by M. L. Rhodes
Elizabeth realized she was more confused than ever about herself, about Miguel, about the fact he was supposed to be her kidnapper and none of this should ever, ever have happened. But each time the thoughts only caused an anxious knot in her stomach, and so she pushed them away. For now it was easier and much nicer to simply lean on his strength, feel the gentle caress of his hands on her skin, smell his sexy but also comforting scent of earthy aftershave and musky male, and allow herself to pretend this was the man she'd been waiting for all her life.
At long last, the storm began to let up and the couple next door called an end to their activities. As they spoke, she sensed Miguel focusing on their conversation. When it sounded as if some action was coming toward them, he tensed, held her at arm's length, and pressed a finger to his lips. He stepped to the door of the Explorer and silently retrieved his gun.
Elizabeth once more fought back fear. If they were caught now, here she was, sitting naked on the hood. Talk about vulnerable. And Miguel, though now armed, wasn't much better with his shirt off, and his cock, still impressive even at half-mast, jutting from his unzipped, low-riding jeans.
Breathe. Breathe. You're not going to die today.
She looked at Miguel, saw the commanding, confident line of his body, and a frisson of calm settled over her. She realized, in a moment of crystal, albeit shocking, clarity that she trusted him. She couldn't think too hard at the moment about what exactly that meant. But she did know he'd protect her.
Now the man and woman were arguing. The storm had passed completely, and without the pounding rain and wind to mask the sounds, Elizabeth could hear the rustle of clothes as they were donned, as well as the stomping and banging of someone who clearly was pissed off. A vitriolic shriek echoed off the walls, causing Elizabeth to wince. It was followed by a slap.
It wasn't until two car doors slammed and the sound of a clunking engine started that Elizabeth allowed herself a deep breath.
Miguel waited until the car had pulled out of the barn, then he slipped past her, cracked the outside door, and watched for several minutes.
"They're gone."
His voice, so deep after the long silence, startled her.
He returned to stand in front of her and she noticed he'd resheathed his penis inside his gray briefs, but his jeans were still unzipped. In an unexpected, tender gesture, he cupped her face between his palms and kissed her. It wasn't urgent and hungry like his many others had been. This one was different, although she couldn't put her finger on what it was. It still hinted at physical need, but it also resonated with something else ... something emotional.
He lifted her off the hood and set her on her feet. “Grab your clothes, but don't put them back on yet."
"Wh—at?"
He smiled. “You'll see."
Oh, Lord. When he smiled like that...
CHAPTER 5
Elizabeth snagged her clothes and shoes, while Miguel slung his gun holster over his shoulder, tucked his gun back into it, and picked up his shirt from the ground. Then he swung her up in his arms, and she cried out in surprise and protest. But he just smiled again as he strode through the stall and outside. “Trust me."
God help me, I do.
"But what about the others? They might come back..."
"I don't think so. By the time they left, they were barely speaking. She wanted him to take her home, and he acted like he couldn't wait to get rid of her. It was a fluke, I think, that they happened on this place today. I've been coming here for months and have never seen another soul."
He shut the barn door behind them, hiding the Explorer once more from view, and carried her deeper into the little side canyon. The way was littered with boulders, but he didn't seem to mind her weight as he crossed over and through them. The late afternoon sun was breaking through the patchy gray clouds, and although the storm had cooled things off, the sun was warm on her skin. So was Miguel's bare chest.
The sound of water trickling came to her, then, after another minute, she realized it wasn't a trickle so much as a rush. They emerged into a tiny clearing next to the red canyon wall. And falling over the rocks and into a small pool, was a waterfall.
"It's beautiful! I never would have guessed this was here."
He set her down next to the pool, and she clutched her clothes to her like a shield, suddenly feeling exposed in the glaring light of day.
"There's something else you probably won't have guessed either.” He stripped off his boots, jeans and boxer briefs. Completely uninhibited by his own magnificent nudity, he held out his hand. He smiled, his straight teeth glinting white in the sunlight. “Come on. Nothing out here is going to bite you."
She gritted her teeth at the reminder of their conversation earlier today and wondered how much of his creepy crawly story was true.
"You just told me those things on the drive out here to scare me, didn't you?"
He laughed, and held up his hands in self defense. “I did tell you to scare you, yes. But everything I said was the truth. I swear."
"Right. But, miraculously, there's nothing in this particular canyon that'll bite me?"
He tugged her clothes out her hands, and she only let go of them reluctantly, to keep them from ripping in a tug of war. “There is nothing in this pool that will bite you.” He picked her up again, and his gaze grew steamy. “Except maybe something of the human variety who might find you tasty."
He walked into the pool, submersing them both.
"It's warm!” She'd been expecting to feel the icy sting of cold water, but instead, bath-temperature ripples lapped over her skin.
"Hot spring.” Miguel let her slide down his body—every protruding inch of his body—until her feet settled on the sandy bottom of the pool. “I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to wash up."
He traced a finger down her chest and circled each of her breasts, which seemed to float like white globes in the water. She quivered at the memory of his seed hitting her and running in rivulets over her breasts and onto her stomach. His eyes glinted with heat and she knew he was remembering it, too.
