by Zoe Dawson
He looked up, and with his heart pounding, he ran into the kitchen. “Ariane!” he yelled. But there was no answer, the eerie quiet of the house unnerved him. His chest heaved and he ran for the stairs and tore up them two at a time, calling for them. “Jhosselin! Riky!”
They weren’t there.
He ran back downstairs and turned off the stove. Panic twisting him into a pretzel. Maybe she’d gone out. He was so desperate, he was now making things up. He’d call her. That’s what he would do.
He dialed her cell.
“Hello.”
His blood ran cold.
Bryant Anderson.
“I warned you,” was all he said. Then he hung up.
Cris cried out, he grabbed the flowers and beat them against the counter until the sunny bright blooms were nothing but stems, the petals scattered on the floor like his dreams. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands and wept.
Pulling himself together, he went up to his bedroom and reached up into his closet for a locked strong box. He opened it with the key on his ring. Inside was a gun. He’d bought it for protection a long time ago when he was living in a very bad neighborhood. He took it out and loaded it.
He left the house and went down to the warehouse. When a guard tried to stop him, he shoved the gun in his face, disarmed him and continued inside. Bryant was at his desk working like it was any normal day. He pushed through the glass door and pointed the gun at him. “Where is my family, you son of a bitch?”
Someone hit him from behind, and he sprawled forward, the gun discharging and the bullet thunking into the ceiling.
Bryant laughed as Cris’s arms were jerked behind him and he was unceremoniously forced to his feet. Bryant hit him in the gut and he doubled over, the blow sending pain through him and taking his breath away.
He grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced him toward the monitor, shoving his face against it. His heart plummeted to his toes. “Remember what I said?” he murmured. “I told you to mind your own business and here you are, getting involved.”
“If you harm them, I’ll kill you!”
He grabbed Cris’s collar and pulled hard on it knocking him into the wall. His head bounced off and disorientation and pain made him sink to his knees. Reggie and another man dragged him upright.
“You want to know where your family is?” He crouched down and sneered. “The Russians have them.”
“Oh, God. No. You fucking psycho.”
“I’m not the one who made this difficult. They want what they paid for and you are working against them. They didn’t like that.”
“What do you want!” he yelled.
“Who is Paige Sinclair?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t.”
“I don’t. I swear.”
“Well, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to find out and when you do, you’re going to tell me.” He grabbed Cris by the shirt front. “If you don’t, you, your family, and all your employees won’t survive.”
He nodded to his lackeys and they dropped his arms. “Now get out of here.”
Cris landed in the street, and he looked up at the sky. Shame and helplessness running through him like poison.
There was no way out of this that would save everyone, and he had to save his family. He didn’t care about himself. He cared about Ariane and his beautiful Jhosselin and mischievous Riky. He cared about Paige and about Ashe, who was a good man. But with his family on the line, he’d do anything, even betray the lovely Paige and her Navy SEAL.
Ashe braced to take the full force of the cat as it barreled toward them, but this was the last straw. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She stepped in front of him, raised her hands and yelled at the top of her lungs, staring the cat down with her feral golden eyes. The animal put on the brakes, his back paws sliding in the loose stones. She picked up one and threw it. It hit him right on the nose and bounced off. He snarled and backed up. She threw another and screamed again. “Go away! Scat!”
He started to backpedal, then like a male who had encountered an angry female of any species he turned tail and ran.
There was a choked sound behind her, and she turned expecting Ashe to yell at her. Tell her she was out of her mind, but instead, he was doubled over. At first, she thought he might be hurt, but then he rose and his face was contorted. He stumbled backwards and a peal of laughter rushed out of him and even though he tried to remain on his feet, he fell down on the ground and rolled around laughing even harder, clutching those rock-hard abs.
She set her hands on her hips. “What the hell is so funny, you crazy bastard? You just jumped from a cliff like you think you have wings!”
“You just scatted a mountain lion, babe, like he was a domesticated kitty.” He covered his eyes and laughed some more. She marched over there, the heated exchange with the cat making her warm, but now she was getting cold again, shivering and the sun was going down. They didn’t have time for hysterics.
“Ashe. Get up. We have to go.” He didn’t move just kept laughing. It was contagious, his laughter deep and rich. She reached down to shake him, and before she knew what was happening, he’d reached out and grabbed her, sprawling her onto his chest in a blink of an eye with his quick, responsive reflexes.
She gasped when she felt how hard he was. Aroused? Here in the middle of nowhere with mountain lions roaming and Kirikhan rebels trying to kill them, with a job to do and the dire threat of warheads in the hands of those rebels. What was he thinking?
But then he groaned, low and soft, his hips thrusting up into hers. She was thrown forward and as soon as she touched him, she could feel the heat of him through his shirt, along with the way his heartbeat accelerated. She made his heart beat faster. Not a mountain lion, not a sixty-foot fall, but her. God, he made her feel like the sexiest woman on the planet.
