From Thailand with Love

by Camilla Isley

  Two hours before dusk, we reach the lower riverbank. Breathless and exhausted, I sink to the ground, not able to move another inch. Logan collapses next to me, sweat pouring down his forehead and soaking his shirt. Hopefully, Smith and his men weren’t brave enough to swing across the cliffs like Logan and me. And if they did get across… well, then, we’re dead. I physically can’t walk another step.

  “You think the water is drinkable?” I ask, eyeing the stream.

  “Have any purification tablets on you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I wouldn’t drink it, not unless you want to spend the next few days squatting down every ten minutes.”

  “A simple ‘no’ would’ve sufficed.”

  “Oh, you know me.” Logan turns to me. “I like to mansplain," he says with self irony. “But”—his mouth curls up in a wicked grin—“I might let you drink from my canteen if you ask nicely.”

  “You have water?” I drained my reserves a long while ago.

  “I refilled multiple canteens before we left; figured clean water would be a priority.”

  Nice thinking, Professor.

  Mouth parched, I make to grab the bottle from him.

  “Not even a please.” With a grin, Logan hands me the canteen, cap already off.

  I take the bottle from him and gulp down the liquid in lengthy swallows.

  “Uh, sorry, but we’re back to rationing.” Logan takes away the canteen and, after taking a small sip, screws the cap back on. “We don’t know when we’ll find fresh water again. And I only have one more bottle after this.”

  I dry my mouth on the back of my hand and nod in understanding. “Please tell me we can at least wash up in the river water.” Dried smears of mud pull at my skin wherever the rainwater didn’t reach, making me itchy.

  Logan stares at the river. The waters are calm compared to the rapids flowing under the bridge, and there’s a natural pool of clear blue-green water that would be perfect to take a bath.

  “Tucker would say it isn’t safe,” Logan muses. “But I want to wash up and change, too. Let’s be quick about it, though.” He makes a hurry-up gesture. “We need to be done and dry before it gets dark.”

  Self-consciously, I peel off my tattered clothes. In all the days we’ve been in the jungle together, this is the first time Logan is my shower buddy. Back at camp, I’ve mostly gone with Tucker, sometimes Archie. Never Logan.

  Okay, I must be this nervous only because I’m not wearing a bikini and have to bathe in my underwear. And it’s not like I’m clad in a lacy bra and G-string; my black cotton sports bra and panties could pass for a bathing suit. But they aren’t. I know it. He knows it.

  As I take off my pants, Archie’s words from a few days ago ring in my ears louder than gunshots:

  “It’s the sexual tension, honey. Trust me, just get it out of your system and you’ll feel better… And hate sex can be amazing.”

  I pretend not to watch as Logan unbuttons his shredded shirt and lays it over a large rock to dry. His ripped chest and abs, still coated in a thin patina of sweat, glisten enticingly in the late afternoon light.

  Before he can look my way and see me half-naked, I wade into the water until I’m neck deep. I undo my tresses and comb my fingers through my hair, rinsing away the last of the mud. I have a clean shirt in my backpack, but no extra pants. So I’d better wash those, too.

  “Hey,” I call. “Can you throw me my pants, I want to wash them.” I eye his, now decorated with twin bloody knee patches. “You should wash yours, too.”

  Shirtless, Logan throws my pants in the water, where they land a few feet away from me with a loud splash.

  I look up at him, ready to give the professor a sarcastic, “Thanks,” but when my eyes lock on his, the word gets strangled in my throat. Never taking his gaze off me, Logan undoes his belt, slowly slides it out of its loops, and drops it on the rock at his feet. Then, as he starts unbuttoning his pants, he says, “You might want to take a hold of those before the current carries them away.”

  Like a slap in the face, his words yank me out of the spell. I glare at his smug smirk and paddle after my pants that are indeed being carried downriver.

  By the time I turn again, Logan is cannonballing into the natural pool, his pants flying behind him as he holds them in one hand.

