by Cherry Adair
Somehow her hair had come loose from its customary braid, and hung around her shoulders and over half her face. Not that she could see anything in the pitch-darkness anyway. She really should go back to sleep. They had maybe an hour left before they had to move out. Yeah. Sleep. She needed that hour to reenergize and prep for the day. His penis shifted, through several layers of cloth, as if trying to escape the confines of his pants and get into hers.
I’m so with you there, buddy. Come out and play.
Slowly, Riva slid her hand down his side. Heat radiated through his T-shirt as she lightly explored the part of his abs she could reach without moving off him. And she wasn’t going to do that. She liked being exactly as she was. She’d like it a hell of a lot more if they were both naked, and he was awake to participate.
Gliding her fingers under the soft cotton, she was rewarded with hot, satin-smooth skin, and the tantalizing dip between torso and thigh.
Dare she? Would he wake up? She had no idea how hard he slept. Would it be so bad if she availed herself of a perfectly good hard-on?
“If you think for a minute I’d sleep through this, you’re out of your mind.” Sliding his fingers beneath the cape of her hair, he cradled her nape. His hand rested cool against her hot skin, the abrasion of rough callouses at the edge of his palm like a cat’s tongue against her sensitized nerve endings.
Her answer was to lower her lips to his. He plundered her mouth in a rough kiss that made Riva’s toes curl and heat blossom on her skin. As he devoured her mouth, he took her marauding hand, pressing her fingers over the rigid length of his penis. With a sharp hiss, he went rigid as she cupped his balls.
His penis, hot and silken, jumped and twitched in her hand, pulsing so Riva felt his throbbing heartbeat in her palm. She kissed him back hungrily, wrapping her fingers around as much of him as possible. Desire leapt and danced inside her, making her fingers tighten around him.
Heat coursed through her, flushing her skin, making her blood surge through her body. It raced through her veins and tingled in her fingers and toes.
He turned his mouth from hers enough to suck in another breath, then plundered her mouth again as he tugged at the waistband of her pants.
Riva lifted her hips to help him, their hands tangling as they both fought with zippers and fabric, need and a driving urgency, all of which made her breathing harsh and her heart pound erratically. Less haste, more speed.
She wanted to see him, wanted to watch his eyes as he came into her, but that was for another time. If there ever was another time. Now they were both on fire, both fighting for the same seemingly impossible goal. The setting was confined, the darkness complete, the urgency maddening.
Riva whimpered. “Can’t—”
“Must,” he insisted, freeing himself with one hand, then pushing hers out of the way. The brush of silken flesh, hard and searching against her belly, caused Riva to shudder. “Oh, God, Gideon! Hurry.”
“Push th—” He fumbled with his clothing, hers, cursing, frantic. “No. Here. Let me. Lift.”
He managed to yank her pants half off. Gripping her thigh, he grunted. “Knees on either—” Her breath hitched as Riva bracketed her knees on either side of his hips. His skin was beyond sensitized, and he shuddered as she straddled him. There was barely any room to move, she couldn’t sit upright, her head brushed the roof of the tent. Leaning over him, she dug her nails into his shoulders. Her thighs trembled as she held her open, pulsing heat directly over the spar of his penis.
She was wide open, exposed. Her heart trip-hammered, and she hesitated, feeling naked, vulnerable, and suddenly afraid. Not of Gideon Stark, but of herself. Too much feeling. Too much passion. Just too damned much. Riva started to pull away, but he grabbed her waist and held her in place. The time for hesitating was past. Long past.
“Killing me here.” Impatiently he shoved up the sports bra with her tank top, allowing her to drag in a shuddering breath. “Arms up!” She lifted her arms so he could pull both over her head. The moment she was liberated from her clothing, her hands were back on his chest.
He positioned the blunt tip of his penis at her entrance. She was tight. He thrust up, opening her wet heat with hard strokes that stole her breath. It had been years…
She made a choked sound of need as he drove into her. Calloused hands gripped her ass cheeks. His mouth closed over her nipple as Riva guided him, then seated herself to take every throbbing inch of him deep inside her. He felt huge, stretching her around the spar of his penis. Breath jerky and shallow, she scored his shoulders with her nails as he thrust up his hips to meet her.
