by Ann Charles
“What do you mean by ‘prepped’?” Quint asked, handing her his drink. He should probably stop for the night before Angélica turned into twins before his very eyes. The morning sunshine was not his friend on a normal day, let alone when a hangover was stabbing him between the eyes.
“Relatively snake-free, for starters.” She took another drink of the wine.
Juan grunted in disagreement. “You’re obsessing about that glyph and using your job as an excuse to keep the temple open.”
She leaned across Quint’s thighs toward her father, her face lined with tension, her body rigid. The soft weight of her breast rested on his forearm. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the images that suddenly filled his head.
“I’m not obsessing about that glyph,” she bit out. “I’m too busy obsessing about that stupid stela that Mom wrote about to have time to fixate on the glyphs in the temple.”
“At least we agree you’re obsessed, gatita.” Juan leaned forward and ran his thumb down her cheek. “Your mother would be so proud of how far along your monomania has come,” he joked.
Angélica stuck her tongue out at him, settling back onto her part of the log, crossing her ankles. She took another drink of wine while staring into the fire.
After a few minutes of Teodoro’s rhythmic chanting, Quint pushed to his feet, stretching. His tailbone ached from the hard seat, his lower back protesting hours of bending over to bag snakes.
“I’ll be right back,” he told the three of them.
Angélica looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“I need to grab my canteen and some ibuprofen from the tent. This wine is hitting me fast. I don’t need a hangover while I sweat my ass off tomorrow.”
He tottered a little on his way to the tent in the dark, the wine making his knees loosey-goosey. His flashlight bobbed as the dry grass crunched under his boots. His mind rang with questions about what in the hell had happened years ago with Marianne and the pilot. Had someone put snakes in the helicopter? Wasn’t damaging the rotor enough of a guarantee for the killer?
Unzipping the tent, he turned on his flashlight and set it on the floor next to his bag, spotlighting the canvas wall. The light was dim, but lit the tent enough to help him find what he needed from his backpack. He grabbed his canteen from the floor and tossed back two pills, washing them down and swallowing a few more mouthfuls as a chaser.
The sound of the tent flap rustling made him turn.
Angélica zipped the flap closed behind her. She shut off her flashlight and set it on the floor. “Parker, we need to clear the air about something.”
He capped his canteen. He knew what this was about. She’d been patient all afternoon, not badgering him about Pedro’s big secret, but her patience must have come to an end. “If this is about Pedro’s comment earlier—”
“Shhhhh.” She closed the distance between them, taking his canteen from him and lowering it to the floor.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Did you just shush me?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were dark pools in the feeble light. “We need to talk about that, but there’s something I need to take care of first, and then I need to get back to the ceremony.”
“What?”
Angélica took a step back and in a blink pulled her shirt up over her head. It was a slow blink for Quint, thanks to the wine slowing down reality. She tossed her shirt onto her cot and then stood before him in her khakis and a black bra.
At least it looked black in low light.
And gauzy.
Very gauzy.
Practically transparent.
Hello, siren! He rubbed his hand over his eyes and blinked again. His gaze locked onto the dark tips peeking out through the thin material, his mouth going dry. Was this for real?
“We have a problem,” she said, kicking off her tennis shoes and unbuttoning her pants.
“We do?” His focus slid lower as she eased her pants over her hips. A matching pair of black gauzy underwear slung low on her hips gave him a peep show that almost made his wine-wobbly knees give way.
“I want something from you.” She stepped out of her pants and tugged off her socks, throwing them onto her cot after her shirt.
She stood in front of him in her gauzy black bits, her auburn hair curling around her shoulders. When she licked her lips, he nearly keeled over.
“What do you say?” She glanced down at her chest, grimaced, and adjusted one of her breasts in the see-through cup.
“Suffering succotash,” he whispered.
“Did you just quote Sylvester James Pussycat, Sr.?”
His gaze raced up and down her body, his heart running neck-and-neck with his breath. “Were you wearing those while you were hooking snakes?” He imagined her handling that hook in her black bra and panties and a blast of heat knocked him back a step. Holy smokes, that was hot—minus the lunging rattlesnakes, of course.
She laughed. It sounded extra breathy in Quint’s wine-soaked brain, sexy as hell. “Of course not. I put them on after my shower tonight. I packed these in case you actually showed up to the dig site and I decided to forgive you for not contacting me for-fucking-ever.”
“Those are for me?” He flexed his hands, not sure where to touch first.
“Are you drunk, Parker?”
“I think so.” His gaze met hers. “But trust me, it’s not going to be a problem.”
She rested her hands on her hips, making her chest jut out at him. “So, are you going to make me beg like you promised earlier or not? Because if you’re physically up to the task, we don’t have time to discuss my lingerie any longer. I have a ceremony to get back to before anyone notices how long it’s taking me to visit the latrine.”
That no-nonsense tone of hers was his undoing. He went in fast and hard, yanking her against him. He gripped her hair, tugging her head back, tipping her mouth up to his.
