Risky Surrender

by Robin Bielman

  For the next few minutes they walked in easy silence. Even Mother Nature was quiet, the warm March day still and almost dormant on the trail. McCall took up the rear and thought about what he wanted to do next with Lucy. Her obvious love for the outdoors warranted further exploration. Keeping her occupied was a bonus and allowed him time to figure out what she was after.

  “What do you think? Is this it?” She stopped and lifted the phone in the air for the kids’ agreement.

  They gathered around for a peek at the screen and one of the boys said, “I bet it’s in that hollowed out tree trunk.” He pointed to a large splintered section of wood off the beaten path.

  “Let’s find out.” Lucy cast an appreciative sideways glance at McCall as she let the kids take the lead.

  McCall scratched the itch on the back of his neck, blaming the dry heat and brittle brush. Not the woman whose every move enchanted him.

  Every time her green golden eyes flashed his way, he wanted more. More of her history. More of what made her so independent. More of her secrets.

  “Look!” One of the girls said, pulling out a large plastic container from inside the trunk. She opened it and took out a plastic bag that held a bracelet made from seashells. The boys groaned in apparent disappointment while the girls squealed with delight.

  “You should have it,” the girls said in unison, handing the bag to Lucy.

  “Me?” The sheer surprise and joy in Lucy’s voice told McCall she wasn’t usually on the receiving end of things.

  “Allow me,” he said, taking the bag.

  He removed the bracelet carefully. The tiny shell treasure didn’t come close to filling his palm, but the workmanship brought a smile to his face. He reached for Lucy’s arm.

  The moment his fingers skated along her wrist sparks skittered up his arm. She shivered as he turned her wrist up. Her pulse throbbed beneath his touch.

  McCall never thought of a wrist as sexy, but Lucy’s was. The creases, the one freckle, the graceful way she held it out to him. He wanted to kiss his way around it.

  He dropped one end of the bracelet.

  Lucy caught it. She put it back in his grasp and cleared her throat. “You always get nervous in front of an audience?”

  Shit. That’s right. “Stay still.” He slid the tiny shells along her skin until the ends met.

  “It’s beautiful.” Lucy turned away and held up her arm. “Thank you for giving me the honor of wearing it.” She wrapped the three girls in a hug.

  “The rules of geocaching say if you take something, you have to leave something of equal or greater value in return,” McCall said. He pulled the small silver amulet he’d brought with him out of his pocket. “You boys want the honor?”

  McCall placed it in one of the young men’s hands.

  “Is that a Brazilian token?” Lucy asked. She cradled the boy’s hand to get a better look. “It is.” She stared at the medallion as if it contained some magical power.

  “It’s supposed to bring—”

  “Good fortune,” she finished for him.

  If he’d had any doubt to the truth in her archeology background, he didn’t any longer. “I thought it would be a nice thing to leave for the next person.”

  “It is.” A tremor in her bottom lip lodged an ache in the deepest part of his heart.

  “Hey,” he said, fighting the urge to run the pad of his thumb over her lip’s fullness. If they’d been alone, he would have. “I didn’t mean for it to upset you.”

  She shook her head. “It didn’t. It goes in the bag?”

  “Yes, but first we need to sign the logbook.” He took the small leather bound journal and pen out of the bag and let the kids have the honor first. While they signed, Lucy sat on the tree trunk. He took the spot next to her and waited. Once the kids were through they gave him the book and wandered off, staying close enough to keep an eye on.

  Lucy’s shoulder brushed his arm as she leaned over to see the logbook. He flipped the pages, she edged a little closer. After a few moments she relaxed against him, her knee touched his. It was as if with each turn of the page, they got more comfortable with each other, until they got to a fresh unmarked sheet. The past behind them. Something new in front of them.

  “You sign for both of us,” she said.

  The pen shook in his hand. He couldn’t remember why he’d doubted Lucy’s honesty. Why he’d needed to keep an eye on her. All he knew in that moment was that he wanted to wrap himself around the woman beside him and pretend nothing else but the two of them existed. Then he signed the book, McCall and Lucy.

  Chapter Five

  “Your lips are like sin and I want to be bad.”

  Lucy harrumphed with disbelief. “That has got to be the worst line ever,” she said, her feet curled under a pillow on the couch in McCall’s room. Some reality show played on the television and she couldn’t stop watching.

  McCall closed his laptop and leaned forward on the chair next to her. “Guys will say most anything to get into a girl’s pants.”

  She twisted and narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s your best line?”

  “Not telling.”

  “Because you’re afraid I’ll laugh.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything, least of all you.” He swallowed and held her gaze.

  She swallowed, too. This afternoon when he’d put the silver Brazilian token into the geocache and signed their names in the logbook like they belonged next to each other, she’d been afraid. Afraid that her plan to use McCall for information about his site and then leave might be harder than she’d thought. Because despite wishing otherwise, she liked him. A lot.

  Good fortune hadn’t been hers in such a long time and her heart shimmied in anticipation of what spending time with McCall might bring. She wanted to believe in good luck charms again, and today a sliver of hope had blossomed inside of her. Maybe he was the key to her finding the sculpture and putting the past behind her.

