A light flickered in the distance—a signal from Murdock that it was safe for them to come ashore. She waited for Hawk to tell her when to dive into the water. The plan was for him to dispose of the raft and them to swim the last half-mile.
"Now," Hawk said.
Without question, Rorie slid over the side of the raft and into the shark-infested ocean. She treaded water, waiting. Joining her quickly, Hawk eased up beside her. "Start swimming. Head straight for shore. No matter what, don't look back. Go directly to the beach. Murdock will be waiting."
"Hawk?"
"I'll be right behind you," he assured her.
She sliced through the dark water, pacing herself as Hawk had taught her during two weeks of fitness training and tutoring in survival techniques. She still couldn't believe that she had actually learned how to use a gun. She despised violence. She abhorred any and all kinds of weapons. But learning to handle a gun had been one of Hawk's requirements for bringing her along on this mission.
She sensed Hawk behind her, silently gliding his big body through the waves heading toward the shoreline. As she neared the shore, she saw that crumbling limestone boulders edged a large section of the beach.
"We're going ashore on a small, isolated stretch of beach that's patrolled by King Julio's army," Hawk had told her. "Murdock says that there's usually only a lone soldier at this point, day or night."
Hawk swam up beside Rorie as they neared land, guiding her away from the rocky, morning-glory-infested boulders and toward a smoother section where the heavy waves washed a sandy surface.
Side by side, they rose from the ocean and ran onto the beach. Rivulets of water dripped from their soaked bodies. Winded from the mile-long swim, Rorie dropped to her knees and gulped in huge swallows of recuperative air.
A tropical breeze wafted through the enormous fronds on the coconut palms. Moonlight shimmered across the land, turning the dark, volcanic sand to ebony-diamond particles. Sheathed in thick, abundant vegetation, towering hills flanked each side of the narrow beach.
Grasping Rorie under her armpits, Hawk swiftly lifted her to her feet. "You can't rest here." He draped his arm around her damp waist.
"Just for a minute," she pleaded.
"Not here!" he told her in a whispered growl. "You're too close to that damn manchineel tree. The leaves and fruit on the tree are poisonous to touch. Even dewdrops falling from the leaves can cause very painful blisters."
He dragged her away from the tree and up the beach. She tried to pull away from him. "Will you stop manhandling me?" Defensively she added, "I couldn't see well enough to identify the tree."
Hawk shoved her forward toward the thicket of trees that blanketed the land. The ground lifted upward directly behind the beach to form a knoll overlooking the sea.
Guiding Rorie, Hawk rushed up the rise, toward the area from where he'd seen the all-clear signal. Once they were cocooned in the frond cloak of dozens of palms, he slowed their pace, then brought them to a standstill.
"Now what?" Rorie whispered.
"We wait."
Suddenly a rustling from the tangle of surrounding growth alerted Hawk and Rorie that they were not alone.
"Señor Hawk?" a heavily accented voice called out in the darkness.
"Carlos?" Hawk asked.
"Sí, señor." A scrawny, dark-skinned man appeared before them, barely visible in the moonlight. "Murdock, he waits for you and the señorita. ¡Data prisa! Hurry! Hurry!"
Carlos led them into the darkness of the hillside, climbing forever upward, through the thick cover of trees and tangled greenery. Never venturing out of Hawk's grasp, Rorie realized that someone—Carlos?—had cut a path through the growth. She traipsed along behind Carlos, her feet squishing inside her soaked socks and shoes. When she felt as if she couldn't climb another foot, they came to a clearing that opened onto a dirt road.
The moonlight flickered off the metal body of an old, battered jeep. Behind the wheel sat a mountain of a man, only his huge outline visible in the shadowy darkness.
Carlos jumped into the front seat beside the driver. Hawk assisted Rorie into the back seat, then crawled in beside her.
"You're a damn fool for coming back here," a deep, gravelly voice roared from the front of the jeep. "And you're an even bigger fool for bringing the woman with you."
"We're in agreement on that," Hawk said.
The man, who Rorie assumed was Murdock, laughed, the rumble from his chest like a roll of thunder.
