by Cherry Adair
She slid her hands up his back, rocking her hips to draw him even deeper inside her. Risking losing her mind and losing her soul.
“We should take it slow and easy so I don’t hurt you.”
Slow? Easy? Was he nuts? “Haven’t we. . . had. . . this conversation?” She was beyond ready.
“Yeah. Oh, Lord-” He pushed deep, then held absolutely still, allowing himself one perfect moment to revel in being back where he belonged, but need clamored inside him, urging him on. He started thrusting, and once he found his rhythm, Danica knew nothing could hold him back. Gentleness had no part here. Tonight was about tasting life. Reminding them both that they still lived. That they still loved.
“Jon,” she moaned. “Oh, God. Jon. Please—” His hips pistoned, slamming into hers as if he wanted to impale her on the mattress. Danica loved it, wrapping her arms and legs around him tightly so she could hold on for the ride.
He bent to kiss her hard, desperate for more contact. More. More. More. They rose and fell, faster and faster, sweat gluing their bodies together as they moved in concert, their bodies remembering all the nights they’d moved together, loved together, come together. Just. Like. This.
They climaxed together in a blinding flash of bone-melting intensity that took them into uncharted territory. It took years for Danica to come down from the ceiling. She struggled to draw more air into her heaving lungs as her heart pounded with manic intensity, and her body shuddered and shivered in the aftermath.
“Holy orgasm, Batman! Just when I thought you couldn’t get any better at this,” Danica gasped, rubbing her face against his, loving the feel of his whiskered jaw on her cheek. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”
“No. Just waiting for my shot to get back inside you.” He moved against her, sending electrical charges arcing through her body. Burying his mouth against the dampness between her shoulder and neck, he breathed hard, his body still sensitized and shuddering with the intensity of his own release. “Give me ten seconds and we’ll go again.”
“Really?”
“Sweetheart, for you I’ll make it five.” He brushed a kiss against her temple. Wrapping his arms around her with a fierce intensity that hadn’t abated one iota with their joint multiple orgasms, he stroked her hair in gentle, soothing, almost hypnotic, glides. Her heart, never healed, melted with tenderness. She didn’t remember the last time Jon had just held her after sex.
Either he wanted more or he was asleep. Off and on.
Black and white.
Wired or unconscious.
No middle ground. But this. . . This was nice. She drifted.
Her hair felt cool on her shoulders as he lifted the strands and let them sift through his fingers. “Your hair always reminded me of a night sky. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No,” she said, hoping he never realized how many shades of Miss Clairol she had to use to get the black just right.
“Well, it does.” His voice was low, husky with want and tenderness. It brought tears to her eyes. “One of those really black nights-no stars, no moon. Just the open sky, going on forever.”
“Sounds pretty,” she admitted.
“I should have given you pretty words before,” he murmured.
“Jon. . .”
“They were always there, Dani,” he said. “Inside me.” He rested his forehead against hers.
“I know,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Beneath hers, his heartbeat throbbed, and she shivered at his response to their lovemaking.
Experiencing this tenderness along with the amazing things he could do to her body made Danica ready for more. Ready to be a part of him over and over again. Ready to feel his body invade hers and stay there.
She trailed her hand down the center of his body, from the crisp hair covering his pecs, down his six-pack, and then closed her fingers around him, loving the way his body reacted to her touch.
He groaned, turning to her to cover her mouth with his.
They made love again. Slowly this time, as if they had all the time in the world. Outside, that world moved on. Here, in this room, time stood still. For this one night, they were together, as maybe they’d always been meant to be.
Nevertheless, Danica knew from experience that she couldn’t count on anything more than this one perfect moment. She had him in her arms right now. It would be really, really stupid to wonder for how long.
Six
The bedside phone rang. Danica, sprawled on Jon’s chest, lifted her head. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping. She’d never met anyone who needed as little sleep as he did. He reached over her head and snatched up the receiver, putting it to her ear, but in such a way that he could hear as well. Not sleeping and nosey as hell. Situation normal, she thought wryly. “Yes?”
