Sandra Hill by Down, Dirty

leaning against a device made of logs that SEALs had long ago aptly dubbed the Dirty Name. Perspiration covered her from her scalp, which had to feel itchy, to her toes, which probably pinched by now in her nasty boondockers. She pretended to be relaxing but probably couldn’t move. If experience proved true, every muscle, bone, and sinew in her body ached, even her eyeballs.
    “Are you all right?”
    Britta did not even open her eyes. “Nay, lackwit, I am not all right. Didst come to gloat?”
    He thought about telling her that the correct way to address an officer was “No, Lieutenant Floyd, sir,” but only for a second. “C’mon.” He tried to take her hand.
    She shoved his hand away with her fist.
    Beware of women with fire in their eyes. “A fist? You going to punch me, or something?”
    “If I unclench my fingers, I might collapse.”
    Oh. “You can’t stay here, sweetheart.”
    “Why not?” She must be tired if she didn’t argue with him about not being his sweetheart.
    “Because you’ll be performance dropped in a flash if the commander or F.U. sees your condition. Unless you want to go ring out?” And be my babysitter. He added that last hopefully, to himself.
    She opened her eyes and looked as if she actually would like to punch him. “I will not quit, Zack-hairy. And if anyone dares attempt to drop me, they will find just how hard I can drop them.” Then she seemed to notice something about his appearance. “Why is your hair wet? And your clothing clean? You even smell good…like mint, whilst I smell like a randy goat.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You have bathed,” she accused him as if he’d committed some heinous crime.
    He laughed.
    Now her fists resembled claws.
    He made sure he wasn’t within clawing distance. “Okay, if you’re not going to quit, how about a shower? A nice hot shower should make you feel better.”
    She sighed. “I know what a shower is. There were several in that amazing bathing room in the women’s sleeping chambers. We were shown around after the noon meal. I would love a shower.”
    When she did not move, Zach raised his eyebrows at her.
    “I cannot move,” she admitted. “My knees and elbows have locked.”
    “Oh, baby.”
    “Why dost thou refer to me as baby? I am no baby.”
    “It’s an endearment, like darling, or sweetheart, or hot stuff.”
    “That is ridiculous.” She put a hand to her forehead. “I am not hot.”
    Wanna bet? While she was pondering how ridiculous he was, he put his right arm around her waist and arranged her left arm over his shoulder so that her body weight was leaning on him.
    “Whaaaat?” she screeched trying to escape his hold.
    “I’d pick you up and carry you, but someone in the command center might notice. Then both our asses would be in a sling.”
    “I have not the strength to fight you now or ask how two of our arses could be put in a sling, but this is all your fault.”
    “You said that before. How do you figure?”
    “When I stood on that cliff with Sister Margaret, drinking her famous mead—”
    “Margaret’s mead.” He hooted with laughter.
    She flashed him a scowl of annoyance for his interruption. “—I intended only to fake my death, not to swish through time. Not that I believe I have actually time-traveled.”
    “So how is this my fault?”
    “I was content with my life afore you meddled.”
    “Meddled?”
    “Yea, you came sniffing at my woman’s fleece with sweet words and stolen kisses, tempting me.”
    His grin was full-blown now. “My nose was nowhere near your…woman’s fleece. Believe me, I would have remembered that. And, oh, baby, did you say I tempted you? Whooee!”
    “Have a caution, rogue. Continue to make mock of me, and you may find my boot planted betwixt your thighs.”
    He glanced down at his crotch. “I love it when you talk sexy to me.”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “Back to that temptation business…?”
    “You started a fire in my loins…”
    “Whoa,