Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  She was asleep before he put the jeep in gear, and even the bouncing, rolling ride over the rutted path didn’t wake her. He had less than a quarter of a tank of gas—enough to get them to the tiny village of Dos Libros and not much farther. He just had to hope that the tiny outpost there had a reasonable supply of fuel. Otherwise they’d be walking again, and he wasn’t sure how his frail little jungle flower would hold up.

  Except that she wasn’t frail. She was little, but she was surprisingly strong, and he’d put her through a workout that would make an aerobics instructor collapse. And she wasn’t his.

  He needed to keep that firmly in mind. She was dependent on him right now, and she didn’t like it. She also looked up at him with a kind of innocent wondering in her eyes that made him damnably uncomfortable. Though why someone with a reputation like Caterina Morrissey would be possessed of either wonder or innocence was beyond him.

  He had to be careful. Billy’s wife was the kind of woman who was used to having a man take care of her. Since he was the only one around, it would be only natural that she would turn to him. And he didn’t want that.

  He wasn’t quite sure why. He had a healthy interest in sex, when it didn’t interfere with other, more important matters, and he would be a fool to deny that he found Carlie…irresistible. There was no real reason he shouldn’t have sex with her if she was willing and eager.

  But he didn’t want to. For the first time in his life he wanted the same woman Billy Morrissey had wanted. For the first time in his life he could feel the slow, strangling tendrils of longing for something more than the fast, hot release of sex. When he looked at the pale face of the woman sleeping beside him, he didn’t see a manipulative socialite or a cheating wife. He didn’t see a mother who would doubtless abandon her child the first chance she got, or a woman with a score of rich and powerful lovers.

  When he looked at her he saw hope. And a dream. And it scared the bloody hell out of him.

  Chapter Six

  Carlie’s eyes flew open in sudden, mind-shearing panic. She was alone, in the parked jeep, in the middle of a narrow jungle track. It was already growing dark, and the night insects were darting around her head. There was no sign of Reilly. No sign of the baby.

  She tried to leap out of the car seat, but the seat belt held her back. She fumbled with it, taking forever to release the old clasp, telling herself not to panic. He wouldn’t have abandoned her. Wouldn’t have stolen the baby and left her alone in the heart of the jungle.

  But then again, why wouldn’t he? He’d proved he was more than capable of taking care of Timothy—he didn’t need her around to feed or change him. She was just an inconvenience, something Billy Morrissey’s family would have to deal with. Everyone would be a lot happier to know that Caterina Morrissey was really dead.

  Maybe she should have insisted on telling Reilly the truth. She’d tried, but he hadn’t believed her. What would he have done, once he’d known? Would he have taken the baby and left her behind? She’d promised Caterina she’d take care of her son, and she hadn’t wanted to give him up. Perhaps this was God’s punishment for her lies and her selfishness. Timothy would be better off with his grandparents, but she hadn’t wanted to let him go.

  Had Reilly been planning this all along? Why had he bothered taking her this far, only to abandon her to what was probably certain death in the night-shrouded jungle? Why hadn’t she remembered what men with guns and uniforms were capable of?

  She sat back in the car seat, pulling her legs up under her. The air had grown cool on her bare arms, and she shivered. If she were anyone else she would have had the luxury of tears. But it had been nine years since she’d cried, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  “Did you think I’d abandoned you?” The voice came from close behind her, drawing, laconic.

  She whirled around in the seat, to see Reilly standing on the edge of the clearing, watching her out of wary eyes.

  Relief and something more washed over her. She didn’t even think, she simply moved, bolting out of the seat and racing across the clearing. She flung herself against him, babbling in relief and exhaustion.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” she said against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “I thought you’d left me her to die….”

  His hands had come up to catch her arms, holding her, and she was vaguely aware of his strength. His warmth. His surprising tenderness. He didn’t push her away. He simply held her there as she ranted, cradling her against his body, and she breathed in the warmth and the scent of him, and the words ran down as she let out a long, shuddering sigh.

  “That’s better,” he murmured. He’d moved his hand up to the nape of her neck, beneath her short-cropped hair, and he was kneading the tension away with his long fingertips. “I’ve found us a place for the night. You were dead to the world when we got here, so I decided to let you sleep.”

  She looked up at him, as the slow, sensual kneading erased the tension in her body. “I was frightened.”

  “You had reason to be.”

  His face was very close to hers. It came to her, belatedly, that she was standing in a man’s arms, pressed against his body. She stepped back, suddenly nervous, and he released her.

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “Dos Libros is just over the rise. The women are looking after him. I realize you probably aren’t too happy about the fact that I turned your son over to strangers, but the women of the Shumi tribe are excellent mothers and nurturers, and I figured he would be much safer.”

  “It’s all right,” Carlie said. “I trust your judgment.”

  She’d managed to startle him. And then his mouth curved in a faint smile. “That’s good. Because I decided we’d better share a bedroom.”

  “I…”

  “Keep your mouth shut and your head down,” he added, heading off the way he’d come, obviously assuming she’d follow. “I don’t think the Shumi have had much traffic with the outside world, but Dutchy has some dangerous friends, and he might very well recognize you. I don’t want to raise any suspicions if I can help it.”

