Finally, he sat back on his heels. “You look like you were on the losing end of the war, darlin’.”
“Hey, I’m alive and ambulatory. That says ‘won it’ to me.”
“Valid point.” He twisted around, snagged the washcloth she hadn’t realized was in the pan of water and wrung it out. Then, exerting obvious care, he began cleansing her wounds.
She sat quietly as he finished blotting dry the wounds he’d washed, then applied the triple antibiotic cream. This wasn’t half as uncomfortable as she’d anticipated.
Then he capped the tube of salve and sat back. Giving her a level look, he said, “Now for the hard part.”
She must have shot him a look every bit as uneasy as his words made her feel, for he shrugged and brushed a hand over her hair, making her realize how much sand clung to the damp strands.
“I left the ones that took off the most skin for last,” he said. “It’s going to take more effort—and unfortunately discomfort for you—to remove the grit from those than the smaller scrapes did.”
Hadn’t she suspected precisely that when she’d knocked off as much sand as possible before entering the tent? All the same, for a brief moment she’d gotten her hopes up and she blew out a wordless breath that managed to convey the “oh, shit” she was feeling.
“I know,” he agreed as though she’d actually verbalized the sentiment out loud and held up the water bottle. “Let’s step outside. If I use this to stream water on the worst areas it might clean them without having to scrub. And that’s our primary aim in the let’s-keep-Mags-comfortable sweepstakes. It’s gonna be messy, though.”
Mags shrugged and rose to her feet to follow him from the tent. She had a moment of self-consciousness as she straightened to her full height in the brilliant sunshine. Yet except for Finn there wasn’t a soul in sight—and he’d already seen her in her underwear. So when he led her over to a piece of driftwood, she sat where he indicated and leaned over, bracing her arms against her knees to open the landscape of her back for his perusal, since he’d indicated that where her tank top had separated from her shorts and her right shoulder had sustained the worst of the damage.
But instead of immediately starting in, he said, “You know that I’ve slept with a lot of women. But I want you to know that I’ve always worn a condom and I have a clean bill of health.”
“Me, too,” she said. “I can’t claim to have always practiced safe sex. I was all about the stupid risks when I was a kid, but someone must have been looking out for me because I dodged both pregnancy and all the communicable diseases, which was more than I deserved.” Looking at him over her shoulder, she said, “Can we get this over with? I don’t deal well with suspense.”
“You bet,” he agreed gently.
Determined not to whimper like a baby, she drew a deep breath, but still had to grit her teeth when the first stream from the water bottle set the wounds to throbbing. It helped to hear Finn swearing beneath his breath on her behalf as he cleaned the deeper abrasions. All the same, some of the things he had to do hurt like the dickens and she suddenly felt way too emotional. She found herself battling a serious urge to cry.
And Mags Deluca didn’t do the crying thing in front of people.
Well, okay, she had almost done so a couple of times with him, but, c’mon, that was just now when she’d admitted how afraid she’d been she was going to drown and on the first night when things had been brand-new crazy. Fear tears were understandable and that first night she’d come close only after episode upon episode had piled up. Anyway, in the end she hadn’t full-out cried either time.
All the more reason to steel herself against breaking down now, though. Those two almost slipups could be forgiven. A third, genuine one? No, no. It just plain wasn’t gonna happen.
Suddenly she remembered her earlier bargain and grabbed on to it, welcoming the starch it infused in her backbone. The instant he finished putting antibiotic salve on the second scrape she said, “Lose some clothing.”
For a second he went still behind her. Then she heard rustling and his hand and lower arm came into sight, dangling his T-shirt in front of her, before opening tough-skinned fingers to let it drift to the ground.
Her mouth went dry over his corded, hair-feathered forearm—an arm, for God’s sake—and she made a rude noise in an attempt to pretend it hadn’t gotten her all hot and bothered. “That’s it?” she said coolly. “I’ve seen your naked chest before. I was hoping for something a little more revealing this time.”
