Kyle was deep in a splendid dream of being gently teased awake. Of being so aroused that he could take a woman forever and ever, as long as that woman was Carla Anderson.
He could—
He opened one eye. Then the other. Or he could lie here, alone in a steel bunk bed on a ship of war and feel like a teenage i***t once again at summer camp and fantasizing about the head lifeguard—so awesome in her white one-piece and long blonde hair, and at least half again his own daydreamy twelve. She’d been between him and the wall, so damn stealthy that he’d slept through her departure.
He scrabbled around in the darkness for his watch, but his stomach told him clearly what time it was.
The CIA hadn’t been big on food during debriefing, which had accounted for both breakfast and lunch chow times. Makin
