The bomb had been ready for the Tuesday ferry, but the cartel delivery truck had been nowhere in sight. Terrified that this, their only lead, had dried up, on Saturday they waited on the bike near the ferry terminal with frayed nerves until they caught a first glimpse of the delivery truck. They watched it drive up the ferry ramp on Saturday at noon, then took off toward the cluster of yacht charters vying for tourist dollars near the public marina.
Once at sea, Camille and Aaron settled onto a bench on the back deck of the Sea Dreamin’. As the sun set over the Baja peninsula and the water faded from cerulean to onyx as the sky darkened, the air turned cool and crisp. Camille tensed her muscles against a shiver, then glanced at Aaron to gauge if he’d noticed, but he was staring at her hand clutching the seat cushion. With a twitch of movement, he reached for it.
Inhaling sharply, she leaped to her feet. “Dibs on first shower,” she said lamely.
Curving his fingers into a tight fist, he rolled his knuckles against his thigh. When he opened his mouth to speak, Camille darted through the cabin door before he had the chance. Better to feel the hollow ache of cowardliness than face another painful argument about an affair that never should’ve happened in the first place.
Lighter and smaller than the ferry, the Sea Dreamin’ beat the Puerto Azul to Mazatlán by several hours, arriving at the public dock around seven in the morning. Camille watched the yacht dock from the porthole above the chair she’d slept in. Aaron sat cross-legged on the bed, fully dressed, staring at the wall.
“Ready?” Camille asked.
He glanced sideways at her and gave a curt nod. “Let’s get to work.”
Like the ferry terminal in La Paz, the landing in Mazatlán boasted the repugnant stench of fishiness and gasoline, but as Mazatlán was a major tourist destination, the landing was at least double the size of La Paz and opened onto a pedestrian-friendly boardwalk that boasted an endless string of trinket shops, restaurants and motels.
Not knowing if the truck would be greeted by a cartel welcoming committee, they tucked into a narrow alley fifty yards from the still-empty ferry terminal and scanned the surrounding area for anything suspicious.
“Two men sitting in a parked car on the north end of the boardwalk,” Aaron said under his breath.
Camille followed his gaze. The car in question was angled toward the ferry terminal. The men inside didn’t speak to each other. Both wore blazers despite the heat. Maybe to hide their firearms, would be Camille’s guess. No doubt about it, she and Aaron couldn’t discount the possibility of the Cortez Cartel’s presence. There could be any number of men whose job it was to escort the delivery truck to its destination. They could be watching from windows or disguised as vendors.
“We can’t get any closer without revealing ourselves,” she whispered.
Aaron slid the pack from her shoulder and dropped it to the ground between her legs. “Then we try to look inconspicuous while we wait for the ferry to arrive.” Before she could protest, he snaked an arm around her waist and rolled to pin her against the alley wall with his body, dipping his face close to hers. “No one will pay us any mind if we seem otherwise occupied, and once the truck disappears into the city, all the eyes watching it will follow. Then we’ll find a hotel room for the night.”
It was a solid plan, even if Aaron’s nearness aroused in her a dizzying, if unwanted, desire. As they waited, Camille fought to think of anything except Aaron, the solid heat of his body radiating against hers, the perspiration gathering between them, the rise and fall of their chests in time with each other.
Just when Camille feared she might combust if he touched her a moment longer, the ferry appeared on the horizon. Once it had docked, the cartel truck was among the first vehicles to exit. It made a right turn onto the frontage road lining the boardwalk. The suspicious car pulled away from its parking spot and followed.
They held their position until the ferry had emptied of cars and people and traffic died down, then Aaron pushed from the wall and smoothed a hand over his sweat-drenched shirt. Camille took her first deep breath in over an hour and slung the backpack on her shoulder. After a final scan for danger, they slipped onto the sunny boardwalk and sought refuge in the nearest motel.
The desk clerk at the Hacienda del Playa Sur was happy to furnish them with a harbor-view room for only twenty more dollars a night than one looking out on the city. After weeks of sleeping in boats, room thirty-two seemed enormous.
While Aaron freshened up in the bathroom, she tucked the backpack with the tracking device into the deepest dresser drawer along with the guns and gazed solemnly at the comfortable-looking queen-size bed. She hadn’t slept in a bed since the night before her birthday in her continuing effort to keep her distance from Aaron. But, man, did this bed beckon to her today.
