TrustMe

by Unknown

  Without warning his mouth came down and settled squarely over her tightly beaded nipple. She cried out with delight, her fantasy melting away as he worried her with his lips. Her heels dug into the mattress and her hips once again lifted.

  This time when she tried to get free, he obliged. But there was a reason for that, she quickly discovered. Raising his head, he rocked back on his knees and scooched lower. Before she had time to catch her breath—or divine his intent—he spread her thighs, propped them wide with the broad wedge of his chest and kissed her slippery center.

  “Oh!” Her hands bunched in the blanket, jerking it loose from where it had been moored beneath the mattress.

  “Oh yeah,” he corrected her, rubbing his rough cheek against her hyper-sensitive flesh. The contrast with the cool silk of his hair brushing the inner curve of her thighs made her shiver.

  But not as much as what he did next.

  While she was still searching for breath, he raked the calloused pad of his thumb through her pale curls, then reversed direction, sliding the broad tip into her swollen wetness until it bumped up against her clitoris. Firmly, with a seemingly innate sense of exactly what she desired, what she craved, what she required, he pressed down. When her hips promptly jerked, he was ready, his tongue stabbing against her, rasping like a spear of silk against tender nerve endings.

  Lilah’s world exploded, her body bucking uncontrollably as her orgasm blasted through her like a lightning strike. Caught by surprise by the upheaval of her senses, all she could do was cry Dominic’s name as she surrendered to a storm of sensation.

  And then like a perfect dream, his body covered hers and he pushed deep inside, once again knowing what she wanted, what she needed, before she did.

  He began to move, his body rocking against hers, his strokes slow, deep and unhurried, custom-designed to drive her crazy. Once again his hands sought hers, but this time it was to link their fingers together as if he felt the same insatiable need for closeness that she did.

  Bending his head, he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the sensitive spot where her jaw met her neck. Her head fell back, granting him access, and he took full advantage, sliding his lips across her tender skin until he found the eager warmth of her mouth. She tasted herself on him as their tongues met, mated, twined.

  Lilah was beyond thought, a vessel of pure sensation. Her thighs clamped on Dominic’s hips, which moved faster now. She could hear herself panting, hear the equally harsh rasp of his breathing, feel the powerful expanse and contraction of his chest and arms, his stomach and thighs as he began to drive them toward completion.

  Letting go of her hands, he caught her by the waist and shifted her beneath him with that effortless strength that was uncompromisingly masculine. The move steepened the angle of his penetration, opened her wider, allowed him to push even deeper, his pubic bone bumping against hers as he found a wildly sensitive spot deep inside her.

  Once again, the sweet satisfaction started for her first. She felt her eyes glaze over and the breath leave her lungs and vaguely realized that the repetitive sobbing she heard was her. “Dominic. Dominic. Dominic.” She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. Skating closer and closer to the edge, she tightened her grip on him, crushing her breasts against his heaving chest as she clung to him with all her strength.

  “Aw, no,” he said between his teeth. “Not yet. Hang on, baby. I’m not ready. I don’t want this to stop. Not yet—”

  He might as well have tried to hold off an incoming tide. Her climax surged through her, catching him up, carrying him right along with her. Caught on the crest of something bigger than both of them, he drove even deeper, grinding against her as waves of pleasure crashed through him and his whole body jerked with the power of it.

  “Aw, damn it to hell,” he gritted out when he finally collapsed against her, a series of little aftershocks shuddering through him. “I’m sorry, princess. I meant for that to last a little longer.”

  “It’s all right,” she soothed, digging her hands into his trembling shoulder blades, massaging the rigid muscles of his back, still overcome with the need to touch him. “It was perfect just the way it was.”

  It took a while, but eventually he began to relax, the tension slowly leaking out of him until he was draped bone-lessly against her.