  “What did you tell the Shumi?”

  “That you’re my woman. That the baby is ours, and that I’m a very jealous man. The Shumi will leave us alone. I’m not so sure about Dutchy. He’d sell his own grandmother for a handful of pesos, and the reward on you and the kid is a lot higher than that.”

  She strained to match his steady pace through the underbrush. “Reward?” she echoed, not certain if she had heard right.

  “Enough to keep me in style for the next decade,” he said lightly.

  “Are you trying to frighten me, Reilly?” she demanded, panting slightly as she struggled to keep up with him. “If you are, I think I ought to mention that there’s no need to try quite so hard. I’m officially terrified.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “I’d say you’re about as frightened as the Terminator,” he drawled.

  “What’s the Terminator?”

  “Give me a break, Carlie. You know what I’m talking about.”

  She didn’t, but she obviously should have. If she’d lived anywhere near civilization for the past ten years she would have been conversant with the entity. “You think I don’t get scared?” she demanded.

  He stopped and looked at her. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve already admitted I get tired and hungry and scared and horny. You have all those human weaknesses?”

  “Most of them,” she said carefully.

  He laughed, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sound. “We’ll get you some food and some rest tonight,” he said. “We’ll have to see about the other stuff. In the meantime, you stick to me like glue. There’ve been bands of Mendino’s ex-soldiers roaming the area, and Morales himself has been seen not too far from here. Not to mention the rebels, who are just as bloodthirsty as your stepfather’s goons. I didn’t bring you this far just to lose you.”

  “I have no intention of letting you
out of my sight if I can help it.”

  “Why, princess,” he said with a slash of a smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  She’d seen tiny villages like Dos Libros, though not in the nine years she’d been cloistered with the sisters. Her parents had died in a village very much like this one, and the memory sent a shudder of remembered pain through her, one that she was able to hide from Reilly. She’d seen places like Dutchy’s—a combination store, post office, bar and hotel, but most of all a hovel. There was no sign of the Shumi women, or Timothy for that matter, and she quickly stilled her flash of possessive panic, resisting her need to go after him.

  “Get behind me,” Reilly muttered under his breath. She quickly did as she was told, and he put his arm around her, pushing her face against his shoulder. She couldn’t see anything, could only trust in him to steer her safely toward the door.

  “This your wife, Reilly?” The voice was jovial, Germanic and not to be trusted for a moment. Even Carlie could tell that much.

  “Close enough,” Reilly drawled. “You got a bed and a shower for us, Dutchy?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?” Dutchy responded. “I’ve also got a hot meal and the best whiskey in all of San Pablo. I make it myself.”

  “We’ll take a bottle,” Reilly said, pulling her toward the stairs. She could see her feet out of the corner of her eye, feel the other people watching her. Dutchy, and others, as well. “You can send it up to our room.”

  “Now, Reilly. You know how cut off we get around here. Starved for information, we are, aren’t we, boys? You can’t just hole up in your room with that pretty little thing. We want to know where you’ve been. What you’ve seen. These boys have to report back to their commander, and they need to hear about any trouble you may have run into. These are dangerous times, my boy, and we need to be prepared.”

  She didn’t need to see Reilly’s mocking smile to know his expression. “Information doesn’t come free, Dutchy. And I’m more interested in having my woman in a bed for a change than gossiping. They’ll have to go out and find their own information, instead of sitting around in a bar.”

  It was just as well her face was pressed against his body. The color flooded her pale skin, and her faint sound of protest was uncontrollable.

  “You sure she wants that?” Another voice spoke, this time in Spanish. Slow, and menacing. “The lady seems uncertain. My men and I would be glad to provide her with an alternative.”

  They’d reached the foot of the stairs. She could feel the tension coiling through Reilly’s body, the utter, deadly calm. He put his hand under her chin, drawing her face into the dim light of the building. The watching men were at a distance, the room was thick with smoke and the greasy light of oil lamps, and there was no way they could get a clear look at her. No way they could recognize the daughter of Hector Mendino in the face of a nun. “What do you say, woman? Are you interested in leaving my protection?”

  She shook her head, staring at him in mute pleading. He turned, shielding her behind his strong back. “You see, gentlemen. The lady is not uncertain, merely tired and impatient.”

  “If she grows tired of you, hombre,” the man said with a coarse laugh, “I’ll be more than happy to step in. I have…” She didn’t understand the rest of the sentence. She could guess what he was referring to, but she didn’t want to. Color stained her cheeks once more as Reilly guided her up the rickety old staircase.

  Dutchy was waiting for them, peering at her in the dim light. “Second door on the right, bathroom down the hall.” He spat for emphasis. “You’re our only guests right now, so it’s a private bath. Fifty American dollars a night.”

  “You’re the soul of generosity,” Reilly said.

  “A man must support himself the best he can. Just be glad the soldiers downstairs are moving on tonight.”

  “Why should it matter one way or the other?” Reilly said carefully.

  Dutchy smiled, revealing chipped, stained teeth. “You tell me, amigo.”

