The trip to San Marcos, the largest city in the region, took several hours. As they neared the business center, Isabel roused, looking out the window. The rest had done her good. When he offered her water, she drank eagerly.
“Feel better?”
“Much. I can hear again.”
“With both ears?”
She frowned, touching her right side. “This one still hurts a little. And you sound quiet, far away.”
He didn’t know if her hearing loss would be permanent, but he was glad she was responding to his voice again.
The driver cruised by a small medical facility, which was closed. He continued on to a budget hotel, saying the owner would give them a fair price. Brandon offered him some cash, but he wouldn’t take it.
“Vaya con Dios,” he said, nodding at Isabel.
She murmured the proper response, mustering a weak smile. Brandon helped her out of the backseat and she walked to the front entrance of the hotel without assistance. While she stood in the lobby, quilt around her shoulders, he paid for a room.
He knew he should go straight to the authorities, documents in hand. He’d killed one man and seriously injured another. Even in his line of work, which was fraught with risk, fatalities were unusual. His boss would need full, immediate disclosure.
But the only thing he cared about was Isabel.
Too exhausted to weigh the consequences, he climbed into bed with her as soon as they entered the room. Holding her close, he listened to her soft, steady breathing, his chest aching with tenderness.
Moments later, he was asleep.
When Isabel opened her eyes, Brandon wasn’t there.
She turned to look for him, moving her head gingerly. The room was bright with daylight, and empty except for her. The pain in her ear had receded into a vague discomfort but every muscle in her body ached. She felt like she’d surfed the pipeline all day and been mashed against the reef. Repeatedly.
Violent images from the night before assaulted her, flashing through her mind like a horror film reel. She felt dirty, hollow, deeply disturbed. Blood and gore had dried on her shirt, stiffening the fabric.
Cringing, she rose from the bed.
Brandon’s backpack was still there, so she figured he’d gone out to get breakfast. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, indifferent to trauma. She stretched her arms over her head, trying to ease her sore muscles.
What she needed was a warm bath. Grabbing her messenger bag, she padded into the bathroom, which boasted a nice-size tub. Letting the water run hot, she discarded her ruined clothes and examined her appearance. The scrape on her cheek wasn’t that bad. She brushed her teeth, glad they were intact.
Unbraiding her hair, she slipped into the tub, rested her head on the edge and soaked the terrifying experience away.
When she was clean, she felt like a new woman. In some ways, last night had been cathartic. She’d been forced to come to terms with Jaime’s death. Speaking openly about his final moments had prompted an epiphany: she wasn’t responsible for every tragedy that had befallen her. She was responsible for the way she’d reacted. There was nothing healthy about wallowing in guilt or avoiding consequences.
It was time to face the music.
She combed her hair until it gleamed and wrapped a towel around her well-scrubbed, slightly battered body before walking out into the main room. Brandon was sitting at the table, sipping coffee. The pan de muerto he’d bought at the fair rested on the surface, along with a couple of shopping bags.
Although she was hungry, her gaze stayed on him. He looked rumpled and road-weary and good enough to eat.
“You showered,” he said, skimming her bare legs.
She sat down across from him, tearing off a hunk of bread. It was sweet, like a doughnut, and dusted with sugar. The grains dissolved on her tongue. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“In the trash.”
He studied her bruised cheek. “How do you feel?” “Not too bad, considering.” She tasted the coffee, appreciating its bold flavor. “How about you? Did you sleep?”
“I got a few hours,” he said, rolling the tension from his shoulders.
The noise she made in response sounded like wifely disapproval. She flushed a little, warmed by the notion.
“Do you want to see a doctor?”
“No.”
“You need medical attention.” “I’m fine. The earache passed.” His eyes searched hers, delving deeper, for emotional scars. “You were assaulted,” he said quietly. “Do I look awful?”
“You look beautiful. Did he rape you?”
“No,” she said, touching the mark on her face. “You stopped him.”
“I killed him,” he corrected.
She didn’t flinch at the harsh words. “I’m glad.”
He stared at her for a moment, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Something about this conversation bothered him and it wasn’t the attempted rape. Although he’d saved her life, he seemed uncomfortable in the role of hero.
Or maybe he didn’t think there was anything heroic about shooting a man and watching his head explode.
“Thank you,” she said anyway, her throat tight.
He acknowledged her statement with a curt nod, taking another sip of coffee. “I have to shower.”
She watched him leave the table, upset with herself. She was sorry she’d put him through such a horrifying ordeal, and regretted hurting him in the graveyard. But she couldn’t take the blame for another unfortunate death. Carranza’s men had attacked her—they’d brought this outcome on themselves.
He picked up one of the shopping bags and ducked into the bathroom. When the shower turned on, she blinked out of her stupor. Taking a deep breath, she finished her breakfast. Brandon knew it was dangerous to come after her, and she was damned lucky he had. She owed him an apology … and so much more.
He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, smelling like steamy male skin and soap lather. The pants he was wearing were too short, barely reached his ankles. With no shirt or shoes, he looked like a sexy castaway.
She smiled behind her coffee cup, enjoying the view.
