by Beth Ciotta
Now the first streaks of dawn permeated the bungalow. The last vestiges of sleep faded away.
As if reading her mind, Spenser smoothed a calloused palm down her bare arm. “Regrets?”
“No.” It was strange. She thought she’d feel guilty for betraying David. Even though he’d left her, he still owned her heart. Or so she’d thought. “But I am confused.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” She needed to sort through her feelings, her relationship with David. She needed to get a handle on what she felt for Spenser. Anything more meaningful than friendship or lust was dangerous. Even now, lying like this, talking like this, she was treading in risky territory.
Conscious of Spenser’s weighted stare, she eased back and met his gaze. “What?”
“Kylie said you were intensely private.”
She shrugged. She equated expressing her feelings with being shut out or shut down. There always seemed to be some adverse effect.
“I want to know what makes you tick, angel. How you developed so many phobias. I want to hear about your childhood. Your relationship with your parents.”
“I don’t talk about those things.”
“Why not?”
Her insides froze. “Because they make me feel bad. Do you like discussing things that make you feel bad? What happened on your last trek into the Llanganatis? Mel said you were crippled with guilt.
Why? What did Lana mean when she said she’s glad you’ve put the past behind you? What’s behind your love-hate relationship with Baños?”
Spenser dragged a hand over his face. “You’re right. No thrill in discussing painful topics. On the other hand, keeping all that angst inside sucks, too. The hurt, the regret, frustration, bitterness, guilt, shame—whatever—it just…festers. I’ve been living with a mountain of angst for a long time, River. I want to move on.”
She rose up on one elbow and stared down at the insanely bewildering man beside her. “Are you for real?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that you’re this macho, thrill-seeking adventurer. A textbook alpha male. The provider. The protector. Yet you say the mushiest things. Mr. Sensitive. Mr. Insightful. I don’t get you, Spenser McGraw. You’re an enigma.”
“You mean, like you?” He winked. “Makes us an interesting match.” She flashed on her good-dream-turned-nightmare. “We’re an awful match.”
“Why?”
“I could name a dozen reasons.”
“Name one.”
“I can’t live your life.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I need stability. I need order. I need—”
“Show me the shots.”
“What?”
“Yesterday in the canopy. I was worried about your safety and you were snapping pictures of monkeys.”
“It wasn’t just the monkeys. That high up, beyond the canopy, I could see what I thought was a snow-topped volcano.”
“Cerro Hermoso”
“I just…I was mesmerized. It looked so far, but near. So forbidding, yet surreal. Henry’s there, I thought.
There. But where? It’s so…”
“Massive.”
“Yes. And—”
“We’ll find him.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
He stroked her cheek. “We’ll give it our best shot. Speaking of shots…”
“Oh, all right.” Heart pounding, River nabbed her Nikon from the bedside table. She dreaded sharing those photos with Spenser. Silly, since she shared her work with people all the time. Silly, because she was used to her work being judged. Except this wasn’t her normal work. Monkeys versus people.
Volcanoes versus wedding cakes. Photographing in the wild…she was out of her element, her comfort zone.
“I promise I won’t break it.”
River started. “What?”
Spenser grinned. “You’ve got a death grip on that camera. Hard for me to see the three-inch screen when you’ve got it pressed to your chest.”
“It’s just that they’re crude, untouched, I mean. I haven’t had a chance to—” Spenser pried the Nikon from her grip, powered on. Obviously, he had some knowledge of digital cameras.
“Use this button to scroll forward and back. And this one to zoom in and out.” River scooted closer so she could see what he saw. Lying on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, heads angled together…naked.
She’d certainly never viewed photos like this with Ella. “I should have framed that one differently,” she said, frowning at the shot of four… “What kind of monkeys are those anyway? Do you know?”
“Squirrel monkeys. Unusual to see an isolated few. They usually roam the treetops in troops of twenty to a hundred. Interesting shot. Intimate. And you framed it just fine.” He scrolled back, an action shot of zip-lining from her point of view, the jungle canopy a green blur, the tips of her trekking boots… Criminy. “I was trying to capture the feeling of well, flying, only I didn’t set the shutter speed right and…”
“Shhh.”
River lay still, pulse racing as Spenser studied the pictures she’d taken over the last two days. Pictures she’d snapped through the window of the speeding bus, shots of volcanoes, waterfalls and tropical birds. Shots of Baños—the architecture and the surrounding mountains. As a professional, she found fault with each picture, but that didn’t diminish the wonder every scenic photo inspired. With a little tweaking, some retouching and…
“Whoa.”
River blinked at the monitor, smiled. “Oh. That’s Carla Aubry. Or rather her thigh. She and her husband were bawdy newlyweds, a lot of fun, actually. I thought they’d appreciate a close-up of Richard sliding the garter, well…you can see.”
