His arm tightened reflexively and he cleared his throat. He’d never told anyone the story behind his name, but for some reason—maybe the intimacy of their predicament—he wanted to tell Belinda. He stared out into the blackness, but the images he saw in his mind were clear as day. Memories. A childhood no kid should experience.
“My mom was a street worker.” His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. “A hooker.”
Belinda stopped playing with the hair on his chest and wrapped her arm around him, holding him tight.
“She was young,” he said, “a teenager, when she had me. I don’t know how long she’d been on the street before I was born. Her name was Ria Green. I always thought that was the wrong name for a hooker, but she never went by anything else. I don’t know where her family came from, or where she grew up. She rented a room in a run-down building not far from the boardwalk in Atlantic City. The woman who owned the boarding house, Miss Mabel, was about five hundred years old, smoked a pipe all day long and would look out for me while Ria worked the alleys around the casinos. We were there until I was seven. I pretty much raised myself.”
He didn’t bother describing the overwhelming loneliness of those years. The clawing hunger. The constant fear. Belinda didn’t need to know any of it. He cleared his throat. “One day, Ria went to work and never came home.”
He fell silent, seeing images from those years flash through his mind, like a movie montage: Miss Mabel, with skin the colour of liquorice, opening the door to his room and calling out to ask if he was okay before she went back to her daytime soaps; him stealing food from the grocery store, and hiding terrified in a closet because Ria had brought one of her clients home; trying to shake his mother awake when she was high on crack and lying in her own vomit…
“What happened to her?” Belinda’s soft question snapped him back to the present.
“She OD’d.”
Belinda stroked his chest as though to soothe him. He didn’t need it. It had happened a lifetime ago. He barely remembered her.
“What happened to you?”
“Foster care.” He’d wanted to stay with Miss Mabel, had begged, but she hadn’t wanted him any more than his mother had.
“You don’t need to tell me anything else,” Belinda said, as though she somehow knew how truly crappy things had been.
But Beast had started now, and somehow that made it easier to go on. “Ria didn’t know who my father was. She thought he might have been a Mexican-American guy who used her often during the right time frame.”
“That’s why she called you Garcia?”
“Not quite.” He felt the words solidify in his throat. The full, ugly truth about his start in life. The truth he carried with him every day. The one his mother had been kind enough to put on his birth certificate to remind him. “My full name is A. John Garcia,” Beast said.
Belinda gasped, and he knew she got it straight away.
“Yeah, she named me after my father—a john. And she used Garcia because she thought it sounded like gracias. It was sarcastic. She liked to laugh about it. A final thank you to the unknown man for his unwelcome gift.”
Belinda held him tight. “That was unbelievably cruel.”
That made him smile. Belinda Collins, darling of Hollywood, was outraged for him—a bastard mutt from the wrong side of the tracks. Who would have thought?
“I know she was your mum, Beast, but if she were here right now, I would be sorely tempted to slap her.”
He couldn’t help it. The thought of the delicate British celebrity taking on his street-toughened mother was just plain funny. He let out a bark of laughter that surprised them both and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her over his chest.
“She would have eaten you alive, Hollywood.”
“Not before I got a good smack in. Your mother was an irresponsible…terrible…person.”
He laughed again. “You can say bitch. Trust me, I get it.”
She stilled then reached up to cup his cheek. “I wish it had been different for you. I wish you could hear the name John and feel pride, because when I think of you as John, I think of a strong, honourable, accomplished, sexy man. It’s the name of presidents, of apostles, of musicians and actors. It’s an amazing name. And you fit it. If I were you, I’d claim the John and make it yours. Then I’d punch anyone who didn’t use it.”
Beast laughed again and pressed a kiss to her hair. “You think I’m sexy?”
She huffed. “That was your takeaway?”
“You think I’m sexy.” He grinned against her hair.
“I also think you’re annoying. Focus on that.”
“Belinda Collins, world-famous actress who’s worked with some of the sexiest men alive, thinks little old me is sexy.”
She pushed back from him with a frustrated grunt. “Trust me. On my list of sexy men, you are right at the bottom.”
“But I’m on the list,” he said smugly.
“I’m going to sleep, John.”
For once, the name didn’t make him angry. Instead, it made him laugh. Belinda was trying to twist around, to give him her back. Beast was having none of it. He pulled her into his side, took her hand, placed it back on his chest and kissed her hair.
“Sleep, Hollywood. You need your rest.”
“You need some too,” she grumbled, but she didn’t try to pull away from him again.
His heart clenched at her protest. His life hadn’t exactly been overflowing with people looking out for him.
“We’ll both go to sleep,” he said through a throat that felt tight.
As he felt her muscles relax and sleep take her over, Beast smiled into the darkness.
Chapter 14
They woke with the birds. Belinda opened her eyes to see the trees around her filled with colour. A flock of noisy, screeching macaws had taken up residence. The large red and blue parrots didn’t care that Belinda and Beast were asleep. All they cared about was breakfast.
