by Style, Linda
Adam didn’t move. He held his hand against her until the throbbing spasms slowly dissipated, and then…she became aware he was looking at her—that he’d been watching her.
A wave of embarrassment rippled through her, but only for a moment, because his lips met hers and he took her away again, and then she wanted even more. She wanted the pleasure of watching him surrender in the same way she had.
A swell of love filled her till she couldn’t breathe anymore. And just then, his breathing deepened, his urgency evident as he stripped off his shorts. She sat up and pulled her shirt over her head.
He reached for the packet she’d seen him take out earlier, and a deep urgency gripped her. She took the condom from his hand and guided it onto him, surprised at the silkiness of his skin. He watched her till she finished, then in one swift motion he brought her around and on top. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice warm and caring. He smiled. “I weigh a lot more than you do.”
In the heat of passion, he was thinking of her. Her heart melted a little more.
On this one night in a tropical rain forest, she didn’t feel like a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d been married for ten years and had a child. She felt like a virgin bride, an adolescent kid who’d never experienced anything so wonderful.
Certainly nothing as wonderful as this.
“Jillian,” Adam murmured, his voice filled with need. He reached for her and pulled her down. Then he turned with her, so that she was on her back. He gently spread her legs and positioned himself over her.
“Please,” she whispered, raising her hips. She wanted him now. All of him.
He moved slowly at first, and then, in one swift motion, he was there, all the way. He waited briefly, then began to move, and she matched his rhythm. With her encouragement, he thrust into her again and again, faster, deeper, harder. Just as she wanted.
On a sharp intake of breath, he gave a body-straining shudder, and at that same moment, her muscles contracted and a pure surge of ecstasy rose to its apex and shattered within her.
For the first time in her life, she felt the heady sensation of pure unadulterated pleasure—and the knowledge she was capable of giving the same to another person—was electrifying.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?” she whispered. “That was awesome. I feel wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”
He chuckled. “Then we agree.”
Hearing his words sent her spirits to the moon…and yet at the same time, some small niggling thing inside her said she wanted more than that. She wanted their lovemaking to be more than just sexual pleasure. She wanted it to mean something to him. Something deep and personal—as it did to her.
Could one actually fall in love with someone after spending such a short time together? She didn’t know, but there was no other way to explain what she was feeling. It wasn’t possible to have such mind-blowing erotic pleasure without love, was it?
And if all that was possible and she was in love, she couldn’t have picked a worse person to be the recipient of her affections if she’d tried.
But right now, none of that mattered. Not one iota.
She exhaled and shifted her body underneath his.
“Sorry,” he said. He eased to one side, resting on an elbow, his other arm still across her chest.
What now? Rob had always rolled over and gone to sleep.
“You were great,” he said.
“You, too.”
After that, they lay quietly for the longest time.
Finally he said, “What do you say we get some sleep? We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
It was true. Tomorrow would be a big day, but she didn’t want to think about it. Not right now.
“You know,” he said, “if we don’t get the answers we’re looking for tomorrow, it’s time to head home.”
We. A small word with multiple meanings that reminded her they had been at cross-purposes. They needed to talk about what happened between them tonight, she knew that.
But not right now.
“I know. I’m not convinced anymore that finding this man will change anything.” In fact, at this moment, she didn’t want to know.
Rob deserved her loyalty as his wife and as someone who had helped her when she needed his help. She could do no less for him if it turned out that way. But she couldn’t believe—wouldn’t allow herself to believe—the man in that photograph was her husband.
Because the man she loved was Adam.
“You still think this guy isn’t—” He stopped, as if aware that now wasn’t the time to talk about dead husbands.
She wasn’t so sure. This might be the perfect time. “Yes, it should be obvious I still believe the man is someone else.”
“Obvious?” He looked confused.
“I wouldn’t have made love with you if I thought otherwise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I WOULDN’T HAVE MADE love with you if I thought otherwise. Geezus! He had to be the most obtuse guy on earth when it came to women. Or the most challenged when it came to which head was going to rule.
He kicked the tire of the VW. He and George’s brother, Geraldo, had left early to get the car, after convincing Jillian it wasn’t necessary for her to come along.
What he really needed was time to think, because so far, he had no frigging solution. Not any that didn’t hurt Jillian. But so what? What was the big deal about hurting one person when the lives of many others hung in the balance? Collateral damage.
If by taking out the scum, he could save even one susceptible teenager, wouldn’t that be worth it? Wouldn’t that make his partner’s death mean something?
Yeah. He could tell himself that from here to the next solar system, but it didn’t change a thing. He didn’t want to hurt her if he could avoid it. He just didn’t know how to avoid it.
“Okay, put a board under that wheel and I’ll put one under this side. Then you push from behind while I pull with my truck,” Geraldo was saying. After Geraldo fixed the engine, Adam gave it a little gas and the wheels spun in the mud.