“Uh-huh.” Spenser grinned. “Sexy.” He scrolled through a few more of the wedding shots she’d yet to delete. “I can see why my sister and Jack hired you to shoot their wedding. Kylie didn’t want you just because you’re a friend.” He glanced at her with bald appreciation. “You’re a skilled photographer, River.”
Her cheeks burned, her heart fluttered. “Thank you.”
“You have an artistic flair with people, but…”
“What?”
He set the camera on his bedside table. “I like the nature shots even better.” She blinked. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.” He brushed a thumb over her red-hot cheeks. “You’re right. Those jungle shots are crude, as in raw, as in passionate. Are you happy being a wedding photographer?” Another uncomfortable subject because, no, she wasn’t. Not completely. But it offered stability and she was good at it. “I’m good with people. I tune in to their personalities and that enables me to recognize the perfect photo op. Take now, for instance. You.” She reached over Spenser, grabbed her camera, then scooted to the edge of the bed.
He rolled on his side, propped up on one elbow, and raised a questioning, sexy brow. His heated gaze slid over her body.
She didn’t care that she was naked. The point was Spenser was naked. And he looked…incredible. Yes, she wanted to distract him from a conversation she didn’t want to have, but also… She looked through the view-finder and focused…. “I’ve ached to do this ever since I first saw you at the airport in Quito.” He cocked an ornery grin. “I’m not going to find these posted on the Internet, am I?” he asked as she snapped a shot of his ripped torso.
“Don’t insult me.” River continued to snap away, various angles and compositions. Her artistic eye skimmed the hard planes and contours of his chiseled abdomen and chest, his broad shoulders, smooth back and muscled arms. His stubbled jaw, mussed hair, the twinkle in his beautiful green eyes.
She felt a sensual pulse between her legs and, geez, he was only exposed from the hips up. Inspired, she flung away the sheets, revealing his sculpted thighs and… “Oh.”
“Mmm.”
He had a hard-on. A massive hard-on.
Her stomach coiled tight. Her inner thighs tingled. River licked dry lips and snapped a f
ully nude shot of an incredibly virile man.
Click. Click. Click.
“You could probably fetch a pretty penny for these from Playgirl,” Spenser teased in a gruff, low voice.
“I’m a celebrity, you know.”
“So I hear.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen my show.”
“Don’t take it personally.”
He smiled. “By my estimation you’ve taken two dozen shots in less than three minutes.”
“I’ll delete them if you want,” she said, feeling a little guilty and a lot horny.
“No. I like the idea of you ogling naked pictures of me.” He winked then and relieved her of the camera. “Are you as turned on as me?”
“Incredibly turned on.”
Spenser rolled on top of her and covered her mouth with his own. His tongue swept inside, igniting her passion. His hands caressed her naked curves, stoking intimate desires. His kisses were intoxicating. His touch lethal. She could easily imagine becoming addicted to this man, his macho antics and sensitive musings.
She could easily imagine him breaking her heart.
Take control!
River bent her leg, used leverage to flip their position. She took the lead, nabbed a condom packet from the nightstand and tore it open. They’d slipped up the first time last night, in the shower.
Unprotected sex in the heat of the moment. Spenser had been quick to address that, and luckily he had an ample supply of Trojans.
“Sweet torturous foreplay?” he asked as she dallied.
She gave him the exact opposite. She straddled his erection and rode him hard. He gripped her waist, groaned his pleasure. Her muscles tensed and quivered. She was flying, soaring, in control, out of control. He rose up, rammed deep and she screamed her release. Limbs melting, lungs burning, River slumped on top of the thrill-seeking treasure hunter.
Beware of the hunters.
Dammit.
Spenser stroked a hand down her back and then, again, reversed their position. “My turn.” She expected one of those explosive episodes, like in the shower. Like what she’d just done to him. But Spenser took it slow and deep. By the time he brought her to her second orgasm, she couldn’t form a coherent thought. By the time he climaxed, she was nearly comatose. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly, and she nearly wept for the beauty of the moment. “Damn you,” she whispered.
“You’re an adventurer, River.”
“Maybe a long time ago.”
“It’s still there. The fire. The curiosity.”
He said things she longed to hear, but the timing…the timing was terribly wrong. She framed his face with her hands. “Listen to me. I have a plan, a mission. Rescue Henry from whatever mess he’s in, then hash out our past issues. Closure. I’m here for closure. With Henry. With David. I want to move on, too, Spenser. But I have to do it in my world. I have a business. A…house.” She started to say a life, but she wasn’t all that nuts about what she’d be going back to. At least it’s stable. Safe.
He raised a brow. “So you’re telling me I’m moving too fast? Crank it down a notch?” She gawked, then laughed. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“That’s right. You’ve never watched my show.”