The warm early morning light filtered through the canopy above, giving their tiny clearing a hazy glow. The upbeat singing of the waking birds and the all-encompassing hum of the crickets had replaced the threatening sounds of the night hunters. Already the day’s heat was building, and the glasshouse scent of the plants surrounding them was heady, a perfume to tease the senses.
“Stunning,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Beast’s word rumbled through her body, making her realise that she was, once again, draped all over the man. When she glanced up at him, he wasn’t watching the birds—he was watching her. Everything within Belinda stilled. Their surroundings faded as she became acutely aware of the man beneath her.
“Sorry.” She tensed her arms, ready to push away from him. “I’ll get off you. Guess it’s just more comfortable sleeping on top of you.”
“Isn’t like we have a lot of space.”
“No.” The sheet hammock wrapped tightly around them, making it difficult to move.
She struggled and wobbled, brushing her body over his, feeling every hard inch of him. At last, she was up on her hands and knees over him as the hammock swung gently from the trees. Beast’s jaw clenched tight and his pale grey eyes had turned dark.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to get off you as quick as I can.” She moved again, rocking their bed.
John grasped her hips and she stilled. They were face to face, their bodies barely an inch apart. Everything within Belinda paused as the world faded to the man beneath her.
“You’re killing me here, Hollywood.” The husky rumble of words went right through her, making her blood fizz and bubble in its wake.
Her gaze slid from his eyes, over the masculine planes of his face—complete with a day’s growth of hair—to his soft, sensual lips. Her breath stuttered as the memory of their kiss slammed into her. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was feel his lips on hers again.
“Belinda?”
She shivered as his tone went lower still. All night long, she’d lain besid
e him, their bodies entwined. She’d listened to his heart and felt the ripple of his muscles under her touch. All night long, she’d pretended she wasn’t hyperaware of how he felt against her. Pretended she wasn’t desperate to let her fingers explore, caress, tease.
All.
Night.
Long.
“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled, making her look back into his eyes.
What she saw there robbed her of any reason that remained. Because Beast wanted her, just as much as she wanted him. Her thoughts stilled and narrowed. The jungle faded around them. The anxiety and fear from being kidnapped and hunted was wrestled into submission under the stark awareness of the man in front of her. There was only one thought in Belinda’s head—want.
“Belinda?”
She shivered. His fingers were a brand on her hips. His thigh muscles flexed against hers. His chest was a hard wall beneath her, tempting her to press her aching breasts against him, seeking relief. Even this early in the morning, the heat and humidity meant there was a sheen to his skin. A tempting sheen that seduced her to touch.
“This is a brilliant idea,” she whispered as her eyes rested on his lips again.
His reply was a pained groan that made her smile slightly. His fingers flexed on her hips, and slowly, Belinda lowered her mouth to his. Electricity shot between them, increasing in intensity the closer she came to his lips. They sparked. Sizzled together. One touch would ignite them. Anticipation made her heady as she prolonged her journey towards him.
“The hammock,” he whispered, and she felt the words against her lips. His air became her air in a teasing intimacy. “You said be careful.”
“Mmm, let’s make it swing.”
She closed the distance, and her lips touched his. It was an explosion of sensation, one that overwhelmed her rational mind. There was no thinking anymore. Only feeling. And what she felt was out of this world.
Beast splayed a hand on the small of her back and pressed her against him, joining them. Skin to skin. Body to body. Heart to heart. She felt his heart beat right through to hers. An intimate joining. She gasped into his mouth as she felt his hard length press against her. It wasn’t close enough. She needed to feel him inside her. No barrier between them.
The kiss was ferocious, a meeting of intense need. Of overwhelming desire. She wanted him deep and hard. She wanted to taste all of him. She wanted to lose herself in his strength and in the animal longing he built within her.
He growled against her lips, wrapped his fingers in the hair at the back of her head and angled her mouth to suit his desire. Belinda’s nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned into his mouth. More. She needed more. Her tongue went searching for his until they tangled together, dancing around one another, tasting and teasing and tormenting each other.
She felt Beast’s hand slide from her back, over her hip, to cup her behind.
Yes!
She pressed back into his touch, delighting when he massaged her flesh. She pressed her needy core against his erection, seeking relief. Her hips moved, rocking against his length, making her whine with desperation.
His kiss turned feral. Desperate. Commanding. He was taking her over with his desire, making her fly out of control in a fierce tornado of bliss. She felt a touch at her back, and her bra fell loose. She shivered as his hands ran up and down her spine. The rough callouses and scars on his hands, presumably from fighting, set her nerves on fire wherever they went. She undulated under his touch, following the heat of his hands. Wanting more. Needing more.
It was almost too much. Her head was spinning and she could barely breathe. She broke their kiss, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she threw her head back, gasping for air. Her whole world had become his hands, as they caressed her behind and followed the line of her panties down to her wet and needy core. She arched her back, lifting her hips in invitation, silently asking him to touch her where she needed it most.
He didn’t leave her wanting. She felt fingers trail down towards her clit, brushing back and forth over her damp panties, making her moan with longing. One strong hand held her tightly in place, while the other brushed her most sensitive flesh with the barest of touches.
“You already wet for me, baby?”
