“Matt,” she groaned, her own breath coming in a staccato hiccuping. She couldn’t think with his tongue exploring the moistness of her mouth, then moving to the runaway throbbing pulse in her throat.
“Yes, darling. Yes-s,” he urged, his voice heavy and quivering with the passion Eve elicited as her fingers swept over his belly and chest.
Eve needed no further urging. Her fingers charted a course along the long scar on his back and traveled around to the thick, coarse hair on his chest. She pressed her face to a muscled shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin. She’d become a sculptor, tracing the planes of his beautifully symmetrical male body: the broad shoulders she was unable to put her arms around, the thick, deep chest and the hard, flat belly.
Matt’s hands were as busy as Eve’s. His fingers swept over her velvet-smooth flesh, leaving her gasping and trembling. High, full breasts swelled against his palms, and he buried his face against her neck.
“No more—please,” she pleaded. Matt’s harsh, uneven breathing echoed in her ears while her own blood coursed through her body like a heated, rushing stream.
As quickly as it had begun, it ended. Matt released her, turned on his heel, walked out of the kitchen and up the staircase.
What was happening to him? He had initiated an act which could prove costly to both of them because he had come close, much too close, to making love to Eve right on the kitchen table.
Making his way down the hallway and into the bedroom he’d selected, he lay across the bed, his mind a torment of jumbled thoughts. He could rationalize and blame his behavior on Eve’s acid tongue. He’d told her over and over that he wouldn’t make love to her, yet he’d come within seconds of doing just that. He’d spent the past month lying to Eve and lying to himself. Mateo Arroyo needed Eve Blackwell-Arroyo. He needed the peace only she could give him, her warmth and passion, her pure light that eradicated the darker side of Mateo Arroyo, and he needed her to love him.
“I love her,” he whispered to the silent room. Having said it aloud filled him with a sense of fulfillment, and the confidence he sought to see his mission to a successful conclusion.
He would give Eve back her son, give Joshua Kirkland his mole, and he would win the love of a woman he’d claimed as his wife.
Eve put away the remains of breakfast once she realized Matt was not going to return. She swept the floor, wiped the table, and adjusted the chairs’ seat cushions, until she realized that she was about to plump up and straighten the same cushion for the third time.
She’d tried banishing the memory of what had occurred between her and Matt by keeping busy, but failed.
Walking out of the house and into the sultry morning, she recalled the erotic scene, frame by frame. Closing her eyes, she relived the taste and feel of Matt’s mouth on hers, the warmth and strength of his hands on her bare breasts, and the clean, masculine scent of him in her nostrils and on her skin. Pleasure, pure and explosive, ripped through her body, resulting in a startling wetness between her thighs.
Breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts, Eve savored the aftermath of her traitorous body. A smile softened her full lips. She’d enjoyed her husband’s seduction; she wanted him to love her, and she wanted their marriage to last—forever.
Opening her eyes, Eve inched her way down the hill and headed through the thick underbrush until she came to the clearing with the waterfall. She sat on a half-rotting tree trunk, staring at the gentle rush of water flowing over pale rocks, trying to recall her mother’s face. The shadowy image was replaced with that of her son.
Christopher Blackwell Delgado. Eve smiled, remembering the child who had inherited the best of his parents’ genes and personalities. He was her love child who never complained when he was put to bed and always woke up smiling, and, like Alex, he adored the opposite sex. If she wore a new dress or gown or changed her hairstyle, Chris always responded effusively with compliments, and she’d prayed that he would not adopt his father’s proclivity for infidelity. Chris sometimes displayed a quick temper and a streak of stubbornness she recognized as a characteristic of her own personality.
A shower of water rained down on Eve’s head and shoulders, and she quickly vacated the downed limb. Shading her eyes with a hand, she peered upward, hoping to see what had startled the tree dwellers. The treetop activity increased, and seconds later large, fat drops splattered the leaves of massive trees before finding their way to the dark, heavy earth of the jungle floor.
