by J. C. Cliff
I packed the minimal skin care products, because why should I make any concerted effort to be at my best? Plus, I’m living in a very humid and sweaty environment for the next week, so it was pointless to spend time on myself, especially when I’m here to focus on the less fortunate. It didn’t seem right for me to be concerned about such trivial things while working with people who might not know where their next meal would come from.
“I like it when you don’t wear anything,” he says in a low rumble full of innuendo, while a small grin tugs at the corner of his lips. I playfully swat at his chest, acting offended as I repress my own smile. The way he’s looking at me is getting to me. He’s seriously starting to break down my resolve and throw me off balance. I give him a disapproving look, trying not to encourage him.
He grabs my wrist as he chuckles at his own humor, his bright, beautiful smile on full display. Why is it when his eyes dance with such joviality, I turn into a smitten teenaged girl? I hate myself a little for his ability to melt my defenses with his charismatic charm.
“What?” he asks, as if I were the one who was thinking dirty. He let’s go of my wrist to stroke the blushed skin on my cheek with his thumb. “Even more beautiful when you blush,” he murmurs. His smile fades, and his expression turns thoughtful, almost solemn. Bending down, he whispers over my lips, “I think you’ll like it when we both don’t wear anything.”
“Stryker.” My voice hitches, because at the same time he says that, his cock unmistakably pulses against my side. My tongue skims the corners of my dry lips as a lascivious thought enters my mind, one of running my tongue over his rigid length.
“It is going to happen, Valerie,” he says hoarsely, as if he can read my thoughts. I try to ignore his voice of resolve as I watch my own hand lightly trail down over his thick bicep, the muscle straining against the hem of his short sleeve. A tattoo peaks out from the fabric’s edge and I wonder when he got a tattoo and what it means. Eventually, I will ask him about his tattoos, because he didn’t have any when we dated. If memory serves, he has a larger one across his chest, but I was too wound up last Saturday night to take real notice or even give a damn.
The contrast of his golden skin against my pale hand reminds me I haven’t ventured out much, or spent nearly enough time out in the sun the way I should. He’s so sculpted and masculine it stirs awareness deep inside me, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. How is it he can affect me with just his mere presence, even now, after all this time?
He dips his head down to catch my gaze, his eyes full of serious determination. “I will have you underneath me. It may not happen today, but it will happen. I will have that sweet pussy wrapped around my cock before this trip is over.”
My heart slams into my breastbone. I’m stunned he would use such crude words with me. Yet, at the same time, his seductive voice and sultry gaze of promised passion has me aroused. He slowly brushes those full and perfect lips over mine. God help me, he feels good, so damn good. His tongue licks over the seam of my lips with light, reverent strokes that make my body go all tingly and hypersensitive.
He traces a finger underneath my jawline then stops over the pounding pulse in my neck. I’m lost in his gentle kisses, which are full of heat and seduction, silently assuring me he’s more than confident of his prediction.
The ice around my heart is melting into a heated puddle of desire, and I can only think he will indeed get his way. I respond to his sweet tenderness by pushing my tongue into his mouth, sliding deep, needing to feel his tongue stroking against mine.
A low, rumbling growl emits from the back of his throat, and after a few moments, he pulls away. He leans his forehead against mine, his ragged breath telling me he didn’t want to stop what he just started. But he did start something. He sparked a low burning fire in the pit of my stomach, one that I fear will grow to consume me. I only pray that when he dismantles my willpower to resist him, he will leave me standing in one piece.
Once the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears fades, I take note how quiet it is on the bus now. I can hear everyone outside as they unload all their suitcases from the storage wells, which are full of all our medical supplies. “I think it’s best we go join the crowd,” I whisper, conflicted with too many emotions, ones I don’t care to look at too deeply.
Stryker clears his throat then speaks with a strained voice, “Yeah, I’m just trying to get my raging hard-on under control.” A quirky smile spreads over my lips, and then a little giggle escapes me as I think of him trying to get himself back in check. “You finding my situation funny?” He arches a threatening brow.
