Chapter Twenty
Fifteen minutes later, Boone swept Tilly into his arms and carried her up the front steps of Maison Plaisir. Without a word being spoken, help was mustered, a pot of warm tea set on a side table, and Denny was led away to the kitchen to find a meal.
Boone closed the door and then strode back to Tilly, who lay on a chaise in the sunshine spilling through a window, her eyes closed, her head turned toward the warmth.
He sat beside her, worried because she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the river. He didn’t know what to say, was afraid she might still blame him for the danger she and her brother had found themselves in. So he remained silent, his hands pressed together, waiting.
“Boone?”
She sounded fragile, her voice thin. It worried him all the more. “Yes, Tilly?”
“What would you have done if the killer had been Denny?”
“I bought your old house.” Boone released a deep breath. “I’d have followed through getting it fixed up to look like it did when you still lived there. I already hired a caregiver to help him.”
Her head turned, a crease forming between her pale brows. “You’d have done that, even if he’d been the one responsible for Celie’s death?”
Boone nodded. “Denny’s important to you. If he’d been the one, I would have kept that news to myself to make sure he didn’t suffer. I’d have kept him safe and supervised.”
Her gaze lowered to his chest. “So it’s over.”
“Yeah.” Boone looked down at his folded hands. “Funny, I thought I’d feel something.”
“Maybe you’ll finally sleep easier.” Tilly struggled to sit up.
Boone reached out a hand to help her, but she stared at it, so he let it drop.
“I should head back to my place.”
Boone stomach tightened. “This is your place.”
Her eyes filled and her head rolled on the chaise back. “I’ll understand if you want to walk away. From everything here, from me. You accomplished what you came for—Celeste’s murder is solved. You cleared your name once and for all and you saved my life…and my brother’s. You don’t owe me a thing.”
Boone reached out and glided a hand up her leg, letting it rest on her thigh. “I don’t owe you anything…” He snorted, then shifted, coming closer to Tilly. As he pulled near, he spotted her wet, cornflower-blue eyes shining like mirrors.
The tremble of her lower lip was what hurt him most. His gut twisted, and he framed her jaw and cheek with a hand and bent to kiss her.
She sniffed, her mouth opening around a soft sob.
Relief poured through him as he smothered the sound, taking her breaths, raking her tongue with his, laying claim to her lush mouth. When he drew back, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what this is between us, Tilly. But I’m not letting it go. I’m not letting you go.”
Tilly’s wide, wet eyes studied him. Then her eyelids dipped. Her mouth pouted.
Despite the turmoil swirling inside him, arousal stirred in his groin. He knew her. Knew that look.
Her gaze fell away. “I should be doing something. Making some sort of arrangements. Mae didn’t have anyone.”
“You’d do that for the woman who killed your cousin?”
Tilly locked her glance with his. “She was damaged, somehow. She was sorry about hurting her.”
Boone gave a rough shake of his head. “I’ll see to arrangements. It’s not your worry.”
Again, her lips plumped. The tip of her tongue sneaked out and wet the bottom.
Boone felt that furtive swipe right against his balls.
From beneath the fringe of her dark lashes, her eyes slowly smiled. “I need you, Boone. Please, sir?”
* * *
Tilly should have been exhausted. After making love with Boone, she’d spent the rest of the day at Leon’s office, writing out her statement, answering an endless round of questions, before she’d been released with an admonishment not to leave town any time soon.
She sniffed. Leon sure liked to throw his weight around. Right now, he was the big man in town with a cold case all wrapped up in a tidy bow. No matter that he had only caught the tail end of the excitement. His investigation would provide Bayou Vert the closure the town had needed for so many years.
After she’d returned to the Big House, she’d dined with Boone’s team, this time left to eat her meal in comfortable silence. The easy conversation that surrounded her soothed her nerves. She liked his friends, gruff and rough around the edges, aggressively masculine, but she trusted every one of them because Boone did. Denny had joined them with an endless line of questions about the estate. Linc and Jonesy didn’t show any irritation with his childish curiosity.
Her brother had been led away to bed, the new caregiver sleeping in the room next to his. Until Tilly’s family home in town was ready, they’d both remain on the estate. Then Denny would be returned to familiar surroundings. Something Tilly would be forever in Boone’s debt for, because right after dinner, he handed her the deed to the house on Belle Tierre.
“I can’t take that,” she said, the deed quivering in her grasp.
“Sure you can,” he said, pushing it back. “It’s a gift. I certainly don’t need it.”
“I haven’t earned it.”
His eyebrows quirked. “Will you feel better about accepting it if I attach some strings?”
Holding still, Tilly pressed her lips together to hide a smile she felt growing inside. “You really should expect more in return. I don’t know how you ever got to be such a big-shot CEO when you don’t know how to strike a proper bargain.”
A growl rumbled deep in Boone’s chest and he strode toward her, his hands reaching out.
Tilly gave a yelp and darted away, running past the bed to the French doors and throwing them open. Once outside, she sped down the balcony, passing Serge’s door, running for the wrought-iron stairs that led to ground level.
Before she reached the stairs, an arm snaked around her middle, and she was turned, lifted, and draped over a rock-hard shoulder.
She gasped. Laughter followed. A hand smacked her backside, but she only laughed harder.
Back at his bedroom doors, he set her on her feet, then crowded her against the porch rail, his hands landing on the iron at either side of her hips, bracketing her in.