“Your uncle is on the line, Miss Cross,” the operator said in accented English. “He’s quite insistent that he speak with you immediately. May I put him through?”
Danica frowned, still holding Jon’s gaze. “My uncle?” Unless her only uncle was calling from his grave, she had no idea who—Jon nodded. “Ah, sure. Put him through.”
Danica frowned, still holding Jon’s gaze. “My uncle?” Unless her only uncle was calling from his grave, she had no idea who—Jon nodded. “Ah, sure. Put him through.”
“Danica?” An unfamiliar male voice spoke in her ear.
“Hi, Uncle. . .?”
“It’s Samuel, sweetie. Your aunt Martha and I are just worried sick about you. How’re you doin’, baby?” Without waiting for an answer, he said briskly, “Never mind. Put that husband of yours on the line the bedside phone rang. Danica, sprawled on Jon’s chest, lifted her head. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping. She’d never met anyone who needed as little sleep as he did. He reached over her head and snatched up the receiver, putting it to her ear, but in such a way that he could hear as well. Not sleeping and nosey as hell. Situation normal, she thought wryly. “Yes?”
“Your uncle is on the line, Miss Cross,” the operator said in accented English. “He’s quite insistent that he speak with you immediately. May I put him through?”. We don’t want you getting all upset after your ordeal.”
She glanced at Jon, but made no move to shift position. Both of them would continue listening. “It’s Uncle Samuel, honey.”
He figured it would be. The State Department, the FAA, and the NTSB must be spitting nails by now. Join the crowd. “Yeah?”
“Hey, my boy,” the guy said with forced jocularity. “Just wanted to say, take damn good care of your girl there. She’s become extra precious to the family right now, ya know what I mean? We’re all feelin’ right concerned about her after that ac-ceedent an’ all. In fact, we want her home right now, this very minute, so we can get her to our own physician toot sweet.”
“Is that right?” He lifted one eyebrow, and Danica smilingly shook her head at the patently fake accent and terrible pronunciation.
“You betcha. They say the doc back in Miami doesn’t want her to get overexcited by too many visitors, ya know what I mean?”
Hell, no, Raven thought, absently reaching out to take Danica’s hand in his to prevent her from scratching a welt on her neck. The problem with talking in code was that most of the time the speaker made no sense at all. Of course, it didn’t help that Danica was mouthing questions at him while scratching. Jon shook his head at her, then deliberately concentrated and sifted through what the guy was trying to tell him.
He guessed their benevolent “uncle” was military. Planning an extraction, perhaps? Which made his own suspicions valid. He didn’t give a shit who they were if they could get Danica clear of the highly guarded palace and out of this little shithole of a country. “Yeah, well, she’ll be out of here on Saturday. Guess you heard they’re giving her the keys to the
city?”
“Fuc—No way, boy. No way. Her aunt will be just devastated if she doesn’t see her right now. Like, I mean right now. Why, it might just kill her if that doesn’t happen.”
Danica frowned at him, but Jon didn’t have time to reassure her at the moment. He was too busy fighting a soul-jarring surge of tangible fear. Enough of this two-on-a-phone thing.
Gripping the phone in a white-knuckled fist, he gently moved Danica aside so he could sit on the edge of the mattress and focus. “Is Aunt Martha with you?”
“Son, we’re all here. The whole family got into the act to come down here and check on little Danica. This is a big deal to us.”
“And where is ‘here’ exactly?” Jon muttered, stretching the cord of the phone so he could reach down and pick his clothes up off the floor where he’d tossed them. He started dressing one-handed, a sense of urgency making his heart pound and his brain go a mile a minute.
“Why, boy, the whole family’s right here in San Cristóbal,” Uncle Sam said tightly.
Jesus.
Jon shot Danica a glance, and he saw the worry on her features. A pang of regret rippled through him. Seemed that no matter when they were together, something always happened to stir the pot. Damn it. He wanted Dani. And he wanted her safe. Now.