“I bought clothes for you, too,” he said, pointing at the other bag.
“Really?” Touched by his thoughtfulness, she rose from the table, perusing the contents. A pair of simple black flip-flops. Plain white panties, a size too large. She forgave the mistake when she saw a green cotton sundress. Making a soft exclamation of pleasure, she brought the garment to her chest, whirling to face the mirror above the dresser.
“Ouch,” she said, almost stumbling on her tender foot. “What is it?”
“Blisters,” she replied, admiring the soft fabric. “This is lovely.”
He grabbed the first aid kit and sat at the edge of the bed, gesturing for her foot. She boosted herself up on the dresser, stretching her leg out to him. He dabbed ointment on every tiny sore, and smoothed more on the rope burns around her ankles. Then he applied a couple of bandage strips as needed.
“Thanks,” she said when he was finished, wiggling her toes.
His gaze traveled up her bare legs, lingering at the hem of her towel. “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly, rising from the bed.
She reached out to stop him. There were so many thoughts and emotions spinning around her head. It was difficult to sort them all out. “I’m sorry I hit you yesterday. Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you.”
He remained silent, neither accepting nor rejecting her apology.
She toyed with his hand, self-conscious. “I’ve decided to travel to the embassy and turn myself in.” “When?”
“Tomorrow, I guess.” “Why wait?”
She looked up at him, her pulse pounding. “Because I can’t stand the thought of leaving this room without touching you.”
His eyes darkened with understanding.
“I have to take control of my life,” she said, raising her hand to his jaw. His whiskers there were rough-soft
against her fingertips. “But first, I want to be yours. I need to feel alive, just once, before I go.”
He swallowed hard, studying her face. Judging by his pained expression, he wasn’t unaffected by her confession.
She dropped her hands to the knot between her breasts, letting the towel fall away. His gaze trailed downward, moving from her exposed breasts to the dark triangle between her thighs in an agonizingly slow drag. Her nipples tightened at the visual caress. She tilted her head back, parting her lips in invitation.
“You were attacked last night,” he said, putting his mouth close to hers. “Yes.”
“This isn’t a good way to deal with trauma.” “Maybe it’s the best way.” Still, he hesitated. “I don’t think I can be gentle.” She couldn’t wait.
When she nodded her acceptance, he thrust his hand into her hair, taking her mouth in a plundering kiss. There was no tenderness, as promised. Only heat, and need, and domination. She reveled in his taste, gripping the underside of the dresser. Their tongues met and tangled, mouths wide open.
Then he broke the kiss, panting. “Hold that thought.” Giving her a hungry look, he strode across the room, shrugging into his shirt.
“Where are you going?”
“Condoms. There’s a drugstore around the corner.” Leaving his shirt unbuttoned and his boot laces untied, he flew out the door. She waited for him to return, her heart racing with excitement. Should she stay like this, buck naked on the dresser? Feeling anxious, she turned to the side, examining her reflection in the mirror. Her popularity as a bikini model had been more about her father’s notoriety than her specific measurements. She’d never had lush hips or big breasts. But she was proud of her athletic body and didn’t regret the sexy photo shoots.
Brandon had said she was beautiful. Those words had always seemed empty to her. Now she felt warmed by them, from the inside out.
Closing her eyes, she vowed to enjoy their final moments together. This was her last day of freedom, her last chance to experience pleasure. She was going to make the most of it, to grab happiness with both hands.
When Brandon burst through the door, her breath caught in her throat. Eyes cruising over her nude form, he tossed a box of condoms on the bed, wrestled out of his shirt and kicked off his boots.
Her tummy quivered in anticipation.
He stepped up to the dresser, ready to pick up where they left off. Moving a lock of hair off her shoulder, he pressed his lips to her bare skin.
“I’ve never done it this way before,” she said, shivering.
He went still. “What way?”
She laughed, resting her forehead against his chest. “Sober. I’ve never done it sober. The details are kind of fuzzy.”
“No problem,” he said, smiling a little. “I’ll give you a refresher course.” “How nice of you.” “I’m in a generous mood.”
She giggled helplessly as he lifted her off the dresser, falling across the bed with her. Then he covered her mouth with his, kissing the last of her inhibitions away. “I think I remember a few things,” she said, sprawling over him.
“Do you?”
Nodding, she explored the bunched muscles in his shoulders. “I like this,” she said, touching the hair on his chest.
“Hmm.”
Moving on, she traced the trail down his stomach, kissing his flat abdomen. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He groaned, threading his hand through her hair.
His erection was clearly outlined beneath the fabric of his trousers, standing at full attention. She moistened her lips, studying the broad tip and rigid length. Licking his hard belly, she molded her palm around him.
He inhaled a sharp breath, his abdominals tight as a drum.
“Maybe I can make it up to you,” she said in a husky voice. Lowering his zipper, she freed him from the restrictive barrier. Curling her hand around his shaft, she stroked him up and down. Her insides went molten as she took him into her mouth. He watched her intently, his grip on her hair tightening. She moaned, swirling her tongue around him.
“Wait,” he said, pulling her head away from his groin. “That feels amazing, but I can’t handle it right now.”