Moonlight filtering through the big oaks gleamed on the side of his face, skipped the dark sockets of his eyes, and shone bluish in his dark hair. “You look like a pirate,” she whispered.
“You make me feel like one.” Strong hands slid up her sides.
She lifted her chin. “Pirates take what they want.”
Boone’s eyebrows gave a single waggle, and he leered downward. “In that case, I want your clothes.”
“Here?” she asked, glancing around.
“Your brother’s on the opposite side of the house.”
“But your men are crawling all over the estate. Don’t you care what they might see?” She widened her eyes, feigning concern, but she liked this Boone—free of worry, hunger burning in his eyes.
“Let them see what I’m bargaining for…sweet little sub.”
Her breath caught as she understood a direct challenge had been issued.
With her thighs clamping tight from excitement, Tilly leaned away and pulled off her tee, tossing it to the lawn behind her. Then she unsnapped her bra and dangled it off a finger before letting it fall to the ground as well.
Boone swallowed loudly. His gaze dropped from her face to her tightly beaded nipples. His stance widened, and she wondered if he needed the extra room because he was growing aroused.
Tilly heard footsteps crunch below her, but lifted her chin, determined not to betray any embarrassment. Boone deserved courage. She needed to show him she trusted him implicitly. She unsnapped her shorts and pushed them and her undies off her hips, stepping out of them and then giving them a backward kick.
Boone stood still, his nostrils flaring, his gaze raking her body.
Tilly stood proudly on the balcony, knowing her hair was silver in the moonlight, and that her body was softly gilded. She read approval in Boone’s eyes, and that was all she needed to remain strong while she waited for his response.
“Turn around and grip the rail,” he said, his tone firm, but the edges smoothed by his honeyed drawl. “Then bend over, your arms stretched, your legs spread.”
Delight rather than shock rippled through her at his softly worded command. He’d take her standing. Pleasure swept like a wave over her skin, pricking up goose bumps and wetting her folds. Lord, she’d come a long way.
He stepped back, his hands on his hips, waiting.
On a heel, she turned silently, looking out over the balcony and knowing any of the men combing the estate could see her pale skin perfectly illuminated in moonlight. She wasn’t so inured she didn’t blush, but joy surpassed any misgivings.
Bending at the waist, she reached out and gripped the porch rail, and then slowly shifted her feet apart on the plank floor. Her breasts were stretched, the nipples tingling. Her p-ssy and cheeks parted.
The rustle of clothing behind her made her shiver with delight. She jerked slightly when a hand smoothed over her ass, then beneath her, rubbing over her stomach, her ribs, and then closing around one ripened breast. “Oh, Boone.” She sighed, letting her back sink to tilt her ass toward him.
Another hand slipped between her legs to fondle her p-ssy, cupping her smooth sex, warming it with his hand, before sliding two fingers inside her.
Beyond caring what anyone saw or heard, she welcomed the lush, wet sound her body made as he fondled her, the intrusion of his skillful fingers as he prodded both holes. She was his. To pleasure or hurt. To love or set aside. She’d decided to open her heart. Live without expectations. Trust he’d take care of her. For now.
Their attraction was powerful. Inevitable. Like the storms rumbling in from the Gulf. Devastation was something one prepared for, but didn’t live in fear of. One accepted change. Cherished good times, and soldiered through the bad.
“You’re thinking too much.” A kiss landed on one hip. “Am I boring you?”
Tilly tossed back her hair. “I’m not bored, Boone. I’m happy.”
Another kiss landed, this one followed by a lick through the crease dividing her buttocks. She shied from the intimacy but didn’t voice her concern. Now she knew better.
“I’ll be traveling soon,” he murmured. “We still have the Tex-Oil trouble in Mexico to resolve.”
Warm air wafted along her lower back. She held her breath and raised her head. “I’ll miss you.”
Fingers dug into her soft bottom. “You’ll be with me. First I’m taking you to my club. Then we’ll head back to Mexico. We have that hostage situation to resolve.”
Happiness unfurled inside her. She’d be with him. “I haven’t proven to be much help. I think I’m a lousy personal assistant.”
“This time I’ll bring you into the meetings. Let you see the inner workings of my operations.” His hand smoothed over an ass cheek.
Her heart kicked up another notch. “You have some very capable men helping you. You have Beatrice.”
“Beatrice has been reassigned.”
At this statement, a thrill ran through her. “So I will be your secretary.”
“Baby, you’ll be so much more. Trust me, Tilly. The work will be rewarding. The perks…Well, they start now…”
He thrust his fingers deep and gave her a swirl that had her rising on her toes, her tummy sucking inward. “Good Lord, Boone. Do that again.”
The bristly hairs on his thighs tickled the backs of hers as he lowered himself behind her to the wood floor. His fingers pulled away, but he didn’t leave her wanting. With his hands clutching the globes of her ass, his mouth opened to suck her folds inside.
A finger toggled her * while he feasted, and Tilly had no doubts every one of his team watched. A gust of laughter caught her by surprise. She hoped someday to rerun the footage, because she knew for sure the sight of Boone Benoit, naked and kneeling behind her, was an image that would take any woman’s breath away.
Boone pulled back.
