The feel of her fingers against his nipples made him hiss out a breath. He pulled one strap of her bra off her shoulder with clumsy haste. She grappled with the single snap of his pants, her hands trembling against him.
Their breathing filled the kitchen, ragged gasps that covered the sound of Nick’s zipper. But he didn’t need air, he needed her. Rolling, he pulled her under himself, his elbows supporting his weight, his hands holding her face for the onslaught of his mouth on hers. Her hands, trapped between them, against his belly, pressed against him. He raised up on one knee, and the cold of the tile brought him back to reality.
He was prepared to take her on a hard floor with no consideration for her exhaustion. For anything. He almost lost it again when her hands clutched his back as she raised her hips against him. He felt the give of desire but fought it, holding her still, trying to soothe her with quick kisses to her face, gentle touches along her shoulders.
She stared up at him, then followed his gaze to her exposed breast. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“Not like this. Not on the floor.” He pulled her bra strap up and kissed her, pushed himself up and pulled her with him.
“I’m on the pill, Nick,” she said, her eyes steady on his.
He nodded. She thought he would stop as he had at the waterfall. He wanted perfection for her, knowing he couldn’t give it to her. “A bath, a bed.”
She seemed to relax, seemed to understand.
He knew he’d never get his zipper up again, not as hard as he was, so he didn’t try. She led him out of the kitchen into the living room and up the stairs. At the top, one step above him, she turned and kissed him before placing his hands on the front fastener of her bra. He released the clip and she let the white cotton slide off.
Gorgeous. She was perfect.
Her hands, which had rested on his shoulders, traced the line of his collarbone, then moved to his chest. She bent forward and placed her mouth gently at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Her hot breath tickled, tantalized.
Somehow he managed not to trip as he stepped up and, one hand tangled in her hair, the other around her waist, backed his way to the first bedroom, then through to the bathroom.
He would never forget the feel of her. The taste. The explosive need came back to him so quickly he couldn’t slow down for finesse. She didn’t seem to mind, seemed to encourage the madness with her mouth and her hands.
They managed to tear off the rest of their dirty clothes and toss them aside. Nick was surprised he had enough clarity of mind to turn on the hot water. Then they were in the shower, the spray washing off the mud and grime. Soap and shampoo added to the slickness of their bodies.
He’d never realized how finely muscled she was. She looked so trim, so feminine, but strength graced the lines of her body. Strength that she used to hold him to her, to push him and entice him until he thought he’d go roaring mad if he didn’t get inside her.
Unable to breathe from the intoxication of desire, he opened his mouth over hers and, cupping her bottom, raised her off the shower floor. She moaned and wrapped those perfect legs around his waist, her ankles crossed at his flanks. Nearly slipping, catching himself against the tiled wall, brought him back to reality. He jerked the shower curtain open and carried her into his bedroom, her legs still wrapped around him. He fell back onto the bed, clutching her wet body.
She straddled his hips, her hair wet and wild, the way he loved it. He tunneled his hands through the still dark-streaked curls and pulled her to his mouth. She melted onto him, hot and damp from the bath. Then she pulled away and rose slightly, aligning them. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t contain what had burned in him for so long. Flipping them over, he thrust into her.
Surprise and pleasure etched her features. The feel of her beneath him, around him, nearly pushed him over the edge. She moved with him, met his urgency, until her pleasure made her call his name and he allowed himself the release he sought.
***
Mary Beth could hear the water still running in the bathroom.
“Can you…” Nick said, “breathe?”
This wasn’t real, she thought. This hadn’t happened.
“Mary Beth?” he asked.
“Mmm,” she replied. He weighed a ton. A beautiful, heavenly ton. Still slightly damp from the shower. Still buried inside her. She ran a hand down his back. It was the feel of the stiff stitches that made her shift. “Your back,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Your stomach.”
“I’m good. Very good.” She felt the effort he made to push himself up. “I can’t move.” There was laughter in his voice.
“I can,” she said, and immediately felt the hot rush of embarrassment as they both realized what she’d said.
He chuckled, sending the most amazing sensations spiraling through her body. There had never been anything as intense as what had just happened to her. She’d never thought anything could be so spontaneous. And so carnal.
“The water,” she hurried to say before his mouth settled on hers again.
“Water?”
“In the shower. It’s on.”
He stared down at her. “It bothers you?”
“Hmm,” she sighed as she felt his growing fullness.
He levered his upper body away. “I’ll go turn it—”
“No! Don’t you dare leave now.”
“Why, Miss Williams—” Nick breathed against her mouth “—where have your excellent manners gone?”
Chapter Fourteen
Nick placed the cloth he’d used to clean his Glock on the kitchen table. After reloading the semiautomatic, he put it into the holster under his left arm and stretched. He’d cleaned the floor and washed the few dishes they’d used last night when he and Mary Beth came down to get something to eat. Just being in the kitchen reminded him again of all that had happened. The exhaustion, the terror of nearly losing Mary Beth. Survival had brought on an incredible hunger that had started as a physical craving and had turned into much more. The too-proper Mary Beth had delighted in him, had let herself go. Had made him lose control.