  By the time the candles finally flickered out, he’d fallen fast asleep. And still she cradled him against her, her fingers feathering through the cropped strands of his hair, her heart overcome with tenderness as she welcomed the solid press of his weight, not caring that she could barely breathe. She would have willingly given up breathing altogether if it meant she could go on holding him like this.

  Because for this little while, he was all hers.

  And she was all his.

  Eleven

  “Y ou can’t be serious.” Lilah swiveled sideways on the pickup’s tattered seat. “We’re going to the presidential compound so you can steal Condesta’s plane? That’s the plan?”

  Dom felt her usually sunny blue eyes burning a hole in him and for a self-indulgent moment, allowed himself the luxury of glancing over and drinking in the sight of her in a temper. Then the sound of blaring horns refocused his attention on the morning rush hour traffic surrounding them and his mind settled solidly back on the business at hand. “You’ve got it.”

  “But that’s crazy!”

  He signalled, muscled the truck into a narrow opening in a stream of traffic in the far right lane and turned onto a cross street that would lead them past the government buildings and into the exclusive district that El Presidente called home. “Didn’t we have this conversation, or a damn similar one, back at Las Rocas?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen. “Maybe.”

  “And what did I say?”

  For a second she didn’t reply. Then she gave a faint sigh and her shoulders relaxed a notch. “To give you some credit. That you don’t act impetuously.”

  “And?”

  “Oh, all right! That you’re a professional and know what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, and nothing’s changed.”

  Now, there’s a lie. Who are you kidding, Steele? Thanks to Lilah, nothing, including you, is what it was a week ago.

  Annoyed, his voice came out flat and uncompromising. This was not the time to contemplate his personal life; hell, it wasn’t the time to acknowledge he even had one. “This isn’t open for debate, princess. Not after what happened earlier at the cantina.”

  Just thinking about it again further soured his mood.

  After the soundest sleep he’d had in weeks, he’d awakened to find it was already going on nine o’clock. Chagrined by the lateness of the hour, he’d pulled on his clothes and, leaving Lilah still sleeping, had walked over to the tavern to get a cup of coffee and call Gabe.

  The news from his brother hadn’t been good. The seas in the friendly harbors closest to San Timoteo were still high, the weather improving but not yet stable, he’d reported. What’s more, the storm causing the problem was running right up the island chain, inflicting just enough damage to keep every chopper for hundreds of miles occupied ferrying people and supplies.

  Icing the cake, the buzz in the cantina last night had been all about how there were suddenly extra police blanketing the airport, stopping all incoming traffic, patrolling the hangars and runways, interviewing anyone entering the terminal.

  “Isn’t that special,” he’d drawled, realizing that with boat and conventional air travel out, and no outside extraction for at least another day, he was probably going to have to go with Plan D. That is, if it was even feasible. “So, you get that other information I asked for?”

  “She had it right,” Gabe had replied, not wasting words. “It’s a brand new de Havilland, top of the line. Our friend’s only had it a month, which is probably why it didn’t show up in the original information we received.”

  “Huh.” New or not, when he got home there was going to be a meeting about the
quality of the intel on this trip. They’d paid for quality information, and they sure as hell hadn’t gotten it.

  Yet that concern had vanished like smoke in the wind when a flash of movement outside the cantina had caught his eye. Shifting, he’d glanced across the room and out a fly-specked window. A newer model black sedan bearing the insignia of Condesta’s special police on its door had been pulling into the parking lot.

  “So, you going to do it?” Gabe had asked.

  Adrenaline starting to pump, he’d watched as two uniformed men emerged from the car and headed for the steps leading up to the cantina’s wide sunporch. “I’m seriously considering it.”

  “I think it’s your best bet if the situation there deteriorates. Once you’re in the air, it’s a pretty quick run to Puerto Castillo. I’ll book some rooms at the Royal Meridian, just in case.”

  “Do that.” Outside the policia had reached the top of the stairs. “Look, I gotta go. Appears I’ve got unwanted company.”