“That really bugs you, doesn’t it?”
“Actually…no.” He flashed a devastating smile. “But it does put you at a disadvantage.”
“How so?”
“Hundreds of thousands, no, millions of viewers, unlike you, know what makes me tick.” She smirked. “Enlighten me. Short version, please.”
“I’ve searched for the Holy Grail, Excalibur, Montezuma’s treasure, Black Beard’s treasure, the Ark of the Covenant and the Seven Cities of Cibola. Some of them twice. One of these days I’ll shout, eureka!
It’s all in working the puzzle, unraveling the mystery. You’re looking at a man who believes in infinite possibilities, angel.”
River stared up in him in awe, grappled for a response and failed.
“I’ll make you a deal. You tell me about your past and I’ll reciprocate. We’ll be trekking through the wilderness for a few days. It’ll help pass the time and maybe help us both in our quest to move on.” She wanted very badly to know what haunted this man, enough to share her own baggage. Maybe it would help to uncork all the angst she’d bottled up over the years and, besides, it would keep her from obsessing on her phobias and Henry’s well-being. She skimmed a thumb over Spenser’s stubbled jaw, smiled. “You’ll stop me if it gets boring, right?”
Green eyes dancing, he planted a quick kiss to her lips then hustled into the bathroom. “Time to attack the day,” he called out. “I need to question you about your dad’s journal. It would’ve contained clues to his exact location. Without it—”
“It’s okay. I have a map. Or at least half of one.”
That brought him back bedside.
She didn’t know what to make of his expression, but the full frontal she liked. As for her own nudity…
She reached over the bed and grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find. One of Spenser’s Tshirts. Awfully assuming to pull it on, but at least it would cover a good portion of her body. Having a drawn-out business conversation in the buff was beyond her comfort zone.
“I ripped it out of Henry’s journal,” she explained.
“Yesterday morning, after I heard you on the phone, before Mel picked me up. I had trust issues. I was anxious about the journey ahead. I thought it might be best to redistribute my valuables. Most everything was in my sling pack. Money, credit cards, travel documents, the journal. What if I lost my sling? What if someone stole it? So I divided everything between the sling, my camera bag and my duffel. Fat lot of good that did. I didn’t anticipate bandits stealing all my belongings.” His silence made her nervous. Instead of biting her fingernails or pacing, she bolted to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Instead of panicking, she could hear Grandpa Franklin say, do something constructive.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she called. “It’s sacrilegious, tearing a page out of an archaeologist’s documented studies.”
“I’m thinking you’re full of surprises.” Mouth foaming with toothpaste, she glanced up and saw Spenser standing on the threshold in all his naked glory. The man didn’t have a self-conscious bone in his glorious, muscle-ripped body. Tearing her eyes from his most impressive physical attribute, she rinsed and spit. “It’s just…I thought, what if I lost the journal or some one stole it? Then I’d have no hope of finding Henry. It was a spontaneous decision. I tore out the map and hid it on my person.”
“Half the map,” he said, moving in beside her and nabbing his own toothbrush.
“That’s all there was. The preceding page was torn out. I think maybe, I have reason to believe, Henry mailed that portion to Professor Bovedine.”
Spenser rinsed and spit, then reached in the shower and turned it on. “Who’s Professor Bovedine?”
“He’s… What are you doing?” she asked as he tugged his T-shirt up and over her head.
“We smell like sex, angel. You want to say goodbye to Lana and Duke and hello to Cyrus Lassiter smelling like—”
“Point taken.” Cheeks burning, she stepped into the shower ahead of him. “Who’s Cyrus Lassiter?”
“Tell me about Bovedine.”
“Professor Paul Bovedine. Archaeologist and staff member at Cornell University,” River said as they soaped each other’s bodies. “He was one of Henry’s oldest friends.”
“Was?”
She swallowed an emotional lump. “He died five…or was it six days ago? I’ve lost track of time. Victim of a random botched burglary, although I’m not sure it was random or botched.”
“What do you mean?”
River scratched shampoo through her hair, marveling that they were having this conversation while showering together. It was weird in a wonderful sort of way. She’d never been this casually intimate with David. “Professor Bovedine received a package from my father t
he day before I received mine.
The package, and whatever was inside, is missing. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t shake the feeling that whoever broke into Bovedine’s house specifically wanted that package. Bad enough to kill for it.” She glanced over her shoulder at Spenser. “Crazy, huh? How would they know the contents? How would they trace the package from South America to upstate New York?”
“Lots of people, particularly in this region, knew about your dad’s expedition,” Spenser said as he helped her rinse away the suds. “He’d hired several local guides. Over the course of a few months, most got ill or had accidents. All died but one.” He shut off the faucet. “Two were murdered.” River shivered. What have you gotten yourself into, Henry?