by Ann Charles
He led the way.
When they were zipped inside, she made sure to keep a safe distance between them. “Okay, tell me how we can get it unstuck.” She kept her voice low to be safe.
“We use a bar with a rope tied around it.”
“I don’t follow.”
He hung his towel from a hook on one of the tent poles. “We’ll need to chisel out about two to three feet of the floor in front of the block in order to remove that lip and make the floor level with the surface under the block. Then we’ll shove the bar through that hole we made today and pull the block out using the rope.”
She cocked her head to the side, weighing his idea. “I think we have some pieces of rebar left over from a project years ago. It’s behind the Temple of the Crow. Maybe there’s a piece small enough to use for this.”
He leaned against the pole with his towel hung on it. “Rebar would work perfectly. It’s strong, and the texture of it would help the rope stay in place when we shove the bar through.”
“All right then.” She unzipped the tent flap, needing to leave his tent before she licked something more than her dry lips. “We have a plan. Meet me tomorrow at six outside the mess tent. We’ll get an early start on this.”
He followed her outside. “Where’s the fire?”
“No fire.” She cleared her throat, trying to get that telling husky sound out of her voice. “I feel dirty and gritty is all. Seeing you fresh from the shower makes me want to go take one myself.”
“You need any help?”
He must have been reading her mind.
Her body hummed at the thought of him joining her. But sex with Quint would lead to nothing but trouble, not to mention that her father, pseudo big brother, and ex-husband were all within hearing distance of the shower.
She hid her hankerings behind a lightweight smile. “Nice try, Parker. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She felt his gaze on her as she returned to her tent. When she stepped back outside with her towel and some clean clothes in hand, he was gone, his tent zipped up tight.
Showering in the dark usually didn’t bother her, but with all of the attacks on her crew lately, she didn’t linger.
Her thoughts returned to Quint as she stepped into her underwear. He’d worked hard today without complaint, not even as the day wore on and the heat climbed inside the temple to a melting point. She pulled on the tank top she slept in, the cotton soft on her skin now cooled from the cold water she’d used to rinse off.
Not a single grumble as he worked, she mused as she towel dried her hair. And tonight he was still trying to help her, even willing to return tomorrow and sweat his ass off again. Why? What would make him go back into what she’d heard him previously refer to as a hell hole and death trap?
She wrapped the towel around her waist and slid into her shower flip-flops, combing her hair with her fingers. As she walked in the dark back to her tent, she ruminated about his quickness to laugh, her eagerness to share her hopes and ideas about this place with him.
When she drew near his tent, she slowed, listening for any sounds coming from inside.
His cot creaked.
Papers rustled.
Her feet came to a stop in front of his door flap.
Don’t be an idiot, the logical voice in her head said. He’s a crewmember. Off limits. End of story.
But what if he was something more? She opened her mouth to say his name, but then pinched her lips together.
You take this step and there’s no going back, the voice warned. It can’t be undone.
She looked over at her tent, knowing what waited for her inside of those canvas walls. It was the same thing that waited for her every night while she lay awake, alone in that cot, fretting about her dad’s health, her mom’s reputation, her future, and those unfulfilled dreams for something more.
Your father is just across the way, right next to your ex-husband. Besides, what if he rejects you? How will you work with him tomorrow and the next day? You need his help more than his body.
She glanced around in the darkness, not seeing any movements, not hearing anything beyond the jungle’s regular nightly soundtrack.
Go back to your tent and bury your head in your work like usual. He’s not worth taking this risk.
Before the voice she’d listened to for so many long, lonely nights convinced her otherwise, she grabbed the zipper of his tent and opened it.
He looked up from where he lay on the cot reading from a notebook, his eyes wide in surprise. “What’s up?”
She unzipped the mesh bug flap and stepped inside.
Sitting up, he dropped the notebook on the floor on top of some yellowed newspaper clippings and a handwritten letter. “What’s wrong?”
She put her index finger to her lips, shushing him, and then zipped both flaps closed.
When she turned to face him, he was standing, his face lined with a mixture of concern and confusion. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “Did you hear something out there? Do you want me to go take a look?”
His feet were bare. So were his legs. He stood there in his black briefs, ready to go to battle for her if she yelled Charge! That was some heady shit.
She shushed him again with her finger against her lips.
Her gaze traveled to his shirtless chest, her eyes trailing along the ridges and plains partially hidden by a sprinkling of hair that arrowed south.
Raising her eyes to his, she dropped her towel on the floor. Before she could lose her nerve, she followed it with her tank top.
In the quiet of the night, she heard him suck his breath in through his teeth. His focus lowered, locking onto her bared skin for so long that she wondered if she’d made yet another mistake with a man. There’d be no living with that damned voice in her head now.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Angélica, there’s something I need to tell you before I get sidetracked.”
She shook her head, pretending to zip her lips closed. Then she held open her arms and waited.
“Sweet Jesus,” he said. His chest lifted and fell visibly. His face contorted, fists clenching, a battle apparently waging within.