She’d been thrilled by the sensation of having him in her mouth and wanted to continue. But when he stretched out on top of her and pinned her arms over her head, kissing her senseless, she forgot her disappointment.
“You can do that later,” he promised.
“I want to do everything,” she said, panting against his lips. “I want you everywhere.”
That statement gave him pause. “Everywhere in the room, or everywhere on your body?”
“Both,” she decided.
With a hoarse chuckle, he glanced around, imagining the possibilities. “In that case, get back up on the dresser.”
A thrill raced through her. She slid off the bed, doing his bidding.
Cheeks flushed with passion, he followed her, bringing the condoms with him. His erection was jutting at his open fly, inviting her to touch. Instead of suiting up, he set the box down and stepped between her parted legs, kissing her mouth again and again. He cupped her breasts, trapping her stiff nipples between his thumb and forefinger. With every firm pinch, her sex tightened in response, aching to be filled.
She reached into his pants, wrapping her fingers around his thick erection. “I want this. Please.”
“I’m going to give it to you, honey. Believe me.”
“Hurry.”
Eyes glittering, he pushed her hands aside and sank to his knees before her. She felt embarrassingly slick and swollen, her nipples pebble-hard. Holding her gaze, he kissed her trembling inner thigh. She moaned, spreading her legs wider.
When he dipped his head to taste her, she gasped in delight, clutching at his short hair. She’d never been so aroused in her life. Licking his lips slowly, he slid a blunt finger inside her. “You’re so pretty here.”
She squirmed on the dresser, begging for more.
His mouth settled on her and all rational thought fled. He flicked his tongue over her tender flesh, worrying the taut nub and stroking her with his fingers until she screamed, shattering into a thousand pieces. His touch gentled as the last of the tremors faded. She felt like a puddle of sensitive nerve endings, boneless.
He stood, removing his glistening fingers from her before putting on the condom. “You still want this?”
She nodded, twining her arms around his neck. Her orgasm had been explosive but she needed more to feel complete. He guided himself into her inch by inch. She struggled to accommodate him, gasping at the overwhelming sense of fullness.
When he was buried to the hilt, he let out a strangled groan. “You feel so good. I can’t last.”
She wrapped her legs around him, desperate for him to move.
After giving her a moment to adjust, he eased himself back and forth, her moisture making him slick. She looked down at their joined bodies, mesmerized by the erotic sight. “Isabel,” he choked, sliding in and out.
Her pouty nipples rubbed against his rough chest hair and his pelvis bumped hers with every thrust. It was almost too much pleasure to bear. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and threw her head back, sobbing his name. He glanced at her face, as if gauging her proximity to climax. Licking his thumb, he placed it over her sensitive nub, helping her along.
With a keening cry, she came again, her sex pulsing around him.
He swiveled her from the dresser to the bed in one fluid motion and fell on top of her, thrusting hard. She studied his clenched jaw and flexing muscles, excited beyond belief. He felt huge and hot inside her, reaching depths no one else had.
She’d never been so fiercely loved.
Gritting his teeth, he pounded into her until he found his own release, his body shuddering against hers. When it was over, he disposed of the condom and came back to bed, drawing her into his arms. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart.
Chapter 15
Isabel rose from the bed at sundown.
Brandon was stretched out on his stomach, fast asleep. The sheet rode low on his hips, revealing most of his naked body. His shoulders bore crescent marks from her fingernails, made in the throes of passion. She watched him for a moment, wondering if he was dreaming of her. They’d spent most of the day making love. After exhausting their condom supply, and themselves, they collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and twisted sheets. She’d never felt so satisfied. He’d finally relaxed enough to drift off with her.
He was sprawled across the bed, all long legs and lean muscles, his face boyish in repose. She studied the edge of his shadowed jaw, aching to kiss him one last time. To curl up beside him and forget the world outside.
When her vision blurred, she tore her gaze away from him, taking a slow breath. The dress he’d bought her was hanging over a chair. She put on the underwear and flip-flops, both of which fitted loose, and pulled the dress over her head. It was a simple style, sort of Grecian, with a high waist and a V-necked bodice. Hands trembling, she tamed her wild hair into a sleek knot at her nape and picked up her messenger bag, ready to go.
It was better to leave now and make a clean break. For his protection, she wouldn’t mention his name to the authorities.
On her way out the door, she hesitated. She hadn’t planned to write a note but it seemed cold not to. Their time together had been incredibly special. After everything they’d been through, she owed him a goodbye.
She found notebook paper in her bag. Moving quietly, she rifled through his backpack, checking the zippered pockets for a pen or pencil. Her fingertips brushed over a piece of fabric that felt familiar. She removed it, recognizing the strip of linen she’d used as a washcloth. Although logic told her he’d needed a handkerchief, not something to remember her by, her stomach fluttered at the sight. This scrap of fabric symbolized the sensuality he’d awoken in her. It evoked deep longing and uncontrollable desire.
Setting the linen aside, she reached farther into the backpack, locating a strange little pocket at the bottom. Inside there was a flat metal disk. Frowning, she took the object out of the pack and read its shiny surface.
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