Lora glared at him. He had her there. . . . She was unable to say precisely what should be done with the money, but she did know that Max had no right to it. But then, who did?
“Salve your prickly conscience, Lora. We earned it, and anyway, I mean to see that it’s spent in a good cause. Clemente’s and Lowenthal’s family will get some of it, to begin with.”
“What about Clemente?” Lora asked, suddenly remembering the body that they had left behind in the jungle.
“Barney said he’ll bring the body out and see that it’s returned to Clemente’s family. I told him where to find it.”
“And Ortega? Do you think they’ll catch him?”
“Probably. He might even be arrested. But I seriously doubt if he’ll ever go to jail. Ortega has friends in high places.”
Lora looked up into those sparkling black eyes, twinkling piratically above the crooked blade of a nose and villainous mustache, and suddenly, impulsively, reached up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth.
His hand came up to catch her arm, and he looked down at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn’t decipher.
“Lora . . .” But whatever he was going to say was lost as the rotor of the helicopter started to revolve, making further conversation impossible.
The pilot leaned out the door to yell, “You folks coming?” and then they were climbing inside.
They settled into the rear seats as Tunafish had taken the seat next to the pilot to give his leg more room. Then the whirlybird was lifting into the air.
As the helicopter gained height, the panorama beneath them was dazzling. Lora looked down with awe at the magnificence of thousands of hills that seemed to ripple into eternity in every imaginable shade of green. Misty clouds of steam from the daily downpour veiled the lowland areas. Stark rock cliffs, a few crowned with snow, stretched for the sky. The deep blue of lagoons and lakes and streams appeared unexpectedly from time to time in gleaming contrast to the vistas of rolling greenery. Lora wondered which one was theirs. . . . Seen from the air, the montana jungle looked like a verdant paradise. Glancing at Max, Lora decided that, despite everything, maybe that’s just what it had been.
“Mr. Maxwell, where should I take you? Colonel Brackenridge has put me totally at your disposal.”
They had been in the air about fifteen minutes. Lora had been so caught up in the beauty of the scenery—and a curious sense of loss that she could not quite explain—that she had not said a word so far during the flight. The pilot’s question caught her attention. She looked up, her eyes going to Max.
“Tunafish needs a hospital, a good hospital, so I suppose you’d better take us to Guatemala City.”
“I ain’t goin’ to no hospital, man. You know I hate hospitals.”
“Well, I sure as hell am not taking you home to Ann like that. She’ll skin me.”
Tunafish looked uneasy. “Me, too. I done told her we was takin’ a fishin’ trip.”
“And I’m not going to wetnurse you, so it doesn’t look to me like you have much choice. It’s either a hospital or Ann.”
“Some friend you are,” Tunafish grumbled, glaring at Max. Max looked at Lora with a grin. “Ann’s his wife. Barely five feet tall and meaner than hell. She keeps Tunafish and those kids in line, believe me.”
Tunafish grinned, too, looking in no way offended by this description of his wife. “I’m gonna tell Annie it’s your fault I broke my leg.”
Max shuddered exaggeratedly. “You probably would.” Then he turned to look at Lora, his eyes suddenly unsmiling. “Lora, we can put you on a plane when we get to Guatemala City. You can be in Kansas by breakfast time, if you like.”
Lora returned his look. She would rather say this in private, but there was no privacy to be had. Casting pride to the winds, she said softly, “I want to stay with you, please, Max.”
Tunafish cleared his throat and looked away. The pilot suddenly became very busy studying his instruments.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Max said repressively, but his eyes were suddenly warm on hers.
Lora smiled at him, feeling ridiculously happy all at once. He had not rejected her. That must mean that he was not yet quite ready to say good-bye, as he had threatened, now that their jungle idyll was at an end.
