Author's note: I know, several of the "OASES" Chapters are TOO frickin' long for the wattpad norm. This one for example. Sorry!  And, fyi... this one gets kinda sexy.

The morning after.

"Monty, what have you planned for us today?" Samhal asked as he kicked dirt over their breakfast fire with a deft little two-step.

Samhal was way too chipper this morning for Flynn's liking. Samhal's moody blues of last night had bleached away under the intense light of dawn. He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as a squirrel in Spring.

There was no spring in Flynn's step. He was dragging his butt around the campsite like a whipped dog.

He had looked the fool in front of Julie McNeill and it stuck deep in his craw. He couldn't understand why really. So what if she'd seen his dick... with a semi-woody? Big deal. But he should've left it at that. He should never have used his stupid neck Buff as a god-damned mini-skirt! He shook his head, rolled his eyes, imagining the image. On the bright side, if humility were a virtue then he'd paid down a whack of his Karmic deficit.

"'Ground control to Major Tom'," Samhal sang out. "Monty, do you have plans for us today? Have you formulated a strategy to verify what those riders were doing last night?"

Over breakfast Flynn had briefed Samhal about the action at the oasis. He'd omitted the Julie McNeill stuff.

"Um, I dunno know yet, Sammy," Flynn answered absently. "But I s'pose we better drive over to that rendezvous site and see if we can find anything. It's doubtful. But it's something." And, he hoped to himself, maybe it'll take my mind off last night's trans-gen performance.

"May I humbly suggest something, boss?"

"Fire away, mon ami; I'm all outta ideas."

Samhal told Flynn that maybe he was correct about Veerona: the village appearing suspiciously prosperous. He pointed out that Jiddah and Dahab seemed to have unlimited funds; taking extravagant vacations like they were living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence the rendezvous had taken place so close to the settlement. Maybe Veerona was dealing opium for the Taliban. And he said Flynn's idea about Jiddah and Dahab was good: maybe the best approach was their 'in' with these ladies; pointing out that even if this village wasn't involved in nefarious activities, Jiddah and Dahab likely knew who was.

Flynn reminded Samhal that even though Julie –Dahab, whatever– had stitched him up, she wasn't exactly fond of him, or their cause. And, he thought to himself, if you knew the rest of it –my oasis farce– you'd know our 'in' is now likely far out.

"Aha," Samhal declared, "that is where my plan and your most irresistible charm intersect. As it happens, Jiddah must travel to the city to visit relatives. Last night I told her, instead of taking the unreliable local bus, I could be her chauffeur. Therefore, Monty, you will have the entire day to gain the good graces of Dahab... and snoop around Veerona. And I will be with Jiddah. Only Allah knows what may transpire."

"Jiddah, it is those mercenaries," Julie called, peering out their window. "What are they doing back here?"

Julie had heard their Humvee chugging and belching its way to Veerona from almost a mile off. She had been clearing the breakfast dishes while Jiddah made her final preparations for her trip to Kandahar. Her bag was packed and ready at the door.

"I invited them," Jiddah answered casually from the bathroom.

"What!" Julie blurted in English.

"Samhal is driving me to Kandahar and I informed him you would be happy to entertain Captain Montague for the day."

"Happy entertaining Flynn Montague? Are you kidding me? I'd be happier cutting out my liver with a pen knife!" Julie declared.

"Oh, Julie, do not be so melodramatic. They are nice fellows. I find Samhal appealing; there are deep waters below the surface. And, do you not think Captain Montague resembles Gregory Peck?"

"Who? Gregory Peck? Who the heck is that?"

"You recall. The classic cowboy movie we streamed last week. Remember: The girl, the gold, and Mister Gregory Peck? Oh, that handsome jawline."

"Cowboys? Old movie stars? What are you saying, Jiddah? Those 'nice fellows' are our enemies. Sure, Samhal makes a fun dinner guest. But you're forgetting why these guys are in Afghanistan. They earn their money from the misfortune of others." And, Julie added to herself, if you'd seen Captain Montague stretched naked on top of me last night, jamming his gun –among other things– into me, you wouldn't be calling them 'nice fellows'.

Julie hadn't bothered to relate the oasis incident to Jiddah. No need to alarm her. And, she confessed to herself, she didn't feel like discussing the complete story. Certain scenes had already monopolized her own mind... and other body parts, for most of the night.

Jiddah came into the living area working lotion into her hands. She retrieved her niqab from the back of the sofa, began to arrange it round her head. She said, "Julie, I am aware Captain Montague has rough edges. But imagine the pleasure you could derive smoothing them out." She winked. "He may not be Mister Right, but I would venture Flynn Montague possesses an edge that you would enjoy living on for a while." Then she added, more seriously, "And remember: it is never an easy task to know precisely who your enemies are."

Julie paused before responding. She knew Jiddah never said such things without serious consideration. But she shook her head. "I know that can be true, Jiddah. But in this case I can't be wrong. A mercenary is everyone's enemy. That's one rough edge that only a sledge-hammer to the skull could smooth over."

"Julie. What is wrong with your nose?"

Julie had been fiddling with the end of her nose. She stopped abruptly and said, "Huh? Oh, nothing. It's itchy, maybe an allergy."

"Allergy? No, I think not, little one. Shall I tell you what the matter is?"

"An itch. That's all."

Jiddah took hold of Julie's shoulders, demanding her attention. She said, "Julie, when a young lady is... ready, and her... femininity senses there is a potential mate in the offing, she often times receives the signal through the tip of her nose." For emphasis, Jiddah administered a light tap to the end of Julie's nose.

The two women stared at one another, Jiddah nodding sagely, Julie shaking her head incredulously.

Finally, Julie said, "Jiddah, that is so nutty. Number one, it's not true. And number two, even if it were true, there is no 'potential mate in the offing'."

"Yes, yes, very well, Julie. You may convince yourself of that." She put a finger to Julie's nose again. "But in the end, the nose knows."

The men were approaching. Jiddah opened the front door to greet them. Julie scooted to her bedroom to get her niqab. When she returned they were outside chatting. The door was ajar. Jiddah and Samhal were standing on the natural-stone front step. Captain Montague was off to one side, out of Julie's sight. She remained inside, propped against the door jamb, arms folded across her chest.

Jiddah was saying, "We heard that Jeep of yours from a mile away. Should you not have it checked by a mechanic?"

"A wise suggestion," Samhal answered. "I think Colonel Kurtz assigned us this ornery beast to test our resourcefulness."

"Is it capable of safe journey to Kandahar?" Jiddah asked. "It is at least a three-hour trip. And it is the opposite direction from... what is it called? Fort Apache?"

"It'll be okay for now," Flynn said. "It needs shocks, a tune-up and a new battery, but once she's cranked-up most nothing can stop her. I don't know what we'll do when she does conk-out. Kurtz says we're getting squat besides fuel and grub out of Fort Apache from now on. And that reminds me, Jiddah, I want to thank you for that outstanding meal. It was a welcomed break from our MRE rations."

