Second Nature (When Seconds Count)

by D. L. Roan

  Thalia jerked her hand away. His lips curled into a smirk as he looked down at the incredulous look on her face. He couldn’t help it. She was so damn adorable, her mouth gaping in shock as she fought for something to say. He finally turned and left her standing in the surf, his thoughts already turning to the list of things they had to get done before they could leave.

  “As if that’s my fault!” He turned to see her scrambling to catch up with him, her limp no better than it had been earlier. Her stubborn, determined strides faster than she could coordinate, the crutches were dragged along at her sides, kicking up sand in every direction. “You kissed me, you ass! I didn’t ask for that!”

  Grant stopped when he reached the open cabin door and turned back to see her struggling to catch up. “Woman, you’ve been asking for me to kiss you from the moment you opened your eyes.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that happening again, because—”

  “Oh, I’m not worried, fossa. Not at all.” He tucked his gun into his waistband and slipped on his boots. “It will happen again, I assure you. Now start packing up the cabin.” He turned and headed for the tree line, not bothering to look back as he tossed his final words on the matter over his shoulder. “We’re leaving before sundown.”

  Chapter Seven

  After trekking across the island to retrieve his boat, Grant had loaded the bodies into the other boat and left again to tow them to the eastern side of the island and set them adrift. Finally alone, Thalia worked herself into a sweat, which wasn’t hard to do considering the on again off again fever she was trying to ignore. She’d packed everything that wasn’t nailed down into the cargo sacks she’d found stuffed between the cot and cabin wall.

  There wasn’t much to pack. Some fishing equipment, a soup pot, and one rusty cast iron skillet with some basic spices and utensils, along with a sack of clothes and towels, and a few books. There was a locked trunk in the corner and a few full water canteens that were too heavy for her to move, so she left them where they were and piled everything else on top. She took the time to run his brush through her hair, delightfully depositing whatever lice or vermin she’d picked up from his pain in the ass monkey, before stuffing it into the bag with the remaining first aid supplies.

  What the hell was I doing? The man was going to drive her completely mad. “Here’s a gun, but don’t use it. Just play dead like a good little girl.” Chauvinistic jerk! She ripped the sheets from the bed. The stale odor that drifted through the air had her throwing them in the corner instead of packing them up. “Those can burn in hell with Mr. I didn’t need my ass saved.” Conceited prick!

  She may have the agility of a slug at the moment, but she could handle a pistol in her sleep. The sooner he learned that, the better. With a groan she sunk down onto the bare mattress in defeat. She had to admit he had a point, but he was still a jerk. A jerk who had kissed her completely senseless, but still a jerk…who had been right. What if he’d been hurt, or shot? She could barely take care of herself, much less a two hundred pound asshat. That was if they hadn’t taken her captive… again. Shit. It galled her that she needed his help. Now he was stuck in the middle of her personal hell.

  Guilt was an emotion Thalia didn’t wear well. Her skin itched with the constant gnawing feeling. Up until the day her life fell apart and she woke up in hell, she hadn’t done much to feel guilty about. Since then she’d had to do what she needed to survive and learned quickly that guilt only slowed you down. She should have told him. He’d been right about that, too. At least a vague warning. Telling him, or anyone else, about her problems just wasn’t in the cards.

  Thalia didn’t trust easily, if at all. The only person she’d ever trusted was Issa, and he was dead. She was getting on a boat with a complete stranger. He’d shared nothing about himself, other than his belt and crutch making skills, and his incredible smile and spine melting lips that could make a girl want to kiss them continually. He’s sexy, sweet, and lethal.

  Dammit! How was she supposed to resist that? How could she trust in that? She couldn’t. She couldn’t expect anyone to understand what she was doing, what she had to do. She certainly didn’t trust the way her body reacted to his. Given half a chance, it would have her pinned beneath him, begging for everything he could give her, completely at his mercy and totally unfocused on what had to be done. No. She definitely had to get herself as far away from Mr. Jerktastic as she possibly could.