She was his now, more truly his than anything or anyone in his life. And as his, she was his responsibility. He would protect her with his last breath. That meant leaving her here while he went into the valley and confronted whatever had brought her brother into contact with his. Whatever had placed military elements of two countries, a whole host of agencies and an American claiming to act in the name of the American embassy into a collision course with Mary Beth’s mysterious brother. A situation that had pushed Antonio Vargas into admitting what he’d denied for over twenty years.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, his gaze drawn to the chair Mary Beth had sat on before they’d gone upstairs. The memory of her tantalized him with possibilities.
Maybe there was a chance. A chance she’d want the pleasure enough to accept the outward Nicholas Romero, accept the hot passion and not demand his soul, not demand the secrets that bound him to who and what he was.
If he didn’t have to make a choice that would affect Mark Williams. If Daniel hadn’t become a Vargas in the end, compromising everything they’d sworn to believe in. If he himself didn’t fall into the same trap to protect his brother.
Grimly, he realized he’d be better off if Williams was dead. That pragmatism was too close to a Vargas trait for comfort.
He put aside the troublesome idea. He’d already done too much he didn’t like, pushing the envelope of what was reasonable in the man he wanted to be. He’d killed one man and hurt two others. Those actions had kept Mary Beth safe. For the moment. He had to ensure that safety by keeping her out of it from here on.
He would try Jonathan Ethridge again. The CIA agent owed him and was the one American who could get to the bottom of this mess to protect Mary Beth.
With his thoughts upstairs where Mary Beth lay sleeping, Nick stood. The temptation to go up, to sink into her and forget his duty, his responsibilities, was strong. But he had no cho
ice. No other option.
He picked up the telephone.
***
Mary Beth knew that the inside of a shower would forevermore bring back some pretty fantastic images. She turned on the hot water. Stretching, her body achy from the climb down and then up the cliff, she adjusted the spray and stepped in. She let memories of the night—the hot passion, the joy—blot out the events of a frightening day.
Her lips felt swollen, her body felt … different. Stronger. She blushed at the memory of what she’d said, what she’d done, the things she’d felt. But Nick had reveled in her, his body hers for the asking. And she had asked. She’d abandoned all caution, all the barriers she’d put up years ago against any invasion of her emotions. It was entirely too late for barriers. Nicholas Romero owned her heart.
What would she say to him? What would he say to her?
The question of what they would do about getting into the valley brought her out of her brief shower and made her hurry to dry off.
Dressed in bra and panties, the last clean ones she had, she rummaged through a dresser and a closet until she found a man’s white shirt and some khaki shorts that fit a little loosely. The house was silent. She made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. No sign of Nick. Gingerly, she touched the side of the percolator on the stove and found it warm. She took the grounds out and turned on the burner.
In a paper bag, she found rolls and took one. She was ravenous, shaky from the long night.
Then she heard Nick talking. She walked through the dining room, following the sound of his voice, drawn to him.
***
Nick paced as he talked to Carlos, pulling the phone cord with him. “I couldn’t reach Ethridge. I spoke with someone I trained with in the U.S. and told him I need to get in touch with Ethridge. He’s going to keep trying.”
“You trust these Americans too much, Nick,” Carlos replied.
Nick pushed ahead. “There’s nothing on Elliot Smith?”
“Nothing at all. No one at the embassy will talk about him,” Carlos replied. “But something is happening. Many new faces coming and going. There has been a change in command of the American Army base, the one conducting the joint investigation into gunrunning with our Rangers. One of my contacts tells me there are three Secret Service agents working out of the embassy.”
That clearly indicated counterfeiting, since that agency worked counterfeiting cases. “Are they new?”
“These men are, but there have been men from that department here for a few years. Since before Daniel died. I think one group worked with him.”
There was the connection again. He had to know what Mark Williams had to do with it all. Why Elliot Smith and his men were so desperate to find him. The answers would be found in the valley.
“Any word on the general?”
“I have heard that Ernesto Ruiz has been given command of the Río Hermoso troops. He and Vargas continue to compete for power. This will be a setback that will push Vargas to rush his plans,” Carlos said. “Be careful. Vargas may not yet know what has happened, and General Ruiz is capable of anything.” Carlos paused as the line crackled. “Ruiz has ordered Francisco Iglesias into the valley, even though he is only a captain, because he is one of the few men willing to stand up to Vargas.”
Ruiz, Nick knew, was no better than Vargas. But maybe there was some hope with Iglesias working the investigation.
Carlos continued, “It is common knowledge that you have taken Williams’ sister with you. Neither the Americans nor our Rangers mention the man’s name. You know what that means….”
Yes, he knew. He completed Carlos’ thought. “Mark Williams is expendable.”
***
Mary Beth sucked in a quick breath at Nick’s words. She didn’t need to hear anything else.
She’d been duped. Betrayed. Again.
Somehow, she managed to rush back up the stairs, undress and get into bed. She didn’t know what she would do if Nick tried to touch her, but she knew she couldn’t face him. She had to push her anger aside if she was going to help Mark.
