“Allow me to send a message straight to your bloated ego, Aaron. You don’t get to do whatever you want. When a woman says no, you back off. Rules don’t expire because you think they should, you entitled jerk. I told you once and I’m telling you again now—no kissing, no groping. In fact, no touching at all.”
He brushed her lips with his thumb. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Goddamn it,” she shrieked, sweeping her leg across his to trip him. He let out a surprised howl and hit the ground on his knees.
Then her foot was on his back, pushing him to his stomach. She ground her knee into his ribs while twisting his right arm behind him at an awkward angle, pinning him.
“I hope I’ve got your attention, because it’s the last time I’m going to say this. Stop. Touching. Me. From now on, you’ll show me the respect I deserve. Got it?”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Good.”
“But I have a question. How will you be punishing me if I touch you again?”
“Damn it, Aaron, you’re in no position to be condescending.” She tugged on his twisted arm to illustrate her point.
“Okay, okay. Ouch.”
She released him and stood. She hadn’t meant to lose her cool and was sorry she’d hurt him, but he was hurting her more than he knew, his every touch and look a torturous reminder of what she could never have.
Aaron gingerly got to his feet, brushed gravel from his knees and shook out his arm. With an apologetic smile, he offered his hand to shake, which she accepted. Then he crushed her to the wall.
Camille gasped.
He held both her hands in one of his above her head and spanned his other hand along her collarbone. With his knees, he pried her legs apart and with his hips, he pinned her waist to the wall. Breathless with shock, Camille struggled to twist away from his grip, but he increased the pressure of his knees, hips and hands until she was helplessly immobile.
Helplessly aroused.
She shifted her hips to cradle his erection more comfortably and he reacted by pressing against her more adamantly. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled her head to the side, fighting a moan of pleasure as wet heat gathered between her thighs.
“It’s your turn to listen now.” He buried his nose in the hair behind her ear, making her toes curl. “Did it ever occur to you that I antagonize you on purpose, for the pleasure of seeing you all riled up? Hmm? Ever think of that?”
She couldn’t look at him, much less speak, she was so angry with him for making her vulnerable, for exposing the depth of her attraction to him.
Well, attraction was a gross simplification. She wanted to taste every inch of his perfect body, to slip those flimsy boxers off his hips and discover exactly where the trail of hair under his navel led. She wanted Aaron so badly, she felt an emptiness that hurt worse than the memory of her accident, worse than her leg after running for hours from the Gigante Market.
He delicately brushed his closed lips over hers. It took all her strength not to open her mouth in offering.
“You see, when you’re angry, you get a tiny crease between your eyebrows and the pulse on your neck is visible.” He slid his fingers from her collarbone and found her pounding heartbeat at the base of her jaw.
“And when you’re really, really angry like you are now, you flush the most fascinating shade of pink from your ears all the way to the skin between your breasts.” He touched the tip of his tongue to her earlobe. When she shivered, he growled, “Every little bit of you is mine, Camille.”
She kept her eyes closed, fighting hard to ignore the feel of his hands and mouth.
He pushed away from the wall. “You want me to quit riling you up? Stop looking so damned tempting every time you’re mad.”
He strode from the alley.
Camille sagged against the wall. Her body hummed with residual sensation, as though his tongue still lingered on her ear and the hard length of him still pressed against her. The urge to touch herself in the places that still tingled was overwhelming. She resisted, flattening her palms against the rough stucco behind her.
After a few more gulps of air, she pushed away from the wall and jogged to catch up with him, careful to keep a car’s length of space between them until the moment she had no choice but to mount the bike behind him and secure her arms around his warm, hard body for the drive to the store for supplies for the morning’s operation.
* * *
Camille was working way too hard, that was for sure. Ignoring someone on a thirty-three foot yacht with one bathroom and only a handful of places to sit was exhausting. She devoted all her energy for the rest of the night toward that end. When Aaron sat at the dining table, she relocated to the bridge. When he climbed to the bridge, smiling his million-watt dimpled smile, she returned to the cabin.
Infinitely relieved when he turned off the stateroom light and climbed into bed, Camille opted for the sofa. As she lay there, trying desperately to get comfortable on the narrow cushions, she had plenty of time to think. Aaron had, in essence, propositioned her, which she decided was the culmination of two things. One, she didn’t fall all over him like the rest of the female population, which he undoubtedly considered a challenge. And two, this was probably the longest he’d gone without sex and Camille was the closest warm body. Sure, she let him hold her while they slept, but that was different. That was... Well, she wasn’t sure why she’d let him get away with that, but she certainly wasn’t going to let it happen again.
No matter the reason behind Aaron’s behavior, Camille needed to be more diligent in her effort to keep her distance from him. It wasn’t about holding a grudge or hoping for an apology, it was about preserving the last shreds of her heart from the man she’d wanted beyond reason from the moment she met him, the man who disliked her for two straight years until he was trapped with her in Mexico.
She couldn’t stand the idea of becoming his temporary, forgettable relief—not even if it meant the end of her long-maligned and embarrassing virginity.
