by Jianne Carlo
“This way.” He turned right into a near-vacant side alley that took them to a tiny café.
Jacinta glanced around the small room, taking in the empty tables covered by red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. In her experience, albeit limited, crowded restaurants meant good food at reasonable prices.
He pulled out a chair and waited for her to sit. The table he’d chosen was tucked into a corner at the back of the restaurant near an arched corridor.
“There’s no one else here.” The ceiling fan above them circulated delicious aromas Jacinta couldn’t pinpoint.
Demon shoved the other chair to her side and sat. “I know.”
Jacinta stiffened when he lifted her onto his lap. Heat scaled her throat. “What’re you doing?”
“It’s called foreplay.”
He hadn’t understood. Jacinta didn’t want to spoil their evening, but she had to be honest. “I should like to tell you something.”
“Go ahead.”
She studied the cheery tablecloth. “I would prefer not to make love again.”
“Look at me.” He cradled her jaw and forced her to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want to, then we won’t.”
Relief had her light-headed. “Thank you.”
“Did you like it when I kissed you?”
She sighed. “Very much.”
“Kissing is part of foreplay.”
“Oh.” She knew she blushed all over, for even her toes were on fire. “I should like to tell you something else.”
“I’m listening.”
“I should like to know more of this foreplay if there is not the penetration part.” She gestured at his hardening erection half hidden by her dress. “We simply do not fit. It is obvious now, of course. You need a much larger woman.”
He made a strangled noise and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
A plump woman approached the table bearing a round tray.
Jacinta tugged a lock of Demon’s hair and, surprised by the silken texture, twined the sandy tresses around her fingers before freeing one springy wave. “Someone’s coming.”
“Señor Demon. Welcome back. The appetizers you ordered are ready.”
He wore a huge grin that enchanted Jacinta. She hadn’t noticed his three dimples before. “Gracias, Lucia. Will you open the wine and let it breathe?”
“Pronto.” For a large woman, she moved quickly. Before Jacinta could add her thanks, Lucia had disappeared. She peered at the tray.
“Try this one.” Demon offered her a pastry of some sort. “Open.”
He intended to feed her? But the pastry smelled heavenly. She took a small bite and closed her eyes in rapture as her taste buds exploded in delight. Shrimp doused with cream and butter and a hint of garlic.
“I do believe you’re purring.” His warm breath feathered her cheek. “Hey. I get a turn too. Feed me the rest.”
She blinked but took the remaining half circle from him and mimicked his actions. He stared into her eyes and licked her fingers clean when he finished his bite.
Jacinta shivered, and that crackling electricity from the kiss returned with a vengeance. Fascinated, she watched his dexterous, tanned fingers as he picked first one, then another appetizer before offering her a tempting morsel.
“This one’s a personal favorite. Take the whole thing in one bite.”
Oh ecstasy. Succulent and tart and spicy. “Delicious. What is it?”
“A fish puff deep fried.”
“There was only one.” She checked the tray again.
“Then I’ll just have to taste you.”
His mouth trapped hers, and taste her he did. A thorough, slow exploration that had her toes curling and her insides fluttering. Her hands had a will of their own, and her fingers snaked up his chest to the bronzed skin revealed by the open shirt. So hot, his flesh, and so hard. And so tempting. She liked touching him, relished the steeliness of his big arms, the bulge halfway between his elbow and shoulder.
“My turn,” he murmured against her lips, the friction both ticklish and tantalizing. “Choose one for me.”
It took a few moments for his words to sink in. She picked the nearest appetizer—an orange-colored tart decorated with a chopped cherry pepper—and held the oval morsel to his mouth. When he didn’t take a bite, Jacinta risked a quick peek to find him staring at her chest.
“Put it on my tongue.”
The temperature climbed a zillion degrees, and the short-sleeved dress that had been airy and light earlier had somehow turned into itchy wool. Such an intimate act, feeding him with her fingers.
Jacinta held her breath and tried to do as he wished without touching his delightfully talented tongue. He snared her fingers lightly with his teeth. The slight nip and his intent gaze had her squirming, but she froze when her bottom encountered his organ—his oversize, rigid organ. Mãe de Deus, no wonder it had hurt.