I shake my head, false concern lining my voice. “No, I would never.”
“Uh-huh.” He looks at me with suspicion, nothing but humor dancing in his eyes while both of us seemingly enjoy the playful banter that has taken place. “I can see how concerned you are, and if I remember correctly, I believe someone else has an area of concern too.”
All my muscles tense, my arms clamping down against my sides. Stryker knows the side of my ribs is a tickle spot that will have me come unglued with one single touch of his finger.
With a wicked gleam in his eyes, his fingers begin crawling along the edges of my arm and stomach like a creeping spider threatening to attack. “You’re not nervous, are you?” he teases.
“Don’t you dare, Stryker James,” I warn in a wave of apprehension.
Both his brows lift high toward his hairline. “We using middle names to demonstrate your non-authority now, Valerie Rose?” He smirks, most likely proud of himself for remembering my middle name too. His fingers creep closer to their mark, his slow advance promising loads of torture. I begin to squirm in his hold, but he squeezes me tighter, pinning me in against his rock-hard body.
“Stryker,” I warn again in a much stronger tone this time, which does nothing to make him back off.
His grin grows wider and all-knowing. “Valerie,” he mocks, just as his finger has found that terrible spot that sets me off.
“Oh my God! No! You are not doing this,” I squeal in a panic, as he bursts out with laughter, because without a doubt, if he doesn’t stop, I will pee myself. “I swear, I will do whatever you want. Just don’t do this,” I beg.
He immediately stops his torment as I fight to catch my breath. “This could get interesting.” He tilts his head to the side, regarding me, and asks, “Anything?”
“Within reason,” I’m quick to blurt out, because if memory serves, his crazy ideas could get rather challenging.
I can see the wheels turning in his head, full of mischief. I bite my lip, worrying about what he’s dreaming up. “Mmm… well, knowing that South and Central America has the world’s highest number of edible insects on their menu, how ‘bout we find you a Maguey worm, huh? I hear they taste like a French fry.”
I shake my head profusely, my nose wrinkling in disgust. “No way! Come on, Stryker. You’re playing dirty.” I think I’d rather pee myself, but I don’t dare tell him that.
“It’s no different than eating your fancy caviar or escargot,” he counters.
“Bugs are off the table,” I say with finality.
“All right,” he says, as if I’m really going to be missing out on a five-star cuisine, “but I have to say crispy grasshoppers are the best. They have this delicious herby flavor, but you gotta watch out for their little serrated legs.”
“Ugh. You. Are. Disgusting,” I say with a sour face.
“Lightweight,” he murmurs with a playful grin. “Guess I’ll have to cut you some slack and keep it simple this go ‘round, huh?” I arch my brow in question, waiting for him to continue. “I’ll make it real easy for you, but only this once. You’ll be sleeping in my bed for the rest of our trip.”
I stiffen, not sure I like that challenge any better, because I have a feeling he won’t be as gentlemanly as he was last night or this morning. But do I even want him to be a gentleman?
“Don’t look at me as if I asked you to eat a pla
te of scorpions. I don’t bite,” he says, nipping at my lower lip, “not much anyhow.”
CHAPTER 25
~ Valerie ~
Talk about playing dirty. His little nips and kisses have been throwing me off balance, and I curse my body’s reaction to him each and every time. I exhale a sigh of relief when he finally gives me some space, but I know I’ll worry about the sleeping arrangements all day, simply because I know how he affected me last night. I slept in peace the entire night, not even waking once in anguish like I usually do. The familiarity of his manly scent surrounds me. It’s still the same, and it amazes me how I recognize it after all this time.
