by M. L. Rhodes
Her eyes suddenly darkened and glazed with passion, and he felt heat stir in the air around them again. “The question is ... will you ever let me go?"
Miguel's breath slowed to barely a whisper. She already knew she could have left earlier, yet she'd chosen to remain. But he knew that's not what she was asking.
"Do you want the truth?” His voice was deep, husky.
"Yes."
He teased the tip of his once again burgeoning erection against the damp crease of her pussy, and she trembled at the contact.
"I don't ever want to let you go."
Her breath caught, then rushed out in a soft, warm burst. “Then show me again why I should stay."
When her mouth found his and her hands tightened on his back, tugging him closer, he was lost.
* * * *
Elizabeth didn't know how long they kissed, their bodies entwined, or how long he whispered soft, erotic promises as his hands roamed over every inch of her, touching, exploring, caressing, bringing her once more to the edge of reason. She felt as if the night had become sheer black silk around them, submerging them in a deep pool of sensuality, and no one existed but the two of them.
He entered her again, filling her with his turgid length, stroking the walls of her needy cave, pressing against her cervix, and touching every inch of her insides just as he had her outside.
When he sat up and lifted her onto his lap facing away from him, and his probing cock eased its slippery way into her tight rear passage, her vision blurred and exquisite pleasure stole over her. She'd never felt so full, so replete. His hands pleasured her breasts, hot against her tender flesh, and his mouth played at her neck, suckling and tonguing in a rhythm that matched his fucking. One hand slipped lower, through the curls that protected her core, and found her swollen heat. His groin rocked beneath her, allowing him to sink deeper and deeper inside her.
"Tell me again,” she said in a whispered sob.
"I don't ever want to let you go, Beth. I want you, need you, like I've never needed anyone.” His voice was a breathless, tortured version of its usual self against her ear, and it was then she realized whatever was happening between them was affecting him as much as it was her.
"Oh, God ... Miguel..."
"I'm here, baby. For as long as you'll have me. For as long as you'll let me stay with you."
Her body splintered into a million glittering pieces, like glass shattering in slow motion. He held her, encouraged her, and only when she'd surged in a final convulsion that turned her inside out, did he groan her name and give himself up to his own release.
Elizabeth dragged in deep breath after deep breath and sagged in his arms. Her heart throbbed and she felt so physically and emotionally drained she didn't know if she could move. Miguel's breathing was ragged as well. He cradled her against him, offering his strength, and she let herself lean into it.
Propriety, what the future might bring, and the world bedamned. She couldn't ignore it or pretend any longer. In an odd twist of fate, or maybe because he was exactly what she'd dreamed of since she was a girl, she'd fallen in love with this complicated man.
CHAPTER 8
Elizabeth rolled over, and in the fingers of late morning sunlight filtering through the trees and slanting through the windows, her gaze instantly sought out, and found, the object of her desire.
A slow pulse of need coursed through her as she savored the sight of him, knowing he wasn't yet aware she was awake. He sat in a wooden chair, his back to her, his bare feet propped on the kitchen table, looking at something on his legs. From her position it looked like he held a laptop.
He wore jeans, but nothing else. The muscular expanse of his shoulders and back, the glaring white of the bandage on his arm in stark contrast to his brown skin, the way his biceps and triceps flexed as he typed, reminded her all over again what an utterly masculine and physically striking man he was.
Her heart felt too full for her chest.
She eased out of the bed, her body achy in pleasant places, and slipped her arms back into his shirt, only bothering with a few of the buttons. Her bare feet made no sound on the wood floor and braided rug, but she knew she could never sneak up on him ... he'd know she was coming.
As her arm curved around him from behind, his came up and pulled her closer until she was pressed to his back.
"Have I thanked you yet for saving my life yesterday?” she asked, resting her cheek against his hair.
She felt him smile. “In more ways than one, baby."
He set the computer on the table, and tugged her around until she was nestled in his lap. His eyes glowed with amber flecks this morning, and his smile did things to her insides she couldn't even begin to describe.
"Have I thanked you for saving mine?"
"I didn't save yours. All I did was...” She couldn't get the words out as the memory of digging the awful piece of metal out of his arm, then having to heat a knife on the stove and press it to his wound left her shaking.
He kissed her, a slow, gentle brush of his lips against hers. “I know what you did. And I appreciate it more than you can imagine."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Anything you'd like.” He seemed relaxed. Open.
"Why were you so mad at me yesterday morning? You acted like you hated me."
Regret flashed in his eyes. “I'm sorry. It was nothing you did. A very long time ago I fell in love with a woman from a wealthy family. I thought she could do no wrong, but she betrayed me. And so, when I found out who you were, I unfairly took my old anger out on you."
"Because I come from a wealthy family,” she whispered.
"Yes. But it was wrong of me to make assumptions. And I quickly realized you were nothing like Rosa."
He smiled and his palm caressed her cheek. Elizabeth leaned into it. She wanted to ask him for more, but sensed this was something from his past he might not want to dredge up.
