by Dana Marton
“Keeping fingers crossed for Milo,” Clara said, even while she knew that Milo was going to turn her father down again.
For someone, okay, slightly control freakish, accepting that she couldn’t help people she cared about was difficult. She couldn’t help Milo stop punishing himself and accept Elaine’s love. She couldn’t help her father undo his recent mistakes. She couldn’t talk Walker out of his revenge.
“Life would be so much easier,” she said, “if people would just do what I thought was best for them.”
Her father gave a small laugh on the other end, a sound she hadn’t heard in too long.
Her throat tightened. “I’ll see you soon, Dad.”
After they said their good-byes, she called her grandmother. The last time they’d talked, Grandma Lucy was in good spirits and fully cognizant, and since Clara didn’t know how many good periods like that they’d have, she wanted to take advantage of every chance she got.
Especially after the dip she’d taken in the Tamchén well. That narrow escape drove home the point that her own life shouldn’t be taken for granted either.
“Hi, Grandma, it’s Clara,” she said when the line was picked up.
“Hi, honey. Are you still in Mexico?”
Clara breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll be going home tomorrow. I’ll definitely stop in to see you.”
“Good, I want to ask your opinion about someone. I’ve been meaning to bring it up for a while.”
“New nurse?”
“New guy. Antonio. Italian.”
“Grandma!”
“He reminds me of Bud,” she said wistfully.
Bud had been Clara’s grandfather. Her grandparents had been married for forty years, had the kind of enduring love that was rare these days.
Her grandmother said, “He wants to go all the way.”
Clara thought of the bowling alley in the basement, the farthest someone could walk within the facilities. “Be careful on those stairs.” Then she gasped when she realized what her grandmother meant.
“I told him no,” Grandma Lucy went on. “I told him we’d forget each other in a few days anyway.” She sighed. “You know what he said? Good, then every kiss will be like the first kiss.”
Wow. Antonio had game. “Do you like him?”
“Hotter than pizza pockets,” came the response. Then a long pause. “But I think I’ll be seeing Bud soon.”
“Don’t talk like that. Have a wild affair.”
Grandma Lucy laughed. “Maybe I will, if you will. You first. I don’t want to die before I meet your young man.”
Clara wondered what her grandmother would think of Walker.
Okay, that was stupid. Walker was definitely not Clara’s young man. They belonged in different worlds.
The thought shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
Different worlds, different paths. She was going to drive away in the morning, while Walker rushed into deadly danger.
Chapter Eighteen
The temperature in the attic was bearable, thanks to the cooling rain outside.
As much as Clara hated to accept that her mission was a bust, she had to. Leaving in the morning was the smartest thing to do.
In the meanwhile, she needed rest.
After finishing the chimichanga Brunhilda had sent up, she went to bed. She was exhausted from their wild adventures of the previous night, and ready to pass out as soon as the hot food hit her stomach.
Walker rested on his back next to her, arms folded under his head. Clara was lying on her side on the mattress, facing toward the window. She expected to be asleep in seconds. But as the minutes ticked by, sleep wouldn’t come.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the well.
She understood that Walker was desperate for answers about Ben’s death. Back in the well had been his only chance of having his questions answered. He’d been waiting for that moment for a long time–he’d probably never have found the noseless guy again. So some of the rough treatment had been necessary.
But…God, she could still hear the sickening pop when Walker had broken the man’s neck.
And yet, could she really judge him? She’d shot someone the day before. Except the young bandito had been a clear and present threat. While the guy in the well… They could have left him floating there.
Couldn’t they?
Her eyes flew open. No, they couldn’t.
Disparate emotions swirled through her as she turned toward Walker. The muscles in her chest tightened. “You killed the noseless man because of me.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her but didn’t say anything.
“He would have tried to pull us down, back into the water,” she said. “You could have handled it, kicked him back, but I would have lost my grip. I would have fallen back into the water. He could have pushed me under.”
He held her gaze. “I don’t want you to think about that.”
Because he knew how she felt about shooting Pedro’s nephew the day before, and he didn’t want to add to her anguish. He didn’t want her to carry the guilt of another life taken.
The concept of Light Walker as a kind, thoughtful, caring man did a number on her brain.
She was going to miss him.
Not something she could have imagined when she’d first met him.
Light Walker was a complicated man. Lots of shadows in him, and some downright darkness, but he was also honorable, and had the capacity to be kind.
And the way he sometimes looked at her, with all the steamy jungle heat in his eyes… She had no idea in what spreadsheet to put that.
Or the fact that he was currently half-naked, lying next to her, within easy reach. Her thoughts about the well gave way to thoughts that took her into an entirely new direction.
Especially when the bed in the room below them started up its rhythmic creaking.
Little by little, tension filled the attic.
She bit her lower lip. “Have you ever—”
“No,” he said before she could finish the question.