Her nerve started to wane, uncertainty filling her.
“I tried,” he muttered to himself with a shake of his head. “Mark my words.” Then he was across the tent, yanking her against him, his lips coming down hard on hers.
His hunger matched hers kiss for kiss. She linked her arms around his neck, leaning into him, letting him hold her up. His hands were everywhere at once, skimming down along her chest to her waist, up to her neck, and then returning to slide over her hips. Squeezing, cupping, pulling her even closer.
Her heart pounded loud enough to wake the dead king in his tomb. It had been so long since she’d let a man close, reveled in his strength, his hardness.
She wanted him now, immediately, afraid if they took too long they’d be interrupted, or one of them would come to their senses. Hooking her thumbs in the waistline of his briefs, she tugged them down, pushing them to the floor.
The force of his kiss increased, nearly bending her backwards. His hand slid up her spine, holding the back of her neck as his tongue toyed with hers, teasing.
She trailed her nails along his hip bones, then forward, down. She explored with her fingers, and then gripped, squeezed, stroked. He groaned, clasping her wrist, stilling her hand.
Dragging his mouth away from hers, he searched her face, looking for something. She’d show him something all right. Stepping out of her panties, she held the piece of cotton and lace up for him to see.
That sparked him back to life. He threw her panties behind them. His eyes darkened until they looked almost black in the lantern light. He grunted, fierce and brutish. His mouth crushed hers, the beast taking over.
Succumbing, she writhed under his palms as his tongue tormented hers. This was what she had missed. The feeling of passion filling her up, drowning all other thoughts in her head, allowing her to escape.
&n
bsp; Quint’s mouth left hers, prowling down her neck. He backed her into the center tent pole, and then lifted her hands, wrapping them around the pole.
She grabbed onto it, understanding the game, licking her lips in anticipation as he dropped to his knees in front of her. Her heart raced as he stared up at her, his intentions crystal clear.
His mouth hovered over her flesh, his breath tickling, making her writhe.
The feel of his tongue on her skin almost sent her over the edge. Her head lolled back, eyes closing. Her need for him was so strong it throbbed.
His hands feathered up her legs. His beard stubble scratched her thighs, stomach, ribs.
Angélica’s breath came in short, hard gasps. She turned to liquid, ready for him since she’d stepped inside his tent.
His teeth grazed her hip.
A zing of lust left her aching. Her eyes flickered open, her brain struggling to grasp that this was really happening.
His tongue … Oh, his tongue!
She buried her fingers in his hair, holding him against her as he made her spiral faster and faster. His mouth grew bolder, his touch more intimate. Lifting one of her legs, he wrapped it around him, his palms searing her bare skin.
Quint … She swallowed a moan filled with his name. The ability to think beyond what he was doing to her was long gone.
And then she went over the edge, clutching his shoulders, her body pulsing with release.
He continued touching until she finished and then pulled her down onto her knees, too.
When she opened her mouth to gush over him, he put his finger over her lips, shushing her. His smile warmed her inside and out.
Two could play at this teasing game. She pushed him back onto the floor. He watched as she straddled his waist, his eyelids heavy with lust.
Leaning over him, she lowered her mouth to his, almost touching, but held back. Her breasts brushed over his skin. A spasm of need mixed with pain flitted across his features.
He clasped her hips, pushing her toward him, but she dodged. “Damn it, woman,” he growled.
She covered his mouth with her hand, shaking her head.
His fierce stare promised retribution.
She laughed without making a sound, teasing him with her body until his muscles were tight and sweat slicked his skin. Then she slid up his torso, nibbling her way up his neck, sucking on his earlobe.
His hands clutched her waist, his body bowing. When she pulled back, his eyes were wild with hunger.
Giving him a sultry smile, she slid down, taking all of him at once.
“Angélica.” Her name came out as a gasp. He held her still for a moment before tugging her down to him. “Wow,” he whispered against her lips and then kissed her senseless while moving inside of her, building a bone melting friction.
His mouth trailed down her neck, his tongue circling, making her arch into him. The feel of his teeth on her was the final straw, her body giving way, bliss melting her limbs.
As she stilled, his moves grew more frenzied, his muscles straining. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
“So don’t.”
He frowned. “We’re flying protection free here.”
It dawned on her why he was holding back. “I’ve got us covered.” She pushed him flat onto the floor and rocked against him several times, taking his hands in hers and moving them over her chest, playing, fondling.
That was all it took. He pulled free of her grip and locked onto her hips, his whole body bowing in pleasure.
When it was over, he collapsed flat on the floor again, a hitch in his breath.
“Damn, woman.” He rested his left arm behind his head, using it for a pillow, and smiled up at her.
“There.” She leaned over him, eye to eye. “You’ve been ‘wowed’ again, Quint Parker.”
“That was like a ‘wow’ times one hundred.” He toyed with a wavy tendril of auburn hair that hung down from her temple. “You are way better than my imagination.”
“I want to do that again.”
“I’m at your command, boss lady.”