“Your wine, señor.” Jacinta hadn’t heard the woman approach, but then again, the blood thundered so hard in her ears that she wouldn’t have heard an explosion going off right next to her.
“Have you ever had wine?” he asked after Lucia had left.
“I stole some of the sacrificial wine once.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was not to my liking.”
“Try this one.” He set the glass to her lips. “Tiny sip.”
It was not what she remembered at all. “I like it.”
“You’ll like it even more from my lips.” He took a swallow and captured her mouth. Oh, the sensation of the warm, spicy wine, his dancing tongue, and the hand massaging her scalp proved overwhelming. She didn’t know how long they kissed, but when he broke away, she whimpered and tried to pull him back.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.” Anything at all if he’d kiss her again.
“I want you to show me your panties.”
Stunned, her jaw dropped, and she shook her head.
He kissed her again and again and again. When she couldn’t tell where he began and she ended, he whispered, “Show me.”
Fingers trembling, she lifted the hem of her dress, unable to look down or at him.
“I want to touch you. Will you let me?”
There? Mortification strangled her vocal cords. She shot him a sidelong glance, and her heart skipped a few beats. Never had anyone looked at her like that, with such fiery intensity.
“May I?”
She’d surely burst into flames any second; his stare held her spellbound. She nodded.
His palm, hot and large and insistent, covered her mound.
He slanted his lips over hers and snagged his other hand behind her nape. She overheated, embarrassment battling with a surging excitement.
When his thick fingers slid under her panties, she didn’t know what to do but yearned to trap the burning inferno radiating from his skin.
He moved a finger and then another. “See how wet you are, Jacinta. How easily my fingers slide over your pussy. That’s how you should be when we make love.”
She had never fainted in her life, but never had a room seemed to dip and sway either. He pressed a spot that felt as if lightning had scorched her from scalp to feet. Her hips canted to the pressure he exerted. He pushed a finger into her, then another. She couldn’t support her head and leaned on the wall, her eyelids too heavy to lift.
With excruciating slowness, he eased his fingers out and then plunged back in. And did it again and again, but not fast enough, not hard enough. A scrumptious heaviness fisted her chest and built uncomfortably, like a pressure cooker about to explode. He pinched that aching spot in the center of her folds, and she shattered, shuddering as her sex clamped around his fingers. The delicious contractions went on and on, and then she collapsed like a boneless rag doll.
Chapter Three
Demon petted Jacinta down from her furious, fast climax. His shirt was damp and he prayed she hadn’t cried, but a chicken-squawking side of him he hadn’t known existed refused to ask. Or che
ck. What a wuss.
For the life of him, he could not will his fingers out of Jacinta. She turned him inside out. Man, had things gotten out of control. He just couldn’t seem to stick to a blasted plan with her. Another first.
The way she responded to him—not just the passion, but the trust—had him so overwhelmed and obsessed he couldn’t think straight. What the hell had that Sister Helen done? Throwing Jacinta into the big, bad, sadistic world after a lifetime in a cloistered convent? Every time he considered what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been at that beach at that exact moment…
Emilio was a dead man walking.
That Rosa Nunez had secreted her daughter in a cloistered convent to save her life made absolute sense to him. But he couldn’t wrap his mind around what life must have been like for Jacinta. She’d torn his guts out on the boat. That a twenty-year-old hadn’t tasted ice cream and had only just discovered music and apples, for shit’s sake. It boggled his mind. Not to mention the guilt assailing the conscience he didn’t know still existed somewhere in his long-dead soul. She was twenty, totally innocent, and he was thirty and tarnished to the core. He had no right to her, but damn, there was no way he’d let another man touch her.
She stirred.
Reluctantly he eased out of her and had to wrestle under control the overwhelming need to smell and taste her sweet juices before tugging her panties and dress back into place. His nose buried in Jacinta’s short hair, he heard a muted shuffle and glanced up to see Lucia standing in the doorway, wringing her hands. He jerked his head, and she slowly approached them.
