He wanted to cup Evan's soft cheeks in his hands and confess his truth. Tell her that he understood her words to a depth he had never explored. But he couldn’t. He could only connect with her the way Miguel Ramirez would connect with a woman. On some level, Cam wanted that physical connection too. Cam wanted to touch her. This time he didn’t stop to analyze the implications of the desire he shared with his alter ego; he reached out in the darkness and ran a hand down her thigh.
“Wha, what are you doing?” she asked.
He searched out her cinnamon gaze as his hand repeated the movement. “Passing the time.”
His night vision was exceptional, and he could just make out the two faint lines that formed between her eyebrows as she spoke. “That… that feels nice.”
He paused for a moment at the wonder in her voice. “You sound surprised.” Cam's hand traveled up her thigh, and he squeezed her hip.
“I… I don’t like to be touched,” she spoke on a breath.
“You sure about that, little mouse?”
His large hand spanned her ribcage, and she murmured into the pitch, “I’ve never had consensual sex.”
The declaration had him pulling his hand back. The implication had him fighting fury.
“Explain, please,” he demanded.
“It means I’ve never—”
“I know what the word means. Tell me what you mean.” Cam clenched his jaw.
Evan sighed, the sound echoing off the walls of their ersatz confessional.
“Don’t stop. Please,” she begged.
Cam returned his hand to her body, placing it gently on her calf as she prepared to share her pain.
“It's a long story,” she continued.
“Where can we go?” he whispered.
As if on cue, a bottle broke, and the sounds of fighting filtered in through the opening.
“I want to roll my eyes at the triteness of it all—my high school prom after-party. I’d had a bit to drink but not too much. The boy I was seeing…” She spoke to her lap, shame leeching off her like a scent. “I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes. I wasn’t ready.”
Cam wanted the guy's name. He wanted to ruin him. All Miguel Ramirez could do was continue to stroke her leg with a gentle touch and say, “I’m sorry.”
“The worst part? Afterward, I said I wanted to leave. He wanted to stay and party, so I called a taxi. When I was walking to the car, he came up to me and handed me fifty dollars and said, ‘thanks for the fun night.’”
No wonder she had reacted so fiercely to his insult. Puta. On Miguel Ramirez's long list of crimes, it was a misdemeanor, but somehow in this intimate cocoon, calling her a whore felt like a capital offense. He didn’t know how she would interpret his silence, but Cam knew if he spoke, it wouldn’t be Miguel Ramirez's voice coming out of his mouth. So, instead, he continued to touch her leg gently.
“Ever since then, when men touch me with intention, I sort of panic. Maybe a bit more than panic. I doused a date with pepper spray in college when he grabbed me from behind to hug me. I spent the evening in the hospital waiting room explaining to campus security that the entire thing was a misunderstanding.” Evan laughed and shook her head. “I guess it wasn’t such a long story after all.”
Then, in a move that had his eyes flying to hers, she took his hand and moved it up her leg. “Do you, um, know what you’re doing?” she asked.
Cam squeezed her thigh.
“Could you…?” She swallowed.
“Could I what, querida?” He didn’t want to push her, but after what she just confessed, she needed to take the lead.
Just when he thought this little mouse couldn’t surprise him, she crossed her arms at her waist and pulled the T-shirt over her head. “Could you touch me more?”
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, her words sure.
As he circled each breast over her bra and ran his fingers lazily across her torso, Cam felt her body heat and arousal spread through her like an incoming tide. Her nipples were pebbled, her breaths shallow. He could imagine her toes curling inside her boots.
“If it's too much, just tell me to stop,” he breathed near the shell of her ear.
“I said yes, Miguel. Don’t treat me like damaged goods.”
Quick as a cat, Cam loomed above her. “Maybe the little mouse wants to be taken?”
He felt Evan arch into his body; then, she scraped her teeth over his chin.
“See, angel? When you offer your body, it can be very…” He sank his teeth into the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder as he unbuttoned her pants. He whispered into her skin, “Satisfying.”
Evan circled his wrist and pushed his arm past the barricade of her waistband. Cam dipped his hand beneath her cotton underpants, pleased with the rush of arousal that met his fingers.
“Quick or slow, Evan?”
“I want…” she panted. “You choose.”
A wicked grin spread across his face.
“Let's give this body what it's been wanting.” He opened her pants.
With the expertise of an accomplished lover, Cam plunged two fingers inside her, eliciting a gasp. He had earned his reputation with women but not for the reasons his SEAL teammates assumed. He was good because he paid attention. Every squeeze of her fingers, every arch of her back, every quick inhale, every shudder. It mattered. For Cam, bringing his partner pleasure was as satisfying as achieving his own—a fact that was never more true than it was right now. Cam would stop the earth from turning if it meant pleasing Evan. He withdrew his fingers, held her clit, all the while watching the silhouette of her beautiful face, flushed with rapture and awe. Cam unleashed his fantasies, imagined himself pushing into her. His erection was a steel pipe threatening to burst the teeth of his fly as he pictured taking her completely, Evan giving herself completely, for the first time. He released the bud and circled it, alternating firm then gentle strokes. Evan trembled and gripped his biceps, her short nails digging into his flesh. Cam continued his ministrations, moving closer to her body, needing to feel her beneath him. Evan lifted her face to his chest, and, with a muffled shriek, she exploded.
