Page 72 of Down and Dirty

“Don’t go away angry,” he urged, trying to pull her into his arms. “You’re going to hate me enough during the upcoming WEALS rotations. At least let us keep this special bond we seem to have separate from the military crap.”

“You mean sex?”

“Well, yeah, you must admit we’re incredible together.”

“And that is everything to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he snapped, then immediately regretted his words, tugging on her arm to pull her closer. “Come on, give me a good-bye kiss. I don’t want you angry with me, not after what we’ve shared these past two days.”

She knew better than to allow his embrace, knowing the effect he had on her. In a trice, she would be in his lap, rubbing their nether parts raw. “I am not angry. Just disappointed.”

“I enjoyed being with you, Britta.” He used a forefinger to trace circles on the back of her neck. “I care about you.”

Minutes later she was tiptoeing into the chamber she shared with the three other women, who were thankfully sleeping. She knew she’d hurt Zachary when she declined his kiss and pushed out of his arms. She knew she was being unreasonable in expecting him to grant her such a great favor, putting his son at risk. She knew he’d just given her the best two days of her life, and for that alone he deserved a token of her thanks. But she was in a contrary mood. And she was very worried about what might be happening back in her own time.

It took her a long time to fall asleep.

It was just past dawn when she and the other women throughout the sleeping quarters, not just their room, were awakened by a loud ruckus. First a shrill, loud, long blast of a whistle. Men — the instructors, it turned out — were banging on the doors and yelling into objects held up to their mouths that magnified their voices. Weapons were firing out in the hall, and flares of light were going off.

“Fall out! Fall out!” one person screamed. “Out of your racks!”

“On your feet! On your feet!” someone else yelled.

“Get up, you lazy maggots,” the instructor known as F.U. hollered through the now-open doorway.

“Go, go, go!” It was Cage — rather, Instructor LeBlanc — joining in the yell-fest.

Thus far, none of them had entered the sleeping chamber, just opened the doors, presumably respecting the privacy of the women. At first, that was.

“Oh, great!” Terri whispered. “Do they have to use those bullhorns? I have the hangover from hell.”

“I just hope those aren’t live rounds they’re firing from those machine guns,” Donita remarked, even as she jumped out of her sleeping pallet and stood at attention, like the other ladies.

“Nah. They’re blanks,” said Marie. “And firecrackers.”

“You are the sorriest group of pretend warriors I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” Commander MacLean said, storming into the room. So much for privacy! He needed no bullhorn to increase the volume of his voice. It was ear-splittingly loud on its own.

Disoriented, Britta was having trouble rising to her feet like the other women. Her brain told her to follow what the others did; her aching body had other ideas.

“Petty Officer Asado, either ring out or get your lazy butt in gear,” the commander yelled, right in her face. For a brief second, Britta thought about saying that she would tell Madrene on him, but that would mean she expected special treatment, which she did not.

Instructor F.U. looked at her in passing. Then his head snapped back to look at her more closely. “What the hell have you been doing, Asado?”

There was a brief lull in the yelling and noise as everyone, including the women, turned to look at her, then smile. She was wearing the finger sleeping shert that covered her with a modicum of modesty, so she had no idea why they were all gawking.

“Way to go, girl!” Terri whispered behind her hand.

“Guess she knows what an orgasm is now,” Donita added in a low enough voice the men couldn’t hear.

“Ya look lak ya been wrestlin’ a gator, chère,” Marie added.

Obviously, what she’d been doing the past two days was evident in her appearance.

The commander just shook his head, as if she was a hopeless case. Or more likely that opinion was directed at Zachary.

Master Chieftain F.U. was not about to remain silent, though. “Well, well, well. Someone in this room got laid this weekend. And laid. And laid. And laid. Dare we ask who the lucky fellow was, Asado? Or was it a woman?”

“What a jerk!” Terri murmured.