by Alta Hensley
She obeyed, her body detonating and her strong muscular contractions causing him to shout as his seed jetted from his cock in bursts to fill her. Time was once again suspended as they flew together, her body accepting his as she collapsed over him and his left arm wrapped around her trembling frame, his right hand pressed against the back of her head, holding her close as they continued to fall. It was the most delicious moment of his life as she continued to contract around him, drawing every last drop of his seed from him, their bodies both glistening with the exertion, their soft pants warming each other’s skin. Finally, she seemed to remember his injury, pushing herself to sit upright again, her fingers hovering over the bandage.
“I’m fine,” Anson assured her, cupping her face in his palm. “Better than fine.”
She smiled and bent forward, giving him a soft, tender kiss before sitting up again. He loved the fact that she looked reluctant to disengage but she did, allowing his cock to slip free as she moved off him.
“Well, exercise is supposed to speed a patient’s recovery,” she said, and he grinned.
“Then, doctor, I will need your assistance in making sure there is plenty of opportunity to exercise, won’t I?”
She smiled and bent to kiss him once more before moving off the bed. “But too much too fast can set back a patient’s recovery.”
“I’m a quick healer,” he assured her.
She grinned. “You are?”
“Oh, yes. And a firm believer in physical therapy.”
“That’s good to know. You can get some exercise while fishing. We will be starving soon. Bananas won’t last long.”
Anson chuckled and moved off the bed as well, though much slower than she had. “Not exactly what I meant, but sure. As long as we can bathe first.”
Natalia had already slipped the peasant blouse back on, but she nodded. “You can wade in a bit, at least. I don’t want you in deep enough to get your bandage wet. The water looks clean but let’s not take any chance that there is some microscopic bacteria that will hamper your recovery.”
Anson slowly pulled on his pants and grinned. “If that means you’ll be giving me a sponge bath, then I’ll be a good patient.” When she flushed and smiled, he couldn’t help but add, “And, if that means you’ll be using that incredible tongue and mouth, I promise to be the best behaved patient you’ve ever had.”
Her eyes flashed with delight as she slipped on her skirt. “Anson, I hate to break it to you, but you’re the worst and best patient I’ve ever had.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, not bothering to pull on his shirt as he did have every intention of removing the sweat the jungle ensured would coat their flesh with any activity, much less the strenuous act of making love.
She pulled her hair up and off her neck into a high ponytail and then answered. “It means, Mr. Steele, that you’re the only patient I’ve ever had.”
Anson could feel his mouth drop open as the memory of seeing that knife in her hand flooded his mind. Shaking his head, he met her gaze. “You’re only telling me this now? Why?”
She shrugged. “Not a good idea to have a patient doubt their surgeon’s ability.”
She had a point, and he couldn’t fault her for keeping him ignorant. She’d seemed so confident, so positive that she knew exactly what the surgery she’d been about to attempt required. His words about her being incredible had never had as much truth as they did in this moment.
He went to her and slipped his arm around her waist. “Wise woman,” he said, bending to give her a quick kiss. “Now, let’s see if we can add successful fisherwoman to your list of accolades, shall we?”
Chapter 12
“I mean it. That plastic will help keep your wound dry, but not if you submerge yourself,” she warned as she watched Anson’s nude body emerging when he shed his jeans after they reached the bank of the stream. Enjoying the view of his bare ass, and the chiseled muscles of his back, it took all of Natalia’s willpower to not just stand there and drool rather than rush to his side to help him.
With a smile, he looked down at her as she took his hand. “Bossy, bossy.”
“You can play macho all you want, but you won’t be Mr. Tough Guy when green pus oozes out of you because you get an infection.”
The coolness of the water, as they took step after step while it inched up their skin, was heavenly. She held onto his hand firmly. Not just because she wanted to make sure he didn’t stumble and fall, but also because the smoothness of his skin underneath her palm sent delightful shivers through her. This man was so incredibly hot. And the sex. The sex! Anson had made sure to take his time and practically devoured her body. Inch by inch he had explored her body and had taken her to new levels of ecstasy. The memory of his touch, his kiss…
“Natalia? Did you hear me?”
She snapped out of her still sex-induced haze, and said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said that as much as I enjoy your warm hand in mine, your assistance really isn’t needed. Have I not proven that I am more than capable?” Anson asked with a mischievous smirk.
“Oh you have more than proven that fact, señor,” she said as she felt warmth course down her body with his delicious little reminder. Damn, she wanted him again, but needed to focus. They had a jungle to survive in, and making love all day was not the way to do it.
Needing to cool off, in more ways than one, she released his hand and dove into the water in a fluid movement. When she surfaced, she turned to see Anson now up to his waist, splashing water on the upper areas of his body, careful to avoid the plastic bag she’d taped around his arm over the gauze. He didn’t realize she was watching, which gave her a brief moment to spy and take in each ripple, each curve, each tantalizing inch of his creamy skin. Gringos were not normally her type, but this man… this man was everything a woman could ever need or desire.