  He resurfaces a second later, shaking droplets of water out of his hair.

  My mouth goes dry.

  Pecs deep in the water, with tiny pearls of the liquid dotting his skin like a million shining crystals, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  No. NO. Because he’s no man. He’s Satan. Better to keep reminding myself; I can’t let a few muscles scramble my brain.

  But, staring at Logan’s glittery skin, that might be easier said than done.

  Oh my gosh, I’m under the Twilight effect. When Bella sees Edward in direct sunlight for the first time and his skin sparkles. Like Bella with Edward, I can’t take my eyes off Logan. He’s a demon and has me in his thrall.

  Only, having spent so much time alone with him over the past two days, I’ve learned Dr. Logan Spencer has many more layers than I initially thought. Lately, my hate-Logan wall has been filling with cracks, and right now it feels like it’s crumbling down. Yes, he can be gruff and standoffish, but also kind, comforting, brave, sexy as hell…

  Here we go again. Somebody, please exorcize me.

  “Are you washing those, or what?” Logan asks, a teasing note audible in his voice. As if he’s all too aware of the effect his semi-nakedness is having on me. “We should get out soon if we want enough time for our clothes to dry off.”

  “Yes, I’m washing.” I blush and begin to scrub.

  Oh, his smug face. The professor thinks he’s such a smartass. He wants to play? Let’s play.

  Once the fabric is cleansed of the mud, I purposely swim in front of Logan and exit the water directly in his line of sight, regaling him with an unobstructed view of my rear side.

  Once on the shore, I peek over my shoulder and find him slightly slack-jawed.

  “Hey, Doctor?” I call. “Are you washing those, or what?”

  He lets out an embarrassed cough. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I wring as much water as I can out of my pants and sprawl them to dry in the late afternoon sun, then lie on a big flat rock nearby to sunbathe myself.

  Logan joins me shortly afterward. For once, I refrain from ogling his body and concentrate on his scraped kneecaps instead.

  “Let me dress those,” I say, and roll to the side to retrieve the first aid kit from my backpack.

  “Nah, it’s nothing,” Logan protests.

  I ignore him and get to work spraying disinfectant over his bruised skin. “Trust me, you don’t want raw skin brushing against your pants.”

  I cleanse the wounds and dress them with clean gauze, saying, “There you go.”

  Logan’s stare is intense as he says, “Thank you,” making me once again hyper-aware of how semi-naked we both are.

  “No problem,” I say. And, to avoid having to look at him, I lie on my back and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the stone beneath me.

  In the sweltering heat, my hair and underwear dry off quickly. I grow more comfortable by the minute, until this rock begins to feel like the coziest bed I’ve ever had. Fatigue catches up with me, and I start to doze off…

  When I open my eyes again, the sun is setting and the sky transitioning from an orange-gold to a dark purple streaked with lavender, and finally a deep violet-blue.

  Logan is no longer on the rock with me. I search for him and find him on the riverbank, busy setting up a small tent for the night. A really small tent.

  I quickly braid my hair, pull on my pants and the spare shirt from my backpack, collect everything else, and join him near the tent.

  “That looks tiny,” I say. “Sure it’s made to house two?”

  “No, it’s for
one. We’ll have to squeeze a little.”

  I open the flap. “A little? Sleep on top of each other, you mean!”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “Couldn’t you bring a bigger tent?”

  “No, sorry. This was the only one still closed, and we didn’t exactly have time to pack one of the bigger ones.”

  “I’m not sleeping in there with you.”

  “If you want to brave the jungle, be my guest,” he says, getting in. “But I’m not staying out here to play meal for the mosquitos.”

  As if on cue, the first mosquito bite stings my neck, quelling all my objections. I swat myself, and, with a sigh, follow Logan inside.

  ***

  If we sit with our legs held close to our chests, the space is wide enough to allow us to each claim a corner of the tent and not be too much in each other’s hair. But if we were to lie down…

  One problem at a time.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask with an awkward smile.