"It was nothing, Captain," Jiddah said and then thought aloud, "Hmm, my cousin in the city has a repair shop. I am thinking he could help with your Jeep."

"Say, that would be...," Flynn began but Julie piped in...

"That would be risky business for Abdul, Jiddah. The Taliban have many supporters in Kandahar. They may brand him a collaborator if he's spotted working on that thing."

"Living is risky in Afghanistan," Jiddah pointed out. "We will see what Abdul says. He is no friend of the Taliban as it is. But now, if you are prepared, Samhal, it is good we are on our way."

"I am prepared and most eager, Miss Jiddah. I look forward to the journey, the company, and the destination." He excused himself to Julie as he reached into the foyer to retrieve Jiddah's bag. He offered her a polite farewell then turned to Flynn. "Cheers, Captain Monty. Inshallah –God willing– I will pick you up this evening. If you promise to be a good boy, possibly I will bring you a present from the city." Samhal winked and headed for the Humvee.

Jiddah hugged Julie saying, "Goodbye, little one. I will see you in a few days. You try and enjoy yourself." And whispering in her ear, "In any case, remember what your father preached: 'Keep your friend close, your enemy closer'."

"Hmm, yes. I'll do that, Jiddah," Julie nodded thoughtfully. "You take care. Say hello to everyone for me."

"Yes, of course." She turned and stepped down, placed a hand on Flynn's forearm, offered him warm, smiling eyes. "Enjoy the day, Captain. Thank you for keeping Julie company."

Flynn and Julie watched as Jiddah and Samhal climbed into the Humvee, and then waved them off as they headed out of Veerona pursued by a cloud of dust and diesel exhaust.

The silence between Flynn and Julie became awkward after five seconds. But she'd be darned if she was going to be first to blink.

After ten seconds she was uncomfortable. She couldn't even see him. She was planted inside the door jamb; he was a few feet off to the side of the step. She could hear him shuffling his feet or something. What the heck was he doing? How long would the stubborn donkey stand out there without uttering a word?

Okay. Enough! That's it, she decided. There's no way I can maintain the bitchy-chick routine all day long. Instead, I'll take Jiddah's advice and 'keep my enemy close'. And how better to do that than spreading a little honey? That she could do.

"Captain Montague?" she called, as though she were auditioning for the lead role in Gone With The Wind.

Flynn leaned into view. "Uh, yes, Miss?"

"Captain, it appears you are my guest for the day. Perhaps we can set aside our differences for the time being and behave civilly toward one another?"

"Roger that, Miss. I'd like that a lot," he said with relief. "You can start by calling me Flynn."

'Okay... Flynn. And you can call me Dahab. It's what my father liked to call me. Dahab is the Arabic word for gold."

"Dahab," Flynn attempted valiantly but nearly dislocated his uvula on the Arabic H. His second attempt was worse. He gave her that same 'excuse me' expression he'd used when he was bare-assed –and semi-hard– at the oasis.

Julie's eyes reflected forgiveness as she said, "I suppose Julie will have to do."

But it wasn't Flynn's poor pronunciation that was on her mind. His 'excuse me' look had reminded her of the previous night; resurrected the dreamy vision of his moon-lit naked body. If Julie were at the Gone With The Wind audition, she'd touch the back of her hand to her brow and fall onto the nearest fainting couch. As it was, she took a deep breath and told herself he wasn't that irresistible; she was just deprived... or, more likely, depraved?

It worked –her legs steadied somewhat. She scratched her nose lightly and said, "Come on in, Flynn, I should change that dressing. How does it feel?"

"Oh, it's fine." He pressed his fingers to the area. "It got damp last night, but it's holding up."

"Are you experiencing any pain?"

"Well, not from the wound," he answered evenly, his perfectly formed lips curving into an enigmatic grin.

Julie could only imagine the manner of pain he may be alluding to. Like, maybe he'd noticed her slutty twerking tush last night? And his boys were suffering that 'blue' agony of male sexual repression she'd heard about? But on the other hand maybe it was just her depraved imagination again. Flynn's smile could be one of embarrassment... considering his mini-skirt revue. Julie couldn't be certain from the smile, but there was no doubt that it was fetching.

Flynn began to remove his combat boots. Julie said not to bother but he told her he felt bad enough the last time, and with all the accumulated dust and crap he was toting around it was the least he could do.

He talked and maintained eye contact with her while unlacing and removing his boots, balancing on alternate feet with the ease of an Olympic gymnast. Impressive, Julie thought, and then wondered if Flynn could ride. He might make a formidable buzkashi competitor.

In the bathroom, Julie removed Flynn's bandage and cleansed the area lightly with an antiseptic wipe. She was pleased with her suturing job. The wound had closed evenly and there was no sign of infection.

Luckily, no involved care was required because she was finding it difficult to focus on the task at hand. Her bedside manner was suspect: she was too aware of the patient as a man. She found herself pressing unnecessarily close to Flynn; her bosom to his head; her torso into his. She caught herself more than once. She hoped it was more noticeable to her than to him. It was shameful but Julie couldn't seem to help herself. It was like she and Flynn were opposite poles of super-magnets or something. She wondered if Florence Nightingale had ever been distracted in this manner.

Occasionally Flynn's gaze met hers in the mirror. When it did she averted her eyes. It was times like this she wished she wore the full-facial niqab, with the netting concealing the eyes.

She began humming to divert attention from her prurient behavior. It's Jiddah's fault, she assured herself, interrupting my quality time with the Jacuzzi jets.

"So how does it look?" Flynn asked after a couple of minutes.

Julie welcomed the interruption. She needed to get her head back from Eroticaville. "Um, it's, uh, doing quite well. I'll apply a fresh dressing. You can take it off in a day or two and remove the stitches a few days after that."

"Ideal. Thanks again for this, Julie. I hate to impose, especially in this condition," he gestured to his T-shirt and camo pants. "I'd planned on doing laundry but the Fort Apache facilities are off-limits."

"If you'd like, you can wash your things here. We have a washing machine and your clothing will dry in a flash outside on the line."

"That would be outstanding. But I'd be out standing in nothing but my neck Buff again, and that show has been cancelled, permanently." He smiled.

"Too bad," she said playfully, grinning widely under her veil, "it was one of my favorites. But don't worry, I have some things that will fit you, and let you maintain what's left of your dignity."

She disappeared into one of the bedrooms and returned in a short while. She said, "I put an outfit on the bed for you. See if it fits."

A few minutes later Flynn exited the bedroom holding his bundle of dirty clothes. He was wearing a faded denim shirt and beige khakis. They belonged to Jack McNeill. Jack was a tall man. Flynn filled them out easily enough, but had rolled up the shirt sleeves to his elbows, and the pant legs a couple of folds. The chukka boots were a good fit. He said, "All right. Point me to the washboard."

It had been a year since Julie had seen these clothes. Jiddah had packed them in boxes and stored them in the closet of the vacant master bedroom. Julie hadn't realized how it would affect her. She had hoped she was reaching closure. But her heart felt like it had been dropped into an ice bucket. It brought back the memory of the day the Afghan police officer had arrived to inform her that all three occupants of her father's car had been blown-up and burned beyond recognition.