"I liked it,” she whispered. “Feeling and seeing your come on me."
"I did, too. I liked it a hell of a lot."
His hand slid from her waist down into her pussy, swirling the warm-almost-hot water around her folds, and finding her tender but still needy clit. She cried out softly and he swallowed it with a kiss.
"But next time...” His voice was a scorching breath against her lips. “...I plan to be buried deep inside you when I lose it."
"Oh, God,” she whispered. Her eyes closed and she clung to him, her arms around his neck, as his words and his energetic finger ... two fingers ... made her his slave.
"Damn, I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching you like this. I'm so hard again I can't think.” He grasped one of her hands and brought it down to feel his pulsing erection. “Do you know what I want to do with my cock right now?"
She moaned and shook her head.
"I want to thrust it into every sweet orifice in your body and fill you with my seed. And I want you to know, as you feel it dripping out of you, that it's mine, that I'm the one who put it there, inside you, in places no one else can touch. And that from this day on no one else will ever be able to satisfy you like I can.” His voice had grown hoarse, filled with intensity.
Elizabeth groaned in pleasure, knowing she'd never in her life felt like this, and no one else could ever compare to him.
"Do you want that, Beth? Do you want to feel me in all your tight, hot places?"
"God, yes."
"Are you feeling good right now?"
"Yes!” She was close. So close.
"I don't want to you to come until I say so. Not a moment before. You hear me?"
"Miguel!"
"Not a moment before I say, Elizabeth."
She nodded, her eyes still squeezed tightly closed as she concentrated on controlling her body, which had other ideas, and was moments from ecs
tasy.
"Not yet.” His fingers played her like a master, and that familiar floating euphoria held her in its grasp as effectively as he did in his hands. “That's right. Don't give in yet."
"Can't...” she gasped, her muscles rigid with the building waves.
"You can."
"No, I can't!” Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to focus on his face through her dizziness. “Damn it! You t-touch me like this, you bring me to the edge ... and then you expect me to stop it just because you say so?"
His slow seductive smile both infuriated and stirred her barely restrained hunger to the breaking point.
"Now."
"Now?” she cried.
"Come now."
The earthquake that tore through made her see stars—literally. Bright, sparkling, white lights behind her eyelids. When at last it was over, she could barely stay on her feet.
Miguel dunked under the water and emerged dripping. He curved an arm around her and swam deeper into the pool. She held on to him and let him do most of the work. She'd spent most of her summers on the Cape, and was a strong swimmer. But right now she was still so trembly and weak she doubted she could dog paddle.
They bobbed in the center of the pool, her legs wrapped around his waist, and him treading water. She leaned back, half-floating, letting her hair spread out around her on the water's surface. The sun beat down on them, and a feeling of warm contentment spread through her.
"How are your hands?” he asked.
The cuts stung a bit in the water, but overall they didn't hurt anywhere near as much as they had last night. “Not too bad."
"I don't know what happened between you and your fiancé,” he said quietly, watching her, “but he was a damn fool to let you go."
She sat up and dragged in a deep breath. “I let him go. He...” She winced. Miguel probably didn't give a damn about hers and Lionel's relationship.
"Go on. He what?"
Surprised, she realized he was listening. Really listening to her.
"Sometimes it's better to just talk about it. Get it out so it doesn't fester inside you."
"I know.” A deep sigh slid up from her aching heart. “I just can't believe how stupid I was. Yesterday I found out he wasn't interested in just me. That he wasn't interested in just ... women.” She gazed at the waterfall and tried to get her breathing to work right.
"He took me to his suite at the hotel, told me he had something special planned for the evening. There was champagne, soft music ... all the trappings for a romantic seduction. After I'd undressed, he had me lay on the bed. He blindfolded me and tied my arms to the headboard with silk scarves. He'd never done anything like that before—we'd never played any games like that. It made me uncomfortable, which should have been a huge red flag, but like an idiot, I let him do it."
Miguel stroked her wet hair, but he didn't press.
"He touched me ... at least I thought it was him touching me. But it wasn't until I felt the mouth on me down there ... not Lionel's mouth ... I panicked, jerk my hands free..."
"The marks on your wrists,” Miguel said. He brought them each to his lips for a gentle kiss.
The simple action spoke reams, and for a moment she couldn't talk for the lump in her throat that had nothing to do with Lionel this time. Chalk another one up in Miguel's “too good to be true” column.
"When I pulled off the blindfold I found this other man between my legs, and Lionel behind him with his prick...” She swallowed back stinging tears and shrugged. “Well, I'm sure you get the picture."
"El Chingado!” Miguel muttered. He had tight lines around his mouth, and a dangerous spark in his eyes.
"Is that a bad word?"
"I said he's a fucker. He should never have deceived you or let another man touch you."
Make that two marks in a row in his “good” column.