“We wouldn’t want you getting too excited too soon.”
“Please. I’ve let you slide but we both know with all the doctoring you’ve already done, by rights you should be buck-naked right now.”
“Trust me, Magdalene—”
“Mags!”
“Mags,” he said easily. “Trust me when I say a sunburned dick won’t do either of us any good.”
A snort of laughter escaped her. Damn him. He had a habit of working his way past her guard. Still... “What was that you said? You make a valid point?”
“Damn straight, baby. Just thinking about it’s got me hunched over.”
She grinned down at the sand.
The smile was wiped from her face when he set back to work, but eventually he circled around to finish up a place on her left shin and arm. Moments after that, he pushed back and sat on the sand in front of her log. “An-n-d, we’re done. You holding up okay?”
She took a second to take stock, then nodded. “The ones on my shoulder and back are a little throbby, but it’s probably nothing an Aleve won’t cure.” Her adrenaline high had long since crashed, however, and she was abruptly exhausted.
It must have shown, because he helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you one,” he said and led her to the tent.
She stopped outside the vestibule and bent to run her fingers through her hair to knock the sand loose before letting herself into the tent, Finn following on her heels.
“Have a seat on the sleeping bag,” he said and squatted in front of the backpack.
She did as directed while he rummaged for something to take the edge off her various aches and pains. It was hotter than the devil’s handmaiden in here, with only the vaguest of breezes drifting through the mesh window and door screen. Yawning, she rolled to lay on her stomach since that was the most comfortable position. Or more accurately, the only one she was willing to try, even though he’d put gauze pads over the worst of the abrasions. Folding her arms, she used them as a pillow to cushion her cheek for the second or two it should take Finn to find a pain reliever.
Then they’d get down to business.
* * *
A GRUNT OF SATISFACTION sounded in Finn’s throat as his hand closed around the bottle he’d been searching for and he turned with a grin to present it to Mags. But his smile froze in a poor imitation of the real deal before dropping away entirely. “Well, shit.”
She was sound asleep.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the occasional flash of dry lightning brightened an already not particularly dim interior. He unfastened the sleeping mat from the bottom of his backpack and crab-walked over to roll it out next to the sleeping bag where Mags was sprawled. He gazed at the long groove of her spine and the round curve of her ass for a moment, then shrugged.
What the hell. Sex was clearly off the table—at least for now—and being out on the water in an open boat anytime lightning was part of the equation, even if, as he suspected, it was a fair distance away, wasn’t the brightest idea. Sleep had sure as shit been hit-and-miss the past few nights, so he might as well catch some shut-eye himself.
He flopped down on the mat and stretched out.
But his eyes remained open. He stared up at the tent’s ceiling until he’d damn near memorized every seam. It, in return, didn’t divulge clue one. Finally, he rolled onto his side and propped his head in his palm to stare at Mags.
The woman sure as hell grabbed his attention by the balls, and it felt like more than your average
proximity-based me man, you woman, things are gettin’ hairy, baby, so let’s get down and dirty while we’re still alive kinda way. He remembered being drawn to her from the beginning and wondering why, since she hadn’t struck him as all “that.”
“My mistake,” he murmured, reaching out to gently move her hair aside to see her face. “You’re definitely all that.”
She mumbled in her sleep and rolled to face him. Her lips pursed and she made a few soft smacking sounds, then wrinkled her nose. Her hand came up to knuckle its tip. A second later her fingers went slack and slid back down onto the bag as she settled more deeply into sleep.
He smiled, because she looked so girlishly innocent like this. Awake, she had a kind of knowing look about her, as if she’d been there, done that and had the T-shirt to document it. Studying her, he realized that while she likely had been around the block a time or two since reinventing herself as Mags, part of the impression she projected might stem from the shape of her eyebrows. The right one arched higher than the left, as if she were perpetually amused at life and raised a sardonic eyebrow at its vagaries.
