Page 74 of Her Mercenary
SAM
I awoke the next morning wrapped in Roman’s arms.
The leaves swayed above us on a gentle breeze. It was the time of early morning when the sun hadn’t fully risen, subtly illuminating the jungle in a dim blue light. Life crackled around us in the trees, on the branches, on the ground, in the water nearby.
Life crackled between us.
Us.
The kiss.
Memories flooded me. The gunshots, the brutal slaying of the man who tried to kill us. Roman shielding me, protecting me. The kiss.
“I’m not good at this, Sam.”
I sat up, a mixture of both excitement and terror rushing through my veins.
Does he regret it?
The thought churned my stomach. Because I, without question, did not regret the kiss.
I stared into the ferns, in the direction of what would eventually be an airport that would take me home. Home—and away from him.
It was our last day together, our last night.
God, how things had changed between us.
Fingertips softly swept over my lower back, goose bumps following immediately after. I turned, peering down into those deliciously gorgeous green eyes, puffy and swollen with sleep.
It was the first time I’d seen him sleep.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
We stared at each other a minute, gauging the climate between us, both questioning the other.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes.” His response was immediate and certain. “Are you okay?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
He pulled me down and wrapped me in his arms, and with those few, simple words, the relationship between us was solidified.
I felt both excitement and absolute terror.
Of all the men I could be falling in love with, I, Samantha Greene, was falling in love with a mercenary.
After coffee and an MRE, Roman left me to pack up while he did a perimeter check, ensuring no more guards lurked in the shadows.
We started out before daybreak, neither of us acknowledging the savage way Roman had killed the guard the night before, or that it was our last day together.
We hiked all day. The morning was filled with casual conversation, flirty banter, and a few stolen kisses here and there.
We talked about anything and everything that morning, aside from the fact that we would be leaving each other in several hours. Roman led most of the conversations, uncharacteristically talking nonstop. It was as if his armor had been left in the stream after the kiss.
He taught me how to read the sun, how to start a fire with rocks. I learned that Roman was an only child, that he hates peanut butter, and has a blurred cartoonish tattoo of his childhood idol, Conan the Barbarian, tattooed on his thigh. This, a souvenir given to him for free by a stripper on a drunken night in Brazil. I didn’t ask what he gave her to initiate the trade.
I learned that Roman pushes up his shirtsleeve when he becomes uncomfortable with the topic of conversation or is ready to change the subject. I learned that his eyes twinkle when he teaches survival tactics, and that he sneaks glances at my lips when I pretend to listen.