  “You look pretty deep in thought over there,” McCall said.

  Before she could answer, a knock sounded on the sliding glass door.

  “Perfect timing,” McCall said. “Dinner’s here. Come on.”

  She padded behind him in her bare feet, happy and unhappy about the interruption. She was hungry, but again, he’d taken liberties without asking.

  McCall slid the door wide and Lucy sighed with pleasure. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth. She could not make sounds like that. She could not take this for any sort of special gesture.

  “What is all this?”

  “Dinner.”

  “McCall, this is not dinner.”

  “What is it then?”

  A large square blanket sat spread on the deck. Three tall candlesticks were in the middle and flickered big, romantic flames. The smell of beef and garlic and—she inhaled—sweet potato fries wafted to her nose. “This cannot be your usual set-up.”

  He let her sit first and took the spot opposite. “It’s a nice night and I wanted to eat outside.”

  “Yeah, right. A nice night to charm me so I don’t think about sneaking away to somewhere you don’t want me to be.”

  “You have somewhere special in mind?” He poured some wine and lifted his glass. “To a truce.”

  Lucy gulped. She couldn’t. “To agreeing to disagree.” She clinked his glass and took two large sips to calm her overactive nerves.

  “If you’re up to something, I will find out what it is.”

  “I told you, I’m here on vacation.” She cut into her steak and reminded herself not to let the romantic atmosphere tarnish her resolve.

  “Then let me help you make it a memorable one.” McCall’s sexy as sin voice disarmed her completely, and her hand shook as she lifted her fork.

  Matt had never spoken sexy things in her ear or made ordinary phrases sound hot and dirty. He enjoyed her body and she enjoyed his. And not a day passed that he didn’t tell her he loved her. But romance never played a big part in his actions.

&n
bsp; She and McCall stared at each other, lost in tangled threads of obligation, conflict, and desire. Lucy had been attracted to McCall from the second she’d laid eyes on him, and she was pretty sure he felt the same way. Nothing would come of it, though. She didn’t belong in his privileged world. Not when she intended to take something from the kind of place he’d dedicated his life to protecting.

  He popped a fry into his mouth and Lucy had the unwanted urge to follow it. Not unwanted. Unfamiliar. Suddenly food and McCall had her mind racing to ways of eating that required cooperation and someone else’s hands.

  “How do you suggest we start?” she asked, curious about his intentions.

  “I’m going to teach you to whistle.”

  The piece of filet she put in her mouth lodged itself in her throat. That was the last thing she expected him to say. It was also the most dangerous. She wanted to whistle almost as much as she wanted the sculpture. A shiver slid down her back like a water snake and she tried not to squirm.

  “How?” she whispered. She’d tried and tried during the past two years and couldn’t do it.

  McCall smiled. “Form an A shape with your index and middle fingers like this.” Using both hands he extended his middle and index fingers while his thumbs held down his ring and pinky fingers. Then he placed his two middle fingers together to form an A.

  “Good,” he said, his eyes on her hands. “Now we move to the mouth. Lip placement is very important.”

  Lucy’s gaze landed on his lips. She could think of a few places on her body she’d like to have those lips.

  “Tuck them back over your teeth.” He demonstrated.

  “Like I did when I was younger and pretended to be an old woman without any teeth. It always got a laugh out of my grandmother.” She demonstrated.

  He laughed.

  “Hey!” She leaned over and pushed him in the arm. “You aren’t allowed to laugh.”

  “I can see why your grandmother did.” He dodged right to avoid another push. “Now comes the more difficult part. You have to push your tongue back into your mouth. Get your hand ready.” He made the A. “Then you’re going to put the tip of your fingers under your tongue, push it back with your fingers so the tip folds back on itself, and push until your first knuckle reaches your bottom lip.”

  Lucy tried it. She had no idea if she was doing it right, but with McCall as her teacher it was fun to try.

  “Now with your fingers in your mouth, keep the tip of your tongue folded and your lips tucked over your teeth, close your mouth around your fingers, and blow through the hole between your two index fingers.”

  The tips of her ears tingled as he whistled. The sharp, attention-getting sound threw her emotions into the back of her throat and clamped it shut.

  If she’d been able to whistle like that, she might have been able to save Matt and her dad.

  McCall must have sensed her distress because he withdrew his hands and looked at her with tenderness she didn’t deserve. “You probably won’t get a sound right off the bat. It takes practice. You’ll know you’re getting close when a sound like blowing over a beer bottle comes out.”

  Her fingers found her mouth, and she concentrated on everything McCall had told her. Nothing happened on the first try. Or the second. Or the third. But McCall’s steady gaze, the faith she could read in his eyes, had an interesting side effect. She had no intention of giving up trying this time.

  “Let’s eat before dinner gets any colder,” Lucy said. “I’ll keep practicing later. Thanks for the lesson.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll have your super power.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to his kindness so they ate in amicable silence. Several minutes later, she said, “Tell me about working for World Heritage Fund.” The largest non-profit international organization that worked to preserve historical sites garnered unparalleled respect and notoriety.