A rumble of thunder reverberated over the mountains, followed by a crash and flash of lightning, chilling Eve before the rain soaked her skin.
Fear closed around her like a shroud, and she took a deep breath. Don’t panic; don’t panic; the refrain played over and over in her head; if she didn’t panic, she would be able to make it back to the house, and safety.
The rain-soaked earth under her feet became a quagmire. Her shoes were sucked deeper into the morass with her every step.
Using a prolific, yielding banana tree as her landmark, Eve headed in the direction of the house situated at the top of the steep hill. She took a few steps, then fell forward, trying desperately to reach for something to break her headlong fall. Her right hand caught a thick, trailing vine as her heart pounded loudly in her ears. A shield of rain and a rising fog distorted her vision, making it difficult to see more than a half foot in front of her face. She couldn’t believe how quickly many pools of water formed around her feet as she groped through the forested area.
A curtain of rain fell in a vertical pattern and Eve stopped, holding on to a branch. A shriek of pure panic escaped her lips when she felt movement under her hand. Her fingers were locked around a slithering reptile which had wrapped its length around the branch under an umbrella-like leaf. She pulled her hand away, bringing it close to her face and counting quickly to see if she had all of her fingers.
She moved on, fan-like wet leaves slapping at her face with each step. The effort to lift her legs as she struggled with the thick mud became a tortuous exercise, and she failed to notice the large, jutting root as she fell a second time on the forest floor.
The violent rumble of thunder and the pelting sound of rain against the bedroom windows propelled Matt from the bed in a smooth motion. Making his way to the windows, he peered out. The downpour obliterated the outside.
Remembering Eve’s reaction to the storm the day they’d shopped in the Zona Rosa, he waited for her to come to him.
He waited.
She did not come.
Quickly, silently, Matt searched every room, unable to believe that Eve would be out in the storm.
He slowed his breathing as he inhaled deeply with the realization that Eve was not in the house. There was only one place he knew she would go, and he headed in that direction.
He half-ran and half-slipped down the hill, golden eyes searching through the thick screen of rain and fog. Mateo Arroyo had become the hunter. He searched the wet ground for Eve’s footprints. He became the big cat, seeking his prey, moving silently and swiftly. His stealth, coupled with a total absence of fear, made him a natural hunter.
As an adolescent he’d hunted snakes and cougars with his friends on a dare. Whatever they dared—he did. Whether it was catching a rattler with his bare hands before the fangs sank deep into his exposed flesh or facing a large cat armed only with a knife, he had lived on the edge.
He’d always won the wagers which prepared him for the rescue missions he led many times for the United States military.
There were times when he’d been close enough to his “target” for him to smell the perspiration clinging to their flesh, and still he had gone undetected. He’d stood motionless, slowing down his heart rate until a pulse was almost nonexistent.
He had become a weapons expert, knives his specialty. He found them silent and as lethal as a handgun. Many times his hands were his only weapons, causing unconsciousness within seconds with a blow to a vital area.
His work frightened Eve; his work and
the dark world he occasionally ventured into. Harry Blackwell had told her about him, and her knowledge of his double life would keep her from trusting or loving him.
And Eve was the first woman Matt cared enough about to make her reaction to him matter.
Matt found Eve. She was motionless, facedown on the ground. Her clothes and hair were stained with mud and leaves. Turning her over, he cradled her to his chest, using his T-shirt to clear her nose and mouth of mud. His pulse quickened as he spied a thin ribbon of red along her hairline, over her left ear. His fingers grazed her scalp quickly and he discovered a small lump above the ear.
The driving rain washed away the traces of blood and dirt on her face as Eve’s head fell back over his arm. Matt picked her up and rose to his feet in one continuous motion. She groaned once, not opening her eyes.
“Matt?” Her voice was weak and trembling.
“It’s me, Preciosa. You hit your head, but you’re going to be all right.”