XXV
By the time they landed at the airport in Guatemala City, got Tunafish into a taxi, waded through the red tape that was required before he could be admitted to a hospital, and found a taxi to take them to a hotel, it was nearly midnight, which in a Latin country like Guatemala is the top of the evening. The streets were teeming with traffic and pedestrians, the restaurants and lounges overflowing. After finally leaving Tunafish sleeping under a heavy dose of a sedative in preparation for surgery the following morning to rebreak and reset his poor thigh, Lora was exhausted, and Max looked as tired as she felt. The idea of spending the night in a hotel with Max was exciting, Lora thought, or at least it would have been if they both hadn’t been so tired. Too tired? She glanced speculatively at the dark-shadowed face of the man she loved. That remained to be seen.
The taxidriver dropped them at the Hacienda Guatemala City, a small but elegant hostelry in the center of the city. Walking through the ornate brass doors, Lora took one look at the casually chic clothing of the other guests and felt about two inches tall. She slunk across the marble floor of the lobby and hid behind a potted palm, feeling horribly self-conscious about her tangled, grimy hair, sunburned face and torn and dirty clothes as Max walked up to the desk and requested a room with aplomb. He did not seem a whit disgruntled by his own disreputable clothes or scruffy beard, Lora noted with some asperity. Her eyes popped as he extracted an American Express card from his pocket and handed it over. How on earth had he ever gotten that?
“It’s not stolen, is it? The credit card, I mean,” she whispered anxiously as they were shown to their room by a smiling bellhop, who had shruggingly accepted Max’s firm refusal of an offer to carry their only luggage, the brown leather suitcase.
“Of course not,” Max answered with a quirky smile. “I wish you’d rid yourself of this notion that I’m some sort of criminal. I’m not, you know. At least, not that sort,” he amended with a grin as the bellhop opened the door and bowed them into the room. “I got it quite legitimately, just like everyone else.”
“You can get an American Express card?” That idea was more mind-boggling than the other. “What on earth did you put for occupation? Jailbreaker?”
“I said I was self-employed, which is true,” Max said soothingly, passing the expectant bellhop a bill—undoubtedly from her small store of money, which had survived unscathed in his pocket through all their hardships—and closing the door behind him. “I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon forget about all this stuff for a while. What do you say to dinner—room service? You can take a bath while I order.”
“A bath.” Lora breathed the words, enraptured at the idea. She was so dazzled by the combined prospects of food and cleanliness that every other thought was instantly crowded from her mind.
“Through there,” Max said, pointing at an open door. “Steak sound all right to you? That’s what I want.”
“It sounds heavenly.” Lora sighed, thinking of a big, juicy sirloin. “With all the trimmings. Salad, and potato, and bread and butter. . . .”
“You’ll get sick,” he warned, grinning. “If Montezuma’s revenge doesn’t get you, eating too much on an empty stomach will.”
“I don’t care, it’s worth it. Go on, order all that. And a shrimp cocktail, if they have one. And dessert.”
“You’ll get fat.” His grin was wider than ever as he picked up the phone.
“I’ll worry about it later. Order.” Lora stuck her tongue out at him, then disappeared through the bathroom door. Inside the bathroom, she stood for a moment marveling at everything: the white porcelain tub with its glass shower doors, the luxury of a flush toilet, the sink with a lighted mirro
r above. The floor was cool, black and white tile, and Lora kicked off her mangled sneakers and enjoyed the sensation of it against her bare feet as she closed the door. Sighing blissfully at the luxury, she let the water run into the tub while she washed her face with soap and the delightfully thick washcloth the hotel provided. They also provided toothpaste, but she didn’t have a toothbrush. Not that a small inconvenience like that mattered. Humming happily, she squeezed toothpaste onto the washcloth and rubbed her teeth with that. The strong minty taste left in her mouth afterwards made her stomach rumble. She was starving. . . . Lora thought longingly about the steak she would soon be eating as she stripped off her clothes, made quick but appreciative use of the toilet, and climbed into the steaming tub. Her mouth watered as she pictured the thick slab of meat, brown and sizzling. . . . Her stomach rumbled, loudly, and Lora picked up the soap and washcloth and set to work with a will. As much as she would enjoy a long soak in the tub, her starving insides insisted she hurry.