“Her aunt got all upset during our plane trip down here,” Uncle Sam was saying. “She reminded me of all the times we told Danica that flying in a plane was a dangerous job. There are some places people just don’t belong. With what’s happened fresh in her mind, you should tell her to get out and come home with us. Uh-oh, Dani’s aunt’s rubbing her chest again. Her poor heart cain’t take much more. Bring her to Martha as soon as you can, boy.”
Crap. He got it. Subtle this guy wasn’t. His fingers tightened around his T-shirt. “You’re in town?”
“Not too far from you, son. We’re real anxious to meet up with you and our girl. And I know none of us will eat or sleep ’til we get to see Danica with our own eyes.”
“Breakfast tomorrow good enough?” Not that Raven planned to hang around until then. The feeling of urgency was crystal clear, and if this guy, whoever he represented, was nervous, Jon was ten times more so.
“Hell, no. We’re pretty damned hungry right now. What say you two come over and we all head right out for a late supper?”
Raven glanced at his watch. Way too fucking late even to pretend to eat dinner. “We’re exhausted,” he motioned for Danica to get out of bed. “We’ll meet you for breakfast. Say eight?” Which would give them a head start should anyone else be eavesdropping. “How will we find you?”
“There’s a real nice little place on Route 84, just north of town. Why don’t we meet there at eight forty?” The line went dead.
Followed by a small click.
Great. Just fucking great.
Eight forty. Meant “Uncle Sam” expected to make contact in forty minutes. Staring around the plushly appointed room, Jon wondered if the damn place was bugged, even though he’d searched it thoroughly. Maybe he’d missed something, it was hard to be sure, since he didn’t have the bug-sweeping devices he’d ordinarily use-in which case they’d certainly given somebody an earful. It was the presidential palace in the country of Paranoia, so he was willing to bet there was a bug somewhere. His eye fell on the service cart, which he hadn’t gone over in his rush to get the coffee into Danica. Damn. Either way, no point taking chances.
“What did Uncle Sam want?” Danica whispered, grabbing hold of his arm as she slid off the high bed and wobbled to her feet.
He glided both hands around her waist. “He’s worried about you, honey.” Her skin was warm, and as soft a rose petals, the scent of their love making mingled with the smell of antiseptic and made him horny and pissed off all at the same time. He pulled her flush against him, and buried his face in her hair. “I should probably feel guilty as hell for making love to you after everything you’ve been through.” He kissed the pulse at her temple, and the bug bite on her cheek, then brushed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “I should. But, God-I’m so fucking grateful you’re alive.”
She wound her arms around his neck, and went up on her toes. “You didn’t hear any complaints from me did you?” she whispered against his mouth. “Making love made me feel alive. A win win.”
She tilted her head, opening her mouth against his, humming low as her tongue lazy explored.
After a minute, despite a rock-hard erection and his brain fogging, he took a firm grip on her hips and stepped back. “Why don’t you take a nice hot shower? Helps with the aches and pains.”
“I’d love a shower.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she slid her hand into his. He didn’t need any reminders that water love making was their favorite kind.
They padded naked into the sybaritic bathroom. White marble, gold fixtures and mirrored walls. If he had the time he could admire Dani in 3-D. He stepped into the massive marbled shower stall and turned on the water full blast.
With the water running loudly, he closed the glass door and bent his head close to hers. “No idea who that was, but I sure as hell recognize a warning when I hear one.”
“About what?”
“We don’t know, and we’re not sticking around to find out. So follow me and keep quiet. Let whoever might be listening think you’re in the shower.”
Opening the bathroom door as quietly as possible, he strode across the room, Dani close on his heels. Raven grabbed the duffle the tin soldiers had brought upstairs with their coffee and sandwiches. He didn’t need to check for his weapons; he knew by the weight of the bag they were gone. Pulling out the jeans, dark blue T-shirt, and sneakers he’d bought at the airport, he thrust them into her hands. “Get dressed,” he whispered. “We’re leaving.”