Cam moved beside her, slipped an arm behind her head, and cradled her as she came down from the high. She opened her caramel-colored eyes and said one word.
“Wow.”
Then she rolled into the shelter of his body and fell asleep.
Cam didn’t bother analyzing which of his personas had delivered this woman's first orgasm from a man. He knew the answer. What's more, he didn’t care. He didn’t think about the implications, didn’t worry about the consequences. He didn’t do anything but watch over the angel in his arms, entranced.
Forty minutes later, Evan stirred, burrowing her face into Miguel's broad chest. She knew immediately where she was, who she was with, what had occurred. She also knew she needed to pull away. This man was dangerous, an enigma, a stranger. And yet, she prolonged her departure from the shelter of his embrace.
She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around it, or more accurately, she didn’t want to wrap her brain around it. She had let him touch her, begged him to touch her. God. Date after date, man after man had her retreating like a tortoise sensing danger. Nice boys, clean-cut, intelligent, successful professionals and academics. Never had she felt the desire she felt with this man.
The situation had been so wrong—a dank, dark cave, air tinged with pot smoke, a menacing man, and yet something about it had been so right. A clandestine encounter with a stranger she would never see again, to whom she could confess her deepest shame. A man who could provide unimagined pleasure. An Adonis she hadn’t even kissed before she urged his hand between her legs. If Evan felt any regret at all, it wasn’t over their tryst but rather their inevitable parting.
He must have sensed her wake because Miguel lifted her chin. “The men are gone. You can make your escape.”
She fought the urge to nuzzle his hand. “What time is i
t?”
“The sun will be up soon.” He reached out and illuminated one of the lanterns he had brought over to their side of the space.
Reluctantly, she climbed to her feet, snagged her T-shirt, and pulled it over her head. “I need to get to the dig site and show Dr. Emberton what we found.” She gathered up the gold box and a sampling of the coins and slipped them into her canvas shoulder bag.
Miguel grabbed her messy ponytail and turned her head gently toward him. “What you found, querida. I was never here.”
She didn’t know why Miguel wouldn’t want anyone to know he had been with her at the find; most men in his position would see dollar signs. Clearly, this man had secrets, and Evan didn’t want to know them, so she nodded and stood. When they crawled through into the storage room, Evan cleared her throat. “So, um…”
Miguel spared her the awkward moment when he leaned down, took her face in his rough hands, and kissed her forehead. It was the only time his lips had touched her. “Be safe, Evan.”
He disappeared into the mine, leaving Evan to retrace her steps through the cave system to the little cove where the Zodiac was hidden in an outcropping along the cliffs.
Evan emerged into the cool morning air, stood on the tea-colored beach, and watched the sky slowly pink. She stretched her arms toward the heavens and felt a corresponding ache between her legs. After taking a moment to bask in the memory, she patted the canvas bag at her hip and marched over to the boat. It was time to get down to business. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help the secret smile that danced on her lips.
Best night of her life.
Cam leaned against the rock wall of the tunnel outside the empty storage room and fought to corral his emotions. Why, why had he allowed Miguel Ramirez to touch her. He tugged on his too-long auburn hair fighting the true realization that came. In that moment, touching that angel, he had been both men, the concerned protector and the salacious deviant. The line between the two had blurred, melding Camilo Canto and Miguel Ramirez into one man and threatening to fracture his psyche. Could he reconcile the idea that Miguel was a part of him, that this impulsive, selfish man was a side of Cam?
He suddenly felt as if he had been standing on a fault line for the past three years, and this beguiling, beautiful woman was causing the earth to shake.
His thoughts turned to Evan. He bathed in the vision. There, in the dark, he saw her. She had seized her pleasure with a boldness that tapped his most primal urges. He wanted to roar when she shattered, pound his chest, and dive between her legs, extending the euphoria for minutes, hours, days… forever.
If a genie had emerged from a bottle and granted him his perfect woman, that woman would have paled in comparison to Evan. He hadn’t even thought a woman like that could exist. She was perfect in her imperfection, a wonderful amalgam of timidity and bravery, reserve and fire. The way she passionately pursued what mattered to her it was… she was… captivating.
He didn’t feel that zing his dad had talked about. What he felt was a tether, an invisible lasso pulling him toward her. And he willingly went. Even now, her absence had left him with a hollow ache, as if she were somehow essential.
Giving himself a mental slap, Cam came back to earth. Evan was spending time with Miguel Ramirez, not Camilo Canto. She didn’t know Cam. What's more, Cam knew he couldn’t be with any woman who wanted a man like Miguel. He’d have to take that night for what it was and move on.
Cam made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels to the mine's front exit. He looked over his shoulder one last time and allowed the memory to wash over him.