Her hair was filthy, and she was contemplating washing it with the bar of soap in lieu of shampoo when a quick rap at the door was followed by Max’s entrance.
“I didn’t say you could come in,” she protested, pressing the white washcloth to her breasts and feeling ridiculously shy as he looked her over with grinning appraisal from just inside the door.
“You’re not getting modest on me again, are you?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes warmed as they took in her curving body, the taut, pink-tipped breasts gleaming with water and traces of soap, the tiny waist and the curve of her hips that was just visible through the veil of water. Her legs were bent at the knee, hiding quite a bit, but his eyes gleamed over as much of her as he could see.
“I brought you something,” he added, holding up a brown paper bag tantalizingly as his eyes moved back up to meet hers. Lora had to smile at the lurking smile she found there. “Toothpaste, a toothbrush, a comb, shampoo, and some female junk that the hotel threw in for good measure. I called down to the desk and explained that the airline had lost most of our luggage.”
“And they believed you?” Lora thought of the picture they must have presented in the lobby. No reputable airline would let passengers board looking like that!
“Why not? I’m a paying customer. They’ll believe anything, as long as you pay for it.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“You’re very naive. And very, very pretty. How would you like your back scrubbed?”
“I wouldn’t!”
“Well, I would. Move over, I’m getting in.”
“Max, no!” The idea of Max joining her in her bathtub was almost as shocking as it was intriguing. She had never taken a bath with anyone, with the exception of her sister when they were small. Though she had made love with him on more occasions than she could count, and though he had seen, and more than seen, every millimeter of her skin, she still felt shy about him joining her in the bath. But he was taking off his clothes, and as she watched she felt a delicious flutter of nervous excitement. . . .
God, he was gorgeous naked. He had the most beautiful body of any man she had ever seen—not that she had seen that many naked men, of course. But his was just as she had always imagined a man’s body should be, broad of shoulder and wide of chest, narrow of waist and hips and long of limb, to say nothing of brown and hairy and muscular and too sexy for words. Her eyes moved over him with kindling warmth as he stepped into the tub with her. From the wicked half smile on his face, as well as the other unmistakable physical evidence, he was as aware of the possibilities of this encounter as she was. She sat up straighter, bending her knees closer to her body to accommodate him as he sat down at the opposite end of the tub with a great sloshing overflow of water.
“Pass the soap,” he said, and Lora obediently handed over the soap, watching with interest as he lazily soaped his chest.
The sight of white bubbles smeared across bronzed skin and whorls of black hair was captivating. Lora smiled at him as he lifted one hard-muscled arm to scrub beneath it. She could envision doing this every day of her life, until she was a little old lady of ninety-two. There was something about the intimacy of sharing a bath that made her want him to belong to her—permanently, forever, all hers—with an intensity that was almost physical. Her heart trembled and her lips quivered with the need to say, I love you, but she firmly clamped the lid on her foolish organs. Sex with no strings, she had promised him. Of course, she hadn’t meant a word of it, but her deepest feminine instincts warned her that now was definitely not the time to confess to that. She had to wait a little longer—wait until he needed her a little more. Wait until he loved her a little. All of which was an awfully tall order. . . .
“You’re looking at me like a cat at a mouse. You planning to pounce?”
This was so close to the truth that Lora was momentarily taken aback. But she made a quick recovery, realizing that he could have no notion that she had just been plotting his ultimate surrender. From the teasing glint in his eyes, he had interpreted her fixed attention as a sign that she wanted him. Which she did.
“I was giving it serious consideration.” She stretched out a hand to stroke his hard-muscled calf, enjoying the feel of the wet, warm, hair-roughened skin beneath her palm. “But I think I’ll have to wait until after supper. I’m starving.”