“It’s the middle of the night.” Her voice was hardly more than a breath. “I thought we were meeting the guy in the mor-“
“Forty minutes,” he corrected softly as he zipped his jeans. He ran a critical eye over her as she dressed. Jeans. Airport purchase T-Shirt. Cheap running shoes. No bra, and commando. Just as he liked it. He grinned.
Knowing exactly what he was thinking, she slapped his arm and gave him a mock scowl. He brushed her cheek. “Get dressed.”
While she pulled on the closes he’d brought for her, Raven moved quietly about the room to collect what he’d chosen earlier as possible weapons. They’d taken his guns, but they hadn’t taken his creativity. Simple things, even a phone cord, could be lethal weapons. “Chop-chop, sweetheart. Time’s awastin’.”
“It would’ve been nice if you’d thought to buy me some underwear,” Danica mumbled as they ran across the manicured lawn like thieves in the night. Jon, having adjusted his speed to accommodate her shorter legs, held tightly to her hand, preventing her from falling half a dozen times.
She’d never seen such blackness. Not a star, not a glimmer of a moon. The enormous palace behind them was dark. How he could see where he was going she, had no idea.
“No Victoria’s Secret at the airport,” he said very quietly. “Veer to the left, then straight for another two hundred feet.”
Heart in her throat, as it had been for what seemed like hours, Danica glanced behind them. Every step of the way she expected to hear dogs barking or gunshots. But other than the cick-cick-cick of a distant sprinkler and the soft shushing of fronds in the hundreds of palms and shrubs on the grounds, everything was quiet. So quiet she could hear the pounding of her own heart.
The balmy night air was redolent with the thick, sweet scent of jasmine, citrus blossoms, and the green smell of the jungle just beyond the city. Jon’s hand in hers was warm and strong, and despite the fear trumpeting through her body, she felt safe with him. She always had.
He was infuriating and frustrating and had the innate ability to irritate her like no other human on the face of
the planet. But she trusted Jon more than anyone else she’d ever known. With her life at least. Trusting him with her heart was a little trickier.
The palace grounds were secured from break-in, but apparently, it never occurred to them that someone would break out. At least, that’s what Jon assured her as they snuck out of her room. They moved through the empty, dimly lit corridors, down the wide marble stairs, through the kitchens, and out of the building. Undetected-or so she hoped.
She wanted to believe him, but she still kept waiting to feel canines embedded in her leg or the slam of a bullet in the back of her head as they ran across the lawn.
Keeping close to the thick tangle of foliage bordering the gardens, they were, according to her partner in crime, heading toward a side gate and freedom.
Jon wasn’t overreacting. Unfortunately, his paranoia was contagious. An elevated sense of urgency completely trumped her personal sense of propriety. Under normal circumstances, Danica would never rudely dash off without so much as a farewell. Especially when she was the guest of honor.
Until she’d seen Jon’s eyes. Looked deeply and seen danger. Real, immediate danger.
“Okay?” Raven whispered twenty-minutes later.
“Define okay,” she whispered back, sarcasm in her voice. Her breathing was labored, her palm slick with sweat.
“Almost home.” Metaphorically, if not in reality. The black, wrought-iron fence enclosing the estate was only a couple hundred yards away. They’d managed to elude the palace guards without breaking a sweat. The best he could say about them was that they wore cool uniforms. He debated taking down one of them to get a weapon, but doing that could bring attention to their departure earlier than necessary.
They passed beneath an arched arbor, its shape defined by the pale blobs of spicy-scented roses flowing over it.
Danica was breathing heavily, and even though he knew she must be in some discomfort from the crash, she hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. And she hadn’t slowed down. He knew she was scared. This was as far away from her element as it was possible to get. She was a Sunday-with-the-Miami-Herald, walk-on-the-beach-at-dusk, cuddle-up-on-a-rainy-day kind of girl.