“Yeah… Wet. Perfect… Christ. Yeah, just like—That.”
The sensation was so sharp, so intense for several moments, that she just squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to prevent crying out and alerting two- and four-legged predators to their location. She dared not move, but her internal muscles pulsed, until Gideon gripped her hips with hard fingers and plunged impossibly deeper, setting her to a manic rhythm.
Lust clawed at her. Riva’s fingers dug into his muscular shoulders for balance as their hips moved fast in counterpoint. The slap of flesh and their heavy breathing filled the small space. Her hair whipped across her back and shoulders as she rose and fell. Faster and faster. Teeth clenched, caught in a storm of sexual frenzy, she blinked sweat from her eyes and hung on, giving as good as she got. And God, she got a lot.
The tight, slick heat of her gripped the length of him as he plunged in again and again. And again. Locked into her own world of intense pleasure, Riva rose and fell against him like a savage tide beating against the rocks of lust and desire. Her breathless, barely muffled cries came at her from a distance, mingled with his rough sounds of pleasure. Riva’s first, relentless orgasm bore down on her like a Japanese shinkansen, a hurtling, unstoppable bullet train, wrenching an explosive climax through her with brutal force.
Shaken, sobbing, her wet face pressed in the crook of Gideon’s neck, she felt his entire body shudder and quake in the aftermath.
Gideon kissed her temple as she collapsed on top of him. “Incredible. I think you broke me in half.”
“No stamina,” Riva said weakly, patting his hip because it just happened to be under her hand. She could barely move.
Gideon stroked his palm down her thigh. “Straighten.”
She straightened her legs on either side of him, hooking her toes over his calves. He still wasn’t the most comfortable bed, but she was bonelessly relaxed, and quite content to use him as such. Caressing his hand down her bare back, he stroked her ass. Not in a sexual way, but rather to just touch her. Connect. His hot breath fanned her throat, and the only sound for several minutes was their ragged breathing.
The duel syncopation of their heartbeats slowed into a steady rhythm, as if it was one heart beating. Odd, Riva thought, yawning. Odd but interesting.
Finally, Gideon said softly, “Sleep. We only have another hour.”
There was absolutely no way she’d sleep after that. But it was warm, hot really, and dark, and her muscles were already relaxed. Melting into him she closed her eyes.
“You’re hard all over,” she whispered sleepily. She didn’t hear his reply.
A gentle hand shook her awake. So much for her internal alarm. She’d slept like the dead for what felt like thirty seconds. This time, he was leaning over her. Lifting a heavy arm, Riva stroked Gideon’s soft stubble. He brushed a brief kiss to her mouth. “Hmm.”
Pulling away from her urging hands, he clamped tight fingers around her wrist to hold her at bay. “I’m going outside to take a leak and reconnoiter.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “There’s hot water so you can wash up. Change your clothes. Eat a protein bar, drink some water. All your weapons are loaded, and there are several new boxes of ammo in your pack, plus water and more protein bars. The compass is on top of the supply box. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, head southwest toward—”
“I’m a trained operative, G
ideon.” Riva kept her voice as low as he’d done as she sat up. Still bare-breasted, her pants were around her knees and her hair was a wild tangle down her back. Good thing he couldn’t see her; she must look like the Wild Woman of Borneo. “Maza is still my directive.”
Unerringly he grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up, his fingers rough on her skin. He’d brushed his teeth, and his minty breath fanned her face. “Fuck your directive. Listen to me, Riva. I know Maza better than your intel does.” It was too damned dark to read any expression, but she didn’t need to see him to know what it was. Focused, intent. Deadly serious.
“If I’m not back in thirty, head directly to Santa de Porres. Follow the river down. One, maybe two days barring complications.