“You mean you’d rather eat than make love? Tsk, tsk, Lora, you wound me.” Max grinned, sinking down a little in the tub and then straightening abruptly as his back came into contact with the hot and cold fixtures. “This is uncomfortable as hell. Think there’s room for me at that end?”
“No,” Lora said, but he was already standing, grabbing her arms and pulling her up beside him.
“You can sit on my lap.”
He was holding her by the upper arms so that she would not slip, and their bodies just brushed each other. The slight contact was electric. His eyes changed, the teasing glint darkening, turning into something both primitive and powerful. Lora knew her expression must have changed, too. She stepped closer or he pulled her closer, she wasn’t sure which, but suddenly she was against him, with his arms tight around her waist and her arms sliding up to encircle his neck. His chest was slick with soap, and the contrast between that and the abrasion of his body hair was tantalizing. She rubbed her body against him instinctively, feeling her nipples harden and the now-familiar quickening between her legs. He felt so good—so hard and tough and male. Funny to think that she was such a sucker for old-fashioned masculinity. . . . Lora half smiled at the humor in it as his mouth came down on hers. Then she quit smiling, quit doing anything at all except kissing him back, her tongue and lips and teeth telling him what her heart was afraid to. She loved him. . . . She kissed him like a woman in love, and only hoped that he was too blind to notice.
Finally, he lifted his head, staring down at her with an expression she couldn’t define. She smiled up at him dreamily, hardly aware of the soap that covered them both or the bathwater rapidly cooling around their calves, her fingers trailing over the broad expanse of his shoulders, sliding down to play with the soapy curls of hair on his chest. With a quicksilver forefinger she touched his flat nipple, then skittered away to the other one, barely sliding over the rough surface. His nipples reacted just as hers did. With a catlike smile at him, she leaned forward to press her lips provocatively to that first responsive nipple, drawing it into her mouth and nibbling at it as he did her own. It tasted of soap. . . .
“To hell with taking a bath. I want you.” His voice was hoarse, his eyes burning as he drew in a rasping breath. Then he was pushing her away from him, his hands hard on her waist, steadying her. Lora yearned toward him with a little mewling moan, her arms reaching to encircle his neck once more. Her body cried out for the touch of his.
“Come here, baby.” He stepped out of the tub, then lifted her out after him, careful not to slip on the cool tiled floor as he carried her into the bedroom. Lora was scarcely aware that they were moving. All her senses were fo
cused on the hot fusion of their mouths, and the reaction it was setting off in her body. All he had to do was touch her and she caught fire. It was wonderful, unbelievable, a private fantasy given breathtaking life; a dream from which she never wanted to wake. . . .
He was dropping her on the roughly woven bedspread, falling with her, crushing her with his weight. Lora was conscious of the prickly cloth beneath her back, the electrically cooled air drying the moisture from her skin with its chilly breath, the heat and weight of his body on top of her. Then she was twisting and turning in his arms, her own arms capturing his head and pulling it down. She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him. She had no time to waste on preliminaries, and apparently neither did he. She twisted and squirmed in his arms until the maximum amount of her skin was pressed to his, entwining his legs with hers and urging him down to her. She felt the touch of him against her, fiery hot and urgent as it sought its home, and surged upwards. The sudden impact of their joining sent shudders of pleasure through her. Lora clung, gasping with need, as he claimed her with a frenzy to match her own. He took and took and gave and gave and she shuddered and shivered and matched his every stroke. . . .
There was a sudden brisk knock at the door. Lora scarcely heard it, but Max hesitated and she was aware of that. The knock came again, louder, more imperative.
“La cena, señor!”
“What a hell of a time for room service!” Max muttered a few other words that would, under normal conditions, have singed Lora’s ears. But under the circumstances she was totally in accord with the sentiments he expressed.
“Leave it outside the door! Christ, he probably doesn’t speak English.” Max repeated the command in Spanish.
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