She pressed into it, his full lips gentle over hers, soft and still smiling, tasting like sunshine.
He broke it off first, pulling away only a few inches before smoothing his thumb over her jaw.
“We should, uh, go.” She winced. “I mean. We’re supposed to be getting to your village, right?” Oh, man, her parents would be proud of her. Restraint! She could manage it on occasion.
“Right,” Santiago agreed. He stepped back, hand drifting away from her skin, fingers trailing the edge of her jaw.
Right. Damn her restraint! She nodded firmly and headed toward the Jeep, refusing to acknowledge that her legs wobbled. That was just foolish, anyway.
***
“Why ruins?”
Meg glanced away from the road when Santiago spoke, pushing her sunglasses up on her head. It was really bright without them. She dropped them back down onto her nose. “I don’t know. Why not?” She could feel his gaze on her even when she turned back to navigating the rutted path.
“‘Why not’ isn’t a reason,” he said after a bit. “With that logic, you could just as easily have taken up bull fighting.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’m a world-class bull fighter.” She expected a snort at best, an annoyed eyeroll at worst.
He laughed, effortless and clear. “I feel honored, then. What’s your bull fighting name?”
She maneuvered the Jeep carefully around a hole, chuckling. Oh, he would be easy to fall for. “You caught me. I’m not a bull fighter.” She looked at him, more to see his warm black eyes than anything, and answered his original question. “I remember being thirteen and seeing a special on Egyptian ruins. They fascinated me—the way people might have lived, what scientists could tell from the simplest of things, how much remained a mystery.” Meg smiled, remembering that breath-held feeling, watching with excitement and awe as each new piece of the puzzle went together. “I think that got me into sociology, but I never had the patience for the grunt work you need for the research.” She liked the find, the excitement, wondering what might be around the next tree or down that stretch of river.
“Why didn’t you go to Egypt?” Santiago asked softly.
She glanced at him, surprised to realize he seemed honestly interested. Something inside her loosened, relaxed. She leaned back in her seat, flexing her fingers against the steering wheel. “Too expensive.”
“So it’s just the dollar that brings you here.” His tone was dry.
A bright blue and red bird soared through the trees, and Meg smiled, watching it. “No. Things are still wild, here. Where else can you go that’s so alive?”
“The Congo?”
She laughed. “Sure, the Congo. But it’s even more dangerous than coming here, and costs more.”
He reached out, fingering a curl of plain blonde hair—the bane of her existence--before he spoke. “It can be dangerous here, too.”
One shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug. “I’m careful. And I can take care of myself.” The rifle was a constant presence, heavy in the back of her mind.
“Ah, yes. I forgot about your bull fighting abilities.”
White teeth flashed as she grinned. “Hey, don’t knock it. If I can take down a bull, you in your jaguar skin?” she teased. “Not a chance. Much less a human.”
Santiago laughed, tipping his head back and roaring. Birds screeched in the canopy, monkeys calling from a distance away. Meg couldn’t help but respond, lips curling upward. When his hilarity finally died down, she glanced over at him. “So, what do you do?” She half expected him to say he worked in the fields, or something of the sort. Seemed like most of the people here did, and yet it would have been a disappointment.
“I own a business,” he said with a smile, left hand reaching up to rub his neck above the gunshot wound.
“Oh?” She remembered the little shops meant for tourists in the city, and the smaller, more run down stores that served the everyday populace. “What sort of business?”
He rolled his head on the headrest, turning to look at her. “We make boats.”
She brightened. She supposed it really shouldn’t matter what he did, and chastised herself accordingly. Still, it was nice that he wasn’t a schlep. “How cute!”
At his silence, she looked over. He seemed amused, heavy eyebrows quirked. “That’s not a term normally applied to me.” The corner of his mouth twisted upward.
Sheepishly, she shrugged. “Sorry, it’s just…” She really couldn’t dig her way out of this one; changing the subject seemed the better part of valor. “How long have you been building boats?”
