Shock made her chilly, but when she shivered he just held her close, smoothing his cheek along her hair. The world came back quietly as she started to think again.
The animals called. It wasn’t until she heard them that she realized they’d been missing. Moonlight filtered through the jungle canopy, diffuse and silver by the time it reached them. Something cried out, and something else cried back. Leaves whispered, blending with the sound of Santiago’s breathing. His scent—cinnamon and musk—curled around her, changing the warm air, dancing along her skin. Rubbing her cheek against his chest, she felt his hand stroke down her curly hair, strong fingers massaging the base of her neck. His legs moved, reminding her of his nakedness and strength all at once. She sighed.
“You know,” Santiago said, voice rumbling through her bones, “if you didn’t smell like vomit right now, I’d kiss you.”
Meg grinned, closing her eyes. “Well, if I didn’t smell like vomit right now,” she replied, the last of her tension draining away with their gentle teasing, “I’d let you.”
Chapter Five
While sleeping curled up against someone was comforting, it wasn’t actually conducive to getting much rest. Meg awoke just before the sun rose, though she didn’t move from Santiago. If she stretched, she could reach the tree trunk. She peeled bark off and, trying not to think about bacteria and disease, chewed on it like a primitive toothbrush.
She wasn’t particularly tall, but neither was she a waif. It had been a long time since she’d been able to curl on a guy without them complaining, eventually, of their legs going to sleep. Since he was still snoozing, she supposed his legs were okay.
The night before drifted through her mind, detached and a little unreal. In fact, watching Santiago go from cat to man seemed more real than being attacked by bandits with guns. The flight through the jungle was almost lost in a blur of fear and darkness, and she didn’t try very hard to remember it.
Leaning against his chest, it was easy to forget. Easier when his hand rose, drifting over her spine and down again. She turned, glancing up at him. His eyes were still closed. Mostly asleep and still sexy. Damn him. Still, far be it from Meg to pass up an opportunity like this one.
She stroked his biceps, fingers grazing over bare skin. His hand slid up her arm and over her shoulder. She had to say this for the cat-god: he smelled damn good. Even unshowered. Turning her head, she inhaled his warm, masculine scent. It seemed completely natural to open her mouth and see if he tasted like he smelled. Her tongue brushed over the ridge of his collarbone, sweeping into the hollow between tendons and down, below his Adam’s apple. Heat curled through her skin and pooled in her gut. God, he did taste as good as he looked.
His hands moved, one sliding down her hip, under her thigh, fingers wrapping around the back of her knee and repositioning her effortlessly. She nearly squeaked, reaching up and linking her fingers behind his neck as if he might drop her. The fact that he was sitting down apparently didn’t matter to instinct. When she looked up at him again, his eyes were open, pools of darkness soft and sensual. His head dipped, brushing a sigh away from her mouth.
“Morning,” he said, voice a vibration against her. He closed the distance between them before she could respond, teasing her lips open, stroking his tongue over her teeth.
She didn’t usually groan, but right then she might have made a girly, mewling sound as his tongue slid wet and hot against hers. Hands stroked over her shirt, molding it to her skin, memorizing every curve and line. It felt electric, heat following everywhere he touched, warming her from the inside out. Meg lifted her legs and settled them again, something primal whispering a need to move, to wriggle closer.
Instead she threaded her fingers up into his hair, pulling him in, feeling silken strands fall over her hands. He purred, deep in his chest, and she felt an answer tug in her stomach. Santiago released her mouth, brushing his nose lightly across her face, barely a heated breath from her cheekbone. He followed the line of her cheek, down her neck, to the junction of throat and shoulder. She squirmed, turning far enough to press her breasts against his chest, rubbing slightly when pleasure spread from her nipples to her groin. Hands slid down her back and under her shirt, and she arched into him at the sensation of skin against skin.
She liked sex. She liked it a lot. It had never felt like this, though. Nails tested the resiliency of her flesh, strong fingers flexing briefly. The power contained made her shudder, her head dipping to nip at the cap of muscle on his shoulder.
