“Okay,” she said, on impulse.
He rubbed his palms on his jeans, as if they were sweaty. Then he leaned toward her. She met him halfway, her heart racing. He touched his lips to hers, tentatively at first. When she didn’t pull back, he cupped her neck gently, urging her closer. She wasn’t sure she wanted his tongue in her mouth, but she liked the feel of his lips against hers. She liked the little huff of breath he made, as if he found her unbearably exciting.
Oh…why not. She let him kiss her again. He wet her lips with his tongue, tasting her. She opened her mouth, curious.
He dove right in at this sign of encouragement. His tongue went way too far, but it was more of an adorable blunder than a deal breaker. She braced her hands on his chest and made a noise of protest, which he seemed to understand. He retreated at once. “Sorry.”
She quieted him with a softer, sweeter kiss. He actually moaned in response. Smothering a giggle, she twined her arms around his neck. He didn’t try the deep tongue thing right away. He sort of sneakily worked up to it; he was a quick study. Before she knew it, she was parting her lips for him, threading her fingers through his hair.
Then she had to stop him, because she liked what he was doing a bit too much. She was willing to kiss a cute boy she’d just met, for posterity or in case they died or whatever, but she wasn’t giving her virginity to him.
She broke the kiss, panting. His hand flexed on her ribcage, as if he was itching to move it upward.
“Can I touch you?” he asked gruffly.
“No.”
“Can I just…hold you?”
She nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his chest. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek. After a long time, it slowed. His body calmed but his embrace stayed the same, cradling her as she fell asleep.
Chapter 17
“Get away from me, you sick fuck!”
Maria jolted awake, startled by the outburst. In the next second, Ian flung his arm out and almost struck her in the face. She blocked the blow and shrunk back. He felt like a furnace beside her, unnaturally hot. She waited for him to explain his crazy behavior, but he was silent. He’d turned off the lamp at some point, so it was dark inside the barn. A soft and steady rain pelted the tin roof overhead, making a pleasant sound that was incongruent with the tense situation.
He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over. His breathing was steady and even. She realized that he was dreaming. He hadn’t attacked her on purpose. He’d been having a nightmare, and talking in his sleep.
She shivered in the cool night air, disturbed on his behalf. Who was he fighting in his dreams? A phantom menace or a real person? The man who’d shot him? Or someone from his troubled childhood?
She lay there for a few minutes, naked and uncomfortable. He’d pulled the blanket off her. The tarp beneath her body was covered in fine grit, the straw-covered ground uneven. She was cold. In contrast, heat seemed to rise from his skin. With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch his forehead. He was burning up with fever.
“Oh no,” she cried, sitting forward. She fumbled for the lamp and turned it on. He didn’t rouse when she took off the blanket to inspect him. His face was flushed. She couldn’t tell if his wound was infected without removing his pants.
He started trembling, teeth chattering, so she replaced the blanket. Maybe he had the flu. Foreigners were more susceptible to viruses. They’d been traveling nonstop, and they’d walked for hours in the rain. She rose and put on her clothes, which were somewhat dry. His dirty shirt from the tote bag added another layer of warmth. She donned her boots and started pacing the barn.
She had no way of taking care of him. No medicine, no food. She didn’t even know what was wrong with him. And they were out in the middle of nowhere, literally. They’d come from El Limbo, but it was several miles away. That didn’t bode well.
She fisted her hands in her tangled hair and tried to think.
After a few moments of panicking, she calmed down. They were on a ranch of some kind. She could find help there. This was Mexico, not the United States. If she knocked on a door and said she needed assistance, she would get it.
On the downside, the lack of animals in the barn suggested that it was a resting place between two faraway points. She might have to walk all day before she found another human being, and the journey could be dangerous. Her home country had its disadvantages. There were disputes over territory, and the drug trade was ever expanding.
She also couldn’t forget that they’d been shot at yesterday.
Instead of setting off on her own, she sat down and took stock of their supplies. She had bandages, antiseptic wipes, and antibiotic ointment. Some dirty clothes and a damp towel. One full bottle of water, one empty. Ian had a gun, holstered. About two thousand pesos in cash. A fake ID and a real badge.
There was also a pocketknife among his belongings, which was lucky. She cut away the top of the empty water bottle and placed it outside the barn door to catch rain. Then she waited for the sun to rise, watching him carefully.
He didn’t wake at dawn. In fact, his condition seemed to get worse every hour. His skin was flushed and baking hot, his eyelids swollen. He ground his teeth and shouted random things. He thrashed around in his sleep. There was no sweat to cool him, which concerned her. She moistened one of the towels with rainwater and placed it on his forehead, but he kept dislodging it. When she tried to help him drink, he knocked the bottle aside.