When I asked him to hold me last night, he didn’t hesitate, and it chipped away at my resolve to keep him at a safe distance. Who am I fooling? There is no safe distance from him. Hopefully, with the busy agenda of our day, he’ll forget about the sleeping arrangements. I have such mixed emotions about it. Part of me wants him so badly, and the other part is scared, afraid of being hurt again. I’m not sure how to let go of the painful memories that paint our past either, and that terrifies me the most.
I sit up and hopelessly smooth out the wrinkles in my scrub top out of nervousness. I can feel the heat of his stare on me, and it throws me off even more. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, giving him an irritated scowl. The corners of his lips twitch, and then he gives me a quick and sexy wink. “Ugh.” I shake my head at him, not believing how quickly he’s been able to weasel his way back into my life. Sometimes I feel like he’s moving way too fast, and then at other times, he acts distant, fluctuating between anger and full-on detachment. His mixed messages are so confusing.
He lifts me off him then stands up in the aisle. He smiles down at me, and I lose my breath all over again. Why does he have to be so damn handsome? He extends his hand out for me to take, and I can’t turn him away. I slip my hand into his larger one and he gives it a reassuring squeeze as I step into the bus aisle.
“Hang on,” he requests, as he leans over to slide his backpack to the edge of the seat before putting it on.
When he swings his large army green pack over his shoulder, I have to ask, “Why do you have that? I mean, yes, everyone has a backpack of sorts for the day, but yours? It’s extra huge, as if you’re prepared for a fallout.” I tap the side of the pack itself, and it feels rock solid. “It looks heavy. What do you have in there, anyway? Bricks?”
He grins at me, threading his fingers through mine, and the lust hits me again. Desire swarms low in my belly just from his simple gesture. I’m in deep trouble. He gives me a sexy wink, and says, “It’s all pertinent stuff, babe. My military days have never left me. Nothing feels right unless it weighs fifty pounds.”
“Men,” I murmur, and shake my head at him. He nudges me forward, reminding me we need to get off the bus and start our day. I shake off the sex-induced haze he has me in and step out into the bright morning sun. I’m immediately assaulted with the thick, humid air. It feels like North Carolina mid-summer right after a rainstorm, in which the rain makes the heat feel worse, not better. At the sight of the familiar school, a warm feeling of contentment soaks into my heart and I smile.
Each year the school is turned into a makeshift clinic during the months of January and February. I do love this type of mission work, helping people in need, and the people are always so thankful for what we do for them. It makes all our efforts worthwhile and extremely satisfying.
I swipe a stray hair that’s fallen in my eye, and realize then my hair is all over the place. Patting the back of my head, my fingers get tangled in a massive knot. I can’t find the elastic hairband in the midst of my new Medusa hairstyle. This can’t happen today, not in this heat.
“What’s wrong?” Stryker asks, seeing the look of perplexity on my face.
“My hair elastic, it must’ve slipped off somewhere on the bus.” I turn around with the intent of climbing back in the bus to go looking, but Stryker stops me by wrapping his thick arms around my upper waist, pressing my back against his broad, muscled chest. I stifle a moan, asking myself how he can feel like both heaven and hell at the same time.
His hot breath descends over my ear, his deep, raspy voice giving me goose bumps despite the humidity. “I have your hairband in my pocket,” he whispers, as he runs his tongue behind my ear. I shiver in his arms. “I played with your hair while you slept. Which, might I add, you have the most delicious little whimper when you sleep. Had me growing hard.”
My eyes flutter closed as he rocks my world, surrounding me with familiar sensations only he can give. Sadly, and to my disappointment, he pulls away. He then spins me around in his arms. I’m off kilter all over again and he knows it. The bastard, he’s going to seduce me until I’m the one begging. I just know it. His devilish smirk and his eyes that dance with amusement confirm my suspicions. He plans on making me so horny, so over-stimulated with lust, that I will be the one initiating.
“Just a matter of time,” he whispers with self-assurance, and then he lets me go. My panties are a wet mess, and sadly, he’s right. If he keeps up this sexual tension, I fear I won’t be able to resist him. I remember all too well how hot and bothered the man can make me. He reaches into his pocket then produces my hair tie, while wearing the same knowing grin.