She dragged in deep breaths, still clenching her fingers around the edge of the porch rail. The moment his cockhead butted against her swollen p-ssy, she groaned. Opening her stance, she waited while he shifted. Glancing to the side, she noted the wide placement of his feet as he lowered to match the height of her hips. Then he leaned over her, his hands bracketing hers, and began to pump, slowly working his way deeper and deeper inside her body.
Before long, his lunges jarred her body, forced out her breaths in deep, labored grunts. But she didn’t care, didn’t want it to end. His powerful body buffeted hers from behind and she embraced the power, reveled in the fact that for right now, Boone was staking his claim in front of everyone who mattered to him.
She had no doubt that was what this was about. As she writhed and moaned, her body shuddering as desire curled tighter and tighter around her core, she stared at the length of the long graveled drive, down the long, dark tunnel where oak branches above interwove, draped with thick moss. Where a dark, painful past was slowly undergoing a glorious resurrection. It wasn’t just sex.
Their bodies connected in the most intimate way. She felt as though he marked her, branded her with his sweat and seed. She widened her stance and stepped atop his feet, heard his soft grunting laughter, but couldn’t smile herself, because she was close. So close.
Her skin tingled, her p-ssy burned, her hard * throbbed. “Boone,” she gasped as the first wave of pleasure rolled across her body.
“Come, baby. Make some noise.”
Freed, she bucked against him, letting loose a long wail as she orgasmed. Her p-ssy clenched around his cock, spasms rippling up her channel, massaging his cock, pulling him deeper.
He slammed against her bottom, grinding deep, pounding her in shallow bursts that rocked her whole body. She tightened her grip on the porch rail, afraid she’d be shaken off.
Then Boone moved his arms, encircling her body while he remained curled over her back and rutting wildly inside her, until at last, he gave a muffled shout.
When he slowed, he reached up and leaned on the rail for support, dragging deep ragged breaths into his lungs.
Tilly curved a hand around his upper arm, holding herself steady as she tried to remember how to breathe too.
They clung together, bodies still in motion, swaying forward and back.
Lord, she wanted more nights like these. A thousand wouldn’t be enough.
Boone hugged her and then pulled free. Liquid flowed in a gush down her inner thighs. He turned her in his arms, and encircled her body, pulling her chest flush with his. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, until a grin quirked up one side of his mouth.
“What’s so funny?” she whispered, gliding her hands up his damp chest, then behind his neck to cling tightly.
He shook his head. “How will you like receiving guests?”
“Here at Maison Plaisir?”
The grin widening, he nodded.
“I suppose I’ll let you guide me.” She squinted, studying his expression. “So far, you’ve eased my modesty, my embarrassment. I suppose you were right about me all along.”
“Only close friends and associates. Only those I trust not to alarm you or make you uncomfortable.”
“You can’t promise I won’t be uncomfortable,” she said, arching a brow.
“Right.” He tilted his head. “I’ll make sure you’re never truly afraid. That you’ll be introduced slowly to new pleasures.”
Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. “I’d like that, Boone. But only with you.” And that fact was true. She couldn’t imagine ever making a journey like this with any other man.
Only in the tenderness he’d shown her could he prove the love underlying all his actions. That was the new secret she harbored. One she’d cherish for as long as love endured.
About the Author
Until just a few years ago, USA Today bestselling erotica and romance author Delilah Devlin lived in South Texas at the intersection of two dry creeks, surrounded by sexy cowboys in Wranglers. These days, she’s missing the wide-open skies and starry nights but loving her dark forest in Central Arkansas, with its eccentric characters and isolation—the better to feed her hungry muse! For Delilah, the greatest sin is driving between the lines, because it’s comfortable and safe. Her personal journey has taken her through one war and many countries, cultures, jobs, and relationships to bring her to the place where she is now: writing sexy adventures that hold more than a kernel of autobiography and often share a common thread of self-discovery and transformation.
Learn more at:
DelilahDevlin.com
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Please turn the page for a preview of Delilah Devlin’s next book
His Every Fantasy
Chapter One
He’d been here before. A makeshift tent city on a lonely stretch of desert with a shamal wind kicking up fine wheat-flour sand into a blinding storm. Tar-paper shacks nestled in a rock-strewn valley in the Hindu Kush mountains with fat snowflakes whipping into a blizzard.
This ramshackle camp hidden in the middle of a Yucatan jungle was surrounded. About to be destroyed. The men guarding the perimeter, smoking cigarettes and bragging about their latest sexual conquests, were already dead. They just didn’t know it.
Sergei Gun drew a deep breath, inhaling the scents of rotting vegetation and the diesel fueling the site’s generator. Dim lights burned in huts close to the entrance of the encampment. He’d chosen the far side of the camp, illuminated only by slivers of moonlight peeking through the forest canopy, for their attack. Checking the lit dial of his watch, he noted the time. Although he couldn’t see them and they’d maintained radio silence throughout their trek from the rutted road to the camp, he knew his team was in place.
He raised his arm and motioned twice with sharp pumps of his fist to the men beside him. Five seconds later, the soft muffled thuds of silenced rounds took each guard down. Seconds after that, his men, their faces blackened, bits of vines stuck into their helmets and the straps of their web gear to break up the outlines of their tall frames, crept into the encampment, the crunch of their footsteps on the jungle floor masked by the howling wind from a tropical storm.
One by one, the camp security force drug money had bought fell beneath swift and brutal knifes and brawny, suffocating headlocks.