Her only reply was a moan as his finger slipped under the leg of her panties. He teased her tender flesh, stroking in long circles, but never touching her desperate clit. She looked down, dazed and desperate, to see John’s head lift. His dark gaze captured hers as his mouth latched on to her oh-so-sensitive nipple. He sucked hard. The contrast between his brutal suction and the teasing soft touch of his fingers was almost too much to bear.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Please, John, please.”
He stilled for a second, leaving her dazed. And then his hand captured her nape and he made her look him in the eyes.
“To you, I’m always John. You hear me? You don’t call me anything else.”
His intensity made the words cut through the fog in her brain. This was serious. He was serious. She nodded as she pressed her breasts into his chest. Oh, yes, that was good. So, so good.
He let out a dark chuckle and his mouth was on her throat. She felt his teeth nip, and she shivered. Her body wasn’t her own anymore. He owned her. With each touch, he wove a spell around her, until she was lost in a maelstrom of sensation. There was no thought. There was only need. Only John. The centre of her universe was now the desperate teasing touch of his fingers on her swollen folds. He teased her, dipping inside her only to retreat just as fast, to lazily circle around the tiny bundle of nerves that needed him so desperately.
“John,” she gasped.
He chuckled against her breast, and she felt the sound vibrate throughout her body. She writhed against him, pleading for relief with every move. A thick finger slipped inside her, while his other hand cupped her nape and pulled her mouth to him for a punishing kiss.
She couldn’t stop moving. She was desperate for him. His hard length was a tease, promising paradise that was just out of reach. The whole world moved with his touch as the hammock swung with their passion. The added sensation of flying built the pressure within her until she was a bundle of oversensitive, desperate nerves.
“Please, please, please…” she chanted against his mouth.
She needed him inside her. She needed him to stop the ache that was a tidal wave pulling her under. She needed the release that only he could give.
He withdrew his finger from her, making her wail her objection. He circled her clit. Once. Twice. And then he pinched it. Belinda’s world stopped entirely. One second. Two years. A lifetime. And then it exploded. A keening wail escaped her as her whole body clenched and spasmed. The earth was moving. Swirling, swinging, shifting as she clenched on nothing when she desperately wanted to clench on him. She was empty. Needy. Desperate to be filled. Soaring without him when she needed him closer. As close as he could get.
“John,” she moaned against his neck as she came back down, “need you. Need you now.”
He growled, low and rough. His hand slid down her stomach as it moved between them. And there was a loud ripping noise. Belinda smiled, knowing he was desperate enough to rip off his underwear, to get rid of the barrier between them. There was another rip, louder this time, and Belinda’s dazed brain began to register that something was wrong.
John let out a low curse and his arms wrapped tight around her, pulling her flat against him. With one last ripping sound, the soft sheet gave way beneath them and they were falling. They landed with a thud and a groan on the jungle floor.
“What the…” Belinda was still dazed, her body shaking from the high she’d experienced. It took her a few long seconds to realise what had happened. She looked up. The underside of their hammock was swinging above them and had split in two.
All around them, screeching birds flapped, taking to the air en masse, jarred into flight by the noise Belinda and Beast had made. Slowly, Belinda looked down at the man beneath her. Sh
e was still straddling him, only her knees had hit the earth. John had taken the brunt of the fall.
He lay there, his eyes closed, not moving an inch. Belinda scrambled off him.
“John?” She pulled up her bra and fought to hook it behind her back as she leaned over him. “Beast? Are you okay? Did you break anything? Please, don’t let it be your back!”
His eyes cracked open. “I should have cleared the damn ground last night.”
Her gaze shot to the clearing, which, on reflection, wasn’t that clear. There were a few branches scattered beneath them, some rocks and lots of twigs. That had to have hurt.
“Have you broken your back?” She needed an answer to that question before she dealt with anything else. She was panicking. How was she supposed to transport him out of the jungle if he was injured? The guy was a massive block of solid muscle. He had to weigh as much as a small car.
“No, but I’m probably bruised to hell.” He frowned at her. “What did you say? Don’t bother clearing the area. It won’t affect us.”
“Are you blaming me for this?” She couldn’t believe her ears. She glared down at him.
“Hollywood, your exact words were ‘let’s make it swing.’”
She frowned as she racked her brain. Nope. Nothing. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, you did. It came right before ‘Please, John, please.’”
Her face burned, and not in a good way this time. “You’re making this up, because I don’t remember telling you to make the hammock swing. I do remember telling you to be careful. That the sheet might rip.”
“You didn’t tell me that I’d end up on my ass on the ground.”
“That part was a given!”
“One sheet for a hammock,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t have listened to you. There was no way that thing was going to hold both of us.”
“That thing?” Now she wanted to stomp on his stomach. How could one man make her desperate to caress him one minute and desperate to hurt him the next? “That thing kept us safe all night long. If we hadn’t been in that thing, then you would have been trampled by a tapir in the middle of the night. And who knows what else would have crawled all over you. You should be grateful I thought of making a hammock. And you should have respected the damn thing. Now look at it. Where are we going to sleep tonight?”
Ransom (Benson Security Book 4) Page 11