by Brenda Huber
Okay, point(s) taken.
He released her.
“I’d like to leave first thing in the morning,” Phoebe said as she moved out of his arms and walked to the small table in the corner. “Are the supplies still ready?”
“Si,” Ricardo said, following her. She motioned the old guide to take the seat across from her. Left with nowhere else, Sebastian dropped onto the bed. He listened intently as they discussed the finer details of their expedition into the jungle.
It soon became obvious the two had done this before. Many times. They seemed to fall into an old rhythm, one of long-time partners. One of…if not friends, then certainly another dynamic. Something even closer.
Something like father and daughter.
At length, as they wrapped up their discussion, Ricardo said, “I will see if I can locate an additional tent for your intended.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sebastian piped up. “Phoebe and I will share. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Ricardo turned to Phoebe, his face revealing nothing. And yet, Sebastian sensed a deeper communication was, even now, passing between them.
Phoebe reached out and patted Ricardo’s hand. But the smile she sent Sebastian’s way promised retribution. “Yes, precious. That’s right.”
“Very well,” Ricardo said as he got to his feet. “I will see you both in the morning.”
Phoebe walked the older man to the door, where she hugged him goodbye. Seeing Phoebe in another man’s arms—even someone like Ricardo, whom she clearly viewed as a fatherly-type figure—caused jealousy to rear its ugly head. Sebastian had to tamp down the urge to attack. His hearing was exceptional. As such, he couldn’t miss the whispered conversation that commenced as soon as the two embraced.
Ricardo breathed urgently into her ear, “Do you need help?”
“Have no worries, my friend,” Phoebe assured him with a pat on the back. “He is just overprotective. He fears something might happen to me if I leave his sight for five minutes.”
Ricardo leaned back, and looked to the scar on her throat. His questioning stare returned to her face. Sebastian scowled once more at the reminder that he’d almost lost her before he’d even found her.
Phoebe lifted a hand to her throat. A weak smile flitted over her lips. “Yes, he knows. Now go, my friend. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
Phoebe closed the door and turned back to the room. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Ricardo. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. But he was still the same, still the stoic, practical, protective friend she’d always relied on. She felt calmer just having been in his presence, insulated and safe. Loved.
She’d only ever felt that way with one other person. Her father.
Sadness settled upon her, leaving her with an aching void in her chest that threatened to swallow her whole.
But then she caught sight of Sebastian. That ache subsided and unease settled in. Unease and a disturbing sensation of anticipation.
He stood in the center of the room, staring at the bed.
“Oh no. Get those ideas out of your head, right this minute,” she demanded. But was she talking to him…or to herself?
Didn’t matter, she decided in the next instant. She’d already made up her mind about this. And once she’d made up her mind, she never changed it. She was not sleeping with him. Or doing anything else in that bed with him either.
“Bad idea,” she muttered beneath her breath as she marched back to the miniscule closet and dragged down a pile of extra blankets and a pillow from the top shelf. She spun around and came very close to colliding with the object of her torment.
He leaned in close, his hands closing over hers where she held the blankets, one on the top, and one on the bottom. His lips hovered dangerously near her cheek.
“Just because it’s a bad idea,” he whispered, “doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be a good time.”
The heat in his eyes and the seductive tenor of his voice sent lust skating through her. She jerked her hands out from under his and backed away, leaving him holding the bedding.
“And just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” she snapped right back. “I’m going to go take a shower. Alone.” She cleared her throat, and pointed to the floor across the room. “You might as well make up your bed while you’re waiting for your turn. And no, I don’t want to hear any remarks about conserving water and showering with a friend.”
His lips twitched, but he held his tongue. Phoebe turned and swept up a change of clothes before heading toward the bathroom.
She’d just started to relax when he called out, “Sweetheart?”
She stiffened all over again. Hearing him constantly calling her these endearments did funny things to her insides. But she was also waiting for the other shoe to drop. She did her best to keep her features calm when she turned back to face him. She wouldn’t let him see how much he was getting to her. She just wouldn’t.
“Make sure to leave the door open.” His simmering stare devoured her, languid and sexy as all get out, from the top of her bun right down to the tips of her shoes and then back up, lingering in the most sensitive places. “I want to be able to hear you, you know, if you need me.”
Yep. Thud. There it went. The other shoe.
She should have known better than to expect to walk away unscathed.
Before she could reply, he turned and, right before her eyes, the room transformed. The dresser, table and chairs disappeared and a very inviting bed—complete with a snow white, fluffy comforter—appeared on the wall opposite her plain, uncomfortable looking bed.
“If yours isn’t to your liking, you’re always welcome in my bed.” He smirked over his shoulder at her. “I’m willing to share. Anytime.”
“I bet,” she grumbled. Then louder, “Weren’t you the one who said you don’t have an altruistic bone in your body?”
He grinned, melting her bones as he turned to fully face her. And then, his stare holding hers captive, he began slowly undressing. One boot, and then the other. His shirt. So. Very. Seductive. All those luscious, rippling muscles on display. His golden skin gleaming. His small brown nipples puckered. Mouthwatering.
