Her Only Desire

by Delilah Devlin

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 fuck’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 traine
d 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 fucking 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.