Jacinta stiffened at the sound of Lucia’s sandals slapping the wooden floor.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s just Lucia. And don’t worry, she didn’t see or hear anything.”
“I am a wanton.” She sat up and covered her face.
Wanton? His lips twitched. He hadn’t heard that word in forever. “No, kitten. You’re passionate, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Lucia’s just about here.”
“Oh.” Jacinta smoothed her skirt. Her olive complexion had colored a delectable rose hue.
“Señor Demon?”
“Everything was delicious, Lucia. Gracias.”
“Señor Fredo wishes to confer with you about the meal.” Lucia was under strict orders to leave them alone so Demon knew shit had happened, and he didn’t want Jacinta without protection for a second.
“Jacinta wants to know more about the appetizers, Lucia. Why don’t you fill her in while I speak with Fredo?” Demon returned Jacinta to her own seat.
“A pleasure, Señor Demon.”
He left right away and found Fredo in the kitchen seated at a small table, nursing a drink.
“What’s the score?”
“You have problems, amigo.” Fredo downed the amber liquid in the shot glass. “I have the information you wanted.”
Demon had spent their shopping time worming the names of those who’d been present on the beach from Jacinta. Too trusting for words, his little kitten, and he hadn’t a clue as to how to teach her to be suspicious.
“Emilio’s mother is the daughter of the governor of Amazonas, Rafael Vilas.”
Demon choked back a groan. What Pandora’s box had he opened when he rescued Jacinta? At one point, Rafael Vilas had been one of Pedro Nunez’s most trusted financial advisors. “Her name?”
“Elvira Genro.”
Crap. “Don’t tell me. She’s married to Jose Genro.”
“She is.”
Jose Genro, the governor of Roraima, was the biggest rival to Nunez’s operations. Jose had made no secret about his intent to steal Pedro’s empire and destroy the man along the way.
If Emilio and Jacinta were half siblings, then Jose had to be her father. According to the intel the squad had gathered, aside from being in the same industry—drug running—Jose Genro and Pedro Nunez had never met. So how did Jose hook up with Rosa? When? Where?
Nothing made sense.
“There is more. Everyone is speaking of la Semilla del Demonio. That he travels the Orinoco, and that he will meet o Assassino Sorridente before the river enters Brazil.”
Demon and the team had used every contact they had in the Amazon basin to deliberately sow rumor and innuendo about la Semilla del Demonio, the Demon Seed, Nunez’s new right-hand man.
That the name had come about from his best friend Devil’s wife tickled Demon’s funny bone. A cover that mixed truth and fiction always worked best, and being as he hadn’t answered to any other name but Demon in years, the Demon Seed worked fine for him.
As for Nunez, his moniker, o Assassino Sorridente, the Smiling Killer, had been earned one death at a time over the last couple of decades. According to Hades Squad intel, o Assassino Sorridente had racked up over thirteen hundred kills. That a record number of those had been mass murders didn’t count.
“Let me guess. Genro’s offering a reward for the Demon Seed’s head, attached or not.” Demon dragged his hands through his hair.
“Sí.” Fredo refilled his shot glass. “Pero, you are mucho lucky that no one expects la Semilla del Demonio to travel with a woman.”
The head shot the squad had circulated with the Demon Seed’s rep showed a buzz-cut Demon wearing the dark brown contacts he had given to Jacinta. At some point, though, some smart-ass would see the resemblance, and he wouldn’t be able to travel incognito. Demon had no intention of waiting for that to happen.
“The pistoleiros, the porknockers, and even the river gincanas hunt you, amigo. And I would not trust la policia either.”
Fucking great. Bounty hunters, gold diggers, river scum, the police, and Genro’s henchmen on his tail. And now on Jacinta’s. Both of them had to disappear. Demon had already decided to ditch Hugo after Brio joined up with them. But that strategy had to change pronto. A couple of days’ head start would give them a definite advantage.
“Fredo, I need a big one from you. Money’s no object. Within reason.” Demon pulled up a chair. “Here’s the plan.”