Her skin, on full display in that skimpy bra-and-panties getup, was so creamy he just wanted to lick her all over—particularly where her breasts rose out of the demi cups and pressed together to form that deep, lush cleav—
“Jesus.” He rolled onto his back once again and glared up at the ceiling. What the hell was the matter with him? Viewing her sexually was one thing, but he was feeling downright moony, for God’s sake, like he was, what? A fourteen-year-old? That wasn’t his style at all—and he was going to stop all this middle school bullshit, starting now.
Lightning lit up the tent again and much sooner on its heels than its earlier counterparts, thunder boomed. You’ve got yourself some downtime, dammit, he thought grimly. Take advantage and grab an hour or two of sleep while the grabbing’s good. If Magdalene can do it, so can you.
It took a helluva lot longer than it should have, however, before slumber finally claimed him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MAGS WOKE UP hot and groggy. Raising her head, she blinked at the red wall of the tent—and realized she didn’t have the first idea if it was early morning, high noon or headed toward sundown. She’d slept so heavily she couldn’t recall a thing that had happened before she’d dropped off and, yawning, she rolled onto her back.
Her various doctored abrasions immediately made themselves felt, clearing her mind in a red-hot hurry. “O-kay,” she murmured as everything came back in a rush and she slowly sat up, head hung low as she took several deep, slow breaths to lessen the discomfort. “Could use that anti-inflammatory right about now.”
She remembered now that Finn had been looking for some in his pack. And...oh, crap. She must have fallen asleep on him. She turned her head toward the door, wondering if he was out by the river.
She almost looked right past him sleeping on the mat next to her. On the other side of him, on the tent floor, sat the water bottle with a blue oval pill on its cap.
“Oh, bless you.” She sat up and reached over him for the pain reliever. She threw it in her mouth, washed it down with a swig of water and realized—big surprise here—she needed to find a potty bush.
Taking care not to wake Finn, she climbed over him and let herself out of the tent. Blinking in the bright light, she saw it still appeared to be the same day—and by the direct overhead position of the sun, likely somewhere around noon.
She was back within moments and reclaimed her spot. For about five seconds, she considered trying to go back to sleep, but she was awake now and knew that wasn’t going to happen. So, crossing her ankles and hugging her thighs to her breasts, she rested her chin in the notch between her kneecaps and took advantage of this rare opportunity to check out Finn at her leisure.
Had she given the matter any thought, she would’ve expected that once the adrenaline-fueled craving for him burned away, she’d be a teensy bit mortified by the way she’d talked to and climbed all over him. Mulling it over now, however...
Eh. Not so much.
She always tried to see things as they actually were and not simply the way she wished them to be, and more often than not she was successful at it. So, squarely facing the reality of her earlier behavior, she admitted it was hardly a shock. She’d been drawn to Finn from the moment she’d set eyes on him in that hilltop cantina.
There was certainly nothing wrong with that and she refused to be embarrassed about it. Who cared if they wanted to screw their brains out? They were two consenting adults, neither of whom had other relationships they’d be betraying. So, if they found passion and a measure of comfort in each other’s bodies on this wild run across El Tigre...well, good for them.
They’d already faced more adversity and perilous situations in the past few days than she, at least, had experienced during her entire lifetime. And considering the emotional landscape she’d inhabited in her teens, not to mention her attitude those first few years after being banished from home and the stupid, risky things she’d done, that was saying something. She’d willfully allowed herself to be in too many situations that a reasoning individual would have given a wide, wide berth. Not that she could honestly claim she’d ever been in real physical danger before this trip back to El Tigre. But that was due more to sheer blind luck than intelligent planning on her part. God knew that, more times than not, she’d sailed too close to putting herself in harm’s way.
But she’d been a heedless kid then. Now she was an adult, a fully grown woman who didn’t hesitate to check Finn out. Hard to see the downside in that venture.
