Cutter's Lady

by Candace Camp

  “I mean, I’m not someone who has casual sex. I haven’t been with anyone since my divorce.”

  “I didn’t say I was looking for experience, did I?”

  “Well, a night of fun in a sleeping bag is not an experience I want.” Leslie did her best to sound cold even though she felt the exact opposite.

  “No? Then why did you insist on coming with me?”

  Leslie’s eyes widened. “You are so egotistical—you know why I came with you. I don’t want to just sit back where it’s safe and worry and wring my hands.”

  “So you’re saying you’d be worried about me?” Leslie could hear the smile in Cutter’s voice and even though she would have been worried about him, there was no way she was admitting it now.

  “Of course not. I’d—I’d be worried about Blake. Obviously you won’t allow yourself to get killed—you’re too fond of your favorite person to let that happen.” This elicited a laugh from him, which Leslie also found irritating. “Plus I need to be here. To help negotiate.”

  “When you don’t know Spanish? I’m the one who’ll be doing the talking. You could have told me how much you’d pay back at the mission and saved yourself the trouble.”

  “I need to make sure you really go to the guerrillas and find out whether Blake’s alive.”

  “I told you I would. You could have asked Mary; I don’t go back on my word.”

  Leslie was thrown. She didn’t need to ask Mary to know what she would say—especially after what Mary had told her about Cutter’s work for the mission. Leslie couldn’t really continue to entertain the idea that he was dishonest. Which meant Cutter was right. Why had she insisted on coming? He was an adventurer, true, but it was obvious that he wasn’t after money. What he did might be illegal, but it wasn’t dishonorable. And Leslie knew she wasn’t needed on the trip; in fact, she was probably a hindrance to Cutter. “I—I guess I didn’t want to be left out. I wanted to see for myself if Blake was alive. I wanted to be there.”

  “Uh-huh.” His tone was unconvinced. “You’re scared to admit it, even to yourself. The fact is, lady, you wanted to be with me. Alone. You were hoping I’d seduce you.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Like hell. I make you feel a way you never have with anyone else—not with that ex-husband or even the moronic friend of yours that was too dumb to want you. I make you hungry and reckless, and that terrifies you. You don’t want to accept that about yourself, so you don’t want to accept me. You fight me every step of the way. But no matter how you deny it, you can’t keep from feeling it. It’s why you came with me to San Cristóbal. It’s why you wouldn’t stay at the mission.”

  Leslie was frozen in her sleeping bag. It wasn’t true. She hadn’t come because she was attracted to Cutter. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  Cutter watched her. He was as taut and sizzling inside as a wire of high-voltage electricity. He felt that if Leslie touched his skin, he might throw off sparks.

  But there was something more important than his immediate hunger for her at stake now. What he had said to Leslie had simply popped into his head, surprising him almost as much as it did her, but as soon as he uttered the words, he had known they were the truth. He was certain of it. Leslie wanted him but fought against it. If he did manage to seduce her tonight, he would satisfy his immediate desires, but she would still be able to excuse what had happened and deny her feelings. Leslie would just call it a lapse in judgement.

  He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her only now. He wanted her now and tomorrow and the day after that. He wanted her in his bed for a long, long time. He wanted her mouth and tongue and her soft breasts. He wanted her slender legs wrapping around him. He wanted her laughter, her smile, the tart, funny comments she’d make, her hand in his as they walked along. He wanted to hear her secrets and her ambitions. He wanted to sit beside her in a movie theater or lie with her on a blanket in a park and watch fat ducks waddle beside a pond. Mary had been right; what he felt for Leslie was perilously close to love. He wanted all of her, body and mind and spirit.

  She had to realize on her own that she wanted him. They needed to be on equal footing; they needed to meet in raw need, without coaxing or artifice or seduction. He had to give her time to think about what he had said. He had to let her admit her desires. It was the only way he could hope to have Leslie as he really wanted her.

