a vow right then and there to do this for her often in the future.

  Her hair wasn’t quite dry by the time he stopped, but it was close. Her dirty-blonde hair was highlighted with lighter strands. It was gorgeous.

  Beatle leaned over and kissed her forehead once more and ran his index finger down her nose. “Are you asleep?” he asked quietly.

  “No. I didn’t want to sleep through a second of that. Thank you, Beatle. That was amazing.”

  Truck had long since moved to the other side of the clearing and out of earshot. He was giving them as much privacy as the situation allowed and Beatle appreciated it. “I liked that.”

  Her eyes opened and she peered up at him. “You did?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I did.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked out of the blue.

  Beatle’s brows came down in confusion. She didn’t know his name? Had she hit her head at some point? He didn’t think so. “Beatle.”

  She shook her head. “No, your real name.”

  Ah. “Troy.”

  “Troy what?” she pushed.

  “Troy Lennon,” he told her.

  She smiled then. A full smile with all her teeth showing. “The nickname makes sense now. I thought maybe it was because you’re afraid of bugs or something.”

  Beatle knew he was blushing, but didn’t hide it from her. “Yeah, well…I can’t say I’m that fond of them.”

  Her smile grew, if that was possible. “You’re scared of little bugs!” she exclaimed. “A badass Delta Force soldier is scared of little teeny-tiny bugs! Classic.”

  Mock scowling, Beatle stood and hovered over her. “You were the one who informed us about ants whose bites hurt more than a bullet. And shall we talk about other teeny-tiny insects that, with one bite or sting, can render a man or woman completely helpless? Damn straight, I don’t like bugs. I’d happily take on an armed man over an innocent yet deadly insect.”

  She was still smiling, but she nodded quickly. “I agree. How about this? I’ll keep you safe from the bugs if you keep me safe from the armed men.”

  “Done,” Beatle said almost before the last word came out of her mouth. Then he leaned forward and covered her lips with his.

  It was an awkward angle, as he was standing over her backwards, but he swore he felt electricity shoot from his lips down to his toes when he brushed his tongue over her bottom lip.

  Drawing back, Beatle brought this thumb up and caressed the lip he’d just touched with his tongue, feeling the wetness there. His dick had hardened to a painful level with the slight touch of his mouth on hers, but he ignored it and stood. “There’s some water left over, want to use it to wash up?”

  Casey looked somewhat stunned, but blinked and recovered. “Yes, please.”

  Beatle helped her sit up sideways on the hammock with her legs dangling over the side. “Don’t wash the goo off your feet. I’ll take care of them in the morning before we head out.” He handed her the chamois cloth. “Use this. It absorbs water, so it’ll feel rough against your skin, but it’ll do the job. Here’s the shampoo, you can use it as soap. Take your time and be careful with that IV. I’ll be over there with Truck. If you need me, just yell.”

  When Casey nodded, Beatle couldn’t resist running his hand over her now shiny, clean hair once more, then he forced himself to pick up the stool, turn from her, and head across the small clearing to where Truck was sitting. He sat with his back to Casey and began to chat with Truck about their plan of action for the next day.

  * * *

  Casey sat holding the soap in one hand and the chamois in the other as she watched Beatle walk over to his teammate. She was having a hard time thinking at the moment. She’d been shocked that Beatle would offer to wash her hair for her, but stunned silly at how gentle and thorough he’d been.

  Then when he’d spent all that time combing out the knots in her hair and gently caressing her as he did, she’d wanted nothing more than to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken care of her like Beatle had.

  She’d lived on her own since the age of eighteen, when she’d gone to college. She’d had boyfriends, but they were academic types, like her, not alpha like Beatle, by any stretch of the imagination. As a professor, she was always in charge of her classroom and students. She was responsible for Jaylyn, Kristina, and Astrid while on the research trip, and after they’d been kidnapped, she’d taken even more control.

  Casey hadn’t realized how good it would feel to let someone else take charge. To make the decisions. To care for her.
Even now he was doing it. His back was turned, giving her as much privacy as he could. But she knew if she said even one word, he’d be right there at her side in seconds. It soothed her. Made her feel safe—and she hadn’t felt safe for one second since she’d stepped off the plane in Costa Rica.

