by Anne Stuart
He didn’t want to think about that. Parker was one of the most alive people he knew, full of piss and vinegar, at least when he wasn’t hurting her. To think that her vibrant life could have been snuffed out in seconds . . . unsettled him. He was used to death and its unexpected swiftness. He just hadn’t really thought about it for Parker. Letting her come with him had always been a risk, but he’d assumed that risk was from the rebel soldiers and the devious Soledad. He’d forgotten about the indigenous wildlife.
He glanced back into the bathing room. She was moving slowly, rubbing the soap along her shoulders, and he wondered if he should offer to wash her slender back. No, that would be a very bad idea. He’d already played with fire when he’d stripped off her clothes, and it had taken his iron will not to pay attention to her lithe body, her perfect breasts, her long legs, and the soft curls between them. Last night had been a onetime occurrence. He’d brought the condoms because life had a habit of throwing you curves, but the more he thought about it the more determined he was to leave her strictly alone, and the reason was both simple and deeply troubling.
He liked her too much. He liked her smart-ass reaction to him, he liked her bravery. The woman had been shot, had her house blown up, had been hit on the head—and she just kept going with no sign of weakening. Even the trauma of the pain he’d given her hadn’t lasted long. He’d been forced to hurt other women before, not as badly as he’d hurt Parker, and they’d looked on him with such horror he’d known his best bet was never to go near them again. Parker had bounced back with surprising speed, her fear leaving her, responding to his touch with anger, and then with something else.
She’d been the one to kiss him. She’d started it last night, a fact he knew shamed her. He could have explained to her that it was only normal—the two of them were trapped together in a dangerous situation, and it heightened adrenaline and hormones.
There was also an intimacy between the giver and receiver of pain, whether it was for a little healthy kink or the need to find out information. It left them both vulnerable, much as he hated to admit it. He now felt more responsible for her, almost protective.
Fortunately she’d come to her senses, and she wasn’t about to kiss him again. God knew he wasn’t going to put moves on her—he’d already traumatized her enough. No, he’d let her be. He didn’t have room in his life for anyone, and Parker was the kind of person a man made room for. If he’d had any sense he would have insisted she stay home, but he’d been stupidly easy to convince. Granted, she could identify the cell phone without its distinctive case, but it wouldn’t have taken much for him to figure it out once he caught up with Soledad.
He should have left her behind. But someone had tried to kill her in New Orleans, twice, and he was no closer to figuring out who it was, or why. Leaving her in Remy’s care wouldn’t have set his mind at ease. Remy was one hell of an operative, but Ryder didn’t trust anyone as much as he trusted himself.
So he’d brought her into a different kind of danger, forcing him to realize she was too big a distraction whether she was with him or thousands of miles away.
What was it about her? He couldn’t afford to let her get to him—it would be disaster for both of them. He was going to stick to her like glue from now on—this was far too dangerous a place for her. He was going to feed her and sleep beside her like a brother and keep her safe until he could get her back to the States and get her out of his life. The plan was simple.
The question was, could he follow it?
He was right, Jenny thought. The lukewarm water was chilling after a while, but at least she felt clean, rinsing off with fresh water from the tap. There was no towel, but she dried herself on her clean clothes and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and a baggy T-shirt. The bra had been the only one they’d provided, and it was stained with . . . snake blood. She shuddered in remembered horror. She’d either have the fortitude to wash it tomorrow or she’d just do without. Her modest 34B wasn’t going to be that much of a problem beneath the loose shirts they’d provided her, and Ryder was going to be too busy to notice.
She pushed open the bathroom door. He was standing over the stove, and amazing smells were coming from the cast-iron frying pan. “Well, aren’t you domestic,” she said in a wry voice, attempting to reclaim her sangfroid. It came out a little shaky, but close enough, and he simply raised an eyebrow.
“Red beans and rice, Calliverian style,” he said. He took the frying pan and set it down on the scarred wooden table. “No plates, though I found a couple of spoons. We’re going to have to eat it from the pan.”
“That’s a little unsanitary, don’t you think?” The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them.
He gave her a slow grin. “I think we’ve shared enough germs already that this isn’t going to make a difference.” He frowned. “How’s your head?”
“My head?”
“You got shot, remember? You had a graze on the side of your head, and then that bitch bashed you . . .”
“Soledad wasn’t the one who hit me. I told you, I saw her across the room looking terrified seconds before I blacked out.”
“People who’ve been knocked unconscious quite often don’t remember the last few seconds or even minutes before they were hit. Your memories aren’t reliable.”
“I remember everything,” she snapped.
His responding smile was disturbing. “So how’s your head feeling? Show me where the bullet grazed you.”
She didn’t bother fighting him, pushing her hair off her face so he could see the healing graze along the side of her head. “It’s fine. Not even a headache.”
He nodded. “What about your leg? It’s easy to get an infection down here and . . .”
“My leg is fine. Jesus, I’m sorry I ever said anything about germs,” she protested. “The leg is just about healed, see.” She turned so he could look at the place on her calf where the shard of wood had been. “It only hurts when I poke it.”