“Minimum supplies, maximum weaponry. Don’t collect two hundred, don’t fucking get caught. We have two factions on our asses. On your ass. Death will be the least of your problems should either capture you. You hear me? Meet up with your people. Come back for him, if you must. But not alone.”
“Where will y—”
“I’ll be back in thirty. If not, I’m dead.” He silenced her with a hard, deep kiss, then soundlessly melted away.
Riva wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knee. “Neat trick, Gideon Stark.”
Even though he wasn’t Sin Diaz, he had the smarts and the skills to be useful out there. She spared a moment to wonder where and why he’d acquired those skills; they didn’t go along with the millionaire playboy lifestyle. But the thought of him dying made her hesitant to involve him in the op. If it weren’t for the other visions she’d had of him, which told her he wasn’t going to die any time soon, she’d seriously thought of leaving him out of the op altogether.
Riva considered his order for a few moments. She now had seven days, maybe less. Get to Santa de Porres, connect with her team, and bring them back to find Maza.
Considered and rejected. The to-ing and fro-ing would eat up too much time.
The operatives already in Santa de Porres were well into their portion of the operation. They had contingency plans in place should the team in the jungle fail to make their rendezvous with Escobar Maza. Let them do their thing. She’d do hers.
Crawling out of the small tent, she used his thoughtfully provided hot water, chewed a protein bar as she dressed in clean, dry clothes, checked her weapons, broke down the camp, and departed the cavern in less than nine minutes.
“Now,” she whispered, adjusting her NVGs over her eyes, and stepping from the shelter of the mine entrance. “Let’s see what you’ve discovered, Mr. Stark.”
He hadn’t left much of a trail for her to follow. A bent leaf here, a flattened fern there. The man knew what he was doing, and had practically vanished into the jungle. She turned north, eyes scanning the underbrush. Riva had been trained by Jake Dolan, a fellow operative and a tracking expert. She added her own special psychic skill to the mix, something she couldn’t share or explain.
A feeling, an innate sense of where someone had passed, like an invisible trail. She was able to track almost anyone, whether it was through a castle ballroom or the deep jungles of Cosio. If there were any clues, she’d follow right on his heels. Watch Gideon’s back. From now on, where he went she’d be right beside him. No telling the little lady to stay home and darn his socks while he went off to fight the Bridge Trolls.
She was quite capable of handling Bridge Trolls on her own, but having him at her back would make things easier when it came to killing Maza.
No moon, and even if there had been, the night sky was blocked by dense tree canopy. It was blacker than Angélica Diaz’s heart, but Gideon wore a pair of bulky NVGs, which picked up the unblinking glowing eyes of small animals observing his passage. Not optimal conditions for indulging in deep thinking. Especially since he had to watch not only his back, but his front as well.
He pushed on, a small machete in his left hand, and a larger one slung over his shoulder with his AK-47. He hadn’t used the machete as he made a narrow path through the undergrowth and headed back in the direction of the ANLF camp.
No cutting a trail for anyone to follow. He was making as small a path for himself as possible.
The fog dampened his exposed skin and wet his clothing. In a few hours, it would turn to rain, obliterating his tracks and making it even harder for anyone to follow him. It would also make it harder for him to track anyone himself.
There was no damned way she’d wait for him for the full thirty minutes; he bet himself that the second he’d left her, she’d left the mine and was forging her way to the SYP camp alone, fool woman. He shook his head. He had to concentrate on what he was doing, not be distracted by thoughts of Riva. He tried to guesstimate who might have remained patrolling the area, and how many had returned to camp.
Shoving up the NVGs, he pressed a button on his watch to illuminate it, cupping the dial to block the light, and noted the time. The men who’d followed them had had time to return to camp by now. It would take them another half hour to get the men up, weapons assigned… He knew the drill.
He figured the men would be on his ass approximately four hours from—Now. Setting the timer on the watch, he turned off the illumination and paused for his eyes to readjust to the stygian darkness before drawing the NVGs down.
As soon as he verified that no one was in the general vicinity and could follow them to or from the mine, he’d return for Riva. Traveling down the river would be their best bet. They’d retrieve the small boat he had hidden, get downriver unseen by either faction, get her safely to her people in Santa de Porres.