  It wasn’t that the country was that scary, but she was always aware of who was around them, and that every decision she made could affect the college students who were with her. But here, in the middle of the jungle, she didn’t have to make any decisions. Everything was up to Beatle and Truck.

  Moving slowly, Casey leaned over and dunked the chamois into the bucket of water and added a bit of the shampoo. Then she lathered it up and brought it to her face. She scrubbed her skin until she was sure she was clean. Then she repeated the process and washed her neck, arms, belly and breasts, under her arms, calves, and lastly, even went so far as to unbutton her pants and use the cloth to clean between her legs.

  The only parts she couldn’t wash while dressed were her thighs, but she figured those were the parts of her that were probably the cleanest. Sighing in relief, she looked over to where Beatle had been sitting as she fastened her pants—and froze.

  His back was no longer to her.

  Truck was nowhere to be seen, and Beatle had moved so that he was leaning against a tree. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest and he was staring at her with eyes so intense she wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

  Her gaze roamed the rest of him, and she had to admit she liked what she saw. He was taller than she was by a few inches. He almost looked short next to Truck, but then again, everyone seemed diminutive next to the huge man.

  He was wearing black cargo pants, hiking boots, a long-sleeve olive-green shirt with a mesh vest over it. The vest had pockets that were filled with who knew what. Whatever a badass Delta Force soldier might need while on the run from bad guys in the jungle. His jaw was clenched as if he were fighting some deep emotion, and she could feel the piercing force of his gaze from all the way across the clearing.

  Her stare swept down his body once more, taking in all that was Troy “Beatle” Lennon, and her lips parted in a small gasp when she came to his hips. He was aroused. The bulge in his pants was easy to see, even from where she sat. Surprised, she looked back up at his face. He didn’t seem to be ashamed of his arousal at all. But he wasn’t smug or gross about it either.

  Her gaze went back up to his and, amazingly, Casey felt her nipples tighten under her shirt. It didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing a bra, the sensitive tips brushing against the harsh material of her shirt made her all the more aware of her arousal.

  Without breaking eye contact, she leaned over and draped the chamois over the edge of the bucket of now soapy water.

  As if her movements broke him from whatever trance he’d been in, Beatle strode toward her.

  “All done?” he asked in a husky voice.

  Casey nodded.

  Instead of reaching for the dirty water, Beatle leaned over, putting his hands on the ropes at her hips. Casey tilted her head but didn’t move away from him. His face was inches from hers as he said fiercely, his southern accent more pronounced with the emotion he was feeling, “I will kill and die for the right to make you mine, and to be yours in return.”

  Then, without waiting for a response, he straightened, bent down and grabbed two of the buckets, and disappeared into the trees.

  Casey inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. If he’d stopped at the first part of his declaration, she might’ve been annoyed. She wasn’t a piece of meat to belong to anyone. But to have him as hers in return? Yeah, she could deal with that.

  What in the world was going on? Was she dealing with some sort of hero worship since he’d saved her? When she got home, would she wonder what she was thinking being attracted to him in the slightest? And what about him? Was he caught up in the damsel-in-distress thing? She had no answers, only questions…and the lingering arousal singing through her veins.

  She brought a hand up to her face to rub some of the stress away, but squeaked in pain when she pulled on the IV. Damn. She’d forgotten all about it.

  But now that she was thinking about it, all the little aches and pains she’d been ignoring snuck up on her. Her arm throbbed where she’d been stuck so many times as Truck had tried to find a viable vein. Her feet hurt. The muscles in her legs were screaming at her. Her back felt like shit from not being able to lie down for so long. On top of it all, she had a headache.

  Shifting in the hammock and wincing when it swayed under her, Casey struggled to pick up her feet and lie down. She’d just gotten her legs into the hammock when Beatle returned with Truck. They both had wet hair and it was obvious they’d used the soap and water source to clean themselves as best they could.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she said quietly, not one to hide her feelings.

  “You okay?” Truck asked, reaching for her hand to check the IV.

  She nodded. “It’s getting dark.”