“Kid Chaos with a hard-on while we’ve just escaped death twice. You really are batshit crazy.”
Those aching blue eyes popped open, his face soft and tender, he rasped, “It’s the adrenaline, babe. Always gives me a hard-on. I want to fuck you, Paige, right here, right now. Who gives a damn? The water? Plants? Rocks? Fuck me. I need you to ride me hard. Ride me, babe.”
The possessive tone of his voice, the serious, piercing, protective look said more than words ever could—that maybe, possibly, she was beginning to matter too much. How could that be? She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. And, yet she did. She felt so much for him, beyond any fling. This was completely off the rails, this thing she had with the boy wonder. He slid his hand between her legs, tugging on the button of her pants, then delving inside to find her wet and tingling core.
He grabbed her by the nape of her neck. “Undo your shirt. I want your nipples in my mouth.” His grip was gentle, his voice deep and demanding. With trembling fingers, she reached for her buttons. “That’s it, babe. Let me see you.” She pulled the shirt open and hiked up her bra, gasping at the exquisite sensations that tumbled through her from his fingertips. “Lean down,” he put pressure on her nape, “and give me yourself.” She was powerless to resist. He clamped his mouth over the hard tip, and she cried out as she arched against him, the sound reverberating against the rock.
Everything receded, until there was only Ashe in her world. He stroked her between the legs, his warm wet tongue swirling around her nipple, the suction making her buck against his hand. She was going to stop him and focus on the job. Really, she was. But she was tired of always thinking about work, and he made her needy as hell, and this felt way too damn good to stop. So she let her eyes drift shut, let the sensations take over, let Ashe take over, and promised herself she’d get herself right when they were done. Promised herself that she’d come to terms with Ashe and his effect on her.
Just as soon as he made her come. Again.
She was still shuddering, still jerking against his hand and the oh-so-clever fingers he’d slid inside her, when he was already slipping
them out and shifting her, stripping her of her pants and undies. Taking her mouth, even has he breathed, “Let me the fuck in.”
She wanted him in, all the way into her body, her heart, her mind. The raw truth of it was she craved the feel of him, filling her up, as she’d never craved anything before.
He was already freeing himself, panting and moaning every time she moved, every time she looked at him. He’d barely freed what had to be bared when he was jerking her down on top of him. She pushed down as hard as she could, grinding on him, glorying in the long groan of satisfaction she wrenched from him as she clenched her still twitching muscles tightly around him and rode him with the kind of freedom, abandon she’d never experienced before. It was amazing.
His hands were on her hips, his mouth on hers, his tongue deep inside, just as he was, thrusting, and she took both as fast and as deep as she could. She felt him gather beneath her as her own climax built. She bit his bottom lip, making him growl and buck higher, which made her cry out as the glorious friction of him filled her over and over again. She tightened her fingers in his thick hair, and held on as his fingers sank into the soft flesh of her butt, likely marking her there as he tugged her harder, faster, against his now bucking hips.
He reached deep, sending waves of pleasure through her, and she arched back, working to keep him on that sweet spot. And her arching took him over the edge, groaning, swearing, as he pistoned inside her while coming in a shuddering fury.
She clung to him when it was over, and he clung just as tightly to her, clutching her to him, even as she struggled with the emotions that filled her to bursting, her fingers still in his hair, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
Their breaths came in heavy pants, and she slowly became aware that she was damp and sweaty. The air had grown heavy, fog coating them, only making them even more damp. She’d never experienced such ferocity with what they’d just done. It was always like this with him. She should be so moved by it. If anything, she should be bashing herself for letting him sidetrack her to such a wanton degree when they had so much responsibility riding them. What would her father think? Scratch that, she shouldn’t be thinking about her dad when he was still deep inside her.
But all her life she’d thought about him, and what she’d had to do to earn his affection and admiration, his trust. She had worked so hard for that. But Ashe had come into her life and blown everything into smithereens, and she was seeing what it would be like on the other side of barren, because that’s what her life had been up until now. Empty, barren, lonely. So damned lonely.
This was what she could have if she let go and let herself believe that love and affection didn’t have to be earned, but was unconditional, free and felt so fucking good. Like this.
Of course, the danger and suspense certainly heightened their sensations, so there was that element, as well, feeding into all this. Maybe she could finally find, not only the balance she’d only realized now that she craved, but what was possible with Ashe in her life.
None of which explained the burning sensation that gathered behind her tightly squeezed eyelids. Nor her reluctance to let him go, to look him in the eye and once again force herself to put this—whatever the hell it was with him—back in some kind of controlled, heart-proof box.
But he wasn’t laughing anymore. He was still holding onto her, his face buried in her hair as if he wasn’t ready to let go, either. He’s still recovering, that’s all.
Not that it mattered.