Julie felt as if a part of her had also died that day... or, at least, something deep inside had changed forever. A hard kernel of fear and loneliness had burrowed deep into a corner of her viscera. On occasion she could feel it trying to bloom and spread like a cancer to completely consume her. It had left her a much more reserved, sad person. At times she felt confined... or restrained... imprisoned somehow. In short: messed up. She battled it constantly.

Flynn said, "These are your Dad's clothes, eh? Sammy told me about your parents. Are you okay with this, Julie?"

She took the bundle from him. "Yep, those are Jack's things. And thanks, I'm okay. It was just a bit of a shock. I haven't seen them since..." she trailed off.

"My Mom and Dad are still living," Flynn filled the silence. "It's hard to imagine what it will be like if the time comes when they aren't."

Julie nodded vaguely. "It's difficult to believe they're gone. Especially Jack; we were so close. He was one of those larger-than-life men. He seemed immortal."

Tears prickled Julie's eyes and were hanging on long bright lashes... but she wouldn't cry. She went to the washer, started it up, poured in detergent, swished it around and then stuffed in Flynn's clothes. She let the steaming water run over her hand.

Julie turned and faced Flynn. Her eyes were filled with unbearable sorrow. She said, "You know, quite often I feel his presence, an overwhelming sense that he's watching over me. And I dream of him. When I awake I expect to see him at breakfast, with my Mom, discussing his plans for the community."

"I guess he devoted his life to Veerona... to this country?"

"Yes. The villagers miss him almost as much as I do. He brought a lot of positive changes to Veerona. That's why I'm trying to continue his work." Julie brightened. She said, "Come on, I'll show you something." She led Flynn out the back door.

More Julie McNeill surprises.

At the rear of her home lay a luxuriant expanse: a small orchard of assorted fruit trees, gardens, and real grass! And beyond that Flynn could see a paddock and stable. There were four beautiful horses grazing lazily. The McNeill's had created a Little Eden in this dry husk of lunar landscape. Flynn shook his head in amazement. He said, "Wow! Magnifique."

"I know, huh," said Julie. "I just love it back here. It's my sanctuary. Jack installed drainage tiles here years ago. The water had to be trucked-in before the Dahla dam was refurbished." She took his hand.

"Come over here," she said excitedly, leading him to a garden patch.

Flynn felt a rush of warmth envelop his heart. Julie's hand was cool and soft in his and he was acutely aware of the comfortable intimacy of the gesture, though he knew full well it had been an unconscious act on her part.

These were not familiar sensations to Flynn. Yeah, sure, he had had his share –plus that of a few other guys– of women. But these school-boy rushes he was experiencing were completely new... and completely sublime.

"See these?" Julie pointed to a cluster of bushy silvery-leafed herbs.

They were pretty enough but had a pungent fragrance. Flynn tried to look interested but botany was not one of his favorite subjects. Biology, the birds and the bees, was closer to his heart at the moment. "Uh, yeah, they're... very nice," he said. "Did you grow them yourself?"

"Yes, it began as a project for my post-grad work. But that's not important." Julie let go his hand and used expressive gestures as she continued, "These are sweet wormwood plants. And what is important is the fact that they are the only plant containing the compound Artemisinin." Flynn gave her an 'okay-so-what' shrug. She held up an index finger, her golden eyes had a fervid shine. She said, "Artemisinin is an anti-malarial agent. And cultivated here, under exacting conditions, I've succeeded in substantially increasing the Artemisinin concentration. These plants are precious." She gave him time to ponder the significance.

Flynn began to nod. He said, "You want the people of Veerona to begin mass cultivation of these wormwoods. Sell the Art... Artesin... whatever, to pharmaceutical manufacturers."

"Yes, yes, that's correct. We've managed fine working with the UN on their medicinal poppy program. But it's not a sustainable enterprise. Afghanistan is overrun with poppy fields and it will always be a product fraught with the risk of crime and corruption. Wormwood can help free the country of that evil. It will take time. But if I can nurture these few plants and produce an adequate supply of seeds we can begin the process right here in Veerona."

It was the perfect segue for Flynn. He could use it to broach the topic of Veerona's connection with opium and the Taliban. But he didn't. Julie was proud of her work and so excited about the potential of wormwood. Flynn didn't want to spoil the mood.

He loved listening to her cherubic voice. When she was excited or anxious it acquired a girlish quality, a sexy catch in a word here and there. And he loved watching those eyes widen and burn with passion and will. He said, "It's a cracker-jack goal, Julie. If anybody is capable of pulling it off, it's your body."

Julie gave him a double-take on that one, and then said, "Hmm, I'm going to take that as a compliment, mister."

They talked on and on. Flynn was a reverent listener. He did not butt-in to assert his own opinion before Julie's was fully expressed –a behavior that ticks-off women most when conversing with males. She showed him her vegetable garden with its section of herbs and spices; and the quarter-acre orchard her father had started years ago –apples, figs, apricots, pomegranates and persimmons.

Julie plucked an apple from one of the trees and presented it up to Flynn in both hands.

"Looks good enough to eat," he said. "And I love the symbolism."

"If you do choose to partake, do so at your own risk, Captain." Julie turned her back to Flynn. "You never know, it may not be ripe, yet."

Flynn grinned as he thought about that for a moment, Sometimes you do know. But he decided to wait. He scanned hurriedly for a distraction.

An odd contraption huddled under a lean-to attached to the far corner of the house caught his eye. He said, "Say, what's that thing?" Flynn made for the lean-to. "Well, I'll be damned," he declared. "You and Jiddah are a couple of moonshiners!"

Julie came up behind him as Flynn rested on one knee to run his hand over the copper apparatus and tangle of tubing. He gave her an amused look, shook his head in admiration. He said, "Hah, you are full of surprises, Miss McNeill."

"Oh, shut up. It's no big deal." Julie knelt beside Flynn and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's one of the perks of cultivating wormwood, and the other herbs; I can make absinthe."

"Absinthe!"

"Shh, shh," Julie cautioned. "Yes, absinthe. And it's plenty good quality too."

She stood up, took hold of Flynn's arm. "Now, c'mon, I have something else to show you."

"Jeezus, I can hardly wait," he said.

Julie introduced Flynn to her precious friends: Cleo, Tony, Iras and Caesar.

Cleo had trotted over to the fence rail to greet them as they approached. "Fine looking animals," Flynn remarked. "And I'll wager this is Cleo, your six-year-old oasis companion?" He hadn't forgotten Julie's wise-ass remark at the oasis.

She inclined her head and offered him a sheepish apology with her eyes. "Yes, and she's so smug; Cleo knows she's my favorite." Julie rested her cheek against Cleo's and joggled the big mare's ear. "But Tony and Iras understand that I love them as well."

"What about Caesar?" Flynn asked, and saw the stallion rotate his ears and begin to eye him suspiciously at the sound of his name.