  Gabe’s reaction had been typical—he hadn’t reacted at all, just responded in that same deliberate tone. “Okay. Call when you make your insertion point. And be careful.”

  “Will do.”

  They’d disconnected, and he’d had just enough time to assure the cantina’s owner, who was alone in the bar with the exception of several snoring patrons sleeping off the previous night’s libations, that he’d meant what he’d said earlier when he’d promised to pay double what he already had if the man would forget he’d ever seen Lilah.

  Then, praying like hell that this was just a routine visit and that if it wasn’t, that the owner’s greed would prove to be greater than his fear of the police—and merciful God, that Lilah wouldn’t show up looking for him—he’d splashed the front of his shirt with the stale bottle of beer somebody had conveniently left on top of the phone box, scrubbed his hands through his hair to give it that hard-day’s-night look and slung himself into the nearest chair. He’d just managed to sprawl facedown across the table in imitation of the other overindulgers when he’d heard the screen door twang open.

  His luck—their luck—had held. After an unhelpful chat with the cantina owner—thank you, Jesus—Condesta’s men had tried rousing the two nearest drunks, had met with zero luck and, after a few choice words of disgust, had exited the building.

  Still, Dom’s jaw got tight every time he thought about what could have happened. Because the men had asked, among other things, if the bar owner had seen or heard talk of una gringa bonita rubia—a pretty blond foreigner.

  Dom had already been inclined toward taking matters into his own hands regarding their extraction, but that had cinched it. If Condesta’s people were actively searching the city for Lilah, it was time to go. ASAP.

  “Dominic.” Lilah reached over and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it to sound as if I’m questioning your competence or your judgment. I’m not. I’d trust you—I do trust you—with my life. It’s just…this seems so contradictory, like trying to avoid a tiger by walking into its cage.”

  He bit off a curse as a kid on a motorized scooter darted in front of him and he had to stand on the brakes to avoid hitting him. “Condesta’s no tiger, Lilah. More like a snake. Or a toad. And not a real bright one at that. This is the very last thing he’ll expect.”

  Her hands braced on the dashboard to stop her sudden slide forward, she reluctantly smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” Despite her brave face, he didn’t miss the faint tremor in her voice.

  Damn it. He hated that she was afraid. Hated the threat hanging over her, hated the man who was responsible. All the more reason to end this thing. “Look, I don’t give a damn if he thinks he’s king of the jungle. I can handle him and anything he throws at me. So quit worrying. It’s not like I’m going to do something crazy like crash the truck through the main gate.”

  Sitting back, she again turned to stare at him, only this time without any heat. “That’s not funny,” she said.

  “Yeah, actually it is.” Or would be, once the idea of the risk she’d taken no longer made his gut clench. He reached over and gave her thigh a brief squeeze. “It was also incredibly brave. And if you even think about doing something that reckless again, I’ll hunt you down and lock you up myself.”

  Apparently reassured by his easy manner as he’d hoped, a little more of the tension left her. “Thanks,” she said dryly.

  “You’re welcome. Now sit back and listen and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

  Just as Dominic predicted, getting onto the grounds of El Presidente’s compound proved to be ridiculously easy.

  Dressed like the rest of the help, in a loose black skirt and plain white blouse, with her hair hidden by a bandanna, Lilah concentrated on keeping her eyes downcast as she followed a small troop of cooks, maids, mechanics and gardeners toward the estate’s wide-open service entrance.

  Yet all she had to do was lift her gaze a fraction and she could see Dominic trooping along ahead of her with some other men. He, too, was dressed in the standard worker’s uniform, in his case a cotton shirt, baggy trousers and sandals. In addition, his shoulders were hunched and his dark head bent in a servile manner that helped to disguise both his height and his strength.