"He explained to me that he'd always liked to be with men, but that he wanted to be with me, too, wanted to marry me. He hoped we could ‘work something out.’ I knew right then that the truth was, even though I think he genuinely liked me and we got along well, he wanted to marry me as a cover. So his father, the senator, and his upstanding colleagues at the law firm where he works would never suspect he was gay or bisexual or whatever. I guess at first he probably thought he could hide it from me, too, but then the pressure got to be too much, so he decided to let me in on it, two days before our wedding."
Miguel shook his head and his jaw clenched, causing a weak smile to curve Elizabeth's lips.
"I appreciate your anger on my behalf.” Then she frowned. “You know, in truth I really don't have an issue with Lionel preferring men, or liking both men and women. What hurts the most is that I thought, if nothing else, we were friends. He should have just told me. Of course I wouldn't have married him then, and that would have defeated his whole plan to blend in with his conservative peers. But the sneaky way he planned out that whole scenario, with him tricking me into a ménage, letting another man ... I really hate him for that."
"You have every right to."
"I gave him his engagement ring back, went to my room, took probably the longest hot shower of my life, threw on some clothes and left. I don't even think he tried to follow me. Some hero, huh?"
"And then you ended your already miserable night by getting shot at in a bar, and being kidnapped and mauled by a smelly, lecherous fuck-up,” Miguel said with a sigh. He kissed her with that same gentleness he had earlier. “I am truly sorry you're in this situation."
At the reminder of her situation, all her fears and confusion came rushing back.
Miguel was ... she didn't know what he was. That was part of the problem. At times he was a man to die for—sexy, a generous lover, a good listener, protective, strong. But then all the practical stuff reared its ugly head. Like the fact Ramirez and Christo, the horrible slimy creatures they were, worked for him. And that he was obviously the leader of a gang. A gang who was at war with ... what? A drug lord? Did that mean Miguel was a drug lord, too?
Oh, God. What was she doing?
"Don't over think it, Elizabeth. It's not all what it seems."
"Then what is it? Please, tell me. I'm dying to hear because from where I sit, I can't find a way to make this okay. I can't find a way to make it all right for you and me to ... for what's happened ... what's happening between us."
A scowl furrowed his forehead and he stared over her shoulder for long moments. Finally, he said, “We should get going. Even this late, the sun can still be strong enough to burn you.” But he didn't meet her gaze.
Her heart sank. He'd just shut her out again.
They swam back to shore, and her misery was complete when he waded out, handed her her clothes, then turned his back to give her privacy while she dressed. A half-hour ago she couldn't imagine him doing such a thing. His heated gaze would have been all over her. And, damn it, she wanted that!
Okay, reality check here. What kind of supreme stupidity would you call this? She didn't know what exactly Miguel and his “men” did, but she knew it couldn't be legal. Not with the moral fiber Ramirez and Christo exhibited—kidnapping, rape, murder all seemed to be in a day's work for them. And in spite of the fact Miguel himself hadn't shown the same traits around her, a normal, law-abiding citizen didn't lead a gang like the psycho duo, nor did he carry a gun on him all the time, which Miguel absolutely did.
Yet even knowing all this, here she was, practically throwing herself at him, loving every second he spent touching her, and, worse, wanting to believe in him. Wanting to don her infamous rose-colored glasses again and only see the good parts she wanted to see. There had to be something wrong with her. Some kind of ... brain damage or emotional muck-up that was causing her to behave this way.
As she fastened her sandals, a sigh escaped her. She knew, logically, she was in no position to make rational decisions about what she wanted. She'd experienced too much crap over the past two days. She needed to concentrate on getting herself out of
here. Needed to put her head back in charge and quit rushing in like a fool with her heart.
But even knowing what she should do, no amount of righteous lecturing from her conscience could stop what she felt every time she looked at Miguel. Nor could she stop keeping tally. And whether her uppity conscience liked it or not, right now he had more marks in his plus column than his minus column. Okay, yes, the minuses were biggies.
Quit kidding yourself, you fool. They're gigantic.
"I know,” she mumbled.
She felt Miguel behind her before she heard or saw him. His long fingers curled around her upper arm, and she turned to face him.
He, too, was now dressed, complete with the ever-present gun against his back. His expressive eyes were shadowed. His jaw clenched and released as, she was learning, it did when he was upset.
"Just say it,” she told him, her heart suddenly choking her.
"I know you don't want to be here. When it's safe, I'll get you back to civilization."
"When it's safe? Miguel, you carry a gun for a living. People shoot at your men and for all I know, you, too. When exactly is anything about you or what you do or what you're involved in ‘safe'? I mean, are we talking days? Weeks? Months? Am I just supposed to take it on faith that everything will eventually work out okay?” She shook her head in frustration.
"And not only that, but do you honestly think my dad's not going to have every cop and federal investigator out looking for me the moment he realizes I've disappeared? Then, on top of whatever shit you're involved in, you're going to be wanted for kidnapping and you're going to have agents breathing down your neck."
His jaw tightened again. “Unfortunately, there are events already in motion that are a hell of a lot more dangerous. I know you don't like hearing this, but Galista sent men after you, Elizabeth."
"Not this again! I gave you every little detail of my life the past two days. Please tell me how me meeting the caterer or going shopping ticked off some bad guy? Miguel..."