I snatch the hairband from his fingers, irritated with myself, and scowl. “You can wipe off that grin, Stryker. It’s not gonna happen.”
He chuckles as I turn away from him, trying to regain some composure and calm my racing heart.
I’m taming my mass of curls when I spy Celia heading my way. At the very sight of her, stark relief flows through me. Someone familiar, someone to distract me from the thorn in my flesh named Stryker. Maybe we’ll be able to team up today. I smile at the thought, and then I notice her hand is linked to the same man she was with on the bus, and my hope wanes. Because this is not just any man, he’s beautifully stunning, which means she’s going to be on his heels every minute of the day. Leave it to her to find an Adonis in the middle of Central America, and then take it a step farther by having captured such a creature. A small laugh escapes me as I shake my head at her. She’s already got him on a leash.
Just as I finish tightening my ponytail, she moves in for a hug. “I feel honored you could let go of your toy for a second,” I whisper in her ear, teasing her. She pulls back from the embrace and gives me a wink.
She ditched me last night and then again on the bus this morning for this man, and the way they’re exchanging glances, I don’t have to wonder where she slept last night. Stryker had known about that little bit of news last night, and saw an opportunity to be free of Celia running interference between us, so he cleverly made his move.
“Hey, Valerie, I’d like you to meet Hunter.”
Up close, Hunter is even more gorgeous. He’s wearing a crisp, clean polo shirt and his hair is just right. He’s very much a pretty boy, and I can tell he took some time on his appearance this morning, whereas all Stryker has to do in order to look handsome is simply exist. Even in his wrinkled cargo shorts, t-shirt, and half mussed hair, I can’t keep my eyes off him.
“Nice to meet you,” Hunter says with a broad smile, his teeth just as perfect as the rest of him. “Sorry I missed meeting you last night.” His eyes briefly shift toward Celia’s.
I refrain from rolling my eyes as I shake his outstretched hand. “It’s okay. Good to meet you, too.”
“Hunter’s in charge of the entire mission’s operation,” Celia says, beaming, happy about hooking up with a hottie with authority. “He’s also president of a several automobile corporations back in the States,” she adds proudly.
A perfect catch for Celia, I think to myself. Especially with her beautiful body, regal looks, and the way she holds herself with an air of entitlement. She’d be a hot grab for any man, except for the fact I can read total bitch all over her. I grin to myself, wondering if he got a taste of her sexual appetite last night. I have to say he looks rather satisfied th
is morning.
“Stryker,” Hunter cordially greets him with a nod of his head.
“I hope last night’s accommodations were better than last year?” Hunter asks, and I watch the two men with interest as they converse.
“They were indeed,” Stryker replies, as he slips an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. Celia’s brow rises, and I can tell she’s getting ready to go into mother-hen mode, but she has no room to talk. I give her a glare that says to back off.
“I’m just glad I could make this trip. Business has been a beast the past few months,” Hunter says with a sigh, shaking his head. “They say the economy is in a constant struggle, but I’m not feeling it, man.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of the lucky ones. Glad you could get away. It’s kind of funny how we wound up booking the same week this go ‘round, huh?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Hunter replies, “but I can tell you, some of the locals will be glad to see you.” He looks down at me with a grin, explaining, “The old ladies just love Stryker.”
“Yeah, they do. I don’t know why, but they do,” I add.
I guess Stryker wasn’t lying to me. He had been making this trip an annual event. We must’ve kept missing each other for who knows how long. It all makes sense now, how he was able to pull a few strings to get his own private room. Rank, privileges, and all that.
“Hunter?” A volunteer steps into our conversation, interrupting with a question. “Have you designated which room is for dental procedures yet?”
He turns to the side and I almost gasp. His profile is just as sinfully sexy as his frontal view. “It’s in the last building over there,” he says pointing.