With the headlights off, the jeep lurched forward in the darkness. Rorie prayed that the driver could see the road better than she could.
"We'll drop you and the lady off in Cabo Verde for tonight," Murdock said, his accent decidedly Southern. "There's some blankets, fresh water and food waiting for you in the basement of the old hotel. Since the war has escalated and the tourist trade died out completely, the place is deserted. Y'all will be safe enough overnight."
Hitting a huge hole in the road, the jeep bounced, tumbling its passengers. Rorie cried out. Hawk draped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side.
"It's all right," he told her. "Despite what you think, Murdock will get you to Cabo Verde in one piece."
"I'm beginning to wonder," Rorie said. "How can he see where he's going without any headlights?"
"The moon is pretty bright tonight. Besides, knowing Murdock, he's sniffing his way. Anyone who knows him will tell you that he's part animal." Hawk squeezed Rorie's shoulder. "Just sit tight, close your eyes and relax."
Relax? Was he kidding? She didn't relax, but she did close her eyes and pray. Lord only knew that someone needed to pray for Mr. Murdock. Pray he wouldn't drive them into the ocean or off into a ravine. As they neared the village, the dirt road turned into a gravel one that led to a paved street.
The quiet little fishing village of Cabo Verde slept peacefully for the night. Only dim lights, hidden behind the shutters of one or two homes in the distance, advised them that anyone was still awake. Murdock eased the jeep off the gravel road that led directly to the narrow main street. He zipped the jeep onto a rutted trail that led them to the back of the two-story hotel.
Hawk helped Rorie out of the Jeep. Carlos tossed Hawk a canvas bag that he caught in midair.
"Go in that door." Murdock shone a flashlight toward a faded green door. "Go straight down the hallway, turn right and the first door will lead to the basement. There's a kerosene lamp you can light. We placed it on the floor, directly behind the stairs. There are no windows in the room, so the light can't be seen from the outside."
Rorie noticed the peeling pink paint on the hotel's outer walls and the broken panes in the windows. Murdock held the flashlight beam on the door until she and Hawk had scurried inside the building. The resonant throbbing of the jeep's motor quickly disappeared.
"I can't see a thing," Rorie whispered.
Hawk shoved Rorie behind him. "Hang on to me."
She followed his slow, cautious movement down the pitch-black hallway. When he stopped abruptly, she rammed into his back. He mumbled a curse.
"Sorry," she said. "You should have warned me."
When Hawk turned the rusty knob, the basement door creaked loudly. Shoving it wide open, he extended his foot outward, feeling for the first step. With cautious precision, Hawk led Rorie down the moaning wooden staircase. When they reached the cool, dank, underground level, he halted.
"Stay right here. Don't move an inch until you see a light," he said. "I'm going to find that lamp."
"I promise I'm not going anywhere," Rorie told him.
Hawk grappled around in the darkness for several minutes until the toe of his boot encountered the lamp. Dropping the canvas bag to the floor, he rummaged inside until he found a box of matches. Bending down on one knee, he lifted the globe off the lamp, struck a match and lit the wick.
A muted yellow-white glow illuminated the dreary, cobweb-infested basement. Glancing around, Hawk spotted a pile of old blankets in the corner of
the room. Atop the blankets lay an assortment of local fruit.
Rorie gasped. Hawk's gaze followed her line of vision. A large roach scurried across the concrete floor.
"Ah, la cucaracha." When he saw Rorie crinkle her nose and frown in disgust, Hawk grinned.
"I thought I wanted to be out of the darkness." Rorie made her way toward him. "But now that I've seen this place, I'm not so sure I wouldn't prefer to be in the dark again."
"Come on. We need to get out of our wet clothes. We'll lay them out and hope they'll dry by morning." Hawk picked up the lamp and handed it to Rorie. When he lifted the partially open canvas bag from the floor, Rorie glanced inside and saw two handguns.
"One for you and one for me?" she asked.
"You knew in advance that I'd expect you to carry a weapon. It would be suicidal for us to go into La Vega tomorrow unarmed."