"Oh he's full of himself; he doesn't care that I love him. He's just a stubborn old grump. But he's strong... and fast as all get out. He allowed Jack to ride him, but no one else."

Julie looked off into the distant hills as though they were a window on the past... like she could see her father up there, sitting tall and vital in the saddle.

Flynn remained silent, not wishing to intrude on Julie's private pain and pleasure of reflection. When she brought her gaze back to him her eyes were replete with an unfathomable perplexity. And her voice held that same quality, although she was obviously back in the present and trying to shake it.

She asked, "Do you ride, Flynn?"

"I ain't Bill Hickok," he drawled, "but I reckon I can hold my own." He gave a crooked smile of apology for his attempt at comic relief. "My parents have a ranch in southern Alberta. I figure I was born under a lucky star."

"Shut up!" Julie cried, slamming Flynn into the fence railing with a double straight-arm to his chest.

He held up his hands in surrender. "What? What did I say?"

"I don't believe it! My Grammy had a place near the northern border of Montana. I spent most summers there as a kid. We're practically neighbors!"

With forearms planted on the top rail of the fence they traded stories about life in the west: She had competed in the girls' barrel racing event at the Calgary Stampede one year; He loved horseback riding and camping in the Rockies; She helped her Grammy in the garden; He and his buddies frequently crossed the border into Montana to raise a little hell. Also, they calculated that back then, if they'd been actual neighbors, Flynn would've been a snick too old to be real neighborly with Julie.

Later, they mucked the stalls together. As they were finishing the job, Flynn was relating an amusing anecdote about a meal of prairie oysters. He looked beyond the paddock, out onto the rock-strewn flatland that stretched into the empty distance. Something had caught his eye.

He cupped his hands over the brim of his cap to reduce the glare. He pointed and asked, "Julie, what are those red things out there? Are they landmine markers?"

"Oh yes," she said with disdain. "That's our line in the sand. The coalition forces have... what's the term? You know..."

"Swept?" Flynn offered.

"That's it. The coalition engineers swept the area of old Soviet landmines, as far as those red flags. Beyond that point, your chances of survival approach zero." Anger cooled Julie's eyes, like a dark cloud blotting out an amber sunset. "You've seen the numerous amputees in this country? There will be more. There are thousands of those killer mines planted all over Afghanistan."

Flynn perceived Julie's eyes narrow on him. He'd worn his shirttails out to conceal his sidearm. Except for his cap, he resembled a regular civilian. But he knew the landmine subject had likely reminded her of his role in Afghanistan; brought on the sudden chill. Oops.

"Let's go inside," she said brusquely. "I'll make lunch."

Flynn was hanging out the laundry in the backyard. Julie was inside preparing lunch. The flirty chatting they had enjoyed from the morning and into the afternoon appeared to be dead, blown to bits by the landmine topic. Since then, Julie had conversed enough to be a polite hostess, but the garrulous cowgirl action was kaput.

Flynn wished circumstances were different. He was feeling a strong attraction to Miss Julie McNeill. And it wasn't only the sex thing –though her rice-paper-thin abaya was keeping his hormones jacked on high alert. But what a hope! His occupation, her wormwood thing, his financial situation, her roots in Veerona, his Oasis dream, the war? The list of obstacles was endless. What in hell was he thinking? This woman had become a distraction. He had a job to do, cash to accrue, his to-do-or-die list to tackle. He had to get his brains out of his dick.

"Do you like naan bread?" Julie asked as she came out onto the flagstone patio carrying a large tea tray and a bowl of dough.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, probably. I've seen it but I haven't had the opportunity yet."

Flynn sat at the bamboo table that was shaded by a large patio umbrella. Julie poured him a mug of tea and then began to roll the dough into oblong slabs, preparing them for baking in her outdoor tandoor oven.

Tea and naan bread coated with marmalade instantly became Flynn's favorite lunch.

Julie lifted her veil modestly and took lady-like nibbles, but he couldn't help over-indulging in the warm delicious treat. He knew he had told himself to cool it with this chick but, man, besides her obvious qualities, she could cook! He complimented her profusely.

"Well, you know the quickest way to a man's heart, don't you?" Julie asked demurely.

"Sure," he answered between swallows, "through his stomach."

"Uh-uh," she said evenly. "Through his shirt with a steak knife."

Flynn stared at her, mid-swallow. Initially her eyes revealed zip; deadpan. Then they shone impishly and narrowed from her veiled smile.

Julie and Flynn broke into laughter simultaneously. They laughed with complete abandon, breaking apart and flushing away the wedge of tension that had jammed itself between them.

A brief silence followed their laughter. Julie eyed Flynn coyly and said, "I dreamed of you last night."

"Really? What was the dream?"

"Hmm, nope," she shook her head, "can't tell you. Maybe someday... when you're old enough." 

"Hah, I'll make a note," was Flynn's response. 

He wanted to tell Julie he'd been dreaming of her his entire life. Because it was the truth. He just hadn't known it till now.

But he didn't tell her.

This time he was resolved to capitalize on the personal and relaxed rapport they had established.

While hanging his laundry he had spotted a large windowless building sitting apart from the village proper. He'd bet his Oasis  that's where Veerona stashed their opium. He'd kill to get a closer look.

Flynn angled the conversation back to Julie's work on the wormwood plants –that was easy, it was her passion. From there it wasn't much of a leap to get her to discuss poppy cultivation and processing.

"So the current poppy crop is near ready?" he asked. Flynn knew full well harvest time was nigh. Millions of bare pods were bobbing in the fields surrounding Veerona; most of their red, white and yellow petals had dropped. It appeared to be a bumper crop of opium. The resulting heroin would flood the streets of North America and Europe before the end of summer; the bulk of the in-country profits going to the Taliban to finance their terrorism.

"Sure is," Julie answered. "Pickers from surrounding provinces will be arriving soon to help with the harvest. It's hard work, but it's also quite festive. We usually take a day or two for buzkashi. Are you familiar with the game, Flynn?"

"Kinda. I saw it portrayed in some old Stallone movie. Sort of a cross between rugby and polo; played with a pig's stomach or whatever?"

"Close. It's a calf's carcass, not a pig's stomach. Originally they used goats but calves have since replaced goats because they hold up better."

"How fortunate," Flynn said. "For the goats, at least."

But he didn't want to get off-topic so he maneuvered back, "Do the UN people attend the festival, or participate in the harvest at all?"

"Oh no, they simply take delivery of the raw opium once the poppies have been fully processed. But their schedule is dependent on Taliban activity. I can't recall when they were last here."

"Sooo, they have no hand in the harvest, or the opium production?"

Julie cocked her head, folded her arms across her chest and eyed him accusingly. "Hey, Captain Montague, has this become an interrogation? What's next, waterboarding?"

"Copy that. Guilty as charged." He held up his hands. "Sorry, it's what they pay me for. But you can't disagree with the coalition forces' stance on opium, eh?"