It surprised her when he continued without prompting. “I grew up dirt poor, Elizabeth. My dad disappeared when I was a kid, and my mom was left to raise seven of us—three boys and four younger sisters—in one of the worst barrios in the city. My oldest brother was killed in a gang shooting when I was fourteen, so I swore I'd never get involved in anything like that.
"I studied hard in school and won a scholarship to college. My senior year of college, I met Rosa. She was a few years younger than I was, and she never seemed to care that her family owned cars that cost more than my family earned in ten years. When I asked her to marry me, she said yes, even though her father didn't approve. He tried to buy me off, offered me a shitload of money to disappear and leave his daughter alone."
Elizabeth sighed. That was why he'd gotten so angry yesterday morning when she suggested he ransom her. Unknowingly, she'd shoved the whole memory of a rich daddy buying him off right in his face.
"A couple of months before the wedding,” Miguel was saying, “I went by her house one day, and found her in bed with another man. Not just any other man. It was my younger brother."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up."
"It's okay. I want you to know.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “I went crazy, told them I never wanted to see either of them again. But Rosa threw herself at my feet, begging me to forgive her. I was a fool, so I did. But I wasn't as trusting as I had been, so I watched her, and a couple of weeks later, it happened again. This time with a different man. I told her that was the end, and I meant it. But she wouldn't give up. Finally, she threatened to go to her father if I didn't take her back. Said she'd tell him I'd hurt her, and he'd get even with me."
Miguel shook his head. “I ignored her, thinking it was just more of her manipulation. I knew her father was glad to be rid of me. But two days later, my younger brother was killed in what the police said was a drug-related shooting. I'd worked hard to keep him out of gangs and off drugs, and I believed he was clean. So I started digging around.
"What I discovered was that my bro
ther had been enticed to join a drug operation. A major operation run by none other than Señor Rodriguez, Rosa's father. It turned out he was one the biggest drug traffickers in the area. And Rosa worked with him, sleeping her way into young, impressionable men's hearts, making promises of money and prestige if they went to work for her father as sellers or couriers."
He paused and stared out the window for several seconds, and Elizabeth didn't push.
"Looking back on it, she must have known from the beginning she'd never convince me to work for her father—I'd never been quiet about how I felt when it came to the drug trade. So I can't figure why she would have stayed with me ... unless she really did love me in her own twisted way. Or thought she did.” Miguel's gaze returned to her. “But love or not, she was used to getting what she wanted, so when I wouldn't take her back, she convinced her father to have my brother killed as a way of getting revenge on me."
Oh, man. “Miguel, I'm so sorry."
He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"I hope they caught this Rodriguez and locked him away forever."
"It wasn't that easy. He and his family disappeared into Mexico. He was a drug lord, and drug lords have plenty of money and resources. But I wasn't willing to give up. Even though the police and the feds were after him, too, I hunted him myself. It took three years before I finally tracked him down and finished my business with him."
She studied him for a moment, then whispered, “By business, you mean you killed him, don't you?"
"Yes.” It was said without regret or apology.
"And Rosa?"
"She was already dead. She'd been murdered by one of her adoring ‘men’ when he discovered she was using him."
All was quiet for several minutes.
Miguel continued to hold her and play with her hair, while Elizabeth tried to come to terms with what he'd just told her.
In her world, people didn't kill other people for vengeance or primitive justice. Yet she could feel Miguel's pain from all those years ago. He'd lost two brothers, one as a result of his relationship with a woman who'd betrayed him. Elizabeth wasn't sure how old Miguel was, but she suspected he was in his mid-thirties. Which meant he'd spent a lot of years living with a lot of baggage. How could anyone deal with knowing they'd killed another human being?
But the more she thought about it, and the more she tried to put herself in his position, she honestly wasn't sure if she would have done anything different.
"You said they disappeared into Mexico. Rosa and her family. You're an American, aren't you?"
He didn't seem surprised by her question. “I was born and raised in L.A.. My parents moved there from Mexico when my older brother was a baby."
"And based on the story you just told me, I can't believe you'd be involved in the drug business. All that stuff you said out there to Galista's men yesterday ... Knowing what I know now, it doesn't ring true. So what are you? Some kind of an undercover agent? DEA or FBI? Customs?"
"Not exactly. I'm not affiliated with any of those organizations. I work for a small off-the-radar group made up of both U.S. and Mexican figures."
"Like mercenaries?"
He raised one dark eyebrow.
"Bookstore owner, remember? I read a lot, including ... well...” Heat crept up her cheeks. “...men's action adventure."
His sensuous lips turned up in a smile and his eyes twinkled. “Just when I think I'm starting to figure you out, you toss another surprise my way."
Then he grew serious again. “It's not a mercenary group. It's ... consulting, I suppose is the best way to describe it. There are certain high-placed individuals in both governments who have an interest in monitoring and sometimes controlling aspects of the drug trade. So we step in.