She mumbled as Matt cradled her protectively to his wet body. She counted silently with every step back to the house, temporarily forgetting about the band of pain enveloping her temples.
Matt expected resistance as he began stripping the muddied clothing from Eve’s body. However, she lay rigid on her bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He removed her blouse, then raised her hips and pulled off her soggy slacks. A delicate scrap of silk and lace concealed her most private part from him, and that was also removed, leaving him to admire the perfection of her slim body.
His gaze lingered on her narrow waist and rounded hips. They shifted upward to her firm, dark-brown crested breasts, then moved downward again.
Sweet heaven! She is beautiful, Matt mused, transfixed by the flawlessness of Eve’s body. His own body reacted with a rush of heaviness in his groin. This woman was his wife! He could claim her as his own! Pride and possession filled him as he leaned over and gathered her from the bed.
Whenever he went undercover in the past, he’d been grateful that he hadn’t married. He hadn’t wanted a woman to worry about him whenever he disappeared for months, or if he returned with a serious wound or new scar. He also hadn’t wanted to have to explain where he’d been, or what he’d been doing, during his absence.
Only when he thought about relocating to New Mexico to breed horses did he think about a wife and children, and with his own family, he would be able to lead a normal life wherein he’d look forward to coming home each night. He also wanted to father his own children—he wanted Eve to have his children.
Eve pushed weakly against his chest. “Don’t shake me, please. My head feels as if it’s going to fall off.”
Matt slowed his step, seemingly floating toward the bathroom. “I have to give you a bath, Eve. I want to make certain a parasite hasn’t decided to use your body as a host for procreation.” He lowered her to the bathtub he had filled with warm water.
Moaning softly, Eve closed her eyes and languished in the strength of Matt’s fingers as he lathered her hair and body with a medicinal-smelling liquid. His touch was impersonal as his hands grazed her breasts, and again when he drew a cloth between her thighs.
He drained the tub, refilled it, and washed and rinsed Eve a second time, confident that he’d cleansed her thoroughly. He’d witnessed what some of the tiny little tropical insects did to the human body—internally and externally.
“I’m going to give you something for the pain,” he said quietly against her ear.
Eve nodded slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”
Matt wrapped her in a large bathsheet and carried her to his bedroom. Placing her on the bed, he pulled one of his T-shirts over her naked body and eased her gently between the sheets. Minutes later, he held a glass of water to her lips as she swallowed a tiny pill.
All of Eve’s senses were dulled within twenty minutes. The pill had taken effect, and she slept in Matt’s bed and in Matt’s arms until the sun rose in the sky, verifying the beginning of a new day.
Chapter 16
Eve woke to a dull, throbbing pain over her left ear and a ribbon of waning daylight threading across the embroidered sheet. Her mouth felt as if it had been filled with dry, fluffy cotton. A faint odor of tobacco hung in the air, reminding her that Matt was not far away. Her fingers grazed the small lump along her hairline, and she winced and remembered falling. Closing her eyes, she recalled what had followed.
Matt was there, then he wasn’t. He was there again, his hands moving gently over her body. He’d been warm and comforting. He’d whispered calming words, soothing away her panic and fears, and she hadn’t protested when he undressed her and bathed her.
Whatever embarrassment she’d felt once he observed her nakedness dissipated quickly. Matt’s large hands massaged her sore muscles with the impersonal touch of a physician. He’d applied an antiseptic cream to the scratches on her palms before cradling her to his chest, where she finally succumbed to the drugging effects of the pain reliever.
“Do you want me to fix you something to eat?” His disembodied voice came from somewhere in the bedroom.
Eve turned her head slowly, searching for him in the darkened space. “I thought you couldn’t cook,” she teased. Her voice was still heavy from sleep.
Matt moved from the chair in a corner and made his way across the room. He stared down at Eve, then sat down beside her. “I’m sure I can find something in the freezer.”
