by Beth Ciotta
After that scare, he expected her to argue? “Good.”
“I’m in no mood to sleep on the floor or in a chair.”
“It’s a queen-size bed,” River said. “We’re adults.” They could keep their hands to themselves. They could honor that no-kissing pact. Right?
She sat. He stood. They stared.
Her mind rewound and replayed the past few days. Spenser had saved her from one crisis or another, no less than five times. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re thinking I’m not cut out for a trek into the Llanganatis. You think I’ll wimp out.”
“I think you’ll tough it out.”
She blinked. “You do?”
Spenser crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. He looked a little drunk, a lot frustrated and unbelievably gorgeous. She tried to imagine David, here, now. Tried shifting her lustful thoughts and desires to the man she supposedly loved.
She couldn’t.
“I have it on good authority that your dad kept disappearing up Cerro Hermoso,” Spenser said. “That’s a fifteen-thousand-foot volcano in the Llanganatis, the rumored burial grounds of that legendary treasure we talked about. We’ll have to hike for two or three days to get there. You’ll have to endure altitude sickness, rain, sleet, earthquakes and fog so thick you won’t know up from down, let alone left from right. Parts of the cloud forest are so dense and gnarled, we’ll need a machete to cut through.
There are bugs. Lots of bugs. At fourteen thousand feet we’ll hit high Andean plateau country. The páramo is famous for its quaking bogs.” He lifted a brow. “Marsh and mud. Andean quicksand. Still want me to take you?”
In more ways than one.
Good Lord. She’d just had a hair-raising fright and all she could think about was jumping Spenser’s bones. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Babbling wouldn’t do. She nodded.
“Just as I thought.” He pushed off the door and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re riddled with phobias, yet you’re willing to face your fears to find a man you don’t even like!” River tensed. David lurked in the back of her brain, lamenting her quirks. “I’m sorry if that’s annoying.”
“It’s not annoying, dammit. It’s impressive. Christ.”
His warped compliment warmed River more than the mushiest Hallmark card on the planet. She didn’t protest when Spenser shot forward and pulled her into his arms. Didn’t struggle when he kissed her—
hard, deep and much too brief.
He backed away, jammed a hand through his hair. “Shit.”
“The agreement,” she rasped, her mind whirling from the taste of him, the feel of him. She wanted to take back that no-kissing pledge. She wanted another kiss, a longer kiss. She wanted…
“I know. I slipped. I’m not perfect, but I’m honorable.” He blew out a breath. “Won’t happen again.” The disappointment was crushing. In the split second that River mentally scrambled, wondering how to address her sudden and crushing need for intimacy, Spenser pulled farther away.
“We’ll leave at dawn,” he said, double-checking the door and windows. “It’s late and today was relentless. We should turn in.”
She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with this man, to rip off his clothes, to ravage his mouth, to… “Spenser—”
“Forget what I said before. I’ll take the floor.”
She grappled for a way to ease the tension, a safe topic that would keep him from shutting down. The map. She needed to show him the map. The map hidden in her pillowcase along with the letter and amulet. They could lie in bed and discuss a plan. “I need to tell you what I remember of Henry’s journal.”
“And I need to hear it. But with a clear head. I need to sleep off this fucking buzz. Right now all I can think about is stripping you naked and kissing every inch of your sweet body.” River’s mouth fell open.
“I know. You’re in love with David.” He untied and toed off his hiking boots. “I’m going to take a long shower. Go to bed, angel, and don’t worry. Remember.” He quirked a self-deprecating smile. “Old-fashioned sensibilities.”
She stood there dumbstruck, lust-struck. She glanced at the bed, thought about joining him on the floor. How was she going to control her erotic urges?
“Don’t worry about the lack of netting,” he said, misinterpreting her anxiety. “You’ve been taking primaquine tablets, right?”
“Yes, but, they’re in the hands of the bandits now. I took one this morning as scheduled, but tomorrow…” Why had he reminded her?
He moved to the four boxes stacked by the door. Someone had brought them up earlier, but she figured they were Spenser’s personal hiking supplies. She was surprised when he rooted through and handed her a month’s supply of antimalarial medicine and… “You bought me Skin So Soft Bug Guard?”
“Also a few bottles of the local version of Purell and some other supplies—clothes, toiletries.” Tears burned her eyes. Instead of making fun of her obsessions, he’d supplied her with the means to ease them. Earlier today he’d loaned her his GPS. “That was really thoughtful, Spenser. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He brushed her curls from her face, focused on her mouth, then turned abruptly and disappeared into the bathroom.
“He bought me bug spray and hand sanitizer,” she whispered, in dreamy-eyed awe. She’d never been more touched or turned on in her life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GATOR HATED THAT WOMAN.