  When they got to Madagascar she’d hitch a ride to the nearest airfield and stow away on anything headed to the African coast. When the drop was made and she had completed her ultimate mission, she would find a way to repay Grant for all the trouble she’d dumped on him. If she was still alive that is. Truth be told, she was surprised she’d survived this long.

  When she pulled her crutches over and pushed herself up from the cot, she heard a muffled clunk of something falling to the floor. When she looked under the bed she saw a small iPod, the white earbud wires still tangled in the springs where it had been stashed beneath the mattress.

  Curious, she scooped it up and powered it on, pushing the play button as she stuffed one of the buds into her ear. The rich, subtle tone of a cello flowed over her skin like a warm honey. Violins played softly in the background as the strain ebbed and flowed around her. The symphony. She didn’t know which piece it was, but she knew it was one of Issa’s favorites. He used to play it every Saturday as he worked in the kitchen preparing their dinner. It was a tradition he started when she first came to live with him, and she never missed it. It was always her favorite day of the week.

  She would have never, in a million years, guessed that a man like Grant would appreciate the fine arts. At least not in music. She would have pegged him as a grunge fan, or maybe even country.

  The soulful sad melodies combined with the memories of her late uncle, made Thalia jerk the earbuds out and toss the player into a bag. She couldn’t deny the desire to connect with something Issa was so enriched in, but she couldn’t afford the distraction of getting lost in her grief. She had enough things competing for her undivided attention at the moment, including a screaming monkey.

  Winston bounded through the sand and up to the cabin door as Thalia hobbled out to see what he was harping about. More comfortable with the primate than she would have ever dreamed she’d be, she didn’t flinch away when it grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the cabin, or at least tried to. Stronger than she’d imagined he would be, she had to grab hold of the porch post to keep her balance when he’d tried to drag her down the beach.

  Winston let go, thank God, and Thalia regained her footing as he coaxed her to follow him. The last thing she felt like doing was taking a stroll. Actually, she felt more like downing a few shots of whisky, or ten, and sleeping until telepathy was invented. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that option. The people who wanted her dead were getting closer by the day, and she was slowly losing her will to fight them. She had to push herself, and with Grant nowhere around to hover she was determined to take advantage.

  “Okay. Okay. Lead the way.” Pulling her crutches tight into the pits of her arms, she balanced as much weight as she could on her leg and started off after Winston. Trying to focus on something other than the searing pain, Thalia wondered what Grant was going to do about the silly monkey. He really wasn’t all that bad, except for being a pain in the ass. Something she was sure he had learned from Grant. Or maybe it was the other way around. How long had Grant lived here alone, having only a monkey to converse with? Emulation was only natural after a while, right?

  A little ways ahead of her, Winston left the sand and disappeared into the tree line. Not wanting to push her luck, Thalia stopped and called for him. When he didn’t return she took a few more steps toward the trees, gritting her teeth against the increased throbbing in her thigh. “Winston! I need to head back!” She didn’t know why she thought the thing could understand human reasoning.

  A soft rustling noise grabbed her attenti
on. “Winston?” Palming her crutches, she picked her way through the leaves and thin shrubs as she followed the noise. When Winston came into view, it took her a minute to put together the pieces of what she was seeing. When she did, she thought she would pee her pants.

  It all made sense now. Nestled between two spindly, wavy roots that formed a virtual shield from the prying eye was a plethora of skin mags, opened up to various pages and centerfolds. Right in the middle of them was Winston, his fist slapping against his stomach at a fevered pace. Knowing it would be a bitch to pick herself off the ground, Thalia braced against a nearby tree as she gasped for air through her howling fits of laughter. So that’s what the crazy ape had been doing every time he saw her. Imitating his master. Through the hysteria she could understand the poor thing’s confusion. She was probably the only human female he’d ever seen.