Floating on her back, nipples and toes sticking out of the water, Natalia watched as butterflies fluttered around his body, the sunlight coming down in rays through the thick canopy of trees. Anson cleaned his perfectly shaped body with the backdrop of a thick stand of chusquea quila behind him and the lovely hues of purple water hyacinth floating on the stagnant part of the stream only a few feet from where his muscled frame stood. A modern day Tarzan was the man before her, and Natalia couldn’t help but watch his every move with fascination. The caws of the parrots and the buzz of the insects added to their jungle ambiance, and at that very moment, she had no desire to ever leave their hidden bungalow.
“Are you going to keep staring, or come over here and help me with my back?” Anson asked, looking up at her for the first time, and yet it was obvious he knew that she’d been watching.
She swam toward him and splashed a little water at his face. “Look who’s being bossy now.”
She stood up and smiled when Anson’s eyes went straight to her wet breasts where her nipples were tightly puckered. Trying to ignore the hunger in his eyes, she made her way behind him. Cupping the cool water and dripping it down his back, she used the palm of her hand as a sponge as she washed away the stickiness caused by their lovemaking. The smoothness of his skin, the way it glistened beneath the droplets of the crystal water, all had her heated again.
And then she heard it.
The lullaby of her youth.
Gunshots.
Lots of gunshots.
Anson spun around and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down into the water as he hovered over her, scanning the shoreline. She clung to his body, feeling her heart nearly beat out of her chest.
Montez? Had he found them?
“Is he here?” Natalia whispered. “Has he found us already?” Montez would kill them both, but he would make sure to kill Anson first just so Natalia had to watch. The idea of seeing Anson die, all because of her, made her ill.
Anson helped her stand, but still held her close. He slowly led them to the shore, his entire body tense, on high alert. Each step they made was slow and quiet.
His jaw tensed, and his eyes darkened as they continued to scan all around. “No. The gunshots are from a distance. I would say several miles away. Too close for my comfort, but they are not here.”
More gunshots cut through the air. Sounds of machine guns told them they weren’t hearing the reports of some hunter taking his dinner from the jungle. No, these quick, staccato bursts were indicative of a deadly battle occurring. Natalia and Anson gathered their discarded clothing and dressed as quickly as they could. Her hands shook and her knees felt weak, but Anson was right, the shots were far enough away that they weren’t in immediate danger. But the reports of gunfire invading the peace of their surroundings had still been a shock.
“It must be a coca kitchen under attack. I don’t remember there being any nearby when I was young, but with the demand for paco, more and more kitchens are popping up everywhere,” Natalia said as she put on the last of her clothing. Cocaine labs were becoming the disease of Argentina and spreading like a deadly virus.
Anson nodded. “Yes, I don’t think those shots have anything to do with us.” After buttoning his pants, he walked over, wrapped his arms around Natalia, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re shaking.”
“Well, that scared the shit out of me. I thought it was Montez. We weren’t armed, we were naked, and were just sitting ducks if those shots were directed at us.”
“We’re safe. The sounds of the jungle would have warned us if anyone was approaching.” They stood like that, arm in arm, body to body as the gunshots slowly tapered off. “Sounds like a deadly turf war occurred.”
Natalia nodded against his chest, taking in the masculine scent that instantly calmed her. That and the fact that her hand had brushed against his lower back as she wrapped her arms around him, allowing her to feel the butt of the gun he’d shoved into the waistband of his jeans. “The Hernandez and Ortez cartels have joined forces in trying to bring Montez and his entire empire down. As much as I hate the drug family wars—because no one truly wins—I do hope those bastards succeed in destroying him.” She inhaled deeply with her eyes shut. “Although, to be honest, my family failed at doing so, so it is unlikely Hernandez or Ortez will manage it. The Montez cartel is strong and always has been. Their control over el camino blanco makes it so.”
“The white road,” Anson translated. “You’re talking about Ruta 34.”
“Yes.”
There were a few more random gunshots, which she thought were most likely the killers walking around and putting bullets in the heads of the survivors who lay dying in a cloud of white dust from all the toxic powder. No mercy in drug land. Death was the only message that got through to these people. Ruthless killing was their only language.
Natalia had grown to hate her country. Her home. What once was her everything. Her father had always blamed the Colombians, even though Mexico and Brazil were just as guilty for the country’s descent into the evil of the drug trade. He had said that they turned Ruta 34 into the “White Road”, and the demise of the country would always bloody their hands. Once the Bolivia and Argentina border became the hotspot due to the low risk and high volume because neither country seemed to bother policing, the turf wars began. Her father had grown up in Ciudad Oculta, and although it was a poverty-stricken city at the time of his upbringing, it soon became the den of the worst of the worst.
Cocaine paste was sent from neighboring countries to be processed in Rosario. What wasn’t made into paco—a highly addictive variation of crack where the cocaine residue was mixed with baking soda and often rat poison or crushed glass—was turned into bricks of white powder and sent back up the road. Her father had watched the cheap paco destroy everyone he knew. It was then that he decided that he wouldn’t let the drugs lead his life; he would lead the drugs. She’d worshipped her father as a child but had the shutters pulled from her eyes as her world disintegrated that day. As an adult, she understood the hatred her father felt in having to enter a game where there were never any winners—only enemies and death to all you loved.