Serge slipped past his men, making his way to the hut where their intel said the kidnapped Tex-Oil men were kept—one of a line of shacks with slatted wood sides that did little to keep out the elements. Tin roofs clapped as the wind picked up.
Through his night-vision goggles, he noted the man sitting beside the door of the hut, his head slumped toward his chest in sleep.
Serge snorted softly. The guards were poorly trained, likely recruited from the local village, given guns and more money than they’d ever see farming or leading tourists into the jungle to do the cartel’s bidding. One or two actual cartel members were somewhere in the camp, and they’d be harder to take down than this one slumbering idiot.
With only a moment’s regret for the man’s poor judgment, Serge slipped beside him, encircled his neck, his arm cinching to cut off his oxygen, and waited as the man’s heels drummed the dirt and his hands clawed at his arms, until he hung limply inside Serge’s embrace. Setting the body to the side, Serge motioned to Bear to follow him while another of his team kept watch.
Inside, they found the two Tex-Oil men sleeping on the dirt. Serge reached down, placed a hand over one man’s mouth, and waited for his eyes to spring open.
“Shhh,” he said softly. “Your name?” He lifted his hand up an inch.
“Frank West,” the man gasped, the ragged texture to his voice a testament to the ordeal he’d endured the past weeks.
“Mr. West, we’re here to get you out. We’re Black Spear.”
The man’s relief, even in the green glow of the night-vision goggles, was written on his face. He gave a quick nod, and Serge backed away, holding his arm to guide him upward in the pitch dark. “Hold on to my shirt and follow me. Don’t let go.”
As Serge turned, Frank tugged on his jacket.
“Wait,” Frank whispered. “There’s a girl.”
Serge stiffened. “We’re here for you. We’ve only got minutes before the whole camp knows we’re here.”
“She’s in the shack next to ours. They brought her in yesterday. She’s the only other hostage. You can’t leave her.”
Serge hesitated. Their mission was to extract the two executives who’d been kidnapped. Ransom demands had been met, but the cartel had decided to squeeze the oil company for more. Serge’s plan called for a swift extraction, and to destroy the guards’ ability to escape or tip off the cartel that they’d been raided just long enough to get the two men out of the country.
Still, the thought of another hostage, this one a woman, rankled. Breaking protocol, Serge tapped his headset. “We’ve got another lamb. Need two on West and Campion.”
Stepping outside, he kept close to the side of the hut as two more of his team peeled away from the trees and sped quietly toward them. He and Bear handed off the men, then peered around the side of the hut at the other isolated shack. This one was guarded by two men, rifles slung over their shoulders, standing on either side of the door of the hut and peering up into the swaying canopy above them as limbs creaked ominously.
Signaling to Bear that he’d lay down cover fire if needed, Serge raised his weapon, sighting on the man nearest to him. Bear crouched, then ran past him, but neither guard noticed his movement between the huts. Once safe, Bear knelt at the corner of the building, his weapon trained on the men as Serge darted across.
Leaning against the hut, Serge signaled thirty seconds, holstered his weapon, and drew his knife from his sheath on his web belt before circling behind the hut, coming to a halt at the corner of the building. At the end of the thirty count, he slipped around the corner, rushing the man nearest as Bear launched toward the other.
The struggle was brief. Neither guard had time to draw a breath, much less shout. Serge wiped off his bloody hand on his jacket, then opened the latch of the hut and stepped inside.
A scuffing sound from his right had him whirling. Liquid spilled over his head, the scent acrid. Urine. A bucket clanked next, shifting his goggles and blinding him, but he was already on his opponent, clamping an arm around a slim body that he backed into the rickety wooden wall. Sheathing his knife because he didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her, he slipped his hand over the woman’s mouth.
Her jaw opened.
“Don’t. Bite,” he gritted out. “Ma’am, we’re here to rescue you.”
Her body quivered inside his embrace, her curves pressed so close she could barely draw a deep breath, but he considered that a good thing. She’d be less likely to scream.
“I don’t believe you,” she said in a harsh whisper. “No one knows I’m here.”
“I came for the two men in the cabin next to yours. They wouldn’t leave without you.”
When her wriggling ceased, and she appeared ready to cooperate, he righted his goggles and stared down at her. Even bathed in a blurry neon glow she was beautiful. And terribly young. Dark-haired, slender, and wearing shorts and a very thin tee that hugged her upper torso. Braless. That fact bothered him even more than her youth. “I’m your way out. Or do you want to stay here?”
Her lips pursed. Her gaze darted to the side. When her chin shot up, he knew her answer even before she whispered, “No.”
“Then do exactly as I say. Hold on to my jacket when we leave here. I’ll guide you out. But, lady, I’m warning you, I won’t allow any antics out of you. If you try to make a run for it, you’ll put me and my team at risk.”
“You have a team?”
Serge pressed a finger over her lips. “Not another word. Follow me.”
He turned, felt her fist gather a bundle of his camouflaged jacket, then stepped outside. She followed on his heels, her steps soft. A quick glance behind him confirmed she was barefoot. But better she suffer bruised and cut feet than remain trapped here. There wasn’t a thing he could do about it now. Not that she was complaining. Her expression was tense, her mouth a tight, determined line.