He hesitated, head tipped, gazing off into the middle distance. “Maybe fifteen years,” he said at last.
Meg thought about that for a while. Too short to be a family business; not passed down from his parents, so… “Do your employees know about your—” She wiggled her fingertips, then pointed at him. “You know.”
“Fingers?” he asked blandly.
“No! Your cat thing.”
“Only my family knows,” he said quietly. “And you.” It didn’t sound like an honor when he put it like that.
“I won’t tell,” she said, almost frustrated.
“Thank you.”
No one would believe her, anyway.
***
At Santiago’s request, they stopped early for the night. The constant jostling was making his shoulder ache. He padded from the Jeep to the small clearing his traveling partner was setting up in, grabbing at his blanket just before it slipped off his hips. Pausing under a large tree, he watched dappled sunlight glitter off Meg’s pale hair and skin. She hummed, crouching in the damp ground to light a fire. Santiago smiled, the pain of his shoulder forgotten for the moment, his attention caught as she tucked back a curly lock of hair only to have it slip forward again. She was bedraggled and dirty, but perfectly unselfconscious in her grime. He liked her all that much more for it; too many women he knew fussed and primped and were horrified at the thought of a little dirt.
Not Meg.
She glanced back over her shoulder, overbalancing and dropping to the ground. “Are you okay? You need help?”
He stepped farther past the tree, shaking his head, feeling his hair slide over his shoulders. “Just thinking.”
Her face lit when she smiled. “About what?”
He couldn’t tell her that he’d been thinking about her. “That song you were humming. What was it?”
Her smile faltered. “I was humming?”
Santiago chuckled, settling down on the ground beside the fire. Smoke kept the bugs away. “Yes—something a little cheerful. It was…” He paused, then mimicked it, his voice wobbling.
Her good mood spread across her face again, and he smelled her arousal spike the tiniest bit. “Oh—it’s a commercial jingle.”
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. Santiago laughed. She was gazing fondly at him when he stopped, and he gave her a quizzical look.
“Nothing. You just—” She blushed and shook her head, smiling.
“What?” Now he was curious. “I just what?”
She stood, heading back to the Jeep that was almost hidden by the foliage. “You just have a nice laugh,” she called over her shoulder.
A grin spread across his face as he watched her vanish into the shadows before appearing on the other side of the trees.
It was dangerous to like a human. Human women found out what he was, and they got scared. Granted, Meg already knew what he was, and she didn’t seem scared, but…
She’d responded really well to that kiss. It was easy to remember, the heat of her skin, the softness of lips. He was a fool.
She was humming when she returned.
“Is that also a commercial jingle?” Santiago asked, amused.
She chuckled. “Afraid so. I think those might be the only tunes I know.”
He grinned, comfortable in her presence in a way he hadn’t been with others. It helped, Santiago thought, that she knew what
he was. He didn’t have to hide. It would be frowned upon by his family, by the rest of their little village, that he’d been found out…but he realized he didn’t mind that so much. It was good to be himself. “I’ll have to teach you some new songs.” He let his voice deepen into a near purr.
Her pupils dilated. He could smell the warmth of her skin. “I bet you know all sorts of songs I’ve never heard,” she said mischievously.
Santiago smiled a promise. “I bet I do.”
All they needed was wine to make the evening completely goofy. Meg cracked up as Santiago launched into another verse of a song she was certain wasn’t real. No one sang about phallus-shaped oysters. “Stop!” she cried, her sides hurting from too much laughter. “Oh, please just stop!”
He did, dark eyes twinkling with mirth. “You said you wanted to learn something new.”
She laughed harder, shaking her head. “I didn’t know you were going to sing that!”
