“No,” she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.
“You’re going to get hurt.”
“That’s my problem.”
“It’s my problem, too, if you can’t travel.”
“Then you can just leave me!” she shouted, stomping forward.
Brandon stopped in his tracks, baffled by her outburst. Then he realized she was upset with him for switching gears so abruptly. In the car, he’d all but ground his erection against her. She’d expected him to be eager to bed her, not desperate to cross the border.
Cursing, because his hands were tied, he continued walking. He didn’t care if she stayed angry, as long as she stayed with him. Maybe it was better this way, because he couldn’t stand any more alluring glances.
Soon after, they came upon a sturdy-looking hacienda on a hill. She pointed to it, indicating that this was the place. There were several outbuildings, including what appeared to be a guest cabin.
They climbed the steps to the covered walkway, spirits lifting. A note was posted on the front door, written in Spanish.
“What does it say?” he asked.
As she scanned it, the hope drained from her face. “The family is away for the holidays, so the guest quarters aren’t available.”
He swore bitterly, bracing his hands against the front door. Wanting to put his fist through it. Rain battered the adobe roof, pouring off the sides and rushing from the gutters. The temperature had dropped considerably, and although they weren’t in danger of freezing this close to the equator, it would be a hard, cold night in wet clothes.
Isabel appeared ready to burst into tears. She took off her cap and furrowed a hand through her dark hair, which was plastered to her head. He knew at a glance that she couldn’t continue walking in those useless shoes. The soles had probably been worn down on the sweltering road to Tehuantepec.
“I suppose you think this is my fault,” she said hotly, following his gaze. “Like the long walk yesterday.”
He sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t about to place blame on a woman who carried a dagger strapped to her thigh. As a fashion accessory, it looked sexy as hell. As a weapon, it was very effective.
“You should go on without me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You obviously can’t wait to get to Guatemala.”
“Because killers are after us, Isabel. Remember them?”
“They’re after me, not you.”
He shrugged, unconcerned with semantics.
“I don’t need your protection,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want it! Just leave, okay? I have enough blood on my hands.”
Her willingness to split up infuriated him. “You’re such a damned martyr,” he said, crowding her against the side of the house. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She shoved at his chest. “Get away from me.”
Although she was strong and determined, her efforts failed to move him. They did incite him, however. He didn’t like being pushed around, literally or figuratively. So he pushed back the only way he could without hurting her.
Gripping her chin in one hand, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter 9
Isabel was prepared for a fight, not a sensual onslaught.
One moment they were involved a heated argument, the next he was silencing her with an insulting kiss. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the firm grasp of his fingers, or the rough scrape of his beard stubble, or the careless way he plundered her mouth. She certainly didn’t like him pinning her against the house, holding her prisoner.
Didn’t he know she could pull her dagger and teach him a lesson?
She clenched her hands into fists, ready to pummel him. He wasn’t making any attempt to secure her arms, but instead of striking him, she felt herself relax. Her body melted against his as he swept his tongue inside her mouth, penetrating her with bold strokes. He tasted like rain and heat and desperation. She moaned, threading her fingers through his hair and encouraging him to kiss harder.
Maybe she did like this.
With a low groan, he obliged her, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. Her nipples puckered against the damp cups of her bra and need blossomed between her legs. Kissing him back with hungry bites, she explored the bunched muscles in his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his wet shirt.
He made a strangled sound and slid his hands to her bottom, cupping her soft flesh. She whimpered as he lifted her against him. When his erection slid along the cleft of her sex, creating an exquisite friction, she almost wept with pleasure.
Oh, God. She wanted that inside her. So bad.
Sitting on his lap earlier this afternoon had been torture. He’d felt like a thick, hot brand against her buttocks. She’d wanted to rub herself along that exciting length and bring his hands up to her taut nipples.
They’d both been aroused for hours.
His touch accessed that sweet agony, bypassing any slow build. Within seconds, they were panting, heaving, straining for more. He gripped her hips and tilted her for a better angle, as if seeking to penetrate her through their clothing. She gasped, wishing for no barriers between them as he thrust against her.
She was aware of the smell of rain and wet dirt, mingled with his earthy masculine scent. His skin felt cool beneath her fingertips, but they were generating so much heat that steam rose from his shoulders. Water rushed from the gutters in streaming rivulets and pounded the rooftop, urging them closer to the brink.
He released her, breathing heavily. “Let’s break in.”
She blinked at him, confused. He gestured toward the empty guest cabin in the distance, indicating that they seek shelter from the elements before continuing. Although she appreciated his thoughtfulness, she didn’t need a bed. She was willing to do this against the door, in the mud, or under a tree.
“Come on,” he said, dragging her away from the main house.
Rain pelted her hair and stung her hot cheeks, dampening her ardor. She almost expected Brandon to pick up a rock and smash through a window. That kind of action would have matched her urgency. When he proceeded to scan the perimeter of the small cabin with calm deliberation, she felt a surge of impatience.
It he didn’t hurry up, she might come to her senses.