He tensed, then picked her up and moved her until she straddled his lap. His extremely naked lap. She sat back, running her hands down the center line of his chest, watching his nipples tighten and his pupils dilate. She reached his stomach and pushed back a bit farther, letting her nails skim over abdominal muscles. They quivered under her touch and his fingers stroked up the outsides of her thighs, hot and distracting. He leaned in for a kiss and she smiled, leaning back out of reach. A satin black eyebrow rose, amusement in his eyes.
“I’m checking you out,” she said with an impish grin.
His hands fell away from her thighs, linking behind his head, stretching his torso up sinuously. “Please, check away,” he purred.
Meg ignored the way his voice made her shiver and completed her downward caress. Down past his abdomen, onto the smooth muscle of his pelvis and to infinitely more interesting regions. He was already hard, skin like satin over steel. She brushed her thumb over the tip, feeling utterly powerful when his whole body twitched, breath catching in response. She grazed her fingers over his erection, then more firmly, rubbing her thumb over the crease of thigh and hip.
His hands came back down, grazed up the backs of her legs to her rear and flexed. “You,” he said raggedly, “are going to kill me.”
“Only if you’re very, very lucky.” Then his hands tightened and he pulled her close again, fingers going around to the front of her waistband.
“I’m at a disadvantage here,” he said against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip.
The button on her pants slid free, the zipper inching down with a purposefully slow click click click. Meg twisted to unlace and pull her boots off, then decided to forget seduction and wriggled out of her pants and underwear, too.
Santiago dragged her back down before she could yank off her shirt, his hands around her ribs tugging her close, holding her up so he could lick at her belly button beneath the hem of her shirt. She eeped, hands curling on his head, hoping he’d move down or lift her up or something that would put his mouth just a tad lower on her body—but instead he let her slide down him, nuzzling under cloth until she felt his erection hard against her. She shuddered as she dragged across the length of it, body tightening with anticipation.
Hands edged under her shirt, inching it carefully off over her head, teasing at stomach and ribs and then only barely touching breasts as he disrobed her. He lipped at the edge of her bra—and why did she have to be wearing a granny bra? Next time she came to South America, she was packing a thong and something lacy, damn it!
It didn’t seem to bother Santiago in the least. He tossed her shirt over a branch and unhooked her bra, sliding it slowly down her arms, fingertips brushing her skin.
“Much better,” he murmured, dragging his tongue over one dark nipple. She bit back the whimper, shifting her hips to rub against him. He sucked on the nub, sending shivering spasms into her stomach, pulling her breast into his mouth. One hand slid down her back, over her hip, dipping between her legs. He touched wet heat and rubbed slowly, callused fingers sliding across soft, slick skin. Every line in her body drew taut. Then his free hand skim up her ribs, cupping her other breast, circling the nipple with short nails. When his teeth closed oh-so-carefully on the one in his mouth, his fingers tightened, tugging, sending pleasure splintering through her like light through stained glass.
“Oh, God,” Meg breathed, “do that again.”
She felt more than heard him chuckle. A tongue pressed against her,
warm and wet, sliding before rubbing against the hard peak of her nipple. Much lower, fingers skimmed over warm flesh before slowly entering her. Heat spread and she twisted, felt him push another finger in, brushing against the knot of nerves. She swallowed a cry, muscles trembling, surrounded in the scent the two of them made. Then his hand withdrew and his head came up, leaving her cool and bereft. She started to protest—right until his hands on her hips pulled her in and down, and she felt his erection push slowly into her body. Meg inhaled sharply, feeling herself stretch as he filled her. Santiago paused, leaning close for a kiss, and pulled her the rest of the way down.
She almost whimpered as he completed the movement, sheathed inside her so deeply she thought she’d never lose the feeling. Her pulse pounded in her throat, in her breasts, where their bodies joined. His hands ran up and down her back, soothing and arousing all at once, sliding down the crease of hip and leg to rub his thumb against wet flesh, making her groan and tighten around him.