“I’m offended,” he said with mock disdain. “That happens to be a masterpiece in Santa Diega, I’ll have you know.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun, or been so comfortable around someone this attractive. Sure, he was a cat-god wearing nothing but a blanket, but somehow it seemed perfectly natural. The fire crackled merrily at her back, the pan they’d eaten out of sitting to one side, silver gleaming liquid gold with the light. “It’s a pity I can’t translate all my dirty songs,” she said, grinning at him. “I’ll have you know I’d make you blush.”
Dark eyebrows lifted. “Oh? I doubt that.”
She chortled, certain of herself. “I would. You’d be horrified.” And the fact that she was even contemplating trying to translate them said something—she tried not to be obscene with new men, really. Tried even harder to let them think she was sweet for at least a week.
Okay, five days.
Well, really, if she aimed for three she usually made it.
Oh, all right, two.
He leaned in conspiratorially. “I know a song about dolphin sex.”
“I know one about three men and a pig,” Meg shot back.
He eyed her sidelong. “All right. You win.”
She laughed, delighted when he grinned. “I lied,” she admitted after a minute, completely unrepentant. “I don’t really know any songs about barn animals.”
Santiago sighed, a hand over his bare chest as he looked skyward. “Ah, teasing me and then admitting it’s untrue. You break my heart.”
“It’s a woman thing.” She nodded cheerfully. “We promise dirty songs and then yank them away when you get hopeful.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through the forest. “Yes, because every woman I’ve met can outdo me in bawdy songs.”
When she glanced over, his smile was warm and dry. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed and stop now, or just go with it. She decided to go with it. “You’re obviously not hanging around with the right women!”
Santiago’s dark eyes were warm, black in the starlit night. “Obviously,” he agreed, his voice nearly purring with amusement.
Heat curled through Meg at his steady gaze. He didn’t blink often, and when he did it was slow, thoughtful. Cat-like.
Insects hummed, rubbing together wings and legs to make music. Night birds fluttered and called for each other, while small mammals rustled through the trees. The fire crackled, spreading light and warmth, soothing and lending the night a sense of safety.
Or maybe that was Santiago and his easy laughter, bronze skin golden in the whispering firelight. It could have been him soothing Meg, setting her nerves at ease, tugging free humor and warmth with gentle smiles and graceful movements. Him providing the sense of safety, an unspoken promise not to turn away because she was too wild.
There wasn’t anything wilder than him.
“I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun with a man,” she said in English, mostly to herself.
Santiago tipped his head, watching her out of feline eyes, full lips turned up in a careless smile. He answered in kind, in a language she didn’t know, something a little sharp and alien.
“Is that your native tongue?” she asked in Spanish, looking at him.
He nodded once.
“What did you say?”
“What did you say?” An eyebrow quirked up.
She hesitated, then felt her skin go warm. “I said I was having fun.”
He smiled slowly, then placed one foot flat on the jungle floor, toes spread. Balancing his weight over it he leaned in, brushing his knuckles across her jaw.
The night was quiet, waiting. His hand slid around the back of her neck, toying with a curl there. Meg could feel his body heat, just as warm as the fire, the whisper of his touch sweeping over her skin. Then he closed the last of the distance, lips brushing hers delicately, then harder, increasing the pressure. She shivered when his tongue grazed her lower lip. Opening her mouth, she tasted jungle and their dinner, and something a little wild that could only be Santiago. She put her hands on his waist, felt the tremor that went through him when their flesh touched. The kiss deepened, demanding softly, teeth nipping at her mouth before pulling her bottom lip into moist heat. She groaned, moving closer, skimming her hands up his body, over smooth skin sheathing graceful muscle.
Mouth and teeth teased the line of her jaw, tipping her head back until he could nuzzle under her ear, breath shivering over the shell.
She wasn’t supposed to have a fling with a crazy cat-god, Meg told herself weakly. Really.
His fingers skimmed over her collarbone, barely touching, arousing in their gentle caress.