From the periphery of his goggles, he noted his team, slipping into the forest, melting away. Serge hurried toward the trees then pulled his compass from a pack on his web belt, checked the tritium-lit direction lines to orient, and took off at a swift pace in the direction of the rutted logging trail they’d used as their assembly area.
Serge trudged quickly forward, not speaking, impressed despite himself when the barefoot girl behind him kept quiet, her breaths even as he set a swift pace. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped at the edge of a road, checking up and down the line as members of his team slid into their vehicles.
He turned and put an arm around the girl to guide her toward the second vehicle in the line, although here in the clearing moonlight provided plenty of illumination. When she stiffened against his touch, he kept his arm around her, telling himself he didn’t want to risk her falling and injuring herself, but the truth was, he wanted her near. Wanted her close enough to grab in case they came under attack or she tried to run. His hand glided from her shoulder to the small of her back. All nicely fleshed, firm muscle beneath. Not relevant, but interesting.
At the SUV, he opened the rear door. “Get in.” Tapping his headset, he asked for a quick head count, and each of the team members chimed in using hushed tones.
They’d made it out without setting off alarms. And without a single casualty. Another tap of headset. “You set the charges, Linc?”
“Yes, sir. Countin’ down now. Eight, seven, six…”
Serge swung into his vehicle, tore off his goggles, and gave a quick glance at Bear, who tapped the ignition button. At one, explosions ripped through the air, light bursting above the trees. Satisfied the cartel camp would be busy for a while, Serge said, “Now let’s get the f*ck out of here.”
Engines fired, wheels bit into the muddy trail, and they careened down the rutted track. Bear’s smile gleamed in the moonlight.
“Don’t say it,” Serge said, not wanting to hear a celebratory whoop. “Don’t jinx it.”
Bear glanced into the rearview mirror at their unexpected passenger. “Get a name?”
Serge aimed a stare at the young woman huddled in the center of the seat, moonlight filtering over her features. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was exquisite, even despite the frown marring her dark brow. “Not yet. Time for introductions once we get to the helos. We’re not out of Omega territory yet.”
The vehicle hit a deep rut, then bumped over it, unseating him. He reached for the strap above his window. “Better grab the oh-shit handle, sweetheart. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” And then he grinned, because for the first time since his feet had hit the tarmac in Cancun, tension lifted. It was still too soon to announce the all-clear, but this operation had just gotten a little more interesting.
* * *
Kara Nichols wrapped her fist around the plastic strap and slid toward the door, jamming her shoulder against it and gripping the top of her rescuer’s seat to keep from flopping around the backseat like a rag doll. Her stomach lurched as they sped along the rugged trail. How “the team” managed to drive at breakneck speed in near darkness without headlights was a testament to their skill.
Who they were didn’t matter as much as what their intentions were. Not that she’d really had any choice but to come with them. Not since the moment the burly man in front of her had crept like a thief into her hut had she had a moment to think. She’d reacted on pure instinct. First tossing her pee into his face and then braining him with the bucket it had been stored in. She’d intended to scamper past him, but he’d been faster, knocking the breath out of her as he’d pinned her to the wall.
At that moment, her worst fears had risen up, like the scream she hadn’t been able to emit because he’d taken her breath. Convinced he was one of the men who’d kidnapped her, there to rape her or worse, she’d been ready to fight him to the death.
But the struggle had revealed a couple of things. First, he was heavily armed and armored. A big man. Obviously not one of the dirty, ragged bunch who’d been guarding her. And his first words had been in English. He was an American. Relief had poured through her, leaving her shaking, even though there was no good reason to trust he meant her no harm.
Everything after that moment had happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to think whether she was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. He was from home. A way out of the hell she’d found herself in just days earlier, when one really bad decision had landed her in this mess.
The fact her “rescuers” were well organized, well armed, and appeared to have military training by their gear and the precision of their raid left her hopeful for the first time in days.
“What the f*ck’s that smell?” the driver asked, his glance going to his companion. “Man, you reek.”
Kara suppressed a smile, although plenty of the bucket’s contents had splashed back on her. Better to smell like a cesspool than to smell like something they might want to jump. She’d read stories about female prisoners who’d covered themselves in feces rather than suffer rape, and that scenario had definitely looped in her mind since her capture.
“Just shut up and drive,” her new captor bit out. Then he cast another glance her way.
She wished she could see his face, but the helmet he wore deepened the shadow obscuring his expression. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, not really meaning it, but she didn’t want him pissed off too.
“Don’t be. It was gutsy.” A flash of white gleamed.
His smile tugged an answering grin from her own mouth. Somehow, his humor at her action humanized him. And shouldn’t she be trying to get on his good side, anyway? If he really was rescuing her, she owed him big-time. If he was only preparing to hand her off to another captor, she needed his guard down to try another dash for freedom.
His free hand reached around to touch the mic wire poised in front of his mouth. Then he aimed a glance at the driver. “The pilots are firing up the helos,” he said. “We’ll be in the air in a few minutes.”
In the air. But what was their destination?
They left the dirt track, bumping over the edge of a paved road, the rear of the vehicle fishtailing, but not losing any speed, as their convoy headed north. Kara held tight to the strap, a mixture of hope and dread building up bile in her empty belly. At least the road was smoother now. If they didn’t take too many turns she might not vomit. Although he hadn’t been fazed by her throwing pee at him, she didn’t want to test his temper if she messed up his vehicle too.