She’d woken up before he’d been able to knock her out with chloroform. She’d blinded him with some damned flash, causing him to bash his forehead when he’d fallen. Dizzy and seeing spots, he’d slipped while escaping out the window, twisted his ankle in a second fall and intensified his injuries while running for his fucking life.
If he’d had his way, he would’ve lunged and killed her before she’d screamed. Permanently silenced, he could’ve searched her room at length. Searched her. He could’ve found the second half of the map.
But Gator was fond of his Johnson, and The Conquistador’s threat to cut it off stil rang in his ears.
Gator cursed the crazy-ass bastard as he limped toward his hidden truck. “Like he needed another obsession.”
Con had first laid eyes on River Kane the night before in Baños. He’d been lurking in the shadows of that dive bar while Gator had been searching her hotel room. He’d fallen instantly in love or in lust, some sort of morbid fascination. “When the time is right,” he’d said, “River Kane is mine.” Gator didn’t get the attraction. The woman was a loon. Maybe that was it. Like attracts like. Or maybe it was the rivalry Gator had sensed between Con and McGraw. Maybe Con wanted her only because McGraw had her. All Gator knew for certain was that blondie was a pain in his head, neck, ankle and ass.
Hurting all over, he sat in his truck, surrounded by darkness and his own black thoughts. Sutherland had given him a black eye. The Conquistador had bruised his throat and broken his nose. Now, thanks to blondie, he had a deep gash in his forehead and a sprained ankle. Swearing, he found his blessed tube of muscle-easing salve and coated his neck and ankle. Then he pulled a first-aid kit from under the battered seat and dug out the gauze and tape. At this rate he’d look like a friggin’ mummy by week’s end. That was if he was alive by week’s end.
Minutes later he ditched the medical kit and snagged his satellite phone. He dreaded making this call, but it was safer than admitting failure face-to-face.
“Did you get it?”
He was beginning to hate that question. He detested his answer even more. “No, boss.” Gator explained what had gone down. He half expected Con to reach across the miles and strangle him.
Instead of cursing or yelling, Con spoke in a quiet, deliberate voice—which was somehow worse. “I want the second half of that map.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t just use the clues in that journal,” Gator blurted out in frustration.
Con had scoured that old book for an ho
ur while waiting for his source to call back with River’s whereabouts. “You said there were clues.”
“I also pointed out they’re written in code, you fuckwit. Only helps if I can decipher them. I’m working on that. Meanwhile, McGraw has the lead.”
“But you have the first half of the map.”
“McGraw won’t need the first half. I don’t need the first half. It’s merely a shortcut.”
“Alberto said whatever the professor found was on Cerro Hermoso. Can’t we—”
“Do you know how fucking big that fucking volcano is? Do you want a slice of eight fucking billion U.S.
dollars? Get me the fucking map.” The man disconnected.
Gator’s head throbbed, his ankle screamed. He unscrewed the quart of whiskey he’d taken from Con’s stash and drank from the bottle. He didn’t want just a slice of the treasure, he wanted the whole pie.
He’d get the fucking map.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SPENSER WAS IN THE SHOWER stall, hands braced on the slick tiles, head dipped, wishing the hot water could wash away his sins—those committed and those in his soul—when the glass door slid open.
“I can’t go to sleep with bug cooties. I have to shower.”
He glanced over his shoulder, saw River—naked, arms crossed self-consciously over her bare breasts.
Oh, hell.
Send her away.
His hesitation caused her to blush. She’d put herself out there, risked rejection, humiliation. She wanted to act on the attraction she’d been fighting since the moment they’d met. She was torn about a lot of things, but not this. He could read her every thought in those expressive green eyes. This second she was feeling exposed in more ways than one.
He grasped her wrist and pulled her inside the cramped stall. A dozen pornographic thoughts crossed his mind. A hundred romantic thoughts tortured his soul.
She raised her face to the spigot, soaked her golden hair.
He could stare at her for eons. So pale. So pretty. Usually he went for the buxom, voluptuous type, but River’s delicately boned body was a smoking hot turn-on.
Spenser’s mind raced, his conscience twinged. He wanted this, but he didn’t. He squeezed liquid soap into his palms, admiring her toned curves before pressing his front to her back. The sensation of skin on skin intensified his already burning need. Surely she felt his hard-on pulsing against her lush ass, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t bolt.
Oh, hell.
His heart pounded as he soaped her arms, her breasts. Small. Round. Firm. Perfect. His thumbs grazed her pebbled nipples.
She gasped. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she whispered as he soaped her taut belly.
His fingers ached to slide south, but he heard the hesitation in her voice, felt the tension in her body.