“Sure.” The sooner they got the car out, the sooner they’d be out of the country altogether. He hated to go home empty-handed, but he couldn’t justify staying any longer—not with Jillian along. Geraldo had told him how dangerous the hills were with bandits, kidnappers and drug dealers. If he was injured, even killed, that was one thing, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
Forty minutes later, Adam and Geraldo rolled into the yard in their respective vehicles. Adam parked the VW, thanked Geraldo for the work and walked up the path to the guest house to see if Jillian was ready.
He knocked first. No answer, so he went in. The room was empty, all their things gone. He hoped to hell she hadn’t done something stupid like striking out on her own again. Damn. His muscles tensed at the thought.
“Forget something?” Jillian’s voice came from behind him.
He spun around, relief sifting through him. Relief quickly replaced with annoyance at himself for being so easily affected by the thought that something might’ve happened to her.
“No,” he replied. “Where’s our equipment? We’ve got to go, otherwise we won’t make it back by nightfall.”
“I’ve been ready for hours. I brought everything to the main house because I was helping Father Martinez with the baby.”
He started walking. “The mother didn’t come?”
“No, she did. She came about fifteen minutes ago and she was so happy, she hugged everyone before she left. And just being able to help that little bit made me wish I could do more.”
“I’m glad someone is happy,” he grumbled.
“Did you know that in addition to the baby smuggling,” she said, tripping along beside him, “children who aren’t desirable for adoption are sometimes sold and exploited through child pornography and prostitu—”
“I know all that,” he interrupted, still irritated with himself. “I’ve been here
before, remember?”
“Well, how would I know what you know if you never mentioned anything about it?” she snapped back.
Good. She was angry at him—one way to keep her at arm’s length.
“Well, knowing all that, don’t you think we have an obligation to do something?”
“Do something? I have an obligation to finish the job I came here to do.”
“But maybe we can help!”
“We can’t do anything right now.” They neared the steps where their luggage was parked. “Because we don’t know beans about the situation, the country or what others are already doing.”
He snatched up two of their bags, hauled them to the car and dumped them into the trunk. She grabbed the supply duffel and followed.
When she reached him, he said, “The reality is that people all over the world need assistance in one way or another, and it’s impossible to help everyone everywhere.”
She shoved the duffel at his chest. “I’m not talking about helping everyone. I’m not that naive.”
“Well, please save the altruistic endeavors for when you’re on your own time. Right now, there are a few more important things on the agenda. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here while I go finish what we started.”
If looks were daggers, he’d be dead. She yanked open the car door, climbed in and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Let’s go.” Jillian fumed. If caring about others was altruistic, then that’s what she was. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly about it all of a sudden, but she did.
It was almost as if there was a bigger reason she was here than finding out about the man impersonating her husband. Maybe she needed more in her life than work and caring for her daughter, who would, of course, move away one day.
She’d been thinking a lot about all that, especially after being with Adam. Their time together had made her realize there was more to life than work and responsibilities.
There was a time when she’d reveled in the small enjoyments of life. The scent of rain, the sun coming up in the morning, her little girl’s laughter, a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with a friend. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she and Dana sat down with a glass of wine just to talk. When had she and Chloe really talked?
Being here in this exotic country with a man who alternately enraged and excited her, made her feel as if she’d been in a deep sleep and had suddenly awakened.
As irritating as Adam was at times, she had to credit him with her enlightenment. Without him, she wouldn’t be here, and she sure as hell wouldn’t feel the way she did.
He was a smart man. He’d been right when he said she couldn’t just jump in and do something for a cause she really knew nothing about. But she could do something later, and she made a vow to herself that she would.
Ten miles of silence and several dirt roads later, they drove into a small village, if one could even call it that. Dotting a hillside on one side of the road were a half-dozen small, dilapidated houses that looked as if they’d once been part of a motel. A small child sat on the steps of one, and a second child played happily in the sand nearby.
Adam stopped the car near the edge of the road closest to the first house.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jillian said softly.
“I have. It’s just another way of life.”
She nodded while her gaze panned the area. Rob would never have stayed in a place like this. He’d never have left a child here. She couldn’t imagine anyone leaving a child here. Even if the boy’s mother was dying, couldn’t she have found a better place for her son?
“Let’s rock and roll,” Adam said, then got out and stood by the front fender to wait for her.
Her legs felt like cement weights. Was she that worried about what she’d find? The man wouldn’t be here, she knew that. They’d only come because they might get a lead on where he’d gone. So what was the big deal?
She grabbed the door handle, thrust it down and gave the door a shove with her shoulder. It popped open and she tumbled sideways, landing in the dirt.
Adam turned at the noise. “Need help?”
“No,” she said, pulling herself up. She could make a fool of herself all on her own. She dusted herself off and shut the car door. “Where first?”