  McCall leaned back against an Adirondack chair and extended his jean-clad legs. “It’s fantastic. I took over presidency of field operations a year and a half ago and have been travelling nonstop, getting up close and personal with iconic sites that make you catch your breath. Our biggest efforts right now are on Route 66 and I’m seeing parts of the US I’ve never seen before.”

  “That’s a huge project.”

  “We’re working on it with another preservation company.”

  “How long are you in Arizona?”

  His head slanted to the side.

  “Not that I’m anticipating your departure or anything,” she added before she pressed her lips together and grinned.

  “Now what fun would it be if you knew how long I was in town? Unless you’re planning on leaving at the same time?”

  Lucy sighed and reached for her last two sweet potato fries. The truth was, after she got the Tlaloc sculpture she had no plans. Thinking ahead wasn’t her strong suit and for the first time in her life that neglect left her on edge. She’d dreamed of teaching, though, and after spending today treasure hunting with the kids, wanted to pursue that possibility. “Is that an invitation?” Her regard crashed into his.

  “Do you want it to be?”

  She bit her bottom lip. And wow. His gaze fell to her mouth and he watched it with such keen interest that everything inside her fluttered. She had a feeling if she moved left or right, he’d track right along with her. She’d swear everything between them stilled, even the air molecules.

  “McCall.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you to tell me.” She inched closer to him, unable to stop the pull.

  “Tell you what?” He leaned a fraction closer, his interest steady on her mouth.

  “What exactly is going on here. I’m having trouble thinking clearly.” The space between them dwindled further.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s been my experience that thinking is highly overrated.” He extended his arm until his big, warm hand cupped her cheek.

  Her breath caught at the contact. “It’s been a long time since—”

  “Shit!” He yanked his arm back and jumped to his feet. His shirt was on fire.

  It took Lucy half a second to stand, leap over the offensive candles, and tackle him to the ground. She’d smothered more than one clothing fire and knew what to do. Heat licked at her stomach, but as quick as it ignited, she’d extinguished it.

  McCall moaned, apparently having hit the deck pretty hard. She ignored him and wiggled, guaranteeing that every last ember died. Once satisfied, she pressed up and looked down at him.

  He wore a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  …

  “I think you missed a spot,” he said, “better keep wiggling.”

  Lucy didn’t move at first. “Like this?” she finally said, deciding to rock her hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm that had a certain part of his anatomy standing at attention.

  McCall knew the second she felt him because panic wrinkled the corners of her eyes and forehead and she rolled off him.

  He rolled right along with her so that he pinned her beneath his weight.

  “What are you doing? The flames are gone and you smell terrible. I probably do, too. I need to go change.”

  He wanted to shut her up with a kiss that would make her forget every other kiss, but he stopped himself. If he wanted her to kiss him back, he had a feeling she needed to be the one in control.

  Her continued struggle against him dragged him to his feet. He offered a hand to help her up.

  “Thank you,” she said, relief—and disappointment?—in her voice.

  “You know, if you’re looking to do something new, I hear the Panthers are scouting for an offensive tackle.”

  She pushed him in the chest. “I can’t believe you reached over the candles like that.”

  “Not the last stupid thing I’ll do.” No. He suspected before the weekend ended he’d commit a couple dumb things where Lucy was concerned.

  “Are you okay? You didn’t get burned, did you?” She lifted his
charred shirt. “Oh, McCall, you did.”

  “I’m fine.” He tried to push his shirt down. His body still hummed from their hip action and the gentle touch of her hand near his stomach tested his willpower.

  “Come with me.” She tugged him into the cabin and with a firm grip on his shoulders forced him to sit on the couch. “Don’t move.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get something.” She disappeared into her room and reappeared seconds later, holding what looked to be a container of honey in her hand.

  He had no idea what Lucy was up to, but his mind immediately raced to X-rated scenarios.

  “Take your shirt off,” she commanded, dropping to her knees in front of him.

  Holy shit. “Uh, Lucy?”

  Her long eyelashes lifted and innocence sexy as hell shone in her eyes. “Don’t worry. This won’t hurt.”

  Looking at her hurt. Being this close to her and feeling sensations zing around his lower region hurt. He was an idiot to think he could ignore the power she had over him.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve done it before.” She helped him out of his shirt.

  When she traced her finger along one of the ridges of his abdomen, he couldn’t stop the unrestrained groan. He gripped the edge of the couch cushion. “What exactly is it?”

  She rolled her eyes and opened the honey. “Honey is a natural antiseptic. It heals and prevents infection.” She poured the golden remedy onto her palm.

  “You are not rubbing honey on me.”

  “Don’t be a baby. I promise it will feel good.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  That got him the sexiest and sweetest gasp he’d ever heard. She blushed, but rather than stop the stream of honey, she squeezed the bottle tighter.

  “I recall Keats McCall saying he wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  “You, Lucy. I’m afraid of you.” His heart hammered inside his chest. He’d never been more honest in his life.

  “Afraid I’ll ruin your Aztec village,” she mumbled. Her honeyed hand moved toward his burn.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t start something unless you plan on finishing.”