  She could picture the monkey watching Grant with rapt attention as he pumped his way to climax. A throbbing ache fluttered to life inside her womb, causing her to take a sobering gasp of air as she imagined what Winston had seen.

  Thick muscles, taught and straining as Grant leaned into the tree, one sinewy arm outstretched to hold himself up, the other pumping his long, heavy shaft in a strong, steady rhythm. She could see the tendons in his neck straining tight beneath his skin, his lips pulled tight against his teeth as he chased the impending rapture. She could almost taste the pearly drops of pre-come glistening against his skin, feel the silky texture of his cock against her tongue as she peered up into his golden eyes and licked the drops away. Her clit throbbed as she heard his next breath hiss through his teeth and exhaled on a long, almost painful moan. Her scalp tingled as his fingers fisted into her hair, holding her captive as he fucked her mouth with short, rapid strokes, deeper and deeper, crying out as he spilled his hot, salty seed down her throat. Her body shuddered with his, his grunts becoming her moans as his image faded away with his release.

  Holy shit! Thalia panted as the spasms in her pussy receded, leaving behind only her thundering heartbeat and one hell of a rush. If just mind fucking him could do this to her she was in a heap of trouble. Never once had she craved to be taken in such a way. Normally she would sooner die than let a man use her like that, but there was something about him that changed her. She craved his dominance, and couldn’t control or understand her need for it.

  Thalia’s legs shook as she pushed away from the tree and bent to gather the various pieces of paraphernalia. She had the sudden urge to run. By the time she’d reached the cabin, each breath she took seemed laced with concrete, settling into the bottom of her lungs. Her chest heaved with the effort it took to suck in a single breath. Dammit! Now was not the time for this to happen.

  Closing the door, she slumped against the wooden panel and sunk to the floor, trying desperately to regain control of her body. Breathe, dammit. It had been a while since she’d had a panic attack. She hadn’t had one like this since she was a teenager. After waking up in a strange place with no memory of who or where she was, they were a dime a dozen, creeping up on her seemingly without cause. Issa had understood and taught her how to center herself, how to breathe through the chaos running rampant through her body.

  Since then she’d only suffered from the suffocating attacks after waking from her nightmares. Nightmares she could never remember anything of except the suffocating weight that crushed against her body and the smell of her burning flesh. Even then she could usually rein in the attacks before they got the better of her. The nightmares had stopped all together for a while, but since Issa’s murder they seem to haunt her sleep with a vengeance.

  Eyes closed, she sucked the stale cabin air in through her nose and pushed it out through her mouth. Focusing on a small, white dot in the darkness of her mind, she shut out every sound, every feeling, focusing only on the inner strength it would take to calm her. She was stronger than this, bigger than this. Breathe in, breathe out. That was all she had to do. Nothing else mattered.

  Unsure exactly how long she’d been huddled on the floor, the pressure slowly lifted from her chest and her lungs filled freely with air. Her shirt was soaked in sweat, the pain in her thigh raging to test the limits of her tolerance. When she heard the sound of Grant’s boat, she scrambled to stuff the magazines into one of the sacks before she hauled herself towards the cot. If she was going to pass out she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it surrounded by his porn. She didn’t know why she saved the crap to begin with.

  When Grant entered the cabin she barely had the strength to lift her head, the room spinning with frustrating confusion. “I…” She couldn’t finish the thought as she fought to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head.

  “Jesus!” Grant rushed to her side. The last thing she remembered was the cool press of his hand to her forehead.

  Chapter Eight

  Grant ducked as a wave crashed over the bow, glancing over his shoulder to see how much water had rained down on the stubborn woman still passed out behind him. Satisfied she wasn’t going to drown, he turned his attention back to navigating the traffic lane of the shipping channel.

  It was busy for the pre-dawn hour. They should have been there hours ago, but tending to Thalia and uncapping the freshwater well for Winston had cost them precious time. He needed to be docked and loaded before the sun rose. He couldn’t risk anyone at the marina seeing her. Or rather she couldn’t. He was still trying to figure out why he gave a fuck.