“Right here.” He started walking toward the closest house. She hung back, still fuming, then hurried to catch up.
As they neared, a woman appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the frame, gave Adam a wide smile and languidly smoothed the front of her flowered dress. “Hola, señora,” Adam said.
The woman responded in Spanish, to which Adam rattled off something else. Her smile faded and she pointed to the shack on the far end.
“Gracias.” Adam took Jillian’s hand and pulled her along with him. “Act like we’re married. It’ll save us a lot of explaining.”
She stumbled to keep up. “Explaining?”
“The woman wanted to give me a little pleasure in exchange for money.”
“Oh. So what did you tell her?”
Glancing Jillian’s way, he grinned. “I said you didn’t charge anything.”
Jillian slapped him on the arm, repressing an unwanted grin. “Jerk,” she said, and the grin escaped. “So, where are we going now?”
“There.” He pointed. “That’s where the boy is staying.”
The boy. The boy who could be her husband’s child. Her breath hitched. Was the boy’s caretaker a prostitute? “No child should have to live in a place like this,” she said vehemently, unable to stifle her feelings.
Adam gave her a puzzled look. “Right. But life is different here, you know. Prostitution is legal if you’re over eighteen.”
“I didn’t know, but—” She cut off her protest. They were here for one reason. He had a job to do and, in fact, so did she.
About ten feet from the last house, he stopped, turned and placed his hands on her upper arms. “I know this is hard for you. Just remind yourself that whatever we find out, it’s for the best. Then when you go home, you’ll have peace of mind. Which is why you came here in the first place. Right?”
“Right.” She nodded. “I’ll have peace of mind—one way or another.”
“Okay. C’mon.” He took her hand again and walked more slowly toward the steps. A woman wearing a magenta flowered sarong came out to meet them. It was difficult to assess her age, but Jillian guessed she was younger than she appeared.
Adam greeted the woman with a wide smile and eased into conversation. As they talked, the woman nodded and smiled. When there was a break in the conversation, Adam turned to Jillian. “The boy is out back, if you’d like to go see him. I’ll see what information I can get here.”
Jillian wasn’t sure she wanted to see the boy. What would it prove? If the woman knew where the child’s father was, that was all the information they needed.
Still…
“Okay.” She headed around the house, passing a fire pit where several fly-infested pots and pans were scattered in the dirt around it. Dishes, encrusted with old food, lay on a wooden table next to a garbage can that smelled of decay and sewage. Bile rose in her throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth and nose and hurried past.
She’d bet they had no electricity, running water or conventional toilets, which she desperately needed right now. Jillian cast about for the boy and caught movement at the edge of the forest about ten yards away. A head popped up from behind a log.
There. A little boy. Her skin prickled.
Was he the boy in the photograph? Bobby Jr.?
He seemed smaller than a five-year-old, which, based on the date on the back of the photo, was what she’d calculated the child’s age to be by now.
She edged closer.
The boy turned.
She froze, her heart lodged in her throat.
His eyes. Oh, dear God. She recognized those eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I’LL GET YOU HIS things,” th
e woman told Adam in Spanish, then disappeared into the shack.
What the hell? She’d said that the child’s father had been here nearly two months ago. But then he’d left again. Why hadn’t he taken the boy with him?
A moment later the woman came out again, smiling and carrying a shoe box with a Nike logo on the side.
“This is everything you need to take him to America,” she said. “He will be happy there. And my friend Corita will rest in peace now.”
Take him to… Adam’s jaw dropped to his chest. “Whoa.” He held up a hand. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.”
The woman kept smiling. “No. No misunderstanding. Bobby’s father said someone would come to get him. Someone would take the boy to his home in America. I’ve put everything in here.” She shoved the box at Adam’s chest.
Deciding he’d better see what was inside, he took the box and sat down on the rickety wooden steps. The woman disappeared inside again.
He pulled off the cover and set it aside. At first glance, the contents looked to be just a few items of clothing. A T-shirt, one pair of shorts and underwear, a book. He shoved the clothing aside and reached underneath. A piece of tattered paper. He thumbed it open.
“Robert John Sullivan Junior. Mother—Corita Sullivan. Father—Robert John Sullivan,” it read. Bingo! It was the boy’s birth certificate. Before he had a chance to read all of it, the woman returned again. He stuck it in a pocket to look at later.
“When Corita’s husband was here, he told me he had to take care of some business, so he couldn’t take Bobby. He said if he didn’t come back in two weeks, that I should mail the letter he gave me. That someone would come for the boy.”
“I’d like to see the letter.”
She shook her head. “The letter is gone. After two weeks, I mailed it like he said. My friend Corita, before she died, gave me a letter to mail and number to call, too, and when he didn’t come back, I asked a friend who was going to Mirador to mail Corita’s letter and make the call for me. But when he called the number he was told it was disconnected.” She paused.