As his nimble fingers flicked the button on his jeans open and slowly started to ease his zipper down, Phoebe realized she was staring. And nearly drooling. She whipped around, nearly crashing into the wall, and hurried to the bathroom. His dark chuckle echoed from the next room, taunting her.
And she couldn’t even close the damned door to block out the sound.
Chapter Nine
Phoebe woke early the next morning before her alarm clock even went off. She yawned and stretched, rested as she hadn’t been in too long to count. But then, as she became aware of her surroundings, she frowned.
The bed beneath her wasn’t the same bed she’d gone to sleep in. Gone was the rock hard mattress. Gone were the stiff, scratchy sheets and the too thin blankets. Her body was supported in the most luxurious, softest bed she’d ever slept on. The sheets were the finest silk, and the comforter felt like clouds against her skin.
Everything felt different. Even her clothing. Her frown intensified. The ratty T-shirt and boxer shorts she’d hastily dressed in after her shower were gone, replaced by—
She lifted the comforter, looked down at herself and gasped.
A dove gray, silk nightie.
That high-handed, sneaky bastard!
She swung her wide-eyed, accusatory glare toward the corner where Sebastian had set up his own bed. But it wasn’t there. And neither was he. Everything in the room had been returned to normal. Everything but the bed she’d slept in.
She sat up, letting the decadent bedding fall to her lap as she looked around. Her mind raced. Last night, after Sebastian had stepped inside the bathroom for his turn in the shower she’d beat a hasty retreat, crawled into bed…and what?
What had happened?
She’d fallen asleep before he’d gotten out of the shower and slept like the dead all night long. That was what had happened.
Uneasy, she glanced to her side, to the plump pillow untouched by a sleeping head. The bedding was smooth. A sigh escaped her. At least he hadn’t climbed in bed with her after she’d passed out.
Or had he? And then just made that side of the bed back up?
Lord, she was being silly. He wouldn’t do something like that.
Or would he?
She shook her head. Impossible. Ever since she’d begun this quest to reclaim the sword, ever since she’d received that last life-altering letter from her father, she’d slept with one eye open, ready to flee at the drop of a hat. She’d had to keep herself on the razor’s edge, always alert, always prepared, never allowing herself to completely let go. Even if she had, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The nightmares that often plagued her sleep were deterrent enough.
But last night, she’d slept like the dead.
Had it been the bed?
She caught herself fingering the scar on her throat, remembering the feel of his lips there.
Or had it been him? Subconsciously knowing he was close, watching over her?
The water pipes clanked, and the shower shut off. Phoebe caught herself stretching her neck to check out the mirror in the bathroom as the curtain on the narrow tub swished.
Sebastian pulled the cheap plastic curtain back and stepped from the small tub. Phoebe bit back a groan. His golden hair was plastered to his head, like dark honey. Water sluiced down his neck and over his broad chest. The liquid glistened, and her mouth went dry, greedy for a sip. She licked her lips and watched as the streams of moisture ran down the ropes of muscles lining his abdomen, moaned as they trickled into a dark goodie trail below his navel. And her hungry stare followed that goodie trail as it dipped low. So low. She craned her neck to see better, only to slouch with a huff as her view ended abruptly, disappointingly where the mirror cut off.
She let her hungry stare wander slowly back up his reflection, savoring every sinful, tempting inch. And then she met glittering, electric blue eyes and a wicked smirk in the mirror.
Busted.
She forced a swallow and jerked her stare away. But not before she’d caught the knowing, smoldering look on his face.
“Good morning, love,” he greeted as he stepped farther into the room, his voice deep and husky.
“Good morning,” she replied primly. Phoebe sank her nails into the comforter on her lap, willing herself not to look, not to check him out. Had he covered that gorgeous body yet?
Damn it, she looked.
And she couldn’t make herself stop this time.
There he stood, in all his naked glory, watching her watch him. All those beautiful muscles she’d been peering at through the looking glass now proudly displayed. Her lips parted as her focus inched down, down. She visually devoured what the mirror had denied her. He stood with his feet braced slightly apart, powerful thighs flexing.
His erection stood at attention, thick and long and proud. Begging for attention. Phoebe’s body quivered. Lava seeped into her veins. Her nipples beaded painfully against the delicate silk. Fire erupted deep in her core.
His entire body flexed, went rigid.
Somewhere far off, the distant echo of sanity whispered, reminding her that she couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this.
“Get dressed,” she croaked.
And then she cringed, heat swamping up her neck and flooding her face. Had that hoarse whisper—a beg, really—come out of her mouth?
Those scrumptious lips of his parted on a tempting smile. Scrumptious, because she already knew how they’d taste. Exactly how they’d taste.
Just like heaven.
“You first,” he drawled, dipping his chin as he canted his head. The fire in his blue, blue eyes challenging her.
Daring her.
She trembled. All it would take was a tiny nod. A lick of her lips. A crook of her finger. Hell, even a blink. And he’d be all over her. She could see it all over his face.
And so she froze. Not daring to so much as breathe. Like a deer in the headlights.
And he kept right on watching her, waiting.