"Of course not. I told you, I know it's a business rife with crime and corruption. It's the reason I've worked my butt off developing the wormwood plants. But in Veerona it's legit. My father worked with UN officials to establish the medicinal poppy program. All of Veerona's production is purchased by them."

"So... if I wanted to see how the poppies are processed into opium here in Veerona, there would be no problem?"

Julie hesitated, looked away, uncertain for an instant. But then she re-established eye contact, confident. "Absolutely," she stated. "Veerona has nothing to hide. I've never seen the operation myself; um, I was never really interested. But I know where the processing is done. Let's take a boo."

Jack McNeill had been involved in all aspects of poppy farming in Veerona. He had worked shoulder-to-shoulder with the villagers during planning, planting, harvesting and processing. And although Julie was ethically opposed to the crop she would have been delighted to work closely with her father. But he said her studies and the wormwood project were the highest priority, and he told her that working with raw opium always involved a risk of absorbing toxic substances. Jack denied Julie almost nothing, but he forbade her participation in this. So now, as she waited for Flynn, she was feeling some trepidation at the prospect of violating Jack's wishes.

Flynn exited the bathroom re-clad in his BlackSky gear. He placed Jack McNeill's neatly folded clothes on the sofa.

"What's with the duds, Flynn? Has our tour of the processing shed morphed into a secret mission or something?" Seeing Flynn back in his hired-gun outfit saw Julie's trepidation level ratchet up a few more notches.

As he retrieved his boots by the door and laced them on, Flynn answered casually, "Not at all. I'm just following proper protocol. Military personnel should not be out of uniform in a public place." He stood erect, put on his shades. "All set?"

Julie opened the door and began to exit but she couldn't help herself –his 'out of uniform' remark evoked that scrumptious memory of him totally out of uniform– she couldn't resist one last shot. She turned back abruptly.

Flynn almost tripped into her. He hooked an arm round her waist. Julie looked up at him, her eyes smiling again. She said, "Whoops, sorry. But, I couldn't help wondering: does the oasis qualify as a 'public place'?"

It only required a micro-second for Flynn to catch on. He exhaled and shook his head. Then a nanosecond later he countered, "If you're within eyesight of no one but peeping Toms, it's not considered public."

"Touché, Captain Montague."

Julie made no effort to remove herself from his embrace; it felt too good. It's possible she actually tucked in closer. There was a fullness in her chest, as if her heart were expanding, squeezing into her throat. It made her dizzy, wobbled her legs.

She felt Flynn hold her more tightly. It steadied her. She scrubbed the end of nose three times. Then she was able to speak, though her voice caught in that way that so irritated her. "I, I suppose we ought to get going, huh?"

"Mm-hmm. I s'pose we oughta," Flynn said, a tremor in his own voice.

After another heartbeat or three, he released her and retreated a half-step, canted his head in deference, inviting her to lead the way.

Julie dug deep and was able to regain enough spunk in her spaghetti legs to navigate safely off the stoop.

They made their way through the common square and then turned off in the direction of the windowless structure situated behind the village. They walked in silence because Julie was busy trying to realign her heart with her head to get them both back on a pragmatic track.

This guy has nothing more to offer than raw sexuality, she scolded herself. He represents everything Jack detested: greed, narcissism, aggression. How can I be attracted to him? Was she so shallow that Flynn Montague's compelling masculinity could override her sense and sensibility? The average sexual encounter has an elapsed time of twelve minutes. She'd compromise her principles for that? But she had no time to answer her own questions; Julie's practical train of thought was derailed by shouts barked out in Pashto...

"No, Dahab! No! Do not venture there. BlackSky must stay away."

It was Mohammed Khan –Tombstone– and Saddiq –the 'little bugger with a hatchet'. Mohammad was shuffle-running toward them flailing his arms madly as he shouted. Saddiq was bringing up the rear.

"What's up?" Flynn asked as an aside.

"Not sure," Julie replied, trying to quell the nervous shake in her words. "But I think we're about to find out. Please, keep quiet."

"Dahab, do not bring the khariji –foreigner– here," Mohammed said sternly. "It is well that you occupy his attention. But you will not bring him here. You must stay close to your home."

Saddiq was positioned behind Mohammed and he nodded agreement to each of his orders. He eyed Flynn constantly.

"But what is the matter, Mohammed?" Julie returned in Pashto. "He wishes only to see how we process the poppies. Surely there is no harm in that?"

"Mister Jack would be displeased, Dahab. Your esteemed father hated BlackSky devils. You will keep this man away from our business."

Of course Mohammed was correct, Julie acknowledged. Jack hated all the invaders in Afghanistan, but especially soldiers of fortune. She had been foolish. Flynn Montague had tricked her. Or, maybe she had tricked herself. Either way she had been foolish. This guy was after just one thing in Veerona: money. And everyone knew poppies meant money.

"I am sorry, Mohammed," she steepled her hands to her chin, bowed her head. "You are correct. It was a mistake. I will keep this man out of our business."

Mohammed made a moue of reproach. He said, "Remember, Dahab, the benevolence of our good Djinn can change to malice if we displease him. We would be at the mercy of the Taliban." He turned and walked away. Saddiq followed close behind but kept glancing back warily at Flynn.

"What the hell was all that about?" Flynn asked.

"Nothing, really," Julie fibbed. "Mohammed Khan reminded me it is dangerous for us to go near the processing shed. And what he says is true. My father never allowed me near the opium. There's a risk of toxic fumes. Let's go back."

Flynn did not challenge her. They returned to the house.

Back inside, Julie invited him to have a seat at the dinette table while she brewed another pot of tea.

"Julie, don't you think it's suspicious, Mohammed's reaction?"

"How do you mean?" she asked innocently but knew exactly what Flynn meant. To him it would appear suspicious. Now he'd believe for certain that Veerona had something to hide. She wished Mohammed hadn't reacted so strongly. She kept her back to Flynn, fiddled unnecessarily with the preparation of the tea leaves.

"C'mon, you know the risk of exposure to toxic fumes is minimal. Sure, you work around that stuff day-in and day-out you've gotta take precautions. But a quick look? Nah, that old fart wasn't concerned about our safety. They're hiding something."

"Listen, Captain Montague," she spun about and threatened him with a tea strainer, "even if safety wasn't the reason, think about it. You're a mercenary, remember? They... we, see you as the enemy. We don't even appreciate the coalition occupation much less a bunch of hired gunslingers. It's no wonder Mohammed Khan doesn't want you snooping about."

"Gunslingers? We're not the gunslingers. We're here to free this God-forsaken country from the grip of terrorists." Flynn's voice elevated as he spoke, his eyes clouded darkly as he continued, "Like those guys at the oasis last night. They're the real enemy, not me. Sammy and I couldn't find any clues on that hill this morning. But in all likelihood those bastards were trading drugs or guns, maybe both. And I'll wager some of them were Veerona boys. Did you recognize any of them?"