“Then don’t poke it,” he said.
“Good advice,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “Now that we’ve finished with my medical exam could we eat?” She dropped down on the bench opposite the frying pan. The concoction inside looked like garbage but it smelled divine. “I’m hungry enough to eat a goat.”
“That can be arranged. People raise goats for food around here.” He took the seat opposite her, handed her a wooden spoon, and dug in with his own ladle.
“What does goat taste like?”
“Goat,” he said succinctly. “Eat.”
It was delicious. Spicy and rich, even without any meat in it, and the only problem was that her large wooden spoon kept hitting against the ladle he was using. By the time they’d finished every scrap, she was deliciously full. He took the empty frying pan and dumped it in the sink. “Bedtime,” he said.
Jenny had just been feeling at peace with the world when his words sent her into a controlled panic. “I don’t . . .”
“Stop worrying. I’m not about to jump your bones.”
In fact that hadn’t been her worry. “The snake . . .”
“You’re sleeping with me. I dragged a second bed in so you can sleep in pristine glory. Those rooms used to belong to the nuns—you can just pretend you are one and you’ll be fine.”
She greeted this news with mixed emotion. “The question is, who’s the bigger snake, you or the anaconda?”
He laughed at that. “You’re welcome to stay in your old room. I got rid of the corpse but I didn’t bother to clean up the blood. That shouldn’t . . .”
“Don’t!” she said with a shudder. “I’ll sleep with you.” His slow grin was demoralizing. “You know what I mean,” she snapped.
“Your virtue is safe with me, gorgeous. Just promise me one thing.”
She looked at him warily. “What?”
“Don’t decide to kiss me in the middle of the night if you don’t want that virtue tarnished.”
“Not likely,” she sniffed,
ignoring the fact that she’d done just that the night before. Throwing herself at a man was a onetime occasion, a dire mistake that she wasn’t going to repeat, even if it didn’t feel like that big a mistake. “But if my virtue is safe then why did you buy the condoms?”
“Have I disappointed you?”
“No,” she said flatly, believing it. “I’m just curious.”
“Accidents can happen. Any more questions?”
“No.” It was far too dangerous a topic of conversation, and she was shocked at herself for starting it.
“Good.” He rose, picking up the lantern, pausing long enough to blow out the candles that had illuminated his cooking. He looked . . . to use his mocking word, he looked gorgeous in the light of the flames. Tall and lithe and dangerous, with his long shaggy hair and beard-roughened face, his wolf’s eyes watching her with steady intensity. She doubted the light was as kind to her, but she told herself she didn’t mind. Ryder had a lot more experience than she did, and he was hardly likely to be swept away by the atmosphere.
She followed him down the darkened hallways, struggling to keep up with his long stride. The last thing she wanted was to give him the excuse to carry her again, but with her bare feet on the dirty wooden floors, she couldn’t keep from thinking what else might be around to terrorize her. He headed past her room into his, and she noticed with relief that he’d hacked away the intruding greenery and thrown it out the window, closing it so that the louvers let in the cooler night air, and she hoped little else. He’d brought a second cot in, but the room was so tiny there was no place to put it but immediately next to the first one, which didn’t silence her fears.
“You take the inside wall,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I need to be the first line of defense if anyone figures out where we are and decides to come for a visit, okay?”
She couldn’t really argue with that. “What if they come in the window?”
“Then we’re both screwed. Don’t worry—it’s highly unlikely that anyone will find us in one night. I just like to be thorough.”
“Okay,” she said in a small voice.
There were sheets on her bed, but not on his, and she wondered where he found them. She didn’t bother to ask, climbing over his bed to reach hers. Pulling the top sheet up to her ears, she closed her eyes, but she could still feel him watching her. A moment later he’d turned out the lantern, and she heard the bed creak as he sat down on it, close enough that she could reach out and touch him. The idea was unnerving, though not nearly as bad as spending last night in his arms. That had been catastrophic.
“Stop thinking and go to sleep,” he said in a low voice, the sound dancing along the cool night air. “I told you, you’re safe.”
And that, she thought, was the problem. Some small, stupid part of her didn’t want to be safe. Some idiot part of her brain wanted him to pull her into his arms and hold her against his warm, supple skin. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to lie beneath him, with him all around her, pressing her down into the mattress . . .
Her eyes flew open. Now wasn’t the time for erotic dreams or romantic imaginings. Now was the time for common sense and a good night’s sleep, no matter how she felt about the man lying next to her. He was her guardian, her protector, not her lover.
She needed to remember that.
Chapter Eighteen
Her screams ripped Ryder from sleep. He didn’t hesitate, moving so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her, covering her flailing body with his, putting his hand over her mouth to silence her. She was still half asleep, and her panic was fierce as she fought his restraining body. She bit his hand, hard, but he didn’t pull away. There was no telling exactly where La Luz was, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t far, and he’d slept so lightly it could barely be called sleep, listening for any untoward noise: something moving through the underbrush, the crackle of leaves underfoot, the silence of the ever-present jungle birds. There’d been nothing, but he wasn’t convinced, and Parker screaming her head off could alert an otherwise ignorant group of soldiers.