Before she gave herself time to reconsider, in one fluid motion, Phoebe tossed the covers back and bolted from the bed, lightning fast. She barely gave herself time to register his surprise. She snatched up the strap of her backpack on the fly and darted into the bathroom, shoving the door behind her, catching it only at the last second and pushing it back to a forty-five-degree angle. Precisely. She wouldn’t give him any excuse. None whatsoever. She didn’t trust herself to deny them both a second time.
She let the bag fall to the floor at her feet as she clutched the edge of the sink and dropped her head.
Breathe, she reminded herself. In. Out. Good.
Phoebe lifted her face and peered into the mirror. And she could have cried. Her eyes were bottomless black. She hung her head and clutched the edges of the sink, unable to face the truth.
* * * * *
Sebastian raked splayed fingers through his hair. He bounced along in the back seat of the Jeep, cursing every pothole in the long, narrow road and the straining erection in his pants that just wouldn’t go the hell away. He couldn’t get the sight of her out of his head. Her sitting there in that bed this morning, desire pouring from her in tangible waves. He’d been half way to the bathroom door, hand reaching to shove it open, when he realized what he’d been about to do.
Force the issue. Push her until she admitted that she wanted him too.
She was his. His mate. He would wait for her to come to terms with the reality. But there was also no escaping it. Not for him. And not for her. He was working on a full court press, but he didn’t feel like he was gaining enough ground fast enough for his control to hold out.
He just prayed the wait wouldn’t last much longer.
The Jeep’s front passenger tire dropped into a particularly deep hole, and Sebastian’s head smacked the window frame. The driver didn’t even blink. Ricardo shot a glance over his shoulder, then looked back to the road. Phoebe sat beside Sebastian, staring out the opposite window, lost in her thoughts. She hadn’t seemed to notice.
Well, he had. All this rocking and rolling, with the vegetation whipping by right and left, was starting to make him carsick. Demons weren’t meant to travel like this. But he’d not been to the ruins where they were heading, didn’t know the lay of the land, so it wasn’t exactly safe to shimmer there.
Not yet anyway. He’d offered to make a blind test run. After all, if things didn’t go…smoothly, he’d heal. He’d hated the thought of leaving Phoebe behind, unprotected, even for a few minutes. But taking her with him had been out of the question. He might heal, but she was still too much of a question mark. No way would he risk Phoebe that way.
Besides, Phoebe had been correct when she’d reminded him that while it might be faster for them right now, it would cause all kinds of complications down the road. After all, how would they explain to Ricardo and the rest of their crew if they just disappeared here, only to reappear there? And so they were forced to rely on more conventional methods of transportation.
After what seemed like endless hours, they stopped at a small shack with an armed guard standing sentry. Sebastian waited, tense and suspicious, prepared to grab Phoebe and shimmer away at the first sign of trouble, while the driver conversed in Spanish with the checkpoint guard. Ricardo passed a handful of folded currency to the driver, who in turn handed it over to the uniformed official at the station, and then they were on their way once more.
Still, Sebastian couldn’t relax. The feeling that they were being watched—or that something was about to happen—hung over his head.
Beside him, Phoebe caught her breath. Se
bastian turned quickly to see what had drawn the sharp reaction from her. She was peering out the window, her expression one of awe. He used the excuse to slide closer. His chest brushed her side, and he dipped his head to see what she was looking at, which put his face nice and close to hers.
Phoebe didn’t speak, nor did she move away. Her attention was too firmly fixed on the massive ruins coming into view in the distance, her face a study in awe. Sebastian didn’t know whether to be irritated by her single-minded focus or amused.
“It beautiful,” she whispered.
Amused, he decided, leaning back against the seat. Sebastian casually propped his arm along the seat and began toying with the tendrils of hair that had worked their way loose from her bun. She didn’t seem to notice that either.
But Ricardo sure did. Suspicious brown eyes drilled Sebastian from the rearview mirror. Sebastian just smiled.
“We’re in the Petén Basin,” Phoebe said, drawing his attention. She continued to watch the ruins, visible just over the canopy of the jungle, as she spoke. “Archaeologists call this Campeche Petén. It’s a poorly drained plateau really, bordered by seasonal swamplands. We’re about thirty miles or so from Calakmul, by the way.”
He gave a small murmur of interest, hoping she’d keep talking. Hoping she’d keep absently toying with the seam of his jeans along the inside of his knee.
“Balamkú was first occupied from around 300 BCE to between 800 and 900 CE. The ruins were discovered by Florentino García Cruz, a Mexican Archaeologist, in 1990. He came with a group of INAH custodians to investigate a report of archaeological looting. They found a looters’ trench that had partially uncovered a painted stucco frieze. The site was excavated in 1994 and ’95.”
Feeling a little bolder—most likely pressing his luck—Sebastian slipped his hand to cup her shoulder and, by slow degrees, eased her closer to his side, brushing his thumb slowly back and forth. He was taking blatant advantage of her distraction. But she leaned so willingly into him it was hard to feel guilty. Phoebe tensed when the ruins were temporarily blocked from view by vegetation, but then relaxed against him when the site came back into view, as if soothed by the ancient stones.