He was long and lean, yet in no way skinny. His wide shoulders were the kind that had some bone with the muscle, rather than that muscle-upon-muscle, no-neck bodybuilder look. Not that she hadn’t known some fine-looking guys who’d spent a goodly amount of time in a gym. But she had a feeling Finn’s body had been honed from the hard, physical construction work he did rather than pumping iron in front of a mirror.
Her lips curved up. Because a mighty fine build it was.
His skin wasn’t what she thought of as Irish coloring, but rather had a slight olive cast—the kind that tanned quickly and easily. She wondered if it retained at least a hint of its color in the dead of winter.
A light dusting of dark body hair fanned across his chest and the happy trail arrowing down from it widened just above and below his belly button before disappearing beneath the low-slung, unfastened waistband of his once-beige but now bleached almost-white cargo shorts. His thighs were muscular, his shins lengthy and calves round. Like the feet she’d noted earlier, his hands were as long and lean as the rest of him, and she’d felt their strength, witnessed their proficiency.
She found herself wanting to explore every inch of him.
So...why not? Smiling softly to herself, she rolled onto her stomach to do just that.
* * *
FINN AWOKE FROM a sex dream he couldn’t remember but was pretty damn sure had been really good to find Mags kissing his body.
At first he thought he was still dreaming. But when he raised his head to stare groggily down himself, he discovered Magdalene sprawled on her stomach, half-atop him, her fingertips splayed through his chest hair as she licked a light outline of the ridges that etched his abs below his diaphragm. She’d loosely braided her hair and he watched as her full, pink lips and pinker tongue moved across his abdomen.
“Hey,” he croaked—and cleared his throat.
Raising her head, she lifted her upper body slightly to meet his gaze. The movement rubbed her cleavage’s pale skin against the darker skin of his lower abs and the lace of her bra lightly scratched the skin it touched with her slightest shift of position.
“Hey, yourself,” she said softly. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”
He shrugged. “You clearly needed the rest—and I gotta admit I did, too.” He ran a fingertip down the groove of her spine as far as he could reach. “How are you feeling?”
�
��Better. I found the anti-inflamatory you left out for me. It’s taken the edge off the worst of the discomfort.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse—I know it could have been a lot more so.” Lowering her head again, she pressed another kiss into a lower muscle in his six-pack.
Watching her look at up him as she did so made his dick, already half-hard from his dream, stand up and salute.
“But I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she whispered against his navel.
Worked for him. But he wanted to kiss her, and reaching down, he slid his hands beneath her armpits to lift her up until her mouth was where he could get at it.
She squealed at the surprise of being shifted, then laughed at herself and wiggled around until she evidently found her optimal comfort spot atop him. Following the directive of the hand he’d wrapped around her nape, she lowered her head until their mouths aligned.
He loved how soft and full her lips were and much as he’d like nothing more than to just eat her alive, he remembered in the nick of time that she wasn’t in tip-top shape. So he took his time and kissed her softly, tenderly, instead. He sipped at her lips, changing the angle frequently but keeping his tongue to himself.
Until the moment she made an impatient noise deep in her throat and grasped his head to hold it still as she opened her mouth over his.
Then all bets were off and with a guttural sound he sank his fingers in her hair, framed her cheekbones with his thumbs and held her head still in order to plunder the spicy-sweet interior of her mouth. The way their tongues dueled for dominance, however, he was as much the plunderee as plunderer. Mags sure as hell gave as good as she got—and all the while making soft, urgent sounds that drove him to longer and more elaborate ways of plying his tongue just to hear yet more of her little do-me noises.
He rolled her onto her back on the sleeping bag, but at her involuntarily inhaled breath, he shifted them back onto his mat with her on top once more. Lifting her head to break their kiss, he gasped, “I’m sorry, Magda—Mags. I forgot for a second. I’ll be more careful.”
Running Wild Page 15