“I used to love Argentina so much,” Natalia said. “Now, you can’t even be in the middle of a jungle, with no civilization around, without hearing the sounds of death.”
Anson stroked the back of her head, still holding her close. “It must be tough to have grown up with all of this. You must have always been afraid.”
She shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. “My father did business with Pablo Escobar—one of the most powerful drug lords around. I remember him as a child and being told to fear the man. But to me, he was just a short, fat man who dressed funny. He was sloppy in appearance and not intimidating to me at all, unlike my father who always wore a suit and a tie. Now, he exuded power. I didn’t see why men literally shook in Escobar’s presence. I never understood why men stood on both sides of him with machine guns as if they were going to war. War with whom? As a child, I was never afraid, but rather confused. I could never grasp the power. Although I stood behind my father, too much of a coward to properly greet the man as my father had hoped I would be polite enough to do.” She looked up at Anson. “I don’t think I was ever really afraid. Not until I secretly sold myself to Montez. But then I was afraid of something far greater than the man himself.”
Anson furrowed his brow and tilted his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know what you mean? What had you more afraid than Montez?”
“Disappointing the memory of my family. My abuela, to be specific.”
“Your grandmother?”
She nodded and looked down at the ground. “Her dying words told me to find our family peace. I truly believed killing the man responsible for the death of everyone I loved would do that. It’s why my mission was always to get inside and lay down a wrath like no one had ever done before. But I never did. I was afraid.”
“Killing someone isn’t something that is easy, no matter how much hate and vengeance you have in your body. Anyone would be afraid.”
“It wasn’t that I was afraid of Montez. I wasn’t. I don’t mean to say that to sound tough or something. I simply wasn’t afraid of the man. He couldn’t do anything worse to me than what he had already done. Killing me would have just put me out of my misery. And I was so miserable.” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed back the painful memory to continue. “I was afraid of my grandmother’s words. They haunted me. ‘No more death. No more war. Peace, my Natalia. Find our family peace.’ If I killed Montez, would I shame the memory of my grandmother? So I hesitated. I couldn’t find the courage to kill the man, even though I had many opportunities. I was a coward. A confused coward. I have always been a confused coward, just like I was as a little girl in the presence of Pablo Escobar. Nothing has changed in my life, and all the training, all my planning was for nothing.”
Anson pulled away so he could look directly into Natalia’s eyes. “I think you are one of the bravest women I have ever met. To put yourself in harm’s way, all to end an evil man… well, you have more balls than any Texas bull rider I know.” He smiled when Natalia rolled her eyes at his last statement.
“And just when I was forgetting you were a gringo, you go off and remind me,” she said, giving a small laugh. Although she was grateful that Anson had lightened the mood. Memories of her past stabbed at her very soul, and she didn’t have the time or luxury to go down that path when they were in the middle of survival mode.
“Nothing wrong with being a gringo, mí corazón.”
She noticed how well he said the simple words, her heart giving a little jump as he called her “his heart.” “Ooh, you even have the proper accent when you speak Spanish to me.” She gave a wink as she walked over to the gear they had brought down with them to go fishing with.
“Courtesy of Stryder. He grew up in Rosario, and made sure that when we spoke Spanish, we did it right. He wouldn’t let me sound like I had just learned the language from a text book.”
“So you speak it fluently?” Natalia asked over her shoulder as she squatted next to the pile of m
aterials they had gathered.
“Depends what you call fluently. I wouldn’t want to have a full conversation with you, but I can hold my own if I have to.” He walked over, sat down, and assisted her in preparing the fish traps.
She had learned this basic survival skill while living in Chile, and was now happy she had. It was obvious Anson knew what he was doing in regards to the making of the shell, but two sets of hands were always better than one. They could make two traps now and up their chances of catching something for dinner. She and Anson had already collected what they needed. The stand of cusquea quilas provided the bamboo, and they’d also gathered flexible vines before bathing in the river, so the rest of the work would require them sitting down and actually making them. At least the tedious and time consuming work would keep her mind off the massacre that had just occurred so close to them that she could all but hear the cries of death.
“And you think Stryder will be able to find us?” she asked, not looking up as she tied little knots into the vine, looping it around the bamboo repeatedly.
“I know he will. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I hate to break it to you, gringo, but Argentina is a pretty big country. You Steele brothers may have some superhuman power I am unaware of, but I find the fact that he could find us pretty unbelievable. There’s no way he is going to know we are in the jungle, much less where in the jungle. He’ll more likely go looking for us where Montez is and get himself killed.”
“No, my brother is smart. Too smart to get killed. Trust me.”
They sat there in silence for several moments, both concentrating on their tasks. She glanced over at Anson who, despite having to be careful using his right arm, already had the funnel of his trap taking shape. The competitive nature in her wanted to beat him and have her trap first in the water. Maybe if she kept him talking, it would slow him down. “So tell me the plan. How do you expect Stryder to find us?”