“I thought you and Carmen were friendly.”
“I’m friendly with all the girls. And that’s as far as it goes. I don’t buy women.”
No, he wouldn’t. It’d been stupid to ask. He did have his lines that he didn’t cross. “Sorry.”
He nodded.
“Are you ever lonely?” she asked next.
He searched her face. “Are you offering to ease my loneliness?”
Was she?
“Clara?” His voice thickened as he said her name.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. He had great lips, supremely masculine and incredibly soft. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted more than a kiss.
Wait. What?
Oh God. Was she really considering a last-second fling with Walker? A one-night stand was stunningly, ridiculously out of character for her. And yet, here she was, just about panting for him.
Maybe he could read her mind because he reached for her.
She didn’t know what to expect as Walker’s mouth descended on hers in what would be their last kiss. Ravishing? The kind of plundering their kiss at the guesthouse had been when he’d told her he needed to kiss her?
But this kiss was respectful and gentle. As if he couldn’t believe that he was kissing her. As if he didn’t want to scare her away. As if not scaring her away was important to him.
He tasted her lips, nuzzled her, nibbled. He didn’t push her to open up, but she found herself opening anyway. And even then, he didn’t shove inside her mouth to conquer. The kiss wasn’t what she’d anticipated. But it was a kiss that melted her completely.
He kissed her with so much longing, it caught her off guard.
Sweetness and longing weren’t words she associated with Walker.
His kiss shot straight to the heart of her.
Her hands trembled slightly as they went to his shoulders. His muscles bunched and shifted under her palms, his skin warm under her touch. T
he kiss built heat so gradually, she got so lost in the feel of him, that she didn’t notice the tsunami of desire roiling inside her until it was too late.
Suddenly, she was clinging to him, her blood rushing in her ears, her breasts pressed against his chest—aching for an even more intimate touch. In fact, she was aching for his intimate touch everywhere.
Her hands dipped to his chest, kneading their way down, settling restlessly at his waist as she pressed herself against him, against his hardness that reared between them.
At the end, he was the one to break contact first.
“I’d give anything to have you right now,” he said in a thick voice. “I’ve wanted you since I saw you at that damned cantina, surrounded by slobbering wolves. I wanted you in the jungle. The first night we spent here. At the guesthouse.”
He raised a hand, palm out, as if to ward off the objections he was sure would follow his words. “I know. It’s a terrible idea. I’ve been telling myself that all along. But I can’t stop the wanting.”
She was a puddle of need, her heart a mess. But she had no idea why he would want her. His sudden confession confused her, which made her hesitate.
Normally, he came onto her to shut her up, to gain the upper hand, to scare her away. But she’d already agreed to leaving. He’d been right. She was in over her head. She knew it. She’d accepted it.
So why was he still amping up the seduction?
She gathered what little willpower she had left and moved out of the circle of his arms.
He let her go immediately. “Sorry. I don’t seem to be able to help myself.”
For real? She shook her head. “I don’t understand why. I’m not the kind of woman men can’t keep their hands off. For the record,” she said, so he wouldn’t think she was fishing for a compliment, “I’m okay with that. I like who I am.”
His eyes narrowed. “So, to clarify, it’s okay for you to like you, but it’s not okay for me to like you.”
Was he saying he liked her? “We don’t match. If we were in a spreadsheet, we’d be in different columns.” She’d be under uptight/nerdy/homely girls, and he’d be under badass men with bodies of…um…Navy SEALs.
He grunted. “Just so you know, I hate spreadsheets with a hot, burning passion.”
She hurried on with, “I’m not remarkable on the outside, but I’m a strong, intelligent woman. I’m honest.” She didn’t want him to think that she had no self-worth. She wasn’t hung up on beauty or craved it, or felt diminished because she didn’t have it.
His eyes went back to narrow slits. “So you’re strong, intelligent, and honest, but that can’t be what men like me want and appreciate.”
“Not in my limited experience.”
“Then your experience sucks.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
But because she thought he still didn’t fully understand what she was saying, she waved her hand in his general direction and added, “You are all shiny…muscly…stuff.”
She groaned. He’d already robbed her of her self-control and ability to breathe. She resented him robbing her of her vocabulary.
“Maybe I’m shiny on the outside but a pit of darkness on the inside.” His voice was suddenly somber.
She considered his words, because he sounded like he believed them. Yet she knew another side of him. He’d treated her injuries after she’d been grazed by that bullet. He’d saved her life at the Tamchén compound. He’d held her through the night so she wouldn’t fall out of the tree in the jungle.
She sighed. “You’re not without fault, but you’re not rotten. Although you’re very disorderly. You’re pigheaded, cocky beyond bearing, arrogant.” She stopped when she realized she’d just said the same thing three times over. “You have a troubling obsession with vigilante justice.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m sure there are things you don’t like about me.”