  The damn woman didn’t know the word quit, he’d give her that. He only wished he knew what drove her to such extremes. He shook his head as he nosed the boat into an empty dock slip and quickly tied it off before jumping out and making his way to the street. As soon as he had them stashed away, he’d get every answer he needed from her, one way or another. He wasn’t going to settle for bits and pieces of half-truths. If she wanted his help, and it seemed she had shit for other options, she was going to start talking.

  A misty fog choked the alley and concealed his form as he leaned against the driver’s door of an older model SUV. Two tries and the locks popped, the door hinge creaking as he swung the door open and climbed in. You’re getting rusty, Dusty. Two attempts weren’t bad, but he should have had it in one. A couple of sparked wires later and he was pulling up at the end of the short dock. He let out a relieved sigh when he saw Thalia lying undisturbed beneath the blanket he’d laid over her. Why the hell does she matter so much?

  Not lending enough time to ponder that question, he shouldered the strap of the one cargo sack he hadn’t let burn with the cabin then hoisted the trunk onto his other shoulder. Leaving Thalia behind grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t carry everything and her as well. Leaving her unattended in the vehicle while he went back for his shit didn’t sit well, either. She was safer covered up in the boat.

  Depositing his cargo into the back of the SUV, he ran back to retrieve Thalia. After quickly wiping down the boat, he hoisted her over his shoulder and then threw a match into the plastic bucket he’d filled with some of the island clothes he would no longer need. By the time the bucket melted and the fire reached the disconnected fuel line, they would be long gone before the ensuing explosion destroyed his boat and any remaining traces of them.

  Thalia woke with a start as he buckled her into the passenger seat. “Where are we?”

  Grant smirked. He wasn’t sure why, but he pressed a kiss to her fevered forehead before he closed her door, running around to jump into the driver’s seat. As he pulled away from the dock he laid a hand on her neck and cursed. “You’re burning up, fossa. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

  He grabbed her wrist when she reached for the seatbelt buckle in a panic. “You’re not going to win this fight, Thalia. Your body is shutting down with or without your consent.” When she tried to jerk her hand away he tightened his grip, his gaze darting between her and the narrow road as he weaved through the old marine district. “I’m taking you to someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut.”

  He could
see how badly she wanted to fight him, to deny what was so obviously the truth. He had never wanted to kiss her more than at that very moment. He was a little stunned when she cast her haunted eyes to her lap and relaxed against her seat without more of a fight. What the hell is that about? He let it go, determined to get her leg seen to so they could get to ground and he could get some damn answers.

  Thalia looked down and studied her tan shorts, the tiny gray checkers in the seat cover, anything to keep from looking at Grant. She could barely hold her head up as it was. She couldn’t handle the jumbled up ball of confusing need that knotted in her stomach when he looked at her with such fierce intensity. No way could she handle that kind of assault again.

  Her head felt like the fluid surrounding her brain had drained away, leaving behind nothing but sticky cotton. She couldn’t remember anything beyond her ill-timed panic attack back at the cabin. The ache in her leg had bloomed, spreading tendrils of pain throughout her entire body. She hated feeling helpless. It was more suffocating than the damn nightmares. She hated that Grant was right again even more. She’d have to let him help her. At least for a day or two. The moment she could put one foot in front of the other though, she was gone.

  I need a phone. Even in a daze, Thalia kept a tight hold on her plan. She cringed against the inevitable. She wasn’t going to make that drop. If she could get to a phone she might be able to convince Jauhar to reschedule. He’s going to kill me anyway. She shrugged, looking down at the mangled, swollen flesh on her leg. Death might not be so bad at this point. No. Death was not an option. Not until Issa’s death had been fully avenged. A phone and a slight adjustment in her plans was all she needed.