She wanted this, but she didn’t. Spenser stilled. “In spite of what I said this afternoon, about not refusing sex the next time you offered—”
She turned in his arms, wet, naked and so goddamned pretty it made his chest hurt. She slaked water from her face and nailed him with those earnest green eyes. “I know what you’re thinking.” He was thinking he wanted to bury himself between her beautiful legs for a month.
“You’re thinking I was jilted. I’m vulnerable. You’re thinking I’m sheltered. Conservative. You’re thinking I had a roller coaster day, that I’m not myself and that I’ll regret this in the morning.”
“There is that.”
“I’m thinking of this as a damage control.”
His lip twitched. “How so?”
“You were right. There is something between us,” she said. “Some spark. I’ve never felt anything like it.
You don’t want it. I don’t want it. Maybe if we act on it, it’ll go away.”
“Scratch the itch?”
“Sort of. If we don’t act, the itch will only get worse.
Instead of concentrating on the rugged terrain we’ll be distracted by sexual tension. If we’re distracted, there’s a chance one of us will mess up and get hurt.”
He smiled down at that angelic face. “Logical, but…” He trailed off as she squirted soap into her palms then lathered his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. The feel of her hands—caressing, exploring—
ignited his blood. He groaned when she wrapped her soapy fingers around his rock-hard shaft. “What are you doing?”
“Taking the lead.” She was staring at his cock like shiny new bling, or maybe she was simply avoiding his gaze. “You said you like being dominant, but that it’s a turn-on when the woman takes control,” she rambled as she stroked. “You said—”
“You talk too much when you’re nervous.”
She glanced up, desire sparking hot in her eyes. “Then shut me up.” He kissed her with the passion of a star-crossed lover. One hand cradled her face while the other slid over her slick back, the swell of her hip, the curve of her ass.
She let go of his cock in order to press her length against him. She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, infused their kiss with a torrid passion that torched his brain cells.
The water pounded. The steam swirled.
He broke the kiss, desperate to suckle her breasts, to taste her folds.
“Show me some of your tricks,” she whispered.
“Looking to spice things up, angel?”
“Yes.”
“Ever made love in the shower?”
“Never.”
He was so hot for this woman, he couldn’t think straight. He’d blame the tequila, but this was lust. Lust infused with love. He kissed her again, then maneuvered her around. He wanted to obliterate that bastard ex-fiancé from her mind. He wanted to give her sex like she’d never had it before. He placed her hands on the tiles, kissed the back of her neck, then nipped her earlobe. “Do you want it slow or fast?”
“I…I don’t know.”
He squeezed her nipples, rolled and plucked. “Sweet torturous foreplay?” He abandoned her breasts, slid his hand between her legs and probed her wetness. “Or instant gratification?” She moaned. “Fast,” she said. “This time.”
Implying this was going to be a long night or maybe the first of many. “You’re killing me, hon.”
“Please don’t bite the dust before I get my instant gratification.” He smiled at that. Angel and devil rolled into one. He angled her body and thrust deep from behind.
He absorbed her lusty groan, savored her tightness.
Oh, hell.
His body pulsed with a heady rush. Being inside River was more thrilling than discovering an ancient relic. Blindsided, he spoke close to her ear before taking her fast and furious. “This one’s for you, River.
Slow will be for me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She was walking down the aisle. He was standing at the altar. He looked besotted. Her own heart fluttered.
She was smitten, too. A lifetime of incredible sex. A lifetime with Spenser. She was giddy with excitement. Brimming with love. Burning with lust.
But then he was gone. He had a show to shoot. Myths to debunk. Treasures to discover.
“If those mountains don’t kill you, they’ll make you go mad.” The curse.
Bovedine gone. Mel gone. Henry gone. Spenser…
“No!” River’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded.
“Easy.” Spenser pulled her into his arms. He pushed damp curls from her face and kissed her forehead.
She clawed through the mental cobwebs, willed her pulse steady.
“Bad dream?”
“Didn’t start off that way,” she whispered against his chest.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” She thought about how thrilled she’d been at the prospect of marrying him. As if that could or would ever happen. “Sorry I woke you.”
“I never drifted off. Not completely. You, on the other hand—”
“I was exhausted. Between the roller coaster day and our nocturnal gymnastics…” He laugh
ed.
“I had no idea I could bend into so many positions.”
“A pleasant discovery on both our parts.”
She flushed thinking about al the ways they’d made love. And with the lights on! After making her come in the shower, he’d toweled her dry, laid her on the bed then kissed, licked and savored every inch of her body. Sweet torturous foreplay. She’d lost count of her orgasms, but she remembered all the positions. She remembered all his sexy, dirty talk and the besotted expression on his face when he’d finally allowed himself to peak. She remembered falling asleep in his arms and dreading the morning.