  He released a long breath. “You can relax. I’ll leave you alone. Go to sleep.” His voice was harsh with self-restraint, and his mouth twisted. Leslie might go safely to sleep, but it sure as hell would be a long time before he would be able to.

  ***

  They continued their journey the next morning with no mention of what had happened the night before. Leslie did her best not to think about what Cutter had said to her or the way her body had responded to the husky sexual suggestion of his words. However, it was hard to keep her mind off it. The ride, though an agony to her strained muscles, was frankly boring, giving her plenty of time to think.

  Cutter couldn’t be right. She refused to believe that she had accompanied him to San Cristóbal because she had been attracted to him. Back when she had decided to accompany Cutter, she had still totally disliked him. She had come because back then she had been afraid he would double cross her. She was used to being the one at the wheel; she couldn’t have stood to wait in the States hoping to hear from a man she didn’t know, much less trust.

  But things had changed since then and that explanation no longer held the weight it had before. When she thought about the trip and analyzed her feelings, she realized that she had actually enjoyed the time they’d spent in San Cristóbal. It seemed absurd. She had endured dirt, heat, and poor food. She had slept on the ground and the deck of a boat. She had been chased and spied on and had ridden across the most horrible roads in the world in the middle of the night, her heart in her throat for fear they would be stopped and questioned. She’d even gone across that river, rigid with terror that the ancient, narrow bridge might collapse at any minute beneath the weight of their truck. It seemed impossible that she could have enjoyed even a moment of it. Yet that was the main feeling in her heart. Despite the fear, despite the hardship, despite the grimness of their purpose, when she thought of what they had gone through, she wanted to smile. She was warm inside, even amused. What could possibly have made her enjoy the journey except being in Cutter’s company?”

  She thought of Cutter’s passionate kisses. She thought of his smile and the sight of his strong hands gripping the steering wheel of the truck. She thought of his kindness on the boat as he tried to negate the effects of her hangover. Even his attempt to make her remain behind at the mission brought a warmth to her chest; he had been concerned about her safety.

  He stirred her. He was tempting. She knew sex with him would be a million times more exciting than it had been with Blake. But he was also rootless, she reminded herself. When this trip was over she would never see him again. Maybe he was right. Maybe she had tagged along because she wanted to be with him and had hoped he would seduce her. Even so, she ought to be more aware and in control of her baser instincts. She knew better than to get involved with him. For her there couldn’t be casual sex with no strings attached, like Cutter would want.

  If she slept with him, she knew she would fall in love with him. Even the fact that she was considering it probably meant she was far too close to falling in love with him as it was. She would wind up broken-hearted. She’d been disappointed when Michael had told her he had no feelings for her. But she’d never felt the overwhelming passion with him she felt with Cutter. It hadn’t even been that hard waiting until after her divorce to divulge her own feelings. Leslie couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to sleep with Cutter and then be rejected by him. She couldn’t let that happen.

  They said little as they rode along. Cutter didn’t want to break into Leslie’s reverie. When they did speak, it was about practical things. The day followed the pattern of the one befo
re. They rode and rode, stopping every now and then to stretch their legs. As dusk fell, they halted to set up the tent and eat dinner. Cutter was down to the last cigarette in his pack and he saved it for after they finished. He knew the smoke bothered Leslie when she was eating. After Cutter doused the fire, they retired to the tent. They each crawled inside their sleeping bags and lay tensely, pretending they were asleep and listening for the other’s breathing. Both awoke the next morning with heavy eyes from lack of sleep.

  Cutter was short-tempered throughout breakfast, and Leslie wisely decided not to speak to him. He packed up their supplies and loaded them onto the donkeys, and they set out once more. Leslie felt sweaty and grimy, even though she had changed into fresh clothes that morning. What she really needed was a bath, but there was no possibility of that. Even if she had been willing to wash in a chilly mountain stream, their campsite last night had not had one.