“That’s more like it.” She shifted against him, but he didn’t move. “I thought you said you’re at my command.”
He chuckled. “Well, not right this moment.” He ran the back of his fingers down her breast. “Here I’d figured on trying to be satisfied with only getting to fondle your pink bra.”
“Been thinking about that bra, have you?”
“More like obsessing about it.”
She was glad their obsession was mutual. “Good. Maybe I’ll let you—”
The sound of his tent flap being slowly unzipped shut her up. She shot Quint a frown. He was already wearing one of his own.
Without a sound, she pushed to her feet, grabbed his towel from the pole, and tossed it to him. She picked up one of his folded T-shirts from the stack of boxes next to his cot and slipped it on over her head. The hem came to her mid-thighs.
If this were her father stopping by to smoke a cigar and chat, she was dead meat. She looked over at Quint, who was now standing securing the towel around his waist. Hell, she was dead meat no matter who it was.
Her gaze darted around looking for her panties. Quint’s notepad was at her feet. Where were they? She glanced at the slow moving zipper. Please don’t let it be her dad.
The sound of a snort came through the thin walls. Then a little snout poked through the bottom of the tent flap.
“Rover!” she said quietly, holding her heart. She dropped to her knees as he wiggled his whole body through the hole he’d made in the bottom of the flap.
Quint ran his hand down his face, relief lighting his expression as he watched the javelina limp-waddle to her.
She scratched Rover behind the ears, grinning as he circled, making a mess of Quint’s papers, sitting down on a newspaper photo of Jared’s and her engagement picture.
“You scared the …”
Hold the phone!
Her eyes zeroed in on the picture under Rover’s butt. She nudged him aside, the blood draining from her face as she registered that Quint had a newspaper copy of Jared’s and her engagement photo. She grabbed it, staring down at it as all kinds of questions stampeded through her brain. When she turned to Quint, all she could get out was, “What?”
He made a wincing grimace back. “There’s an explanation for that.”
“What,” she started again, managing to add “the fuck?” at the end this time.
“I tried to tell you this earlier, but you wouldn’t let me speak.”
“Tell me what?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s complicated.”
Her vision tunneled. She looked down at the other papers Rover had scattered about. Most were articles about Jared, his promotions, society shit, all of the crap she’d hated during their marriage. She picked up the notebook, flipping through it, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. The yearbook from Jared’s high school lay underneath it all. It didn’t take her PhD to realize those letters from Jeff Hughes had been about his father and that Quint’s real reason for being on her dig site probably had nothing to do with a goddamned article.
She slammed the notebook down. Her leg muscles shook when she got to her feet. “You lied to me!” she whispered harshly, keeping her voice down.
The last thing she needed right now was somebody to come running to see what was going down in Quint’s tent. If Jared showed up, it would be a regular Jerry Springer episode—sex, lies, and complications.
“Not exactly.”
“By omission.”
“I’m here to write an article.”
“Why else are you here, Quint Parker?” Before he could answer, she strode over to him shaking the copy of her engagement photo in his face. “How many goddamned times have I asked you that since you showed up? And every single time you lied to me.”
“I couldn’t tell you, especially when I first got here.”
“Why not?”
“You wou
ld have sent me packing.”
“You’re damned right I would have.” She covered her eyes. “Jesus, I wish to hell I had gone with my gut instinct and kicked your ass out of here from the start.” Damn her father for inviting Quint in the first place. “And now I’ve really messed shit up by having sex with you.” The logical voice in her head was doing the I-told-you-so dance at the moment. She shook her fist in the air, looking at the ceiling. “How could I be so stupid?”
“Having sex with me was stupid?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“You have me over a barrel now. Was that what you wanted from the start? Was all of this flirting with me, telling me how I needed you, a way to worm your way in deeper so you could blackmail me?”
“Whoa! You’re taking this in a completely wrong direction. What we have going on between us has nothing to do with my looking for clues to Dr. Hughes’ disappearance. We,” he pointed back and forth, “happened because I have a weakness for women in distress.”
Her jaw fell open.
“Wait,” he held up his hand. “That didn’t come out—”
“I’m a woman in distress? This was you being a good Samaritan? Oh, look, poor Angélica hasn’t had sex in years. She needs me to screw her brains out?”
“What? No! Christ, can’t you hear how nuts that sounds? You need to put crazy in the closet and bring Angélica back out so I can explain everything to her.”
He was right. She was out of control and she knew it. The pressure valve holding back her stress over the last few weeks had blown right off at the sight of that engagement picture, and ugly stuff was spraying out all over. She could feel it coating her, suffocating feelings Quint had brought to life in her. Turning away from him, she bit her knuckle, trying to stem the flow.
He touched her shoulder. “Please, listen. It’s not anything like what you’re cooking up in that big brain of yours.”
This was not good. She needed time to clear her head, cap the well of distrust and insecurities, figure out how to clean up the mess she’d made.
Pulling free of him, she walked over to his tent flap, unzipping it.