“Take off my pants,” he ordered and then lowered his mouth to hers, tasting sweet balche wine on her soft lips. With a groan from a month’s worth of pent-up frustration, he dipped his tongue into her mouth, teasing hers with quick flicks.
He felt his pants loosen a moment before her hand slid inside his boxer briefs, her fingers wasting no time taking hold. He pulled back, extracting her hand from his briefs. There was no way he’d last another ten seconds if she continued doing that.
“I didn’t tell you to touch me yet.” If he was going to make her beg, she needed to let him lead this dance.
“Quint.” Her voice sounded hoarse, digging up memories from heated nights back in her bed in Cancun. “We don’t have time to fool around first.”
“I told you I’d make you beg.”
“Please.” She reached for him again.
He held her hand away. “I mean really beg.” His grip still on her wrist, he drew her back against him. “You seem to be confused about who’s running the show here.”
This time when he kissed her, he took total control, not giving her an opportunity to take charge. In no time, she was moaning and moving against him, pushing his limits.
He broke away from her, his breath ragged. “Show me what you want.”
She took his hand and ran it down over her bra, circling the center of his palm over the hard tip under the gauzy fabric. He let her guide him, keeping his hand rigid, fighting the urge to palm the softness.
Her breath quickened as she brushed his palm over her again and again. His body throbbed, but he held steady, wanting to hear her really beg.
She looked up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses. He couldn’t resist, lowering to her mouth again, sinking his teeth into her lower lip and tugging gently. The sweet taste of Angélica along with the effects of wine made his head spin. He sank his fingers in her hair, pressing his hips into hers as he deepened the kiss.
“Quint,” she murmured when he came up for air. “Hurry.”
“Not yet.”
“Please.”
“That’s not good enough.” He retur
ned his palm to her breast, brushing over the tip. “Show me what else you want.”
She captured his hand and moved it lower, over the soft skin of her stomach, inside the waistband of her panties. “Do you think you can take it from here?” she teased, turning slightly to give him a better angle.
“Let’s see.” His hand slid lower, a growl of lust rumbling up from his chest when he felt how ready she was for him. Christ, this game wasn’t going to last much longer. He paused, leaning down to nip her bare shoulder. His free hand itched to explore that gauzy bra and the softness underneath it, but there was no time for that. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes.” Her response came out in a rush of breath.
“Beg, sweetheart.”
She covered his hand with hers, directing. She looked up at him, her eyelids half-lowered in pleasure. “Please.”
“Please what?” He strummed once, remembering exactly how she liked to be caressed.
Her mouth parted in a soft gasp, her hand pressing his harder against her, urging him onward. “Please, make me yours.”
At her submission, his control slipped away. His hand moved lower, his touch lighting her up.
She moaned and panted in the semi-darkness. When he moved in close to kiss her, unable to resist her lush mouth, she shook her head, avoiding his kiss. “No.”
“No what?” His head was rummy with wine-laced lust, making it hard to think.
“No kisses yet. I want you to watch what you do to me.”
Watch? No, he wanted to … Oh! “You mean when I do this?” He stroked deeper.
Her eyes widened in response. “Yes.”
He did it again. That was all it took. Her body began to tremble. Quint stared down at her in the soft light as a wave of pleasure rocked her. Seeing the raw emotion flow over her face as she clung to him was staggering. He clutched her tighter, his body nearly letting loose from watching her.
As soon as her body stopped trembling, Quint pulled away and struggled with his pants, which got caught up on his damned boots. “Take those off now,” he said, pointing at her bra and underwear.
He tried to unlace his boots, the wine and lust making his fingers stupid. Before he could free even one eyelet, she was naked.
“Forget about your boots.” She pushed him down onto his cot. “There’s no time for them.” She straddled him, teasing just out of reach. “Maybe I should make you beg now.”
“Bad idea.” He locked onto her hips and pulled her down onto him, sliding into heaven. The initial rush was almost his undoing. “Oh, baby. I missed you.”
“Show me how much.” Her body rocked against him, skin sliding on skin. A wave of pleasure made him lightheaded.
Still palming her hips, he helped her move, speeding up their dance. Now was not the time for a leisurely waltz. The cot creaked under them as his breath grew ragged.
She grasped his upper arms, her fingers digging into his muscles. Her lips burned a trail across his cheek to his ear. “Harder, Parker.”
Sweet Jesus, if she didn’t stop sucking on his earlobe like that he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Oh my …” She cupped his face, her kisses frenzied, moaning into his mouth. Then her body arched into his, her knees squeezing his hips as she tightened and pulsed around him.
So. Damned. Sexy.
He slid against her, lengthening her quivers.
When her trembling stopped, she whispered, “Your turn, heartbreaker.” She bit him lightly on the shoulder, sucking hard on his skin.
A bolt of lust shot through him, taking the last of his control with it. A month of fantasizing about her had him on a short leash. His body bowed, rigid with release, as he gripped her hips and held her still. He shuddered and quaked, stars floating behind his eyes.
When he could think straight again, he leaned forward, resting his head on her sweat-dampened chest. “Holy hell, Angélica. That about killed me.”