The forest receded. They passed houses crammed together with dark narrow alleys separating them. The men in front grew more tense, their bodies tightening, their jaws honing to sharp edges.
Another turn, and they were passing dilapidated industrial buildings and shops with boarded-up windows. They pulled into a parking lot, the entrance guarded by a gate topped with rolled-up barbed wire. The chain-link gate slid back, and they barreled past a long row of shipping docks to a wider lot lit by security lamps on long poles, where three large helicopters awaited, blades chopping the air.
The man in the front passenger seat flashed her a smile. “Ever flown in one?”
She shook her head.
“Stick with me. You’ll be okay.”
The door locks clicked open, and she stepped barefoot onto crumbling pavement. Again, his arm went around her back, and this time she didn’t stiffen against it, accepting his support as he ushered her to the smallest of the three waiting aircraft. Metal steps were lowered by a crew member. Hands gripped her elbow to help her inside. The interior was not what she’d expected. Plush, leather-upholstered seats, a row of three facing the front of the helicopter, two facing backward. Her captor indicated with a hand that she should take one of the two backward-facing seats.
He pulled a blanket from the console compartment separating the two seats. “Here, you’ll need this. It gets cool in the upper elevations.”
Reminded she was wearing only a very short pair of pajama shorts and a tight tee, she reached for it, only to hesitate when the interior lights blinked on. She stared at his hands.
Dried blood streaked his palms and dirtied his sleeve.
His gaze dropped and he pushed the blanket toward her again, letting go the second she accepted it. A glance at his face told her she’d made a mistake. His expression was carefully neutral, no trace of a smile left. Not a hint of warmth.
Kara sank into the seat and pulled the blanket around her body, looking away from him. Oddly upset with herself for showing him even a hint of revulsion.
Hadn’t she known the rescue had come at a price? Just because she hadn’t witnessed the attack that removed the guards before she stepped out her door didn’t absolve her from any guilt over the fact men had died during the rescue. Intellectually, she knew it made no sense to feel ashamed, as though the violence were her fault, but good sense had nothing to do with why she’d been in that camp in the first place.
Three more men climbed into the cabin and took seats across from her and her rescuer. They sat, unstrapping belts and packs, and dropping their gear to the floor of the helicopter. Then helmets came off.
“You’ll need to buckle up,” came a gruff voice from beside her.
Because she’d screwed up before, she pasted on a smile before she looked his way. Her breath caught.
He’d removed his helmet, his armor, and the bloody jacket. Seated next to her on the edge of his seat, every thick muscle of his broad chest was defined by the T-shirt stuck to his sweaty skin. Her heartbeat thudded. He wasn’t her usual type. Too muscled, too burly, but good Lord, that physique didn’t intimidate her. He was built for protection. Something she desperately needed. That had to be why she was reacting this way, her body warming. And then she glanced up into his face.
Again, so not her type. And yet, her type, lean and sophisticated, wickedly handsome, instantly lost its appeal. This man’s face was shuttered, still, but radiated a quiet calm. The strength of his firm jaw, his firm mouth, the intensity of his dark gaze tugged at something inside her. His hair was dark and long, restrained by a thick rubber band. His brows were dark, but not so heavy they looked foreboding.
His gaze rested on hers, waiting for something. Oh yeah, he’d wanted her to buckle herself into the seat. Reaching beneath the blanket, she caught the two ends of the seat belt and buckled herself in.
Although the cabin was insulated, the sound of the blades beating the air and the drone of the powerful engine were overwhelming as the aircraft slowly lifted into the air. She glanced toward the parking lot. The other two craft were rising as well. The lot beneath them was empty, the security lights blinking out and leaving it dark.
Kara swallowed hard, wanting to relax, not trusting the situation she now found herself in. The men opposite her had their gazes trained away. Had he done that? Asked them not stare? Then she glanced at him again. He was leaning back against his seat, his body relaxed, but his head turned her way.
Across the short distance, their gazes locked. He gave her a small smile, then reached into the compartment again and pulled out a box of wet wipes and carefully cleaned his hands, streaks of red-brown grime soiling the white cloths. Then he reached under his seat, opened yet another compartment, and pulled out water bottles. He handed three to the men across the way, then another to her. It was cool, and she quickly twisted the cap and drank it down, groaning because the water tasted sweet after the warm, metallic-tasting stuff she’d been drinking from canteens in the camp.
When she lowered the bottle, she looked at him, wanting another, but he shook his head, mouthing, Two-hour flight.
And no bathroom. She nodded her understanding and sat back, pulling the blanket high around her shoulders. If she wouldn’t have looked foolish, she would have pulled it over her head to hide. She wanted to be alone. To think. But sleep was another kind of escape. She closed her eyes.
Chapter Two
Kara gazed at the handsome man sitting across from her. His large brown eyes crinkled at the corners, a smile not reflected in the curve of his full, sensuous lips. With his deep brown eyes and thick, curling hair, he was easily the most beautifully made man she’d ever met. The fact she was sitting across from him, seemingly the center of his attention, thrilled her to her toes.
How had she gotten so lucky? Working as a lowly intern at Kemp & Young, she escaped notice most of the time. High-powered clients strode past reception without sparing a glance toward the row of desks where paralegals and secretarial support sat.