  The trail grew so overgrown that it disappeared entirely. They dismounted from the donkeys and led the animals. Finally, Cutter had to take out his machete and hack his way through the undergrowth. Leslie followed dispiritedly. She was weary of the noises, heat and damp of the jungle. She was also tired of the mosquitoes and gnats that buzzed around her, not to mention Cutter’s bad temper and the soreness of her muscles. Even if she was still awed by the beauty of the jungle, her phone had died and she’d used up her back-up battery, so she had no way to take pictures of it. She wished she were sitting on a nice wide porch with a fan turning overhead and a tall, cool drink in her hand. She wished—

  Cutter stopped abruptly, and Leslie bumped into the back of his donkey, setting it to dance skittishly. Her head snapped up, and irritated comments sprang to her lips, only to die there without being uttered. A man stood across their path, holding a machine gun pointed straight at them.

  Chapter 10

  As the three of them stood facing each other, two more men stepped out of the jungle growth on either side of Cutter and Leslie. They cradled rifles in their arms. Leslie’s mouth was dry as dust, and her heart hammered erratically.

  The leader lowered his gun to point at Cutter’s waist, and he spoke to him in rapid Spanish. Leslie wished for the hundredth time since they got here that she had been taught Spanish in elementary school like her Harvard classmates from California, Florida and Texas.

  Cutter released the donkey’s reins and slowly raised his hands to his belt. He unbuckled the gun belt and held it out to the side, then dropped it on the ground. One of the men sprang to pick it up and slung it over his shoulder. The leader spoke to the other man, and he went to Cutter’s donkey and pulled the high-powered rifle from his pack. Though Cutter’s guns had frightened Leslie, her heart sank lower at the removal of each weapon. It was a horribly helpless feeling to stand beneath the men’s guns and watch them take away all their means of defense.

  The leader barked another command, and Cutter spread his arms and legs wide. One of the men stepped forward and patted him down, searching for any hidden weapons. Then the man turned toward Leslie, and she realized in horror that he intended to search her the same way.

  “No!” Cutter stepped in between the man and Leslie, letting forth a barrage of Spanish. Leslie waited, her palms sweating. Cutter then grinned and ran his eyes down Leslie’s figure appraisingly. He said something that sounded flip even though she couldn’t understand what it was. All the men laughed. The leader shrugged and turned, motioning for them to follow. Leslie swallowed, faint with relief, and started forward behind Cutter. The other two men fell in behind them.

  “What did you say to make him stop?” Leslie whispered.

  Cutter glanced back and grinned. “I just said your jeans were so tight anyone could see you didn’t have anything concealed on your body.”

  Leslie shoved Cutter in the middle of his back and he stumbled forward before catching himself.

  “Hey!” he laughed. “I was just helping you out.”

  “And I must have just tripped.” Leslie smiled beatifically.

  The leader of the squad looked back at them and motioned for quiet. Nothing more was said the rest of the trip.

  They struck off at a different angle from the one Leslie and Cutter had been following, slashing through the heavy undergrowth with machetes. Finally they emerged onto something that resembled a trail and were able to walk without the use of machetes. Cutter looked back at Leslie, then began to talk to the leader, his voice persuasive. The other man stopped and glanced first at Cutter, then at Leslie, considering. He said a few sentences and Cutter replied. After a moment the guerrilla shrugged and nodded. Cutter came back to Leslie.

  “Get on your donkey.”

  “What?” Leslie glanced around at the others. “But no one else—”

  “Quit arguing for once and just get on.” Cutter’s strong fingers gripped her waist, and he lifted her up onto the small mount. “I explained to him that you were an American woman and not used to such rigors. Take what you can get and don’t complain.”

  “Yes, sir.” Leslie gave Cutter a mock salute. But as he walked away, Leslie called after him, “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  They started off again. The men seemed untiring. Dusk gathered, but still they tramped on. Leslie was beginning to wonder if they would ever stop when she saw a flicker of light through the trees. As they walked, the flicker appeared again and again, and she realized that it was more than one light. They had been going downhill for some time, but now the ground leveled out. There was the sound of rushing water, and she decided they must be following the course of another mountain creek. The trees thinned, and suddenly they emerged from the forest into a clearing. Several thatched huts and a few tents were scattered around, and a few small fires burned in front of them. A larger fire was lit in the middle of the area, and several men squatted around it.