She’d saved her virginity like a jewel in high school. In college, when it no longer meant so much to her, she feared her inexperience would make her look the fool. Then the accident took away years of her life. Time and opportunities slipped by her until the potential embarrassment of revealing her inexperience trumped her curiosity and desire for sex. As if any men were waiting in line for the privilege.
Well, a man was waiting in line now.
But she cared too much about him to give herself freely, not when she meant nothing to him in return. Hugging herself, she stared at the night sky through the window above the sofa. Rosalia, I’m going to find you. I swear. And then I’m going to get as far away from Aaron Montgomery as I can. Before my heart shatters any more than it already has.
After two hours of tossing and turning and agonizing over things she could never have, Aaron appeared above her.
“I’m ignoring you.”
“I noticed.”
“Go away and let me sleep.”
“You’re not getting any more sleep than I am, Camille.” He worked his hands underneath her and lifted her into his arms. She considered fighting him but knew she’d only be fooling herself to deny that she’d let him do whatever he wanted.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Putting you back where you belong so we can get some rest.”
“Oh.” He only wanted to sleep. She was relieved...wasn’t she?
He laid her on the bed and, instead of walking around to his side, had the audacity to climb over her—but only partially. His left leg and arm never made it over, but remained draped across her as if she was the world’s first living, breathing full-body pillow.
“Mmm...that’s better,” he hummed softly, burrowing his face in her hair.
Camille stifled her own contented sigh.
Maybe she was approaching her needs all wrong. All her self-protection and fear of failure wasn’t getting her very far in life. As she lay th
ere in Aaron’s embrace, on the precipice of sleep, she felt a shift in her perspective, as if the right sequence of numbers had finally been entered into the combination lock of a vault and it sat, ready to be opened. Perhaps it was time to set aside her fear. Perhaps it was time to change her life for the better.
* * *
Camille hated birthday celebrations. She hated the singling out, the special designation of a person not on the basis of merit, but simply because that person had survived another year. This distaste extended to other people’s birthdays, but her own was the worst.
As a child, she begged her parents yearly to forgo her party. They compromised, agreeing to never mention her birthday to anyone outside the family so long as she accepted the fact that every February 20, she would endure cake and presents and singing and specialness, if only at their kitchen table.
It never occurred to her to tell Aaron today was her birthday. Not that she took turning thirty lightly. That she had survived to see this day was a milestone more significant than any other in her life. She just planned to mark the occasion privately.
As her gift, she had decided to reboot her mess of a life—assuming she made it out of Mexico alive. First off, she was going to quit her job. The police force had nothing left to offer her. She had enough money, both in savings and her portion of stolen cartel cash, that she could do anything she wanted, go anywhere she pleased.
She refused to live in fear anymore. If she survived Mexico, she wouldn’t waste the rest of her life stubbornly clinging to her pride at the forfeit of her happiness. Aaron had been right, it was time she figured out how to be happy. No more laps in a pool, no more thankless job, no more lonely apartment. Maybe she’d take up scuba diving. Maybe she’d visit all seven continents. She definitely wanted to try skydiving again.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up in bed. There was little point in dreaming of the future with a full day of cartel-hunting, child-rescuing danger ahead of her.
Today they were stealing inside the House of the Black Dog.
“Cam?” Aaron ducked his head through the stateroom door. “I’m docking the boat.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Like the day she acted as police spokesperson for Rosalia’s kidnapping, today she’d be costuming up again. She fished through the bag of items they bought the night before at Walmart. Grabbing the bikini, she headed to the bathroom.
An hour later, Camille and Aaron stood across the street from the bar at a bus stop, trying to look inconspicuous.
Aaron frowned. “Hmph. I don’t think I like you wearing makeup. I mean, you’re still beautiful, you always are, but it’s not...you.”
Camille, covered in a long coat, scowled as she balanced precariously in the cheaply made, strappy black heels that were digging into her feet. Walmart was a great source for many things, but a mecca for shoes it was not.
“I’d rather you didn’t critique my appearance.” She winced at the hostility in her voice, but the shoes were making her grumpy.
Looking serenely at her, Aaron slid an arm around her waist and leaned closer.
“Camille.” His whisper was as soft as a caress. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
This wasn’t how she wanted it to be between them. She didn’t want him to lavish her with sweet words that were little lies. It hurt too much.
“Don’t do that. Please.” She squirmed in a halfhearted effort to break free of his grip, but she didn’t want to draw attention from passersby.
“You don’t want to hear it, I know. We haven’t always gotten along, but...” His lips grazed her temple and nipped at her ear.
Camille’s mouth went dry. She may have stopped breathing but it was hard to tell with the way her pulse started racing and her insides grew heavy, as if all her blood was relocating to the sensitive juncture of her thighs. What had she been about to say? She couldn’t remember.
“I’m trying to be patient,” Aaron murmured, “so I’m going to give you a little more time to think about what you want.”
“What I want?” This was not going according to plan. She was supposed to be fending off his advances. While she was grateful that she retained the ability to speak, she couldn’t get her brain past the urge to tear his clothes off.