Then he’d return to take out Maza while she and her people protected the members of the summit from harm. And when he was done with Maza, he’d deal with Angélica Diaz. Personally.
Neither side knew his real identity, of that he was sure. Maza had no reason to know. Angélica Diaz knew he wasn’t Sin Diaz, and his coming to the same realization was probably what had set her off. As it was, he figured she’d been trying to find out who he was, just in case he was worth good money. If she had known he was Gideon Stark, if indeed he was this Gideon Stark, he sure as hell wouldn’t be roaming free.
He’d be sitting in a holding cell behind the barracks right now, waiting for a ransom to be paid. And since he knew Mama, he’d be praying for death. He was damn sure her torture techniques would reach a new high in creativity with him. Both the ANLF and the SYP would like to get their hands on a prize like Gideon Stark. And while he didn’t know any more about the man Riva claimed him to be, if he was as well-connected and as wealthy as she’d implied, he was worth a shitload of money in ransom alone. Not to mention access to passwords and worldwide Internet access, if only he could remember. It was only a matter of time before everyone figured out who he really was.
He’d like to fucking know first.
Of course, that assumed there was anyone back in Wherever, USA, who gave a flying fuck if he was dead or alive to pay a ransom. That was the question. His brother had better have a damn good reason for leaving him in this godforsaken place.
Fuck.
Gideon stopped dead in his tracks.
For all he knew, the same brother who had left him there had refused to pay ransom. Seeing Gideon’s absence and death as a means to keep the wealth they’d acquired to himself. Even as he thought it, his gut told him he was wrong.
Maybe he was wrong, but he knew two things for certain: He’d never have left his brother in this godforsaken jungle, and so far, no one named Stark had come looking for him.
He reined in his suspicion about his brother. Best to fight the closest enemies first, and if he really was this Stark, and he did have a brother, that asshole was nowhere near.
All this damn speculation was useless. One thing at a time.
Right now, staying alive and undetected as they got the hell downriver was priority one.
Riva. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, and not only because the sex had been mind-blowing, and he’d like to re
peat it again and again, in a more relaxed setting. That was a given. He hated leaving her because she was a woman. That seemed wrong, he knew, because she was a well-trained field operative for this T-FLAC. But he knew that even a woman with deadly skills, one who had family support in these parts, was fair game. She did not. She was alone. Another reason to keep her around was that she claimed to know who he was. He wanted to see if he could mine her for more information.
Her goal was to kill Maza. An admirable goal and one he concurred with. That part was of interest, but what interested him more was something Riva Rimaldi also wanted to know. What the hell did Escobar Maza plan for the summit? Killing one or more members of the group meeting there? Killing them all? To what purpose?
Other delegates would be brought in. There were always other people. Or did he plan a mass kidnapping, with the intent of getting millions from their governments in ransom? He thought more about that and rejected it; the logistics of getting them, hiding them, and dealing with multiple payments made it a poor choice. Death and destruction was so much easier.
And what was the plan?
Sniper? Bomb? Neither were out of the question.
For now, he planned to make a two-click circle around the mine, checking to make sure that no one had followed them, that men weren’t waiting to ambush them when they left the mine.
Half a mile from where the earlier skirmish had taken place, he smelled spearmint. Geosue and his ubiquitous chewing gum. Asshole. He’d warned him countless times that the telltale smell would get him killed one day.
Today was that day.
Adjusting his weapons, Gideon carefully set each step as he closed in, getting near enough to hear the soft susurrus of the men’s voices. Now the question was whether they were ANLF or Maza’s men.
Three members of the ANLF. Cesar, Vincente, and Geosue stood in a small clearing. The three men were usually together, causing more trouble together than separately. While not the brightest ANLF bulbs, they took direction well. All three of them were like pointing an Uzi at a target and opening fire. Their MO was mass carnage. Case in point, the slaughter of that small group of SYP soldiers who were merely boozing it up with a few local putas.