She willed herself to move, to gather herself, put her head back in the appropriate place—on the job and not reveling in the pure physical and emotional connection with him. But at the first hint of movement on her part, his arm tightened around her, his fingertips dug more deeply into her hair. So she did what felt natural and right. She pressed her lips against the damp, heated skin of his neck, the kiss sweet and gentle. God, this man. And when he kissed her temple, she kissed him again, drawing her mouth closer to the hard ridge of his jaw, before nuzzling against his scratchy cheek, marveling that his boyish face could feel so deliciously like a man’s. She homed in on that tantalizing mouth like a heat seeking missile, and he turned his head and captured her lips with his own.
They kissed, softly, silently, reverently. Every moment of which quenched her thirst for him in a way that the fiercest declaration of affection ever could.
She did move then, but he captured her face between his palms before she could slide completely off his lap. His expression was as serious as she’d ever seen it, his gaze locked onto hers so intently it was as physical a connection as the kisses they’d just shared. There was a stunned silence between them, the power and essence of which she saw reflected in his gaze as well.
It was both a relief, to know she wasn’t alone in reeling from the magnitude of what she’d felt had happened just now, even if she couldn’t define it. She had no idea where this would go or how he felt. The breadth and depth of her emotions alarmed and thrilled her.
He grinned and held her gaze for the longest moment. Then he took her hand and kissed the palm. “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had beating hypothermia,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and laughed. She couldn’t help it. “We didn’t have hypothermia,” she whispered.
“Wanna go for another dip until we get chilled again? Go for round two?”
She just kissed his teasing mouth, enjoying the lights in his eyes. “Oh, Ashe, what am I going to do with you?”
“I think you did me pretty damn good. This is hands down the best damn time I’ve ever had in the field. Normally, I’m with a bunch of trash-talking, sweaty, dirty, unkempt men. You beat them all hands down, babe.”
She laughed. “Geez, that’s a great compliment.”
“Oh, I guess that’s easy,” he said, a full, Ashe, shit-eating grin on his face.
“Yeah. I’m sure most men would rather have this than that.”
“Hmm, but I do love the guys.”
She punched him in the shoulder and reached for her clothes, even now reluctant to part from him, but they had to find shelter and warmth. Night was approaching fast. They also had to come up with a game plan. They had to get back to the city and as soon as she had cell service, she was going to call her boss and get an NCIS and SEAL team out here to deal with these thugs. She was also calling Cris next and warning him about Anderson and the danger. It was the least she could do for him. He had a family to protect.
They started walking and from what she remembered of this area, it was pretty barren. He looked at his diver’s watch which had a compass and said, “If I’m not mistaken, there are Quechua Indians who live out here to farm coca—coke. It’s a seasonal crop.”
She nodded.
She looked over the bare, shattered, and split crags that reached many hundreds of feet above the trail, and some even stood in a leaning position so that the tops actually hung over the narrow passageway as if threatening to topple down at any moment; below, the steep slope was covered with huge boulders which had fallen from the towering masses above. They moved from barren rock and scree into the forest, bright, orange-red birds flashed through the deep green of the forest like fiery comets. Green toucans and tiny, pretty little parakeets flittered around.
They crossed a dry, narrow bed of a stream which was filled with rocks bearing the imprints of leaves, and also fossil shells.
Breaking out out into a clearing or cultivated area called a yungas, a deforested, fertile mountain slope, Ashe shaded his eyes. In June, there weren’t any farmers left. They had gone back to Cochabamba to winter, visiting their plantations only three times a year, supervise the gathering and packing of the leaves, and sell the harvest and live on the proceeds until the next one.
The huts were vacant and it was child’s play for Ashe to get inside. The interior was a low, one-room, board structure. It had a small fire pit and after searching they found wool blankets and sheets for the bed.
The rebels would probably be lookin
g for them, but now that it was dark, there was very little chance they would find them way out here. They stripped down and dried their still damp clothes near the fire. The bed was made out of straw, but comfortable enough for them to lay down side by side.
They ate power bars and rabbits that Ashe snared with a piece of twine and an apple that had been left in one of the barrels.
It was warm and cozy beneath the blankets with the fire going and her stomach pleasantly full.
She thought about how fragile life was, how she only got so much of it and that working herself to death didn’t have the same appeal it had before she’d come to Bolivia. The people lived here so simply and happily. Could she let go of her own shit long enough to embrace a new mindset? Could she live without the specter of her need to prove to her father that she was worthy of his affection and love just for herself?
She wasn’t sure that would work and losing her father’s respect would be devastating. NCIS and her promotion seemed distant on a different continent.
“Hey,” he said softly, “you’re pretty far away.”
She turned toward him, settling onto his chest, running her hands over his hard muscles all the way down to that delicious dent just above his hip. “I was thinking that I was so caught up in watching my father all those years take me for granted, that working hard was the only time he seemed to notice me.”
“Aw, Paige, that must have been so hard.” He cuddled her close. “Has something changed?”
“I don’t know. It’s twisted up like your situation with your dad. I feel like if I pull a thread, it’ll all come unraveled ,and I won’t know what to do with all the remnants. It scares me.”
“You? The woman who told a mountain lion to scat? Impossible.”