Rorie walked across the room, placed the lamp on a dusty wooden table and glanced down at the pile of blankets. She picked up the melons and bananas and laid them beside the lamp, then lifted one of the blankets. She frowned. The small blanket looked clean enough, but it was obviously part wool and would feel scratchy to her skin.
She tossed the blanket to Hawk, who caught it up against his chest. "You go behind the stairs to undress," she told him "And don't come out until I tell you that it's all right."
Hawk chuckled. "Lady, before this little adventure of ours is over, you and I are going to become so intimately familiar with each other's bodies that your show of modesty right now will seem ludicrous."
"Well, we aren't going to become intimately familiar tonight, so go change clothes behind the stairwell!"
Rorie crossed her arms over her chest and stamped her foot on the floor. Hawk grinned wickedly, then turned and walked across the room and behind the stairs.
Undressing hurriedly, she removed her boots, soggy socks and damp khaki pants. After taking off her cotton shirt, she laid the articles of clothing out across a couple of rickety wooden chairs. She hesitated before unhooking her wet bra, and when she tried to remove her moist panties, they stuck to her skin. But she peeled off the nylon underwear, then reached down, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her body. Just as she had suspected, the rough material felt scratchy.
She doubled the blanket around her, overlapping the ends securely above her left breast. The hem of the makeshift garment hit her just below her knees. Due to the width of her hips, the blanket didn't quite double around her lower body, leaving a gap that revealed a glimpse of her left thigh. Despite the itchy, woolen cover, she felt naked and vulnerable. Spearing her fingers through the sides of her hair, then running her hand down the long braid that hung past her shoulder blades, she tested for dampness. Apparently the windy jeep-ride had partially dried her hair, as it had her clothes.
"Aren't you a fashion plate in that outfit," Hawk said.
Gasping silently, Rorie jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned to face him. He stood a couple of yards from her, halfway across the small, musty room. He had draped his blanket around his hips, leaving his chest bare. Trying to avoid looking directly into his face, Rorie glanced downward and the sight of his muscular chest took her breath away. She swallowed hard.
"You look pretty cute yourself." She forced the playful words from her mouth.
Taking inventory of Hawk proved to be a visual delight. His broad shoulders and big arms bulged with sleek, fine-toned muscles. His skin gleamed a pale, mellow copper in the lamplight. While she stared at him, he snapped the band that held his ponytail in place, then bent over and shook loose the vibrant black strands of his long hair.
Rorie glanced away, unable to continue her perusal without melting into a pool of pure sensual lust. Warning herself once again about the dangers a man like Hawk presented to a woman like her, Rorie busied herself by turning away and picking up the other blankets.
"There are two more apiece," she said, her back to him. "But no pillows. I suppose I can use one for cover and roll the other one up to put under my head."
"Don't you want to eat before you make our bed?" he asked teasingly.
"What?" She whirled around, her mouth gaping, her eyes as round as saucers.
"Aren't you hungry? Those melons look delicious. If you'd like, I can slice one open."
"You go ahead and eat," she said. "I'm really not very hungry. I'm just tired. I think I'll make my bed for the night."
"Lay mine out beside yours, and don't give me any arguments. It's cool and damp down here and it'll get even cooler toward morning. We'll appreciate each other's body heat."
She glared at him, but didn't say a word. She prepared two blankets side by side, then rolled up two to use as pillows.
Hawk knew she was deliberately ignoring him, pretending that she'd forgotten his threat to claim her body as part of their bargain. Of course, it was possible that she had actually believed him when he'd later told her that he wouldn't touch her if she was the last woman on earth. His guess was that she was uncertain about his intentions. He thought she deserved to worry about if and when he would take her. Her stubbornness and determination had put him in a position he didn't like. He had allowed his feelings to cloud his judgment; he'd brought a female civilian along on a deadly mission.
In his peripheral vision, he saw her lie down and lift one side of the blanket up and over her. Let her lie there and squirm, he thought. Let her wonder if tonight is the night I'll ask for the use of her body.