He found a narrow window which appeared to be unlocked, but it was no easy task to slide it open. Rain continued to pour on their heads as he went through a series of impromptu tools and unsuccessful strategies. He finally managed to inch the pane aside, creating a very narrow space to slip through.
“You’ll fit,” he said.
She let him boost her up, twisting her body to gain access. The window frame scraped her hip as she wriggled through, and there was nothing to break her fall on the way down. She sprawled across the tile floor, elbows and knees smarting.
“Are you okay?” Brandon asked, his voice muffled.
She squinted at the open window, torn between the urge to tell him off and the desire to finish what they’d started. Smothering a groan, she rose to her feet, studying her surroundings. A small, squeaky-looking brass bed dominated the room. She walked into the main area, which boasted a scarred wooden table with four chairs and a stone hearth.
No kitchen, no bathroom, no electricity. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Neither could wanted fugitives who were breaking and entering.
She unlocked the front door, letting him in.
“Damn” he said, smoothing a hand over his wet hair. “I thought you cracked your head open.”
Shivering, she watched him check out the cozy space. He nodded his approval, apparently finding it secure and easy to defend. The cabin sat back on a hill, offering a clear view of the road. She wondered if he’d sleep tonight or stand guard.
When his gaze returned to her, wandering down the front of her body, she was once again aware of the hard points of her nipples against the wet fabric. The pale gray tank top and thin white bra were both soaked to transparency.
&n
bsp; “I’ll make a fire,” he said, clearing his throat.
Next to the hearth, there was a box of wood. He found some matches and knelt down, snapping a few thin, dry branches for kindling.
Isabel realized that he wasn’t raring to go anymore. He was the one who’d come to his senses. He’d broken in here to get dry and warm, not to bounce on the mattress with her. She should have appreciated his foresight. Instead, her stomach twisted with hurt. A few minutes ago, she’d been ready to strip naked for him in the rain. He must have felt something less powerful. A fleeting temptation, easily brushed aside.
The tears that had been threatening earlier sprang into her eyes. She turned on her heel and fled the room, horrified. Letting him see her cry was worse than throwing herself at him. She took a deep breath, struggling to hold the tears at bay.
Get it together, Isabel.
When her emotions calmed, she noticed a pair of light, multicolored blankets at the foot of the bed. She put one around her shoulders like a shawl, covering her exposed upper body. The other, she took to Brandon.
Maybe he was legitimately cold.
The fire was crackling in the main room, beginning to lick at the small logs he’d tossed in the hearth. He’d also removed his wet shirt, and didn’t that add insult to injury? She’d seen bigger men, but none as well-proportioned. His lean muscles rippled in the firelight. He had a smattering of hair across his chest and more trailing down his etched stomach.
Before now, she’d have said that she preferred a smooth torso. But there was something so tantalizing about his rough-hewn flesh. One look at his raw, elemental male beauty converted her.
“Here,” she said, throwing a blanket at him.
“Thanks.” Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, he draped it over his shoulders.
She settled in beside him, noting that he’d hung his shirt on the back of a chair to dry. She’d have to do the same if she wanted a dry outfit to wear tomorrow. Throwing her dirty garments into the flames sounded more appealing, however.
They stared at the flickering fire, saying nothing. Soon, the room began to warm, and her trembling subsided.
“You should get out of those wet clothes,” he said.
She gave him an incredulous look. Now he wanted her clothes off?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, appearing tired and frustrated and at odds with himself.
“Look, I don’t have any condoms. Do you?”
“No,” she said, surprised. She’d assumed a man like him would be prepared.
“We can have a pretty good time without them, of course, but I think that would be tempting fate.”
Her bitterness dissolved into a warm puddle of sexual images. Yes, she’d enjoy kissing and touching him all over, but what she wanted most was him inside her. And, after a long session of foreplay, she might beg for it.
He groaned, as if reading her thoughts. “I have other reasons, too.”
“Like what?”
“The fact that you’re on the run, for one.”
She adjusted her blanket, uncomfortable.
“You also won’t tell me why those men are after you, or what really happened.”
“I can’t talk about it,” she said automatically, her shoulders stiffening. It was too difficult, too painful.
“If our situations were reversed, and I said I’d killed someone, would you feel safe enough to sleep with me?”
Her heart seized in her chest. He seemed to be suggesting that she was a threat to innocent people. “You think I’m dangerous?”
“I think you’d do anything to protect yourself,” he said, his mouth hard.
She flushed with guilt, avoiding his gaze. Apparently, they were at an impasse. He didn’t want to bed a psycho killer, and she couldn’t defend her actions without giving him information that could be used against her.
“Do you want to keep living like this? Ducking and hiding?”
“You don’t understand,” she said, rising to her feet. “Try me.”
“My mother came looking for me once,” she said, staring out the rain-spattered window. “I’d been calling her from a pay phone in downtown Tijuana. Not to talk, just to hear the sound of her voice. I was scared, and lonely.”
“What happened?”