“You’re not naked, and you’re not under me.” His voice was thick with passion.
She lost her breath.
“I want you,” he said. “I look at you, and I see your smart mouth that I want to kiss. As frequently as possible,” he added. “I see your smart eyes that a man could look into all day long and not get bored. I see your hair that drives me crazy with the need to run my fingers through it. I see the sheer strength of your thighs and the softness of your breasts, and I want all of it.”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
“And that’s just on the outside,” he continued. “What’s on the inside makes me even more crazy. Truth is, Clara, I love your orderly brain. And I love how you just suck it up when the going gets tough.”
She tried to process that, but her entire body was tingling and the synapses in her brain were melting—not so orderly after all.
He seemed to like her. All of her. She swayed toward him. She might have braced herself with her palms on his naked chest. She might have tilted her mouth to his. With every passing second, she liked the idea of being naked under him more and more.
But he hesitated. He seemed to be fighting a silent battle with himself. So she brushed her lips against his.
With a deep, manly groan of capitulation, he kissed her. And again and again. He tasted her lips. He moved into her mouth and did wicked things with his tongue.
Her body burned for him.
Her fingers explored his warm skin, his seriously incredible muscles, his six-pack abs. Then she moved her hand lower, until his massive erection overfilled her palm. Even through his pants, he felt breathtakingly impressive.
He groaned again. In desire.
Then he rolled over her and fitted himself between her legs. He rocked his hardness against her center.
Her nerve endings sparked. Oh sweet heavens, yes.
He supported himself on one elbow, his other hand moving up to cup her breast. She arched into his palm.
When he tugged down her shirt, all that material bunched up and lifted her breasts straight to his face.
His pleased smile and the hot passion in his eyes stole Clara’s breath all over again. Then his fingers… What his fingers did to her nipples was nothing short of magic. But they were only the harbinger of upcoming attractions, because next he used his lips on her, then his tongue, the heat of his mouth sucking her in.
The pressure between her legs increased as he pressed against her and moved in a rhythm that was pure perfection.
Below them, the bed stopped creaking, a short break, then creaking again.
“For the sake of my self-esteem,” Walker said around her engorged nipple, “I’m going to pretend that’s three different guys, not one guy for the third time in an hour. I can’t take that kind of pressure.”
She gave a startled laugh, and the vibration of that laugh inside her added to the sensations he was lavishing her with. When his hot lips closed around her nipple again, and he sucked hard while twirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, her body contracted, pleasure pulsing through her. Wave after wave.
She hung on to him, dazzled and dazed.
He moved up to kiss her gently. Held her until she returned to earth.
He smiled at her. She smiled at him.
She reached to unbutton his pants, but he moved her hand away.
“Clara. Wait.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his expression pained. “You don’t mean that. You’re just being carried away by the moment.”
He swore softly. “If I let this happen, I’d be taking advantage of you. I don’t want to do that.”
She stared at him, her mind too mushy to speak for several seconds. “You’re protecting me from myself?” she asked when she could form words.
A rueful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’m officially an idiot.”
She swallowed and tried to gather herself. “No. You are right.” Her mind swam in a sea of confusion. “I’ve never gotten carried away before.”
She couldn’t believe what had just happened was real.
Every cell of her body
wanted him, clamored for more of his touch, for him to be inside her. But she’d never let her body rule her. She’d always followed her brain.
Granted, with Josh in college, she’d been a twit. But after that, she’d smartened up. Her decisions about sex had been calculated and conscious, after weighing cons and pros.
Sex was a big deal. A life-changing deal, not to be taken lightly. Sex could leave you pregnant or give you an STD. She was a serious, responsible person. She wasn’t the kind of woman to throw herself into a man’s arms on a whim.
He was still giving her that strained smile. Everything about his body language screamed that he wanted her. It was a heady feeling to be wanted this fiercely by someone like Walker. And the fact that he was holding back out of consideration for her was even more appealing. Stunning, and definitely doing a number on her brain.
The way he looked at her made her want to move right back into his arms and throw all caution—along with her panties—to the wind. The thought scared her more than a little. She wasn’t the caution-to-the-wind type, never had been.
So why now?
Walker was somehow bending her will and common sense, no smaller feat than earth’s gravity bending light. He was a scientific phenomenon. How was she supposed to fight against gravity?
She dragged her shirt back on.
“I don’t understand what’s going on between us,” she whispered.
“There are things that can’t be put in columns and charts, things that can’t be tabulated and summed up easily. I didn’t expect this either.”
“But it can’t go anywhere, can it?” she said more to herself than to him.
“No. We are headed into different directions. So I’m going to let you go.” He held her gaze. “Listen, this is me, trying to do the right thing. Which doesn’t happen often, believe me. Take advantage of it.” Then he grew even more serious. “But if you come into my arms again, don’t expect me to stop.”