Nick’s footsteps echoed on the stairs. Mary Beth heard him open the bedroom door and quietly walk to the side of the bed. It took everything she had not to roll over and scream at him. When she felt the soft touch of his hand on her hair, she was sure she was trembling with rage.
Then he walked out and down the stairs. She moved only when she heard the front door close.
Running to the window, she watched as he walked toward the mist-shrouded descent into the Río Hermoso Valley.
***
Nick, covered in mud, slid the final few yards to the valley floor and landed on his feet. He had to remain alert. Either Vargas’ Rangers or those ordered there by General Ruiz would be everywhere. They’d either found Wyatt’s body, or it lay buried beneath the slide. There appeared to be no one around. Five minutes later, after walking through an untended coffee patch, he came to the bank of the Río Hermoso.
What a misnomer. There was nothing beautiful about the river now. The rainy season had turned the sparkling waters of the placid river into a muddy torrent. No way to ford it without being swept away. Then he remembered the way he and his friends crossed as boys. The swinging bridge built of tightly wound vines. He made his way down river. Initial surprise at finding no Rangers guarding the make-shift bridge gave way to frustrated reality. It wouldn’t be guarded because it couldn’t be called that anymore. The only things that remained were the two vine-ropes that held the bridge up. The sides and the floor had fallen. What was there barely cleared the chocolate-colored water that sprayed up from the larger boulders. The only other bridge was the stone one that was part of the main road in the valley. That one would be guarded.
Nick wiped sweat from his face and reached up to test what was left of the bridge. He pulled and it swayed but didn’t give. Sturdy enough. And he had no choice. With the river so high, there would be no place to cross. It was either this or swim. Or both, if the vines broke.
***
The long morning crawled by, each minute longer than the one before. Mary Beth refused to think about Nick. Mark was all that mattered.
She’d spent a frantic hour trying to contact to her father. To no avail. Spencer Williams was not to be found, not at home, nor at his office. Mary Beth left messages everywhere; she even broke down and called her mother, the senator’s wife. Of course her mother hadn’t heard from her father, but someone from Mark’s company had called repeatedly about his whereabouts. Then, before she could try her father again, the power went out and with it, the telephone.
She considered driving somewhere to fine a phone, but couldn’t find the key to the Jeep anywhere. So she went to the church, hoping the priest could find someone to start it for her, but he was away.
Finally, she admitted that her hands were tied. She could do nothing but wait until telephone worked again and her father called. If he called. And then what? What could he do from so far away?
Now, desperate for something to do, she studied the papers with the numbers Mark had left, scouring them, trying to see what she was missing. Giving up, she decided to rewrap them in plastic and tuck them into her bra. If she had to walk away from here, she would likely run into more rain and didn’t want to ruin the papers. She was just finishing when she heard a car engine. A quick look out the living room window confirmed her fear. San Matean Rangers.
She ran up the stairs to the bedroom she and Nick had shared and, and with her back against the wall, peeked out the window in time to see two Rangers step out of a Jeep.
They walked to the door and pounded. Mary Beth held her breath, her gaze darting around the room in search of a possible hiding place. The bang of the door being forced opened and hitting the wall downstairs propelled her into motion. She ran through the bathroom into the next bedroom, desperately seeking a place they wouldn’t check.
The sound of several heavy footfalls on the stairs only added to her panic.
The bed
was too low to the floor to allow her underneath. With nowhere left to go, she needed a weapon. The guns were in Nick’s bag in the other room—if he hadn’t taken them both. She bit back a moan of despair when the only thing she could find was a single brass candleholder. She curled her fingers around the cool metal just as the soldiers opened the bedroom door.
“Señorita,” the Ranger with lieutenant’s stripes said. “Please come with us.”
Mary Beth felt a bubble of nervous laughter threaten to escape. Such perfect manners from such a fierce-looking man.
She held the candleholder in front of her. A silly move. “What do you want with me?”
“You are to come. Quietly.”
“No,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Please, señorita, we mean you no harm.”
“And pigs fly.”
“Pardon me?”
“The American embassy won’t stand for this.”
“The American embassy is not here, señorita,” the lieutenant replied.
She stared at him, afraid to move. And came to the conclusion that there was no way out. She’d never get away. All she could do is hope they meant her no harm. And maybe these men knew where Mark was.
Prepared to ask, she placed the candleholder on the dresser as the other man searched her bag. He found the ransom money, picked up the bag, and nodded. That said it all. They had come for her and the money.
“Will you take me to my brother?” she asked.
The lieutenant didn’t reply, didn’t even look at her.
Then both men herded her downstairs. Outside, the reflection of the sun off the Ranger’s Jeep blinded her momentarily. The lieutenant held her arm as he guided her into the back seat.
They drove down the muddy, washed-out switchback road into the Río Hermoso Valley. Parts of the side of the mountain had crumbled, taking huge chunks of the road with it, causing the Jeep to hug the mountainside in several places. Mary Beth clutched at the seat each time the driver neared the sheer drop into the valley floor. No one said anything to her. Both men were unfailingly polite—in their own menacing way.
To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3) Page 20