“Oh, this is bad,” she sighed in English. This would be the death of her. His touches would undo her, and then where would she be? “Hell.” She’d deal with the consequences later, because this was—
Santiago jerked back, pulling away as if burned. The smile he’d worn earlier was gone, replaced by hurt and then, quickly, anger. His expression closed down, dark eyes going cool as he sat back. “We should sleep.” His voice was flat. “We have a long drive tomorrow.”
Meg blinked, bewildered. The night air, sultry before they’d started, seemed cool without his body heat. Or maybe that was just the chilliness she was getting from Santiago. Hot one moment, and ice the next.
She watched him, confused. Men.
Chapter Four
They might have made better time walking, Santiago thought as the jungle edged past at glacier speeds. If he could have changed and gone through the trees, he could have made much, much better time. Of course, the transformation would nearly incapacitate him, and his foreleg wasn’t working so well in his jaguar skin. As a human, the gunshot wound shifted far enough that it wasn’t crippling. Perhaps more importantly, as a human he didn’t need to walk on his hands.
The silence stretched between them. His mood darkened. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Shouldn’t have started anything, should certainly not have been lured by warm conversation and those addictive smiles she gave so freely. Shouldn’t have been fooled by her easy laughter, or the way she looked at him out of smoky blue eyes, like he was both incredibly sexy and just plain good to be around. So, he’d had a more enjoyable night than he could remember in a long time; it didn’t mean anything.
Not when she knew what he was. Knew his shapes altered at whim. She was polite and considerate, he growled at himself, but polite and considerate didn’t mean interested, not even when he could smell her damned arousal.
Humans disgusted him. Their stupid brains short-circuited things that should otherwise be easy. She liked him, he liked her, that should be the end of it. But no, no her mind had to remember that he wasn’t human, that he’d turned from a cat into a man, and doubtless her mind insisted she should avoid him. It was what they all did, when they found out what he was. Fear him, avoid him, tease and then withdraw when it became serious.
He glared at the passing jungle, wincing when they hit a rut. He felt a snarl deep in his chest and
buried it. Pain burned in his shoulder and down his arm, making his mood even fouler. He hated women. He hated human women. He hated the fact that none of his own people, not one of the Tezcatlipoca were the least bit attractive to him, and that instead he found himself falling for this woman who reacted just the same way the others did when things got serious.
Maybe she’d get used to the idea with time.
And he hated himself for hoping that. Humans and Tezcatlipoca didn’t mix well. He had learned that the hard way. Repeatedly.
“Santiago?” Meg said, fingers tapping on the wheel. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he bit off, pain making his voice tight.
“We could stop, if you’re hurting—”
“I’m fine.” The sooner they got to his home, the sooner she could flee. He should never have kissed her.
Just the thought of her cupid’s bow lips make his groin tighten, heart picking up speed. Cream colored skin, smooth and without scars. Freckles like bits of gold dancing over her nose and cheeks.
Fuck, he had it bad. Realizing his teeth had shifted to fangs and his lips were pulling up off them, he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He should never, ever have kissed her.
Meg kept half an eye on Santiago, part of her annoyed with the snit he’d fallen into the night before and still hadn’t come out of. The other part of her was worried. She knew his shoulder hurt, could tell by the tiny shifts of weight, the tautness of his muscles. She really wanted not to care, since he was being rude. First he kissed her, then he snubbed her—Christ. Maybe cat-gods thought they were above manners, but really.
She tapped her fingers against the vinyl steering wheel again, turning it to edge around a pothole, eyes scanning to find the smoothest path through the rutted road. It’d serve him right if she hit every hole she could find, she groused. She didn’t, though, only too aware of the pain it would cause. Pain wasn’t ever funny. The thought of it might be satisfying, but the reality…
She sighed. Too bad.
They killed time with the quiet between them. Meg hummed, wishing for a CD player. She glanced at Santiago, and glared at him for a moment before turning away. He didn’t notice.
Treasure Hunting Page 4