He was reasonably sure of one thing—the so-called rebels weren’t far from the village of Talaca. He was counting on it; the only way they were going to regain possession of that fucking smartphone was through La Luz. Tomás had confirmed that they definitely had it, and Soledad as well, though he couldn’t be sure whether Soledad was a hostage or complicit in the crimes of La Luz. It didn’t matter—Soledad could do what she wanted, as long as he got that smartphone back before anyone else could put its information to use.
And he didn’t need Parker screaming her bloody head off, alerting everyone to their presence. He needed the upper hand in their negotiations, and that didn’t include them coming in while Parker was having a nightmare.
“Cut it out, Parker,” he whispered in her ear. “You want everyone to know where we are?”
His words must have penetrated her foggy brain. She stopped flailing immediately, lying beneath him still as a stone. “You okay?” he breathed in her ear, not moving his hand from her mouth. “Nod if the answer is yes.”
She managed a brief nod beneath his hard hand, and he slowly removed it. She’d bitten hard, but there was no blood, for which he supposed he should be grateful. In fact, the bite had turned him on, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She was already too skittish.
He levered himself away from her, moving next to the wall, his hands still on her, getting her used to the feel of him.
“Not this again,” she managed a semi-caustic tone, and he smiled in the dark. She was a tough one, all right.
“Just shut up and go back to sleep. I’ll keep the monsters away.” Unless I’m one of the monsters you dream about, he thought, wondering why it bothered him. He did what he had to do and wasted no time with guilt or second thoughts.
“And who protects me from you?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Yes, who’s going to protect the poor, innocent little girl who lied, covered up for an international trafficking cartel, protected a felon responsible for the worst kind of crime against humanity? How capricious and cruel of fate to have put you in my hands, where I’ve done my best to feed you to snakes.”
“Shut up,” she said fiercely.
“Oh, gladly. Why don’t you tell me what a conscienceless bastard I am? How cruel and heartless and unjustified my actions are? In fact, why don’t you take the jeep and drive back to Puerto Claro? I’m sure you can find a plane to take you back to the States. It would make my life easier and less annoying if I didn’t have to babysit you. Just draw me a picture of the phone, and I’ll see you on your way.”
“I don’t remember. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“I expect you will. The question is, will you tell me about it, or just make a play for it yourself? Because if you do I’d be annoyed. Very annoyed, and you don’t want to see me when I’m pissed off.”
“I already have,” she said flatly. “I wasn’t impressed.”
He almost laughed out loud at that. He knew he could be frankly terrifying, and a good little pro bono lawyer like Jenny Parker would never be stupid enough to underestimate him, but he had to give her credit for at least trying to appear unmoved.
“That the kind of fairy tale you tell yourself when you’re trying to go to sleep, Parker? Trust me, this big bad wolf has teeth, and if you’re half as smart as I think you are, you’ll watch your step.”
“And do what? Not have nightmares? I’m afraid that’s out of my control.”
“Not out of mine. You start to dream, I’ll feel it, and I’ll distract you.”
Her eyes flew open in sudden alarm. “What do you mean by that?”
“Whatever you want it to mean, gorgeous. I can think of a dozen ways to distract you, most of them pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” she echoed. “You call sex pleasant?”
“Who said I was talking about sex?”
That shut her up as a wave of color swept up he
r face. Even in the murky darkness he could see it, and it took all his self-control not to smile. She was so damned easy to play when it came to sex. She was a total opposite from the women he liked to fuck. He wanted partners who were comfortable, knew how to get what they wanted, and made no excuses. Parker was like a semi-virgin, and she’d seemed almost shocked by her climaxes last night. If he didn’t think it was just wishful thinking, he’d have guessed she’d never had an orgasm with a partner.
Though why should it be wishful thinking? He didn’t give a shit about Parker’s sexual past or future—it was the present that interested him. The present he had no intention of taking advantage of. “Go to sleep, Parker,” he said finally. “Tomorrow’s going to come much too soon, and we’re going to have a long day.”
She grabbed the change of subject like a lifeline. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
“Finding your little lost chickadee and the smartphone she stole.”
“She didn’t . . .”
“I’m not interested in arguing, I’m interested in sleeping. Unless you have something better in mind? No? Well, then, shut up and close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”
Now why did he say that? He shouldn’t give a shit whether she felt safe or not. But bottom line: he did. No matter how annoying, how troublesome, how deceptive she’d been, he felt responsible for her, not just for her bodily safety, but for her peace of mind.
And she believed him. He could feel the tension drain from her body, feel her soften against his, making him even harder. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the soft fabric of the T-shirt was simply temptation personified. Too fucking bad for both of them—sex was off the table for tonight, and if he could hold to his resolution, for the future as well. She was different from the women he fucked, and he’d liked it. He just wasn’t going to get used to it.
“Are you always such a bastard, Ryder?” she murmured sleepily.
“Yes. Go to sleep.”
She did. He lay beside her, awake, watching over her, until the dawn light filled the room.