Retrieving a knife from the canvas bag Murdock had stocked for him, Hawk sliced one of the melons and bit into it with gusto. The juice ran down the corners of his mouth and dribbled over his chin.
"Sure you don't want some?" He held up the other half of the ripe fruit.
"No, thank you. Maybe in the morning I'll eat something." She turned over toward the wall.
Hawk finished off the whole melon, then peeled a banana. Wiping his sticky hands on the blanket, he glanced around the filthy basement room. A safe little hideaway. Maybe the last one they would have until they left San Miguel.
He flung the knife blade into the tabletop. Morning would come too soon. He needed rest as much as Rorie did. There might be nights ahead of them without the comfort and safety of an abandoned hotel.
When he stood over her, gazing down at her still form, Hawk removed the blanket from around his waist and dropped down on his knees behind her.
The moment he lifted her long, damp braid, Rorie stiffened. "What are you doing?"
With nimble fingers, he began unbraiding her hair. "You shouldn't sleep with your wet hair plaited."
"Oh." She lay perfectly still, her back to him, and allowed him to unbraid her hair.
Was that all he intended to do? she wondered. If he tried to force himself on her, how would she react? She should have made it perfectly clear to him that she had no intention of having sex with him. To her, sex was not some bodily function for releasing tension and deriving physical pleasure. When she made love with a man, it would be because she loved him with all her heart and soul.
When Hawk finished the unbraiding, he thrust his big fingers through the yellow strands, lifting her hair off her bare shoulders. He released the thick mass slowly, allowing it to fall through his fingers. In the soft lamplight her hair looked like shiny silken threads—threads of pure gold. La dama dorado. Golden lady.
His knuckles brushed her naked back. Rorie drew in her breath. He stretched out beside her, his body almost touching hers, then drew his blanket up and over them both. He nuzzled her neck. She moved away from him, toward the wall. He threw his arm over her waist and drew her back to him, fitting their bodies together, spoon-fashion.
His hardened sex pulsated against her buttocks. Rorie trembled. Hawk smiled.
"Such a skittish little virgin," he mocked. "Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to have a man make love to you?"
Lying in his arms, her body shivering with fear and desire as he held her, Rorie knew she had to be strong. Now was the t
ime to set him straight, to let him know she was not his for the taking.
"I'm not going to have sex with you, Hawk. I'll take orders from you without question, but I draw the line at giving you my virginity."
He slipped his hand inside the blanket wrapped around her body and covered one of her breasts. Her nipple blossomed against his palm. She struggled to free herself. He squeezed her breast gently. She shivered. Then he removed his hand and turned over, facing the opposite direction.
"Go to sleep, Rorie. I won't ask you to give me your virginity, since you seem to prize it so highly. But…"
"But what?" Her voice quivered ever so slightly.
"If you ever decide you want me to make love to you, all you have to do is ask. And I'll make sure your first time is unforgettable."
His statement left her speechless. Her stomach flip-flopped nervously. Her nipples puckered and tightened, almost painfully. Her feminine core clenched and released, spreading a fierce tingling sensation through her lower body.
She had no doubt that he could make sure her first time was unforgettable. But what Hawk didn't understand was that, despite her desire for an unforgettable first experience, she wanted more—so much more. She wanted love and commitment and the hope of "forever after." She was a woman with a great deal to give the right man. She hadn't saved herself just to squander her love on a man to whom she meant nothing.
* * *
Hawk awoke with a hard-on. A soft, female body lay draped over his. When he turned his head to see who the lady was, golden blond hair tickled his nose. Then suddenly he remembered where he was and with whom. Rorie Dean. The plump little virgin was all but lying on top of him. Her head cuddled on his chest. One arm rested across his belly. And the apex of her thighs pressed against his hip.
He had never taken a woman who didn't want him, but he was sorely tempted at that precise moment. With the right kind of seduction, she would be begging him for it. All he had to do was— No! Hell, no!
The last thing he needed was to have sex with Rorie and for her to decide that she was in love with him. This mission was dangerous and complicated enough as it was, without the added risk of having a lovesick female on his hands.
GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY Page 8