  Carlie waited until they were in the tiny room. Waited until Reilly closed the door behind them and Dutchy’s footsteps echoed down the hall. And then she looked around her.

  It was far from reassuring. There was one bed in the room, a small, sagging iron one, with a faded chenille cover, two limp pillows and an oil lamp beside it. There was nothing else in the room.

  “Where will the baby sleep?” she asked carefully, avoiding the more disturbing question.

  “He’ll stay with the Shumi. I figure he’ll be safer there. Right now he’s with the chief’s wives, being treated like royalty.”

  “I wonder how they’d feel if they knew he was the grandson of the man who was responsible for the genocide of three-quarters of their population,” Carlie said bitterly.

  “It would make no difference. The Shumi revere children, even those of their enemies.” He tilted his head, looking at her. “You don’t sound too fond of old Hector yourself.”

  “He was a monster.”

  “That’s right, he was your stepfather, wasn’t he? Still, it was his money that provided you with your comfortable life-style. His death that took it away from you. I would have thought you’d be more grateful.”

  “His money was drained from the blood of the people.”

  “Are you certain you’re not a revolutionary?” he asked in a lazy voice. “It’s a little late to change sides—the rebels aren’t going to welcome you and your son with open arms.”

  “They’re just as bad. They’re willing to kill anyone who gets in their way, all for the sake of their noble cause,” she said bitterly. “And it’s the children, the innocents, who get caught in the middle.”

  “Lord, what a bleeding heart,” he said mockingly. “You ought to be a missionary.”

  It took her unawares, the sharp stab of pain. Suddenly she was seventeen years old again, on a hot afternoon in a mountain village, and her parents were being gunned down, they were screaming, she was screaming, there was blood….

  “Stop it!” His voice was rough, hurried, as he yanked her against him. The room was hot, he was hot, and yet she shivered, unbearably cold and alone.

  His hands were hard and painful on her arms, forcing her out of the miasma of horror. Back into reality, the here and now, which wasn’t much better. “Stop what?” she managed to say faintly.

  “You looked as if you were about to faint. Or scream. I’m not sure which would be worse.” He didn’t release her, though his grip had loosened slightly so that she felt the warmth, the strength, the imprint of each long finger as it wrapped around her arms. “Then again, I don’t suppose either would be much of a problem. If you fainted I could simply dump you on the bed and not have to worry.”

  “And if I screamed?”

  His smile was slow and dangerous. “There’s a logical explanation for that, as well.”

  “What?” She was genuinely perplexed.

  His smile faded, the stormy color of his eyes growing darker still as he watched her. “Lady,” he said bluntly, “your love affairs have been the scandal of three continents. Don’t tell me in all that time that no one ever made you scream when you made love.”

  She blinked. Her practical knowledge of sex was nonexistent, her theoretical knowledge so vague and so outdated that it was almost useless. She had only the faintest notion of what he was talking about, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him to explain. She tried to pull away, but he wasn’t about to let her go.

  “If they haven’t,” he continued, his voice low, disturbing, “then maybe I’ll have to expand your horizons.”

  She held very still. He was going to kiss her. She knew it. She wasn’t quite sure why—he hadn’t shown much fondness for her up to now. But then, fondness didn’t seem to have much to do with desire. She’d gathered that much over the years, from scraps of conversations she’d heard. It had never made much sense to her.

  He gave her plenty of time to escape, to turn her head. But she couldn’t. She felt mesmerize
d, curious, as his head dipped down, blocking out the light, and his mouth touched hers.

  It was pleasant, she thought with surprise. The roughness of his beard, the firm contours of his mouth, the warmth of his body so close to hers were all quite…nice.

  He lifted his head, and she took a startled breath. “That’s very pleasant,” she said ingenuously. “I think I—”

  He didn’t let her finish the sentence. His mouth came down over hers again, but this time it was open, against hers, and he was putting his tongue in her mouth. She tried to jerk away, but he’d threaded one large, strong hand through her hair to hold her in place, and there was no escape, nothing to do but stand still and let him kiss her with devastating thoroughness.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, blotting out the faint light, blotting out everything but the feel and taste of him. It was terrifying, it was smothering, it was dangerously splendid. She wanted to kiss him back, but she hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. She wanted to lift her arms and touch him, but she was afraid to. He had his mouth on hers, his hand behind her head, but otherwise he wasn’t touching her. And yet she felt captured, possessed, yearning, and she started to sway toward him, wanting that heat and strength tight around her.

  He pulled away abruptly, taking a step back. She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly cold, and lifted her eyes to look at him.

  His breathing was slightly rapid, his mouth was damp, but apart from that he appeared completely unmoved. “You kiss like a virgin,” he said flatly.

  It was probably meant to be an insult. Instead it simply frightened her. Now wasn’t the time for Reilly to discover she wasn’t who he thought she was. Not with Timothy out of reach and the place crawling with soldiers.

  “I don’t like kissing,” she said. A complete lie. As devastating as it was, she’d found her first kiss to be downright wonderful. She wanted him to kiss her again.

  “That’s a shame,” he drawled. “It’s a lost art.”