“The clock’s ticking, Camille.”
“What?” Did she miss something? What clock?
“What I’m saying is, you’ve got a little more time to think about what you want before I haul you onto our bed and give you what I know you need.”
Her knees wobbled. She was saved from having to form coherent thoughts by the opening of the garage door on the side of the building and the emergence of a familiar sedan.
Aaron released his hold on her waist. “Showtime.”
Camille tried to snap her body out of its trance, but it had frozen.
“Camille? Let’s go.”
“Just a sec.” She blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from her mind.
The sedan drove southeast, toward Pichilingue. As soon as it disappeared, Aaron patiently removed her hand from his shirt collar, one finger at a time.
* * *
Aaron watched Camille walk south in order to approach the alley from the opposite direction. Once she was out of view, he walked the dirt bike around the north side and propped it against the wall a few feet from the alley entrance.
He gripped his gun, concealing it inside his jacket. Then he waited anxiously for Camille to reappear. She’d call him a chauvinistic jackass again for entertaining such a thought, but he hated to have her out of his sight for even a minute. As his anxiety mounted, she rounded the corner, walking toward him. The entrance of the alley gaped between them like a chasm. Setting her voluminous orange beach bag on the ground, she removed her coat.
Aaron’s mouth went dry. He’d seen the red swimsuit she purchased, but he hadn’t thought much about how it would actually look painted on her creamy-skinned, curvaceous body. Oblivious to his dismay, she gave him a determined nod and stumbled purposefully, spilling the contents of the bag. Hair spray, lipsticks and other womanly goodies rolled, exactly as planned, into the alley. Camille chased after the scattering contents, bridging the distance to the guard.
Sure enough, as soon as he caught sight of her, the man rose from his stool and sauntered her way, lecherously appraising her body. Thank God Camille didn’t understand Spanish. Aaron, on the other hand, understood every single filthy word. While her bikini had been an unwelcome surprise, he was even less prepared for the rage that surged through him as he listened to the guard demean her.
The plan was for Aaron to hold his shot until the guard was standing near the Dumpsters in the middle of the alley. Aaron stood with his finger on the trigger of his gun and tried to be patient. But when the guard unzipped his pants and told Camille to get on her knees like the whore she was, Aaron pivoted into view and put two bullets through his chest.
Camille looked questioningly at Aaron but said nothing. They dragged the body between the Dumpsters, out of view from the street. While Aaron repositioned the bike in the alley for a getaway vehicle, Camille changed into sneakers, a T-shirt and shorts from her bag. She dropped the heels in the Dumpster, slung her rifle over her shoulder and got out a handgun with silencer—going from eye candy to warrior in seconds flat.
With Camille in the lead, they skulked into the bar.
Chapter 12
The bar was empty.
No people, no tables or chairs, no alcohol. Exchanging a worried look with Camille, Aaron checked the solitary bathroom—empty. They took positions against the wall next to the front door. He pushed it open a few inches to get the bouncers’ attention and stepped back into the shadows, hoping the men were curious sorts.
They were.
The bouncers advanced into the room with their guns drawn. Aaron aimed, as did Camille, only her gun hand shook so badly he couldn’t see how she’d hit her target. Damn. He forgot about that complication. Without waiting to
see if she got control of her aim, he shot both guards in the back. Camille fired, but her bullet lodged in the wall behind the bar.
She closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she nodded to Aaron with a look of cool determination. He squeezed her shoulder in a show of encouragement and motioned to the interior door on the far side of the room.
He tested the knob. Unlocked. Widening his stance, he put his finger on the trigger of his gun and gestured for Camille to open the door.
It only took a second to realize what a mistake they’d made.
At least a half dozen sets of eyes fixed on them from inside the room, which had been made up to look like a living room with sofas and a television. A little girl was seated on the floor.
At the first crack of gunfire from the room, Camille cursed and took off in a dead run for the alley, with Aaron outpacing her through the bar and onto the bike. Their helmets lay abandoned in the alley as they peeled away.
In no time, two Jeeps pulled into view, tailing Aaron and Camille and gaining ground fast. Aaron gunned it, but the Jeeps kept up with the punishing pace.
They flew through the city, negotiating the cars and people, ignoring stoplights and signs. Aaron shot west through the outlying neighborhoods of town where the roads were wider and less crowded. He took every possible shortcut through dirt lots and alleys but could not lose the Jeeps.
They sped past the airport, then the highway that marked the last vestiges of civilization, into the open desert. The landscape of Baja was denser than the California desert, but Aaron was banking on his experience with all-terrain vehicles as a Park Ranger to gain the advantage.
The butt of Camille’s rifle poked him in the ribs. Aaron tried to keep the bike steady while she sprayed a quick staccato of shots. A loud screech and clattering sounded behind them.
“What’s happening?” he yelled.
“One Jeep down, one to go.”
The men in the remaining Jeep fired back. It sounded as though they only had handguns, but a bullet was a bullet.
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