A vision of the tall majestic rider in brilliant white snapped to mind. Julie instantly felt inexplicably defensive, her face heated. The Djinn? Could the ancient Afghanistan myths of good and bad Djinns have basis in reality? It seemed absurd. But seeing the apparition on the hill, Julie had experienced a deep sense of attachment and longing and recognition. "Uh-uh," she fibbed again, "I didn't recognize any of them. And if I had, I certainly wouldn't tell you." She turned her back to him again.

"Yeah, sure. And you weren't acting as their lookout, either, eh?" he said accusingly.

She turned and tossed the tea strainer onto the counter, jabbed an index finger at him. "Listen, buster! I told you I was at the oasis for a swim. And that's all I was doing there. Think about it." She tapped her temple. "If I were involved, would I have even considered taking you on a tour of the stupid processing shed?" She shook her head. "You're just lucky I wasn't a lookout. You'd certainly have been caught with your pants down. And don't pull that self-righteous act on me. The only interest you have in the opium is your own; there's money in it for you. You care diddly-squat about anything else."

"You know what?" he said forcefully. "That is why I'm here: to make money. Oh, I used to give a shit. That's why I enlisted in the Special Forces and then the French Foreign Legion. I wanted to help; I wanted to make a difference." He rose from the table, strode into the living room, stared out the window.

Julie could scarcely hear him as Flynn continued quietly, "But all I saw was crap: corruption, lies, bribes, killing; and all of it for nothing. Nothing ever really changes. These bloody conflicts achieve bugger-all besides death and destruction."

"So you decided to become part of the crap," Julie accused.

He spun about, faced her. "No. No. I don't want to be part of it. But it's all I know; it's my only marketable skill. So I signed on with BlackSky to make one big score so I could get the hell out for good." He looked away, and then back again to fix her with earnest eyes, he spread his palms out, said, "It's not the best way, but it's my only way. But I swear to God, I'm done with killing. Any cash I make will not be at the expense of innocent civilians."

Julie almost believed him. There was a slim chance his inner conflict and his sincerity were genuine. But it didn't matter. Truth was, the guy was a fricking mercenary. His presence alone could cost the villagers dearly. And since there was nothing untoward going on in Veerona, there was no need for her to assist Flynn. And in any case, they were her people. She must side with them no matter what. She would do as Mohammed Khan suggested: occupy Captain Montague's attention; keep him away from village business.

She said, "Very well, Captain. You do what you must, and I shall do likewise. Your tea is ready." Julie's tone made it abundantly clear that the tea would not be accompanied by anything even resembling sympathy.

She served his tea and then excused herself. She went to their office area in the far corner of the room to check her e-mail. Julie wanted to see whether there was any news from Jiddah. She hoped she'd get an idea when Samhal would be returning. It was time Flynn Montague departed. It would make her inner conflict –between heart and mind, and body– an easier battle.

No such luck.

She called across the room to Flynn, "It appears you have no ride back to your camp, Captain. Listen, it's from Jiddah: 'Abdul is willing to work on the Humvee. He can remedy most of the problems. However, he said finding a new battery will be difficult but at least he will re-charge the old one. And he will replace the shocks but that will require a day or two. Samhal says, hello'." Jiddah had ended with, 'Enjoy living on the edge.' Julie left that part out.

"That's good news about the vehicle," Flynn responded. "And I'm so happy for Sammy," he said sarcastically. "No doubt he'll enjoy his extended stay in the city."

Julie was flustered, on edge. She had depended on Samhal's return. Now she'd be left alone to contend with Flynn. And she was supposed to 'occupy his attention'? What exactly did that entail? Keeping him at her place overnight? A peculiar trill vibrated up inside her thighs at the thought. She reckoned it was fear. Fear of what might transpire if she were to invite Flynn to stay. How would she cope with his irrepressible sexuality? No, she couldn't risk it. It was too much.

"So, Captain. Appears you'll be alone at your campsite, huh?" she commented snootily, knowing full well there was no permanent 'campsite'. That topic had come up when Samhal was over for dinner; so Julie was aware that for security and mobility reasons they kept all their gear in the Humvee.

"I guess that's about the size of it," Flynn said. He sighed, pushed himself up from his chair, and then downed his tea in one gulp. "Outstanding: the whole resort to myself."

Julie watched from the window as Flynn marched out of Veerona into the fading light, accompanied by his lonely shadow stretched thin across the dusty road.

She knew that Jiddah would be appalled that she had not invited Flynn to stay over. And, adding injury to insult, she had let him depart with no dinner.

But why should she feel guilty? After all, hadn't she entertained the guy all day long? And Captain Flynn Montague was not her responsibility. She'd decided that 'keeping him occupied' certainly did not include a sleep-over. She fiddled with her nose. Imagine what a character like him would expect.

Later, alone in bed, Julie wrestled with her imagination as it relentlessly screened explicit scenes of what Flynn Montague would expect. She tossed, turned, tried to choke her pillow to death with a leg-scissors hold. Earlier, in the Jacuzzi, she'd attempted to resurrect her oasis fantasy but had failed miserably; the black-robed Bedouin bandit just wasn't cutting it; Flynn kept bursting onto the scene to rescue her.

She'd known him only a couple of days. How had he insinuated himself so indelibly into her psyche? How could she miss him so? Was it simply his unmitigated sex appeal? Or was it the little things? The way he said her name with a soft 'J' –courtesy his French-Canadian mom, Julie guessed– and that self-conscious smile that cracked his aura of confidence; and the way his granite-grey eyes softened whenever he looked into hers; and his awkward lapses into sensitivity. Oh yes, Flynn Montague had conjured up all manner of charms to cast his spell. Julie felt possessed.

"Ohh, bollocks!" she screamed at the ceiling and fired her pillow at the wall. Julie knew there was only one way to exorcise this particular demon, and ensure the village was not in danger. She decided to saddle up Cleo and Tony and hunt down the cursed mercenary. From Samhal's description she had a pretty good idea of where they had camped. In all likelihood Captain Montague had returned to that same area.

Following a detour to swim a few circuits of the oasis, Flynn had trekked farther on to the same site where they had camped the previous two nights. It was at the end of a wadi so offered protection on three sides. Protection, but cold comfort without food or camping gear.

Flynn lay propped against the dry-river bank, legs stretched out, his cap snugged down over his eyes. He'd polished-off the apple Julie had given him. Tomorrow he'd worry about real food and shelter. Thanks a lot, Sammy.

Sleep did not come easily. Thoughts of Julie McNeill intruded. Too bad she hadn't invited him to spend the night, Flynn mused. They did have a spare bedroom. But that's pretty presumptuous, he admitted, they'd only known one another a couple of days. She's committed to altruistic development projects and I'm a mercenary, he reminded himself. And this is Afghanistan, not Montana for chrissake! What could I expect from the girl?

If it were Montana, she could expect something a whole lot different from him. He'd be doing everything in his power to lasso that woman. He reckoned Julie McNeill was a one-in-a-million, limited edition gal; living in this dangerous land with cold-blooded enemies on all sides. A beautiful and strong woman, you couldn't help but admire her... despite those kooky unpredictable mood swings. Christ, Flynn couldn't guess from one moment to the next what the hell she'd be up to. But no, this wasn't Montana. And he mustn't forget that Julie McNeill was operating on the wrong bloody side of the fence in Afghanistan.