  Logan sorts our food supplies from inside his backpack. “We have a wide assortment of protein bars. Coco Choco… Vanilla Yogurt, Cookie Treat, Fruits & Nuts, and… Choco Peanuts.”

  “I’ll take a Cookie Treat and a Fruits & Nuts.”

  He tosses them to me and opens one for himself. I can’t see the flavor.

  “How many do we have left?” I ask.

  He does a quick count. “Enough for another day.”

  “Can we make it back to camp so quickly?”

  “We’ve found the river,” Logan says between bites. “So that’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “If we cross here where the waters are shallow and follow its course, we won’t risk getting lost. It’s a small detour; if I remember the map correctly, the river takes a wide bend”—he draws a semicircle in the air with his finger—“that will take us in the wrong direction for a while but then it’ll guide us right to our camp.”

  “Won’t that take too long?”

  He takes another bite out of his bar and chews pensively. “It’s our best option. If we follow the riverbank, we won’t have to cut through vines, meaning we should be able to go much faster. No longer than a day.”

  “If coming this way only takes two days, why didn’t we try to reach the lost city from across here in the first place?”

  Logan is about to take another bite, but instead, he lowers his bar, dismayed. “Because… did you not notice the gorge we swung across, or the cliff we fell down from? Imagine carrying equipment and supplies that way. We didn’t just need to find the city; I wanted to establish an easy route in and out.”

  I finish my bar and lick my fingers. “Makes sense.”

  Logan rolls his eyes with an impossible-woman attitude, and I’m honestly tempted to stick out my tongue. But I restrain myself, because I’m the bigger person.

  He unscrews the canteen and shakes it. “Water will be a problem soon, though.”

  Dr. McCheery takes a small sip and hands me the bottle.

  I raise it to him in a mock toast.

  I’d happily drain the whole thing but force myself to only take an equally small sip and hand it back to Logan.

  Meal over, an awkward silence descends. Thankfully, nothing like the dreadful stillness of the treasure chamber. We’re surrounded by the jungle sounds. Leaves rustling, bats’ wings flapping, nocturnal birds hooting… Even the sinister, low growl of distant predators is welcome compared to the unbearable quiet of last night.

  “So,” I say, unable to bear the stretching silence any longer. “Should we sleep head to toes, or—”

  “I’m not sleeping with my head next to your feet.”

  “Okay, so it’s head to head.” I flip my hands between us, embarrassed. “Are you coming over here, or am I coming over there?”

  Logan pats the floor beside him, in a “come to Papa” gesture.

  I scowl but ignore the provocation.

  With not enough space to stand or even move that well, we fumble around, trying to shift into position. I’m struggling to lever myself down beside him when my foot slips on the sleek fabric at the bottom of the tent and I land on top of Logan.

  Seconds later, my center of gravity is toppled again as I’m rolled onto my back and pressed under a solid wall of hunky archeologist.

  Logan’s lips slam onto mine, taking me completely by surprise. Before my brain can catch up with what’s happening, my body has already taken over, arching against him. My lips have opened and are exploring Logan’s mouth. His lips prove as soft and pillowy as they look. I need a taste, so I nip at his lower lip.

  Logan is startled and pulls back for a second, but it’s enough for me to regain my sanity.

  I push him off and scuttle back to my corner. “What are you doing?”

  Logan glares at me, confused.

  “You kissed me,” I accuse.

  “And you kissed me back!”

  “I did not!”

  “You straddled me.”

  “I lost my balance and fell on top of you.”

  “And you bit me.”

  I gasp, outraged. “It was a nibble at most!”

  “Whatever.” He frantically flips a finger between us. “It wasn’t just me in there.”

  “It was a reaction, okay? I must be suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something.”

  “What?” Logan frowns. “I didn’t kidnap you.”

  “But our circumstances are dire enough, it’s as if we’d been kidnapped together.”

  “So that’s the only reason you kissed me back?”