She nodded, swallowing several times to moisten her throat. The freezer contained a cornucopia of containers with prepared and frozen soups, sauces and desserts.
“I’d like that, thank you.” She didn’t see his eyes soften with his acknowledged love for her.
Leaning over, Matt press his lips to her silken cheek, his nose nuzzling her ear as he inhaled her sweet, feminine fragrance. “Eve. My wife,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “You are beautiful—all over. And one day I’m going to taste all of your ripe fruit even if it means that I’ll burn in hell for breaking my vow that I’ll never consummate this marriage.”
A soft gasp escaped Eve and her heart pounded wildly as she watched Matt rise and walk out of the bedroom. A new and unexpected warmth flooded her body. Could she hope that there would be no annulment? That he was willing to share his future with her?
She loved Matt, but could she afford to take a chance on discovering happiness with him, then have it snatched away whenever he decided to embark on one of his “secret missions” and risk losing his life?
Maybe, just maybe, she could take the chance and the time given to her—to them.
Matt handed Eve a tray and settled down beside her on the bed, supporting his back against the mound of pillows along the headboard.
“It looks delicious,” Eve said, examining the tray filled with a bowl of beef stew, a saucer of sliced cheese and crackers, and two glasses of milk. “Where did you get the milk?”
“It’s powdered.” Picking up a glass of milk, the heavy gold ring on the third finger of his left hand glinting in the glow of the bedside lamps, Matt quickly drained the glass. He noticed Eve staring strangely at the remaining glass on the tray. “It’s not half bad.”
She wrinkled her nose. Powdered milk reminded her of boarding school. If it wasn’t powdered milk, it was powdered eggs, potatoes, or dehydrated vegetables.
She took a sip of the milk, her eyebrows shifting in surprise. It was delicious. “What’s in it?”
“It’s a secret recipe.” Matt’s luminous eyes glittered mysteriously as he stared at her beneath lowered lids.
Eve felt her breath halt in her chest. Once again she found herself caught in Matt’s smoldering, sultry, male magnetism. She felt the power in his muscled shoulder pressing against hers and the potent masculine scent of his cologne. His lean, sun-browned face was shadowed with the stubble of a beard as black as the thick hair covering his scalp. The long lashes framing his eyes highlighted their brilliant topaz and emerald colors. His sensual mouth curved into an unconscious smil
e, and she wondered if he knew how much she desired him.
“What are you looking at, Eve?” he questioned softly.
“You.” Her chin came up slightly in a challenging gesture.
Matt came closer without moving. “What about me?”
She smiled and wiped away the residue of milk ringing his upper lip with her finger, but Matt’s hand moved with incredible speed, capturing her wrist. He stared at her hand, then drew her forefinger into his mouth, sucking the tip of it in an agonizing slowness that fired her body like molten lava. His straight teeth tightened, not hurting her, but not allowing her escape.
Eve felt the heat from his mouth all over her body. Matt continued the sucking, his tongue flicking across the sensitive tip while her womb contracted with the erotic rhythm. Her eyes widened until Matt saw into their black depths. He quickened the motion, increasing the jolts of passion rocking her body.
Her breathing was short and raspy. Matt released her finger, and she escaped from his rapacious tongue; he’d begun to fulfill his promise to taste her, and she would not permit herself to imagine what his mouth would claim next.
She managed to eat the beef stew without spilling it. Each time she raised and lowered the spoon, her hand shook as she fought the powerful virility Matt exuded.
“I love to watch you eat,” he said, taking the tray from her lap and placing it on a side table.
Eve stared up at him in surprise. “Say what?”
Matt gathered her tightly, pulling her over his chest. She could feel the steady pumping of his heart against her breasts. The sheet twisted around her waist and served as a barrier between her naked thighs and his denim-covered legs and hips.
“You have a sweet little mouth, Eve,” he crooned in her mussed hair.
Hidden Agenda Page 13