  Here and there Leslie saw a woman sitting in a doorway or tending to one of the fires. Next to one of the women sat a young boy of ten or twelve, and another woman cradled a child who couldn’t have been more than two. They glanced curiously at the new arrivals but made no move to approach them. A hen crossed their path, head bobbing busily. Off to one side was a pen of small pigs.

  The men around the large central fire turned to stare at Leslie and Cutter, and several rose to their feet. The three guards guided Leslie and Cutter toward the fire. As she looked at the men, Leslie’s stomach sank. All the way to the camp she had been berating herself for ever having come up with this plan; it had been sheer stupidity. Mentally she understood the danger involved, but she hadn’t even come close to knowing the gut-wrenching terror of it.

  She hadn’t understood what it felt like to be threatened with a machine gun or to be taken prisoner and marched into an armed camp. She had been a naive idiot to think that she could waltz in and bargain with these hardened men. Rather than getting Blake out, she was more likely to get both herself and Cutter killed. Why hadn’t she listened to Cutter when he had argued against it? He had been right, and she had been too stubborn to see it.

  Now, looking at the crew around the fire, Leslie’s spirits sank even lower. Not a single man wore a smile, and, among their ragtag assortment of uniforms, the main consistency was the large number of knives and guns each of them carried. It seemed to Leslie as if every one of them looked straight through her.

  She edged a little closer to Cutter, and he reached out to pull her into the circle of his arm. He stared back at the men, his face as closed and cold as theirs. Their guards talked back and forth with the men around the campfire for a few minutes. One of the men, who wore his hair long and shaggy and who had a deep scar splitting his forehead, gave Leslie a long, examining look. He grinned in a way that was more menacing than his earlier frown.

  “Hey, Yanqui!” he called to Cutter. “She is a beautiful woman.”

  Cutter’s expression was hard and challenging. His arm dropped down from Leslie’s shoulder to her waist, and his hand curved around the front, splaying out posses
sively across her abdomen. “Yes, she is,” he agreed. “And she is my woman.”

  Leslie’s eyes widened at the blatant sexuality of his gesture and the masculine arrogance of his words, but she said nothing. She didn’t enjoy being treated like Cutter’s possession in front of these men, but she could understand why he did it. Cutter’s claim on her was probably something they respected. Right now wasn’t the time to be going on about her independence.

  The other man shrugged, giving Leslie another fleeting look. She was glad when he turned away. There was more conversation among the men, then Cutter spoke up, rattling off a string of Spanish in an authoritative manner. The leader of their guards stepped away from the group and motioned for Leslie and Cutter to follow him. When they started forward with their donkeys in tow, he shook his head and spoke a few words. Cutter responded, and the man shrugged and nodded. Cutter walked over to one of the donkey’s and dug into the pack on his back while the guard watched him closely. Cutter removed a few things from it, including their bedrolls, quickly wrapped them into a bundle and turned to Leslie.

  “Here, carry this,” he ordered, tossing her the bundle. Startled, Leslie automatically caught it. The guard started off and Cutter followed him without even a backward glance at Leslie. Irritated, she set out after them.

  The men led them to one of the small thatched huts. Cutter ducked under the low door frame and entered, Leslie on his heels. The guard remained outside. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but Leslie could make out that the tiny room was empty save for an object in one corner, which she assumed was a bed.

  “Captain Velasquez has kindly offered us the use of his home tonight,” Cutter told her, nodding his head toward the guard outside.

  “Oh. How nice.” Leslie wondered if the man could hear her. “Please thank him for me.”

  “Let’s eat outside. I put some food in there.” Cutter pointed to the roll in Leslie’s hands. “Bring it out here.”