Best night of his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Miramar, Mallorca
December 10
A
s he had done for the past three nights, Cam bypassed the front gates and entered the March villa through the olive grove that bordered the south end of the property. Moving like a wraith, he cut through the trees and across the lawn, slipped around the pool, and climbed the broad stone steps that stopped at the retractable wall to the shower and sauna. The windows in the wall were wired to the alarm system, but the wall itself was not as it was impossible to open from the outside. Anticipating his need for a shower after these excursions, Cam had left it open just enough to slide his hand through and hit the button. The wall retracted silently, and Cam slipped inside. After sealing the room shut, he rinsed the mud and sand from his body, stepped from the shower, and stilled with the towel in his hands.
Miguel Ramirez needed to visit Gemini. Miguel Ramirez should creep into her room and wake her with his head between her legs. Without thought to the consequences, Camilo Canto crawled into bed.
He rolled to his side and watched the sun slowly illuminate the dormant olive trees. His thoughts drifted to Evan. In this vortex of turmoil, he calmed. Taking a moment to mourn what could have been, Cam resigned himself to his fate, comforted by the memory of their one and only night together. He recalled her courage as she peeled the shirt from her breasts, her innocence as he showed her what her body could do, her trust as she gave a virtual stranger her most precious gift. Maybe it was the pot smoke drifting into the room or the imminent threat of the men who drank and fought just a few yards away, but he didn’t think so.
He squeezed his eyes shut. God, he had wanted to strip them both naked and plunge bare into her depths. But he couldn’t. He could never let Miguel defile her, and he could never let Cam reveal himself to make love to her. So he had simply pleasured her, giving her what he could without robbing her of her dignity, without tainting the act. There was something there, between them, a bond that went beyond words, beyond circumstance. In that moment, he, Cam, had felt their connection. Had she felt it with Miguel Ramirez? Or had she somehow seen past his impenetrable facade?
He succumbed to sleep with the silk of her skin on his fingers and the blossoms of her scent in his nose. He drifted, listening to the melody of their encounter—half conscious, half in love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Valldemossa, Mallorca
December 10
T
he alarm on the phone trilled, pulling Evan from a short but rejuvenating sleep. Her eyes opened. Instead of the timber ceiling, she pictured the image of Miguel hovering above her. Still amazed by her unhampered trust—her unhampered lust—she replayed their encounter, every quixotic minute.
Something about that magnificent cocktail of danger and darkness had allowed her to free her inner desires. More than that, though, it was the man. Whether he knew it or not, Miguel was a protector, a giver. Deep in his soul, beneath the callous, selfish thug, was a generous, caring man. She wanted that man. Was there any hope for them?
Her thoughts strayed to the dinner party and Miguel and the famous beauty on his lap for half the night. He had said they weren’t involved. So what then? Was he simply feigning interest, or was it the more obvious explanation that he was lying?
She knew there was no future for her with Miguel, but she also knew she wanted to solve this irritating puzzle. Resolved to crack Miguel Ramirez's code somehow, she threw off the covers and got to her day. She had an archaeological discovery to announce.
Evan stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and scampered down the hall back to her room. The golden box sat on her bed, and she eyed it while she crossed the room as if it might float away. She was so distracted she nearly tumbled over her tiny desk. As it was, she kicked the plastic drawstring bag she had set on the floor a week ago—the bag from the hospital. Sitting in the ladderback chair, she lifted it and pulled it open. There, stuck to the swim cap, was the slip of paper with the phone number.
She rubbed her fully-healed calf. The whole incident felt like a distant dream. Nevertheless, she owed this man a phone call. Propelled by her ingrained politeness and sincere gratitude, she grabbed her cell phone from the desk and entered the number.
She didn’t mask her relief when the call went straight to voicemail. “Um, hi.” She crinkled the
paper as she held it up. “This is… well, this is the woman you helped earlier this week. The stingray? Anyway, the medics gave me your number, and I wanted to, um, thank you… for helping me. So… thanks… you’re, um, you’re a good man.”
She set the phone back down before she purposely knocked herself in the head with it. You’re a good man? The guy could be a serial killer for all she knew. Whatever. She checked the “thank you” off of her to-do list and recalled the next several items. First and foremost, she needed to show Dr. Emberton her discovery and discuss how to proceed.
It was all she could do to bottle her excitement over presenting the gold box to her mentor. With renewed vigor, Evan moved to the closet to dress.
She pulled on a T-shirt. When her head emerged through the neck hole, her mind again drifted back to the cave. She wasn’t impulsive by nature, but when she realized that brief encounter might be her only chance to experience the touch of a man, she hadn’t hesitated. She recalled Miguel's massive form taking charge of her body. She wanted to reciprocate, to vent eight years’ worth of bottled-up libidinous curiosity. Where was he ticklish? What made him groan or sigh or shudder? What would that thick erection feel like in her hands, her mouth, her body? God. She had gone from frigid to wanton in the course of one night.
She finished dressing and sent up a silent prayer that her panic attacks had ebbed, that her fear of erotic touch was fading. Could she meet a nice man and start dating? Take it to the next level? For some reason, the thought left her cold. She quickly packed away thoughts of Miguel. Hopefully, one day, she could redirect these feelings of attraction and lust. She needed to stop thinking about her dark, complicated, golden-eyed man because she knew she probably wouldn’t see Miguel Ramirez again.
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