“Okay?” he whispered against her sensitive lips, their breath mingling.
She managed a nod before he moved, a hand under her hips lifting her as he rose to his knees. Her fingers locked around his neck and she squeaked as he pressed her down onto bark and moss, driving deeply into her with the motion.
“Oh, good,” he breathed just as she groaned, “Oh, God.” Then he started thrusting, long, powerful strokes, filling her every time he slid inside and leaving her wanting more as he withdrew.
Meg wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle slightly, helping him to penetrate deeper. Muscles flexed under her hands, the body above her taut with power. She lifted her hips, matching him thrust for thrust, tightening as he pushed in, stretching her, hitting every nerve she had. Ecstasy shattered through her body as she rode a wave of sensation like she’d never felt before. It promised light and darkness and everything in between, and she crashed with it willingly, tumbling into wave after wave of pleasure with a heartfelt cry. She felt Santiago thrust one last time, one hand pulling her hips up into him, pressing against her and sending spears of sparkling white desire through the waves already buffeting her.
The orgasm seemed to last days. It left her drained, sleepy, energized and wired all at once. She lay for a long moment, letting the world come back, aware that he hadn’t rolled off but also wasn’t crushing her.
“That,” she said on a moan, “was wonderful.”
“Mm hm,” Santiago sighed into her neck.
She started to shift, catching her lip when he slid out of her and caused another shiver to cascade down her spine. She moved sideways—and was stopped by his hand on her arm. “Don’t do that,” he said, black eyes solemn.
Blinking, she frowned and hoped he wasn’t one of those men who turned into a Neanderthal after sex. At his pointed gaze, she looked sideways.
As the yawning abyss six inches to her right became suddenly obvious, she understood why she shouldn’t do that. She also screamed.
“We are in a tree,” he pointed out, smiling wryly as he snaked his arm around her shoulders and pulled them both straight up. “Cat-like balance and reflexes notwithstanding.”
“As long as there’re no barbs.” Meg took refuge in wit as she scurried away from the edge of the nest they’d slept in.
“Sorry?”
Pale skin flushed bright red. “Nothing.” Afterglow neatly sideswiped by the fear of falling, the world—and reason—started to intrude.
She’d just had sex with a man in a tree. And while that was alarming enough, she’d done it without a condom, and without even asking about disease. Now she was going to go home and have an HIV baby. And her parents would never let her hear the end of it. Not, at least, until she died a slow horrible death of tuberculosis and AIDs. Of all the stupid…
She found her underwear and pants and, cringing at the thought that now they were going to be messy, damn it, she put them back on. Her bra came next, then she yanked her shirt over it. One boot sat nearby. The other had seemingly vanished. It wasn’t like there were a lot of places for a boot to hide; it couldn’t be under the bed because there was no bed. She tried not to curse herself for a fool again. “Where’s my boot?” she bit out, not really expecting an answer.
“Below.” There was an odd tone to Santiago’s voice. Meg gave him a sharp look, but then ignored it.
Carefully, she leaned over the side of the tree and saw her boot nestled between two roots far, far below. “Fuck!” She scraped hair out of her face.
“It’s all right,” he said, and that odd tone was still there. “We have to go down anyway.”
She was still berating herself as twelve kinds of a fool—even if it was far and away the best sex she’d ever had—when she turned to look at him and stopped at the blood streaking his arm. “Oh, God.” She winced. “We need to re-bandage that.” She couldn’t remember it bleeding so much before. Maybe right after he’d been shot, but not recently.
A black eyebrow rose. “With what?”
“The Jeep—” Then she realized, and wilted. “Is probably long gone. Right. Well…”
“Home isn’t too far,” Santiago said. “We’ll be fine.”
Meg nodded once, and turned away to look down at her boot. It was easier than looking at him. God, she already wanted him again. But she’d proven herself an idiot;
even she knew better than to have unprotected sex, no matter how attractive the man. She wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
Given that he was completely naked—his blanket gone with the gunmen—and that he had to change into a jaguar to get them out of the tree anyway, Santiago figured it would be easier if he remained in cat form. Amazingly, him turning into a cat didn’t seem to bother Meg past the initial curious inspection. Since she seemed to be in a snit—he had no idea why, and, since his injury had torn, was in entirely too much pain to find out—he figured conversation wouldn’t be good, anyway.