Lucio Marroquin had arrived with an entourage of his own assistants, sweeping past the desks, setting all the women atwitter because of his movie-star appearance and great wealth. He’s visiting his American holdings, Mr. Kemp’s executive assistant had whispered, although she ought to have known better. But she was a gossip without an audience, so she confided too much in Kara, because Kara was safe, the niece of Robert Young, therefore family, even if she was just an intern.
Dressed in the practice’s “uniform” of dark-skirted suit, pale blouse, and neat black heels, with her heavy hair neatly twisted into a French braid, Kara had been shocked when Lucio’s gaze clung to her as he passed, sweeping her from head to toe. The wink he gave her set her belly fluttering.
Just a month out of college, she had been pouring herself into her work, wanting to impress because she wanted her uncle’s endorsement when she applied for law school. Plus she needed the salary—her own parents were gone, and there was no one footing the bill for her education but her.
The fact she was now seated in a restaurant, a very public setting, was a huge risk. Her uncle wouldn’t tolerate her dating an important client.
Tonight’s venue had surprised her. Lucio had seemed to understand the need for secrecy from the start. He’d kept his glances so discreet when he happened upon her at the office that she hadn’t a clue he was interested. Not until he’d caught her leaving for the day, heading toward a VIA bus stand in downtown San Antonio.
His Lexus had been parked, and he was leaning against it as she strode by, giving him a polite nod, her cheeks flushed with pleasure at seeing him. He’d offered her a lift, and then invited her to dinner before he’d deposited her at her door.
And although she knew she was risking her job, she’d agreed. The days since had run together in a happy whirl of intimate dinners and dancing. And yet he’d kissed her only once.
Tonight, she hoped for more.
* * *
A hand touched her arm, and she jerked awake. The man beside her pointed toward the windows. Lights shined below them. A carpet of city lights. They were descending toward an airport.
She straightened in her seat and combed her hair with her fingers, out of habit, until she realized the men were watching her. How long had that been going on?
Cheeks heating, she kept her gaze averted, watching as they touched down near a hangar, a man with glowing torches waving them in.
And then she unbuckled, her stomach drawing inward, her breaths shortening. Tense because she was preparing to run, if she had to, even though she knew the man beside her would be impossible to escape. Still, she refused to be a victim. Not again.
She stood, dropping the blanket.
“Put it over your head,” he said, his voice even.
Kara drew a deep breath. No, no, no. She wasn’t safe. Covering herself voluntarily was too much to ask when she didn’t know what he was going to do.
His breath billowed his cheeks, and he set his hands on his hips. “Look, the hangar is ours, but we can’t be sure who might be watching. Do you want to be seen?”
He said it without any inflection in his voice. If he’d softened it, cajoled her, she wouldn’t have trusted him. If he’d ordered her to, she would have bolted. How had he known?
Slowly, she reached down and dragged up the blanket, giving him one last look, trying to read into his expression to know what he intended. But her fate couldn’t get any worse, could it? She pulled it over her head.
Hands guided her to the doorway. Heat sank into the blanket as she hovered there, listening to his heavy tread as he stepped down. Then arms surrounded her, lifting her. He carried her.
Because she was frightened again, she held still, barely breathing, afraid she’d begin to cry because she was exhausted, nearly at the end of her strength.
A car door opened, and he lowered her, sliding her across a seat. The blanket still over her head, she scooted farther away. He nudged her feet then sat beside her. The door closed.
And then a steady pull removed the blanket. She blinked.
There was warmth in the smile he gave her. “You’re going to be okay.”
Afraid to believe, she only nodded.
“What’s your name?” he asked, studying her face.
Kara swallowed. He really didn’t know. Maybe it was best for now that she keep it that way. “Who are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “I work for a company that provides specialized services. The men in the other hut—their company hired us to retrieve them. By any means necessary.”
“Your services must be very expensive.”
“They are.”
He glanced away, and she drew another deep breath, feeling like she had the moment the ropes around her wrists had been cut and she’d been shoved into the dirty hut—glad to put distance between her and her captors, but with a sinking sensation her situation was going to get worse. Only she hadn’t landed in another squalid place. With a start, she realized she was sitting in a limousine.
First the plush interior of the helicopter, now this. He wasn’t kidding about his services coming at a high price. Not something she found comforting at the moment, because she couldn’t be sure money wouldn’t become a factor in his rescue of her.
He rapped the window separating their compartment from the driver’s. The car pulled away from the hangar, tinted glass hiding the occupants and dulling the harsh glare of the early morning sun rising above a ridge of mountains in the distance. Where the hell were they? The Sierra Madres? Could she be in Monterrey?
“I’m Sergei Gun,” he said, his sharp-eyed gaze returning to her.
She opened her mouth, ready to give her name, but something stopped her.
He sighed. “It’s okay. You don’t know who to trust. I get it. We’ll get you to the safe house. Get you showered and fed. Find you some clothes,” he said, his glance dropping to her shirt. “Then we’ll talk.”
He held her with that dark, intelligent stare for a moment longer, and then settled back against the seat, letting out a deep breath and easing his head side to side as though relaxing too-tense muscles.
Kara continued to watch him, although her eyelids were getting heavy again. She’d catnapped in the helo, but she hadn’t had a lot of rest since she’d woken after Lucio had drugged her.