A number of ex-SEALs, Green Berets, Rangers, and Special Ops soldiers lived in the Amazonian region bordering Colombia, Venezuela, Guyana, and Brazil. Some were good guys. Some were not.
Satan, Demon’s boss, had a buddy who’d vouched for Fredo’s trustworthiness. It went against Demon’s guts to trust anyone with his identity, but after realizing who Jacinta was, he’d had to get a message to the squad.
On his way back to the restaurant’s dining area, Demon ran through his plan again, looking for holes. He hesitated in the shadows of the doorway.
While Spanglish was the norm in border states in the US, the population of the mighty Orinoco mixed three and four languages interchangeably: Portuguese, Spanish, English, and Xirianá—the language spoken by the native Yanomami tribes of the Orinoco basin.
Though he’d taken a crash course in Xirianá, Demon couldn’t quite get the gist of the women’s conversation. Something to do with confession and sinning. Figured. Jacinta would be feeling like a sinner after he’d finger fucked her. Hell, he felt like a sinner.
Right then Jacinta glanced in his direction, and the smile that lit up her face compounded the unfamiliar emotion wreaking havoc with his mind. Guilt. Fucking useless emotion.
“Thank you for keeping Jacinta company, Lucia. Fredo’s ready for you.” Demon pasted a pleasant expression on his face.
“Pardon, Señor Demon. I will bring the rest of the food out right away.”
Lucia heaved out of the chair and flashed him a wide grin. Even in the dim lighting provided by the naked lightbulbs attached to the wall, her right gold canine glistened, bringing a whole new meaning to the term dazzling smile. He’d heard that for those of native South American descent, a gold tooth was a prized status symbol.
“What’s wrong?”
Demon’s team members ribbed him about his poker face constantly. How the hell had Jacinta cottoned on to the fact that something had gone pissy?
“Why do you think somethin
g’s wrong?” Demon took the seat opposite Jacinta.
“Your eyes have less green in them.” She fiddled with her wineglass. “Like they do after you kiss me.”
She was too young for him. Too pure, too sweet, too innocent, every single too under the goddamned sun. And what he had to tell her would sully all that and then some. Demon gritted his teeth. “We need to leave here right now.”
“I understand. We must be speedier Gonzales.” She wiped the corner of her mouth, folded the white napkin into a perfect square, and set the linen to the side of her plate.
“Speedy Gonzales.” He marveled that she didn’t utter a protest, ask a single question, and almost wanted her to be ornery and argue. Not that they had a second to spare. “We’ll go through the back door. This way.”
Both Lucia and Fredo had disappeared. Demon and Jacinta slipped unnoticed into the unlit, narrow dirt alleyway that bordered a host of back entrances to various nightspots. He took a circuitous route to Fredo’s home a mile down from the river town.
Humanity’s stamp receded with each bend of the Orinoco, the smells, sounds, and lights of civilization erased by the stark blackness of the jungle night. The wrinkle-nose aroma of cow manure grew more pungent as they approached the two-story wooden structure that listed to the right.
“Cat got your tongue?” Demon didn’t know why her silence irritated him.
“I have never heard that.” She touched his arm. “How does a cat get my tongue?”
The most dangerous, vicious criminals on the continent had marked them for death, and she wanted to know where a phrase came from. Demon wanted to shake her placidity into next week. “Fuck if I know.”
She stumbled. Demon clamped his lips together. He never swore in front of women and children. Never. Demon choked back a string of the foulest words and hauled her into his arms. “I’m not sure anyone knows where that phrase comes from. It could’ve originated in the Middle East, where liars have their tongues cut out and fed to cats.”
“That’s awful.” Jacinta drew back. Though the quarter moon didn’t shed much in the way of beams, Demon could discern her creased forehead. “Does not everyone lie a little every day? I often worried about that in confession. I often told Sister Concilli how lovely she looked because it cheered her up so much. But she had no front teeth and never really did look lovely. Is it a lie to stretch the truth if it makes someone feel better? And to lose a tongue for that?”