"Right now our primary interest is finding out who Galista is. No one's ever see him. Two years ago he appeared on the scene, although we suspect he may have been building his business quietly for years before that. Now we believe he's the main trafficker in southern Mexico, but we have no evidence to prove it. If what we believe is true, his cartel is growing. Soon he'll have enough power to take over most of the other major cartels and he'll be the driving force behind virtually all the drugs transported from Mexico into the U.S. But before we can do anything to stop him, we have to be able to ID him and pinpoint him as the leader of this growing cartel."
"But those men yesterday said as much, that Galista's the head of the cartel."
"We need hard evidence. Anyone can say anything and it doesn't mean much. Plus, those men would never agree to testify against Galista. They know they'd be killed."
Elizabeth shivered. “Galista wants me. Why, Miguel?"
"I've been thinking about that. I have a gut feeling Galista thinks you can somehow identify him. That's why you're such a threat."
She closed her eyes, hating that they were right back to her not remembering anything helpful. “I promise, if I could tell you anything, I would."
Tension oozed from Miguel, and she knew he wanted her to do better than that, to come up with something concrete. She hated feeling so useless, but the days in Acapulco were a blur of running around to stores, the airport, appointments. If she'd unknowingly seen something, it sure hadn't been obvious.
Wanting to distract him from his disappointment in her, she shifted the topic elsewhere. “So when you're not working in Mexico like you are now, do you still live in L.A.?"
"No. I live in Colorado now. Have for the past several years. And...” He paused for a moment as if he was weighing how his next words might affect her.
"And?"
"And I have two business partners. They work for the same organization I do, but when we're not on assignment...” Another pause, and his jaw was doing that clench/release thing again. “We own and run a retail store together."
Something akin to numb shock settled in her limbs. “A store?"
"Yeah. A wilderness outfitting store—hiking, climbing, camping gear."
She pulled away from him and dropped into another chair at the table, then lowered her head onto her arms. “Profit margins and pissy customers,” she mumbled. “That's how you knew."
When she glanced up at him, he had the grace to look sheepish.
Restless, she stood again, and this time paced to the window. She felt him watching her, but he didn't push.
"A part of me really wants to be mad at you, damn it. You played me. You let me believe you were something you aren't. After what happened with Lionel, you should know..."
"I do know. And I am truly sorry. I couldn't break my cover, Elizabeth—it would have been dangerous for both of us. But that doesn't mean I didn't regret keeping the truth from you."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because my cover's blown. Because if I'd really wanted the bad guys to think I was one of them, I would have had to turn you over to Galista.” He was suddenly behind her, close enough she felt the heat radiating out of his body. “And there's no way in hell I would ever have done that."
He turned her. His gaze seared into her, his muscular thighs sandwiched hers, and his scent swirled around her.
"But mostly"—his voice dropped to a husky thrum—"it's because lies and false identities are no way to build a relationship."
"Is that what we have?” she asked in a shaky whisper. “A relationship?"
The stroke of his callused thumb over her cheek made her ache to have him touch her in other places, other ways.
"I told you last night, I don't ever want to let you go. But in truth, that's up to you, Elizabeth. The question is, do you think you can ever come to care about a man who carries a gun for a living? Because even though I'm not a bad guy, I'm not exactly a good one either. Sometimes I walk a fine line. People do shoot at me on occasion, and I shoot back. And the organization I work for ... as far as the rest of the world knows, it doesn't exist. In some ways it would almost be cleaner, easier, if I were a bad guy."
Elizabeth embraced the
heady rush of excitement surging in her veins. “I just want to remind you of one thing."
"What's that?"
"Last night, I thought you were a bad guy ... and when I could have run, I didn't."
"And now?” His breath was hot against her cheek, and one of his hands slid up under her shirt to cup her bare bottom. “Do you want to run now?"
Throbs of desire spread through her. “God, no."
"Are you sure?'’ His gaze bore into her, filled with lust ... and, did she dare think there might be something deeper in the flicker of intense, exposed emotion she saw?
Her lungs squeezed so tight for a moment she grew dizzy.
"I'm positive."
She wasn't sure if he moved first or if she did, but their mouths crushed together. Their tongues thrust against each other with desperation. Her hands locked in his hair. His cradled her ass and pulled her against him so she felt every ridge, every engorged inch of his erect rod prodding her lower stomach. She remembered her impression from the first night they'd kissed—that he tasted like sex and danger—and realized it was still true, would probably always be true.
She ripped at his jeans, needing them gone, needing to feel his swollen length impale her, fuck her again. When she managed to shove the denim down around his hips, his sex sprang free, impossibly hard, thickly veined, and stabbing the air. Pre-come glistened on the tip.
Miguel picked her up, and her legs locked instinctively around his waist. He moved across the room in powerful strides and stopped next to the bedside table. Setting her down, her back to the wall, he ripped one of the condoms off the strip, tore the package open with his teeth, and donned it. Elizabeth watched in fascination as his strong fingers worked it down over his straining, tumescent shaft. God, she wanted that inside her. Wanted it sliding in and out of her until she screamed.
He lifted one of her legs in a swift motion, and draped it around his waist. Damp flesh met damp flesh.
"Fill me!” she demanded. “Do it now!"
He plunged into her, burying his cock to the hilt.