  “We were just through the trees,” Truck told her. “We wouldn’t have left you here all by yourself if we weren’t nearby to hear if you needed assistance.”

  “I figured, it’s just…I have a feeling I’m not going to do well in the dark for a while.”

  At her admission, Beatle approached the hammock. He ran his thumb along her forehead and asked, “Headache?”

  She nodded.

  “Food’ll help.” Then he turned and went to his never-ending backpack of goodness and brought out an MRE. He came back to her and squatted down. “It’s not the best tasting, but it’s fast and full of calories, which you need,” he said as he opened the plastic pack of food and got busy preparing it. He ripped open a smaller pack and held something up to her.

  Casey took the piece of pound cake and smiled. “Dessert first?”

  “Absolutely. Gotta make sure you have room.”

  Taking a bite of the sweet treat, Casey moaned at the way her taste buds fired to life. She looked down at Beatle as she chewed and froze. She swallowed hard and asked, “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Good?”

  “Um hmm,” she said while chewing another bite.

  She’d finished the cake by the time the hot part of the meal was done cooking. He handed her the plastic pack along with a spoon. “Can you handle it?” he asked.

  She nodded, but wondered what he’d do if she said no. Probably feed her, which, surprisingly, didn’t seem all that weird.

  She quickly ate the pasta meal, telling him between bites that it was one of the best things she’d ever tasted.

  Truck had returned and heard her comment. “You must be hungry if that shit tastes good,” he told her with a wink.

  Casey realized at that moment she was enjoying herself. She shouldn’t be. She was in pain, in the middle of a foreign country with no identification, and had no idea if her kidnappers were waiting in the darkness to snatch her up again. But sitting in the dim light, Casey had no fears.

  If something happened, if someone sprang out of the trees, Beatle and Truck would protect her. So she winked back at Truck and finished shoveling the meal into her mouth.

  Then she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of being full once more, and swayed. Suddenly she was exhausted. So tired she didn’t think she’d be able to move even if she saw a new species of beetle crawl across her arm.

  She felt movement around her and cracked her lids open to see Beatle draping something over the ropes holding the hammock. Mosquito netting. She’d had the same sort of setup in the camp with her students…but now it felt stifling. She felt closed in. Her breathing sped up and she closed her eyes once more, trying to force the claustrophobic feeling back.

  The hammock swung and her body dipped.

  Gasping, Casey’s eyes popped open to see Beatle settling himself next to her.

  “What are you doing?”

  Instead of answering, Beatle looked up at Truck, who was changing the empty IV b
ag to a fresh one. “I’m thinking a bit of stronger painkiller would be welcome at this point.”

  “Beatle,” Casey protested, pushing at his chest, trying to put some space between them.

  He ignored her. “Oh, and would you take care of the sticks for me too?” he asked Truck, motioning to his feet.

  “Troy Beatle Lennon,” Casey said sternly, ignoring the way his eyebrows went up and Truck chuckled at the use of his full name. “You can’t sleep here.”

  “Why not?” Beatle asked, shifting until she was lying mostly on top of him and partly on her side.

  “Because.”

  He grinned. “That’s not an answer, Case.”

  “Because we’re all mushed together. And it’s hot. And you won’t be comfortable.”

  “I like being mushed together. And I don’t care about the heat. And I’ll be more comfortable with you in my arms than I would be sleeping on the ground next to you.”

  “Why would you sleep on the ground?” she asked, ignoring the tingles his other answers gave her. “You do know there are bugs down there, right?”

  He ignored her bug remark and said, “Because I need to make sure you’re okay. And I can’t get to you quickly if I’m inside one of these things, even if I’m strung up right next to you. This way, I can monitor your heart rate and breathing throughout the night. If you’re hurting, I can get Truck to add more painkillers to your IV.”

  Casey wasn’t sure what to say to that. She didn’t have to worry about it though, because Truck finished messing with her IV and pulled out the sticks at their feet. The hammock immediately collapsed around their waists and legs. She wiggled and hiked one leg up onto his thighs.

  “Careful of your feet, sweetheart,” Beatle said.

  As soon as he finished speaking, Truck pulled the upper stick out of the ropes.