Lucio. How she hated him. He’d played her from the start. She’d been so enamored, so sure he’d treated her well out of respect and affection, she hadn’t realized she was being vetted. That he’d only wanted to confirm the fact she was a virgin.
Still was, she hoped, although she couldn’t be sure. The moment her mind had cleared, she’d been frozen in fear, realizing she’d been stripped and dressed in someone else’s clothing. She’d woken groggy in the back of a covered military transport, guarded by men wearing Mexican military uniforms, but felt no different, no soreness where it counted.
The car sped up, zipping past streets that wound higher and higher up the side of a mountain, until at last they approached a walled compound with a set of iron gates and drove through them, one other vehicle in their entourage following them.
They parked in front of a large many-doored garage. A tall, handsome man strode toward them, his long black hair tied back into a ponytail. Her type—urban, lean, moving like a cat. But her type had betrayed her, so she jerked back when he opened her door.
He bent into the doorway, his gaze noting her appearance then darting to the man beside her. A dark brow rose. “Seriously, amigo?”
“Didn’t know what else to do with her.”
“And now she’s seen the compound? You couldn’t at least have hooded her?”
Her rescuer shrugged. “She’s my responsibility.”
“Without a doubt,” the striking Hispanic man said, raising his hands. “Dios, what a f*cking mess.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away, his black boots striking the cobbled drive like bullets.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, not framed as a question.
The large man beside her didn’t say a word, letting himself out of the car, then striding around to her door. He held out his hand. Once she stood beside him, he ducked and whipped her up into his arms.
Gasping, Kara grabbed for his shoulders. “I can walk.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. Your feet are a mess.”
At the mention of their condition, they began to throb. They’d been cut and bruised on the trek through the jungle, but she’d shoved her discomfort aside. She had more important things to be worried about, like where he was taking her now.
She glanced around as they walked beneath an arch into a courtyard, and through tall wooden doors that looked sturdy enough and old enough to have been around in the days of the conquistadors.
Inside, the walls were a soft ivory, the furnishings dark and massively proportioned. Warm-colored Saltillo tiles covered the floors. They walked through the entryway, then down a long, wide hallway to a door near the end. Turning, he bumped her up gently against the door, reached beneath her for the handle, and pushed open the door.
Once inside, he strode to the bed and set her on the edge of a soft comforter.
The urge to bolt upward to keep from soiling the fabric was in her, but he hovered over her, and suddenly her stomach dove to her toes. Was this, after all, what he’d been after?
His gaze raked her face and glanced away, sucking in a deep breath before raking a hand through his hair and aiming a glare her way. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“So says every rapist.”
“No, they don’t.” He closed his jaw and shook his head. “Look, we’re both tired and cranky. And you need to soak those feet. There’s Epsom salts under the sink. Use them. I’ll be back for you at dinnertime.” He turned on his heels, seemingly all too eager to escape her. “Help yourself to the clothes in the closet.”
After the door slammed behind him, she jerked up, striding to it and placing her ear against the door. The sound of his footsteps stomping away, echoed from down the hall. Her shoulders sagged and she turned, leaning against the cool wood for support.
His anger hadn’t frightened her one bit. It had reassured her as no amount of spoken assurances would have. He didn’t mean her any harm. She was safe. For now. And at last, alone.
Kara glanced down at her body, and her lips drew away from her teeth in a feral snarl. Stepping away from the door, she stripped the shirt over her head, shoved down her skimpy shorts, and then stood still. Her own body was so dirty, her scent made her stomach roil.
She’d been kidnapped, drugged, forced into unbearable conditions without a single explanation as to why, but with one bit of knowledge that left her trembling where she stood. She couldn’t go home. Ever.
* * *
Serge headed straight to the security room where he knew Alejandro would be waiting for him. Flinging open the door, he held up a hand. “Don’t. Not now.” Then he glanced at the monitor with the feed from the camera inside the woman’s room. The expression on her face as she tore off her clothes was that of a woman who’d reached the very end of her rope. She snarled, whipping off her clothing and grinding it into the floor with her heels. Then she stood perfectly still, her expression shifting from feral anger to abject dejection, the corners of her mouth turning downward and fat tears slipping down her cheeks. In moments, she was sobbing, her arms wrapped around her middle for comfort.
“You did the right thing,” Alejandro said softly. “She needs to be here. With us.”
Serge was incapable of answering, he was so struck. His fists curled at his sides. His heart squeezing, his body taut, he continued to watch, listening as she sobbed. The longer he stood there, sharing her pain, his determination grew. Her beauty wasn’t the thing that drew him, though he’d never seen a lovelier woman. Her face was a perfect oval, her mouth soft and plump. Her gray eyes were changeable, shifting from cold flint to a deep, moody storm-cloud gray. Her long hair, though tangled, was thick and soft, and curled to hug her shoulders. Her slender curves and neat, round breasts were also attractive, but not the reason he was ensnared.
Instead, he recalled how she’d fought him, how even when she’d been so frightened a pulse drummed at the side her throat, she’d kept her chin high. Her pride, even in the face of an immovable object—him—had been just as palpable. As frightened and vulnerable as she was, her spirit was a glorious thing he wanted to protect.
The realization of just how determined he was to save her, no matter what kind of trouble she might be in, made his skin prickle and his heart thud slowly in his chest. He’d earn her trust, learn her secrets, keep her safe.
His mission, now, was her.
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