He didn’t quite know what had gone wrong. She’d seemed to enjoy herself plenty during the sex. Maybe it had been too fast. He admitted he’d gone quicker than he did with most women—something about her had driven him right over the edge—but she’d seemed perfectly eager, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t orgasmed. In fact, he could very easily remember her legs wrapping around him, pulling him harder into tight, warm—
He snarled at a branch just to snarl, annoyed with the physical reaction he couldn’t control. You’d think tearing open a bullet wound through changing, flight, and sex would be enough to put a damper on his libido. Apparently not.
So, it wasn’t the sex she was annoyed about. Maybe it had been the tree. Maybe she had a tree hang-up. “You may have sex with cat-men, but never in trees.” Hell, he didn’t know.
Pain blazed down his foreleg, and he could feel heat starting to boil under the skin. Infection. Sleep and sex had helped him to ignore it, but now it rose to the surface and demanded he pay attention.
He decided he wasn’t too manly to limp, if it made the injury hurt less. He knew some healing had taken place, or he wouldn’t be able to walk on it at all, but he’d be damned if it felt that way. He was whining and stopped, pausing to glance back and see how Meg was doing. Or if she’d heard him. He hoped not. Whining cats almost always induced syrupy-sweet cooing.
She’d been following him as he broke a trail through the jungle. Leaving a visible path went against every jaguar instinct he had, but it would take them days to get home otherwise. She was still silent, brooding, reeking of frustration. Or maybe it wasn’t the scent that tipped him off, but the way she stomped through foliage. Hard to say, really.
Santiago turned and kept going.
Hunger interrupted her brooding, but the food, she thought dourly, was with the Jeep. While her stomach gnawing up its own lining took her mind off stupidity—and, just as important, how hard a time her parents were going to give her if there were repercussions—it added to her overall bad mood. The fact that she grew warm every time she thought about that morning didn’t
help matters any. God, why did he have to be so good at sex? Why couldn’t he have been a dud in bed? Or in a tree, as the case may be. But no, he was gorgeous, sweet, interesting, and sexual dynamite. Of all the luck!
The day was edging toward afternoon when she realized the jaguar—it was a little odd to think of him as Santiago—stopped just ahead and sat down, injured foreleg held slightly off the ground. Blood had soaked through his fur and dried, leaving rust-red to mask the black rosettes.
Meg stopped as well, itching at a rash of bug bites along one arm. She had no idea if the demi-god understood Spanish in cat-form, and felt a little silly talking to him regardless. Then, between one eye blink and the next, he wasn’t a cat.
She took him in with a single long look, heart picking up speed at gold skin stretched over a muscular frame—
Except it wasn’t all gold skin. In fact, his face looked almost gray and his shoulder was crimson. “That doesn’t look good,” she said.
He glanced at his wound, grimaced, and looked elsewhere. “I’ll live.” But Meg noticed he didn’t get up, just stared at nothing for several minutes. Then he cleared his throat. “I thought we should take a break.”
Since he didn’t say it was for her, she didn’t point out that he seemed to need it. She just settled on a fallen log, brushing away plants and bugs, and waited.
He was gorgeous. She was angry all over again.
He tensed, annoyance and irritation as clear as if he’d screamed it. “Would you mind telling me what I did?”
She glanced at him, at his shoulder, and snorted. “Got shot.”
“I mean,” he said through gritted teeth, “to make you angry.”
She opened her mouth to say “nothing,” realized it was a lie, and cursed softly in English. It wasn’t—entirely—his fault they’d had unprotected sex. “No condoms, and I’m not on the pill,” she snapped with frustration.
Animal noises marked the silence. When she finally turned to look at him, he was staring at her incredulously out of black eyes.
Treasure Hunting Page 6