These thoughts had Flynn drifting in and out of a fitful slumber. He couldn't tell from one point-in-time to the next whether he was thinking of her, or dreaming of her. In one dream he could hear Julie's muted voice calling his name from far across the bleak plain, beyond the red flags that marked the landmine field.

That image jolted Flynn fully awake. The image? Or was it something else?

He sprang silently to his haunches, listened. There it was again. It was real. And it was Julie's voice. Wasn't it?

Flynn whistled the first bar of the Star-Spangled Banner; placed a hand on his sidearm when there was no response. A beam of light swept back-and-forth along the banks of the wadi.

A rider was coming toward him using a flashlight to guide the way on this black moonless night.

Cleo sensed Flynn and pulled up before the light had fallen upon him.

Flynn couldn't see much. Julie and the two horses formed an indistinguishable dark mass behind the glare of the flashlight. But this time he heard her distinctly.

Julie ordered, "Come with me."

And that was all she said until they arrived back at her place where she directed Flynn to go inside while she tended to Cleo and Tony. She also told him he was welcome to the facilities... where he found Julie had laid out a bath towel, a razor and a toothbrush. Flynn asked himself in the mirror: Why the sudden change of heart? A trap? He thought about it for half a minute, then gave himself an oh-well-what-the-hell shrug.

Flynn removed his holstered gun and placed it on the vanity chair.

When he exited the bathroom clad only in his camo pants, Flynn's root chakra lit up like July 01 fireworks.

On the outside he remained completely composed. Inside, a maelstrom of emotions, incoherent thoughts and odd sensations bombarded his mind. His heart was pummeling his ribs as if it'd been juiced with pure adrenaline.

Because, framed by the doorway of her bedroom, and backlit by a lamp on her nightstand, Julie McNeill was posed in a hip-length camisole, near-naked to the world. And this particular world was populated by no one but Flynn. Julie's captivating golden eyes, her unruly bob of strawberry hair, her creamy-white skin, her coltish form... the complete, improbable vision, was all for his eyes only.

The contrast between black-robed concealment and this stunning vision of full-blown femininity was startling. Other than the brief moonlit glimpse at the oasis, Flynn had seen no more of Julie's person other than her golden eyes. And they alone had bewitched him.

But now, assailed by the full radiant beauty of her, he was thrown into sensory and sensual overload.

For the first time he noticed the vague spray of enchanting freckles on her nose and cheekbones. There was even one on her upper lip. Who but a merciful God could've thought that one up? And her skin. It still possessed that pore-less, slightly damp quality of a teenage girl. At once she seemed both incredibly fragile and inexplicably resilient.

Flynn would never be a proponent of the niqab. But now he understood and appreciated its potential ultimate effect.

He made a movement toward her, reaching out his hand. She took three swift steps and nestled into his arms. A vague scent of licorice floated round her. Flynn pulled Julie against his chest and held her there, tightly. He said, "Julie, I..."

"Shh," Julie instructed, and rested a finger against Flynn's lips for good measure.

She angled her head and looked into the battle-ship grey of his eyes. But there was no hint of hard steel. It had liquefied into molten and malleable wonder and lust. Julie knew she would be kissed so when Flynn tilted his head and covered her lips with his, she wasn't surprised.

She wasn't surprised at being kissed. But the kiss staggered her. Her heart melted into heavy syrup, lava-like. It flowed into her deep insides till her legs couldn't support the weight of it. She felt giddy and weak, but before her limbs sagged beneath her she was able to pull herself away.

Before Flynn could protest, Julie shushed him again. Then she took his hand and walked backwards, pulling him into her room. He flipped the door closed with his heel and moved to reclaim her mouth.

Julie formed her plush lips into the shape of a 'no' and shook her head slowly back and forth. She led him to the side of her brass bed and waggled an admonishing index finger when he tried to take her into an embrace.

Flynn was completely in her thrall; he surrendered; let his arms hang loose at his sides.

Julie rested her forearms over his shoulders, scraped her fingernails lightly over his skin, weaved her fingers into the tight brush of hair above the nape of his neck. She pulled Flynn's head down and kissed him. His mouth was warm and tasted sweet, like a ripe apple.

The wonder of his kiss amazed her and at another time she would have been content to explore the depths of his mouth, relish the velvet feel of his tongue on hers, but her passion was like a runaway train over which she had no control. His kisses were creating a tightness in her womb that was twisting into a hard knot. She pulled away again and pushed Flynn's arms back to his sides when he moved.

Julie saw ardent desire flaming in his eyes and his breathing had quickened. She could see that Flynn possessed a sensuality that smoldered deep within, but brought to the surface it would be a wildfire, it was tantalizing. He resembled a statue, a work of art, bronze, cut and buffed, wide shoulders, slender hips.

Julie leaned into his torso and laid her cheek on his chest. His warm skin and thundering heartbeat were a comfort to her. She took one of his nipples between her lips and heard a soft groan roll in his throat when she used her teeth.

Flynn maintained his obedient posture when she moved her hands to unfasten his belt, but Julie sensed that his coarse breathing had taken on a rapacious character. She held him with an intense stare while she forced his camo pants over his hips. She lifted her knee and used her foot to push his trousers to the floor. Flynn stepped out of them. He was naked.

His blatant virility, twitching, and purple-stiff, was evidence that he had likely waited as long as she for this real thing. She swallowed, could hardly breathe, it felt as though her lungs had collapsed. The room swayed but Julie steadied herself. She placed her palm over Flynn's eyes and then rose on tiptoes to seal them closed with a kiss.

Julie left him in blind torture with only his senses of hearing and scent to tease his imagination as she removed her camisole; so close to him that their body heat mingled.

Proportion and symmetry are the basis of physical beauty. Except for one conspicuous anomaly, Julie noted that Flynn had all the basis covered quite nicely; as though he'd been photo-shopped for the cover of GQ.

Julie moved yet closer. But still no contact. She felt the inches between them were the void of all eternity. She cupped her hand and raised it delicately up under his anomaly. Flynn sucked a spasm of air through clenched teeth.

Julie held the strange weight of his sex, kneading him ever so gently, reveling in the wonder of human sexuality. And then she took her hand away, knelt in a knightly fashion to lightly kiss him, just once, before stepping back and reclining onto the cool white sheets of her bed.

"Flynn," she whispered, only just loud enough for him to barely hear. He opened his eyes. Julie smiled warmly and said again, "Come with me?"

When Flynn lay beside her, Julie could smell the oasis in his hair and she was certain the wonderful heat emanating from his skin was evidence of his desire for her.

He said, "Julie, you are one precious pearl, a goddess. No mortal man is deserving of you. I'm thankful you think I am." He smoothed her brow with two fingers and let his hand float over her ear. He grasped the nape of her neck and drew her mouth onto his.