“I guess she knew it was me calling, because she tracked down the location. She put up missing person posters and stood beside the pay phone for hours.” “Did you approach her?”
Isabel shook her head, bleak. “I couldn’t. There was a man waiting in the alley the whole time. Watching her. He spotted me and gave chase.”
“He didn’t catch you?”
“No. I was lucky, because he was armed and I wasn’t. I left Tijuana that night and started training, preparing for the next encounter.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because he could have killed her! If I’d let down my guard, and run to my mother, like I wanted to, he might have shot us both. Don’t you see? Anyone close to me is at risk. Anyone who knows what I did is at risk.”
“I can defend myself, Isabel. I can defend us both.”
“What if they go after your family because you decided to play the hero? Can you live with that? Because I can’t.”
He came up behind her, grasping her upper arms. “I want to help you,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “Let me.”
She shivered at his touch, her skin pebbling. But instead of leaning into his warm body, she shied away. “Don’t. I shouldn’t even be here with you. I can’t give you what you want.” And he couldn’t give her what she wanted—damn him.
He raked a hand through his hair, sighing. “Why don’t you get some rest?” she said, her voice flat. “I’m not tired yet, and you only slept a few hours on the bus.”
With a curt nod, he left the room, appearing as unsatisfied as she felt. She stared out the window for a long moment, trying not to let her emotions rule. Maybe it was better this way. The intensity of their attraction disturbed her, and she knew they couldn’t have a real relationship. He was a tourist; she was a fugitive. Sooner or later, he would leave. It would be easier if she didn’t get attached.
Darkness closed in and the rain let up. She fed the fire another log and glanced around the small room. There was a kerosene lamp on the table and a cast-iron cook pot near the hearth. She’d kill for a hot bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d soaked in a tub. That wasn’t going to happen, but she could wash her face, at least, and rinse out her clothes before she hung them up to dry.
She slipped out the front door and did a visual search of the grounds, looking for a hose or water spigot. A quaint little structure on the hillside caught her eye. A well—of course. There was a sturdy plastic bucket beside the door. She picked it up, moving quickly in the fading evening light. Rainwater dripped from the eaves and tree branches, splashing her face. Filling the bucket wasn’t a difficult task, but it took time and effort. She transferred the first gallon to the cook pot and went back for one more.
Brandon didn’t complain about the minor commotion she was making. Perhaps he guessed what she was doing. The mattress springs creaked under his weight but he didn’t get up. She locked the front door as a precaution and put the pot over the fire. While she was waiting for the water to heat, she found some string and fashioned a simple clothesline.
The cabin wasn’t devoid of all amenities. There was a small crate in the corner with strips of linen and a bar of soap inside. She sat down on the rug in front of the fire, rubbing her bare arms. Soon, steam rose from the water, and the room glowed with warmth. She removed the pot from the fire and dipped the linen inside, testing the temperature. It was perfect. Tugging off her wet clothes, she took a leisurely sponge bath, dragging the rough fabric over her naked limbs.
Although she was aware that Brandon could walk in at any moment, she didn’t rush. Maybe he was listening to the soft splash of water, picturing her like this. She wanted him to want her. To ache like she ached.
Flushing, she wrapped a blanket around her wet body and tossed her clothes into the soapy water. After giving them a good scrub, she rinsed the garments, wrung them out as best she could and hung them up to dry.
Brandon’s clothes needed washing, too. She listened for the sound of bedsprings but heard only his deep breathing. So much for him lying awake, pining for her. On tiptoe, she sneaked into the bedroom and grabbed his cargo pants from the floor.
He reached out and locked his hand around her wrist, fast as lightning.
“You don’t want me to wash these?” she asked, her heart pounding.
With a low groan, he let go of her, rolling over in bed. His response was muffled, incoherent. She wasn’t sure he’d actually woken up. Unsettled by his quick reflexes, she took the pants with her, along with his socks and boxer shorts.
When the washing was finished, she curled up in front of the fire with the thin blanket, using a folded towel as a pillow. If she climbed into bed with Brandon, he’d probably get up to stand guard. She didn’t think Carranza’s men would be searching remote cabins near the Guatemalan border in the middle of the night, however. Without a good four-wheel drive vehicle, they’d have trouble getting here during the day. For now, she felt safe.
She also felt restless, despite her fatigue. Flames danced in the hearth, warming the small space, inviting her to bare all. She wanted to be naked here, in front of the fire.
If she had a little more nerve, she’d let the blanket fall off her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts. She would cup her tender flesh and toy with her stiff nipples, pinching them gently. When she was ready, she would smooth her hand down her belly and part her trembling thighs, stroking herself to climax.
The possibility of getting caught made the fantasy twice as hot. Would Brandon enjoy watching her?
Although she longed for release, and a blissful sleep, she wouldn’t be satisfied with her own soft touch. She wanted his rough handling, his callused fingers and aggressive mouth. She wanted his firm grip, holding her wrists over her head. His hard chest against her breasts. His thick length, filling every inch of her.
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