  “It must be. I really don’t like you.”

  “Good. ’Cause I don’t like you either.”

  “Yeah, right.” I scoff. “So why did you kiss me, then?”

  Logan pouts like a petulant child. “Maybe I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome, too.”

  “So we both agree this was a bad idea.”

  “Really bad idea.”

  I bite my lower lip. “And we shouldn’t do it again.”

  Logan studies me, looking pained. “That’s going to be hard if you keep biting your mouth like that.”

  I stop torturing my bottom lip and stare at Logan. The atmosphere in this tent is simmering, and not just because we’re stranded in a torrid, tropical jungle. Logan and I are kneeling a foot apart, but the air between us feels so dense we could be touching. Tendrils of electricity emanate from our heated bodies and bubble forward to reach the other.

  I crack first. “Okay, you can kiss me again,” I say, and raise a finger in warning. “But only kissing.”

  Logan’s lips part in a wolfish smile, and, before I can change my mind, he’s already cupped the back of my head and pressed those lush pillow lips on mine again.

  And, oh gosh, the man kisses me.

  Completely.

  Thoroughly.

  And while he does, his hands roam freely on my body. Nowhere forbidden. But they relentlessly explore every inch of skin that wouldn’t land Logan in second or third base territory, making me discover how basically every part of me can be transformed into an erogenous zone. Like the inside of my knee, or the skin on my Achilles tendon, or my collar bone, my neck, arms…

  After half an hour of this treatment, my body is burning so much I need to physically remove my clothes.

  I push Logan off.

  He begins to protest, but stops when I take off my shirt, his eyes darkening.

  “What are you doing?” he asks in a low, husky voice.

  “I’m hot,” I say.

  Logan’s gaze on my exposed skin is more searing than his hands.

  Eyes locked on his, I free my hair from the braids, slowly extricating each strand until soft waves are tumbling over my bare shoulders.

  “If you take anything else off, I won’t just kiss you,” Logan threatens.

  Acting bolder than I feel, I unbutton my pants and do my best to shimmy out of them in the confi
ned space of the tent while still trying to look sexy. With one final kick, I toss them to the side and stare down at Logan in a silent challenge.

  No turning back now.

  Seventeen

  Winter

  If kissing Logan made my skin burn, making love to him melts all the bones in my body. Under his touch, I lose every sense of self. Exhausted, battered, and running away from trigger-happy lunatics, I’ve never been more deliriously blissful in my entire life.

  Now I get what the fuss about hate sex is.

  Only, as Logan’s lips brush on mine while our bodies are joined, I’m not sure it’s hate that links me to this man at all. His gaze on me is so soul-baring, I can’t cope. Unable to deal with my feelings, I close my eyes and let my body take over, losing myself in the moment. Until we both collapse on the tent floor, spent, falling asleep almost immediately in each other’s arms.

  ***

  The morning after should be awkward, but it isn’t. We wake up naked and sweaty, and, as if reading my mind, Logan opens the tent flap and rushes out, yelling, “Last in the water is a loser!”

  And who knew the professor, so serious and stern on first impression, had a playful edge? Last night I got familiar with his sex-god side, but it looks like I’m in for a few more surprises.

  I run after him barefooted, laughing as I imagine what Tucker would say if he could witness our total disregard of his jungle safety directives. A few short yards, and I dive in the river head-first, sinking underwater. The liquid streams through my hair and cools my scalp, and nothing has ever felt better—well, except for Logan’s hands on my skin last night.

  I re-emerge right behind him and splash him. He turns and splashes me back… until his eyes drop to my bare chest and I read the change in them: time to play a whole different game.

  We make love in the water, quick and animalistic. Once it’s over, Logan gives me another long kiss and carries me out of the river in his arms. He lays me on the rock to dry and walks to the tent, regaling me with a view of his delicious white buns.

  When he comes back, he’s already wearing his boxer shorts. Logan hands me my clothes and then folds up the one-person tent.