Julie feared she had imagined the wonderment of their first kiss. She hadn't. She closed her eyes and she felt the earth tilt and swing beneath her. Flynn slipped his arms round her and she was able to ride the sway, held close in his embrace.

For the first time in her life Julie wanted to give herself completely; she wanted to be taken completely. She said, "Whatever I have to offer in this bed is yours, Flynn. Take whatever you want. I need to be taken, I need to be wanted."

"I wanted you the first instant I saw you, Julie McNeill. You're beautiful, you're unpredictable, you're passionate... and you're strong, but so vulnerable." He kissed her. "There's not a thing about you I couldn't love."

Julie felt her chest swell with lust and wanting. Her lips became pleading and desperate. The tenderness and mastery of Flynn's kiss was excruciating. He withdrew his lips from her mouth and ran his tongue along her lower lip and back across the upper. He took each separately between his own lips and drove her mad with gentle biting. She clutched behind his head and crushed her mouth against his.

The constriction deep inside of her was a living thing and it shoved her hips into Flynn. She pressed onto him; it was like coming up against a branding iron. Julie laughed a husky, breathless sound.

Flynn lightly traced his fingertips over the tiny freckles sprinkled on the delicate skin of her nose and cheeks. He fondly kissed the one on her upper lip; a simple gesture but stunning in its warmth and tenderness. Her shattered faith in all the lost myths of love-making was restored. She said, "I was afraid. I've waited so long to feel this way. I was afraid it could never happen; that these feelings existed only in poems... and fantasy."

"I know what you mean, jellybean." He held her face and kissed one corner of her mouth lightly, then the other, and then he took her whole mouth in his and kissed her deeply, using a finger to explore her lips as he kissed them. He said, "We don't have to rush, do we? I wanna take it slow, get to know you well."

She breathed in his ear, "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere." Julie rolled flat onto her back and stretched her arms over her head. Her mouth was half open in anticipation. She wanted him, she needed him, inside. She said, "But please, Flynn. Get that gorgeous thing inside of me."

"Whoa, ma petite. I said I want to get to know you." He positioned himself, holding his body over hers on rigid arms. Julie ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. He had satin-soft skin, but underneath she felt taut sinew and lean tissue. He lowered himself and kissed her again. She felt his cock, inflamed and hard, springy against her thighs. She closed her eyes, raised her knees.

But Flynn didn't rest his weight upon her. Instead, he headed south and without otherwise touching her, he lowered his mouth to her nether lips and began kissing her as he had kissed her mouth. Soft grazing kisses that rendered the rest of her body numb. He explored her femininity, nuzzling gently with his tongue and nose and lips. She had no breath, she had no concept of time; the center of the universe had been re-positioned. Julie knew that whether or not it reset, nothing would ever be the same for her again.

Flynn ventured and lingered over each aspect of Julie's sensitive velvet realm. And only with frustratingly slow and tender care did the kisses become more vigorous, probing.

Julie began inarticulate murmurings as she let her head loll slowly from side to side. As each minute past she knew she couldn't endure another. But Flynn seemed to have uncanny perception, and each time she teetered on the precipice he prevented her from plunging over the edge. He said, "Julie, I love the taste of you. I love the woman scent of you. I'll never get enough."

She moved her hands down, entwined her fingers in his hair, holding his head with love and affection. But when he next took her to the edge, she held him tight against herself until the soundless bell finally tolled deep in her belly; its rolling trembling knells spreading out, coursing through her insides, assuaging the tightness that had become a beautiful dull pain, smoothing it away.

When she had recovered, Julie drew Flynn up to her and with her fingers laced in the thick hair at the back of his neck, she brought his lips down to brush against hers. He was redolent with the scent and the salty charcoal taste of her; it was an aphrodisiac.

She drew at the back of Flynn's head and held his mouth hard onto her own, kissing deeply, consuming, wanting. Julie's desire instantly shot back to a peak and she knew the only source of absolute relief. She wrapped her legs round Flynn's hips and squeezed. He was stiff and large and quivering against her pelvis. The feel of it drove her to near frenzy. Julie wanted Flynn to be a part of her. She wanted to be a part of him. She pleaded with him, "Oh, Flynn, please," her voice was a hoarse, strangled sound, "I need you. I need you inside me. So bad. Please."

She had let loose the reins on her sexual longings and wanton desires. Like riding bareback on a deserted beach with arms stretched to the heavens, she felt free and wild.

He put his face beside hers and whispered into her hair. It was thick and crazy messy. She had enough for two people but it was light and soft, like it was full of air. His breath played next to her ear; goose bumps crawled over her neck and wound down her arm like an electric arc.

Flynn positioned himself, prodded her threshold, lightly bumping the head of his prick onto her tidy pudendum, nudging aside her pliant oyster lips to tease the shy pearl.

It was intolerably slow, excruciating. Julie thought she would scream, but instead she relaxed, closed her eyes, allowed her mind's eye a look as he entered her. The aching emptiness that she had endured was being sated. With each progressive press Flynn made into her, Julie inhaled jerky breaths. And when he was finally fully enveloped in the opulent female warmth of her, he became still and Julie let her eyes come open.

Flynn was there, looking at her. They smiled open, pure, impulsive smiles. He said, "Julie, even in my teenage fantasies I never imagined it could be this good." She raised her head and kissed him. He said, "Now I know I've never made love before, and if I ever had sex with anyone... hell, I can't remember." He kissed her mouth. He kissed her neck. He kissed her cheeks. He kissed her nose. He kissed her eyes, running his tongue along the lids when she closed them. And then his hips began moving and they both let go sighs of relief, pleasure and love.

As before and despite his own obvious rapture, Flynn was able to gauge Julie's responses and he nudged the endpoint away each time she stretched to reach it. His rhythm was a chameleon, transforming naturally to give her ecstasy beyond her dreams.

But it had to end. Julie felt as though she were free-falling backwards through timeless space. It was almost scary. Flynn had driven her far beyond any point she had ever been and she had lost touch with her own body. It was too much to bear. There was pleading agony in her voice, "Flynn."

He answered, "Yes. Let it go, Julie. I've got you."

His movements into her became more forceful and the tempo more consistent. She could key off of them and move with them. It was only moments before it took her. It shook her frame, wrenching her neck and arching her back. A faint sheen of perspiration blossomed on her skin. She uttered faint sobs; sobs that would have made a child think she was in pain. She pulled her knees to her shoulders and reached round her thigh to grab his balls. He cried out and pushed into her one final time, deeply. Julie tightened her grip, squeezing, urging him to total depletion, while rapt in the throes of her own fulfillment and passion.

When it ended they didn't speak, they lay together, folded in each other's arms, gasping for breath.

Well so much for 'average' and 'twelve minutes', Julie thought, exhausted. She giggled huskily. Flynn joined in.

When Flynn fell asleep she kissed his forehead and then she slept; a deep sleep, but at times filled with luscious and lucid dreams of their lovemaking. Julie was content in mind and body, at peace... and in love –whether she was ready to submit to it, or not.

The crackle of gunfire ripped into those dreams an hour before dawn.