  Lilah found his presence beyond reassuring. She still couldn’t quite believe the fearless way he’d slipped into the off-site dormitory where some of the senior staff lived, and coolly commandeered the clothing and the simple name tags that identified them as complex workers. He obviously hadn’t been kidding when he’d claimed he’d put in some serious time studying the place both before and after he’d arrived in San Timoteo. Now, that homework was paying off.

  She didn’t have a doubt he could—he would—handle anything.

  There was no need for heroics, however, as they walked through the gates and into Condesta’s stronghold. Although they’d gotten some curious stares from the other workers, nobody seemed inclined to do anything that might call attention to themselves. While it seemed the lone pair of guards monitoring the entrance were far more interested in making sure none of the departing workers had stolen any of El Presidente’s treasures than scrutinizing those people coming in to work.

  That hurdle cleared, her little group proceeded along a gravel path bounded on either side by a tall, seemingly impenetrable hedge. No doubt to keep them from being seen and ruining El Presidente’s view, Lilah thought tartly.

  From what she’d seen during her brief contact with San Timoteo’s self-appointed leader, the dictator preferred not to rub elbows with the common people. His style was purely rule from above. Way, way above.

  After more than a month in the country, she was starkly aware of the contrast between the presidential compound and the rest of San Timoteo. Here, there were no unwashed, uneducated, barefoot children, no hungry young mothers begging on street corners, no unemployed men slumped in back alleys drinking away their despair.

  Instead, she thought, as she emerged from the tunnel of shrubs, Condesta’s personal playground was all exquisitely maintained lawns and brilliant tropical flowers, graceful Spanish colonial buildings and breathtaking views of his own private section of Santa Marita Bay.

  Yet it wasn’t the spectacular scenery that made her give in to temptation and flick her gaze to the right. There, a mere football field length away, perfectly outlined against the blue water and azure sky, was Condesta’s yacht. And rising up on the other side of the wide dock where the spanking white pleasure craft was moored, was the huge new boathouse that sheltered El Presidente’s other toys.

  Including the aircraft Dominic intended to steal.

  Her heart thumped, and she jerked her gaze back toward her feet, praying the guilty flush of fear she could feel prickling through her wasn’t visible to anyone else.

  Ahead of her, the rest of the workers slowed as they entered a large courtyard that stretched behind the main residence. Most of the group headed inside, but a few, Dominic and Lilah included, continued
moving and soon left the courtyard, passing beneath a broad archway.

  Here, the single path split into several branches that led, according to her fearless leader, to the laundry, the greenhouse, the groundskeeper’s facility—and the marina. Entering the welcome shade of an enormous sea grape tree, Lilah slowed. Deliberately falling even farther behind the others, she pretended to stumble and stopped, then leaned down and made a show of rubbing her ankle and adjusting her sandal. By the time she straightened, the others were out of sight, Dominic included.

  And then his voice sounded from behind her, making her jump even though she’d expected it. “Nice job, princess.”

  She swung around, relieved as he emerged from behind the sea grape’s thick trunk. “Thank God.”

  Taking her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great. A little longer, and this will all be over.”

  She felt the now familiar clench of her heart, and told herself not to be ridiculous. Under these circumstances, his words were meant to comfort, not dismay. She forced herself to smile. “I know.”

  “Come on, then.” Keeping his hold on her hand, he reassumed his hunched posture, only this time he kept his head bent toward hers, doing his best as they took the far right path to make it appear as if they were engaged in nothing more sinister than a lovers’ tryst.

  Just as he’d told her he would, when they did hear approaching footsteps, Dominic promptly pushed her back against the nearest vertical surface, which turned out to be a some sort of large flowering shrub, plastered himself against her and kissed her.

  The intruder’s footsteps stopped. “You there! Knock that off and get back to work!”

  “Yes sir, sorry sir,” Dom said immediately in the local dialect, jerking away. Head bent, he cupped Lilah’s shoulder and ushered her back onto the path, neither of them saying a word until they rounded a sharp bend without further challenge.