“Death by sex in the Maya jungle,” she said in a news announcer voice. “Tune in at ten for the full story of how an archaeologist-turned-Xtabay used her deadly embrace to steal the breath from a charming photojournalist, killing him in the midst of sex.”
He chuckled. “On a happier note, he died with his pants around his ankles and a huge smile on his face.”
Giggling, she continued, “His mother is beside herself, worrying about whether he had put on clean underwear that morning.”
“Dear Lord, sweetheart. Don’t bring up my mom so soon after sex. I’ll never recover for another round.”
She stroked his back, her fingers bumping down his spine. “Next time we get naked, I want to do things to you that make you beg.”
“What sort of things?” Did it involve more biting? Some sort of Maya-inspired jaguar sex position?
“Bad things that I think you’ll enjoy.”
“Okay, but if it involves an obsidian blade, my family jewels, and a blood offering to the Maya gods, I’m going to have to take a rain check.”
Mock, evil laughter filled the tent. She tipped his chin up. “No bloodletting, I promise.” Then she kissed him thoroughly, making him stir inside of her again.
“Hold that thought,” she said when she pulled back. Before he could snap out of his lust-inebriated haze, she left him, moving over to her pile of clean clothes. She fished out some underwear and a white bra. “I have to get back to the ceremony.”
Quint’s fingers fumbled with his pants as he watched her dress, his head definitely rummy. “Crap,” he said as he shook his head, trying to clear it, while she wiggled her hips into her khakis. “We’re going to have to do this again soon.” Next time, he wanted to be stone-cold sober with more time to explore all of her skin.
“Name the time and place, heartbreaker, and I’ll be there with or without underwear, your choice.” Her smile was soft and inviting. She pulled her shirt on over her head.
He grabbed his own shirt from the floor, pausing with a frown, unable to remember when he’d taken it off. Or had she? Damned wine. “What now?” he asked, pulling it on.
“You need to wait about five or ten minutes before coming back to the fire.”
“You really think your father and the others won’t know what we’ve been up to? Both of us disappeared for …” He didn’t know how long he’d been gone. “For a long time. Juan will put one and one together and smile at me with that shit-eating grin of his.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “He was talking to Fernando when I left. I don’t think he saw me go.”
“Yeah, well, I was just supposed to be getting some pills for a headache. How do I explain why it took so long?”
“You’re a writer. Can’t you come up with some good fiction?”
“Maverick writes fiction, not me.”
“You’ll think of something.” She put on her boots and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Have I told you that I’m nuts about you?”
“No.” He slid his hands down her sides, rounding her curves. “But you’ve threatened to slice off my nuts with your machete a couple of times.”
She grinned. “That’s your fault. You make me crazy.”
“I’ve got news for you, woman. You were crazy when I met you.”
“But you like crazy women, right?”
“No, I like you, Dr. García. I also like your choice in lingerie.”
“I like you, too, Parker, especially when your hands are inside of my lingerie.”
“Angélica.” Pedro’s hushed voice came through the tent canvas. “Are you in there?”
“Shit,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll go away.”
The zipper on their tent started to slide open.
She stepped away from Quint. “Pedro, don’t come in.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not decent.”
There was a pause from the other side of the tent, and then Pedro spoke again. “Have you seen Quint?”
Angélica raised her finger to
her lips, shaking her head. “He’s around here somewhere.”
“You need to hurry up and get back to the ceremony.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“We sort of have a problem.”
She growled, lowering her hand. “What now?”
“We had a visitor while you were gone.”
“Who?”
“Not a who, more like a bristly haired, pain-in-the-ass what.”
Angélica’s forehead furrowed. “Did something come out of the jungle?”
“No, something came out of María’s tent, scared the living daylights out of your half-drunken father, who fell over backward in his chair.”
She gasped. “He fell?”
“Juan’s leg is fine, don’t worry, but your damned javelina ran off into the trees.”
Quint shook his head. Rover was at it again.
“Dad’s okay?”
“Yes, but he’s pissed about that javelina being here and putting us all at risk with predators.”
“Crud. I was hoping he wouldn’t find out for another day or two. I wanted to break it to him gently.”
“You need to get back to the ceremony to help Teodoro while Quint and I go looking for Rover.”
What? In the dark with predators on their nightly prowl while he was rummy with wine?
“Right now?” Quint whispered to Angélica.
“If you wait too long, something else might find Rover first. Come on.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the flap.
Angélica grabbed her flashlight and unzipped the tent, stepping out with Quint following.
“You’re amazing, Angel.” Pedro’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “You’ve made Quint magically appear out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, well, I’m talented that way,” she said. “Don’t piss me off or I’ll make you magically disappear.”
“Judging by that big grin on Quint’s face, I bet he likes all of the ways you’re talented.”
“Shush up.” She punched Pedro’s shoulder. “If you say a thing to Dad, I’ll tell him that you were the one who painted his face and hair with red ochre paste when he was passed out at that Chac ceremony that time in Coba.”