With a bracing sigh, she wrenched her gaze from the bed and settled near the window with binoculars to scope out the area, painfully aware that she and Aaron had nothing left to do but wait in the room together until the following afternoon’s ferry departure.
By that evening, the room that had seemed so enormous on first arrival had shrunk to a shoebox. Restless with nerves, they went over the strategy for the following day and checked the weapons. Aaron called his ICE team, then Camille phoned her boss with an update. After that, they were back to square one.
When they bumped into each other the second time while prowling aimlessly around the room, Aaron laughed. “That’s enough. I’m ordering dinner.”
Aaron conversed in Spanish with someone on the hotel’s phone. Camille slipped into the bathroom, ready for a long, hot shower to give her a needed break from being too close to Aaron.
When she emerged, her skin pink from the hot water, her hair damp, Aaron had two place settings arranged on the room’s small round table. The mouthwatering smell of garlic and peppers tempted her nose. With a boyishly anxious expression, he presented the setup with a wave of his hand.
“This is the closest I can get to taking you out on a proper date.”
Camille froze in the bathroom doorway. Oh, no...
“Wine?” he asked, gesturing to a bottle on the table.
“Aaron, no. I—”
He shrugged and pulled out a chair. “Save it, Camille. Have a seat.”
The food did smell amazing. And she could really use a drink to settle her nerves. Besides, what was her alternative plan? To hide in the bathroom until Aaron went to sleep? Even she wasn’t that big of a coward. Tentatively, she settled into the chair. Aaron pushed a plastic cup toward her and kept his eyes on her while she drank deeply.
On such an empty stomach as she had, she felt the relaxing effects of the alcohol in no time flat. Before she knew it, she was laughing at Aaron’s jokes and digging into her hearty plate of chicken, beans and a sweet-corn tamale.
Over a second round of wine, they talked about their lives growing up. Camille felt compelled to share stories with him she’d never revealed to anyone else, even her sister. And she’d laughed more than she had in years.
When their plates and the wine bottle were empty, Aaron stood and flicked on the clock radio. A slow guitar song floated through the air. Aaron offered her his hand. “Shall we dance?”
Camille’s gut clenched. “No, thank you. I’m awful. Really, it’s not my thing.”
“But it’s mine.” He bent until his nose brushed her cheek and whispered, “Let me dance with you, Camille. There’s no one here but us.”
She knew the wine was to blame, but nevertheless, she found herself taking his hand. “Just one dance.”
He pulled her near and kept her there with a hand pressed to the small of her back. To her surprise, relaxing into his lead came naturally to her. For the first time in her life, she enjoyed dancing. She nestled into his neck, relishing the way his stubble grazed her cheek. She inhaled and was overcome by his intoxicating scent. It was a bitter memory that she once thought he smelled of clean laundry—pristine and simple, full of sunshine and golden ha
ppiness. Now she knew better.
This was the scent of the man who carried her when she could barely move for the pain in her leg, the scent that wrapped around her each night with the promise of safekeeping until dawn. This scent was her partner, matching her every movement throughout each dangerous step of their mission. It was the heady blend of sweat, soap and maleness swirled with the spice of him that she tasted when he kissed her.
She had never needed anything or anyone as much as she needed this man.
And, in her fear, she was wasting what precious time they had left together. What a fool she was not to savor every second she had with Aaron before she lost him to the world. She stroked his jaw and ran the pad of her thumb across his lower lip.
Aaron’s arms tightened around her. He angled his head to study her face, his expression guarded. She couldn’t blame him for that. She’d done an ace job of pushing him away.
She poured her need into a hungry look. “Kiss me. Please.”
His hands crept to either side of her face, locking her in place as his lips descended. He froze an inch away. “If I kiss you, we’re taking it all the way.” His voice verged on angry. “Tomorrow morning, I wake up with you in my arms. No regrets, no picking a fight this time. You get in bed with me tonight, you’re staying there.”
She studied the severity of his features, marveling at the way intimacy brought out the darkest aspects of his personality. Determined to lighten the mood, she quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded toward the bed. “Think we’ll make it all the way to the bed?”
His smile was ruthless. “Eventually.”
Chapter 14
Camille allowed Aaron to back her into the wall with a blazing kiss. He loved the way she wrapped a leg around his waist, cradling his hardness between her thighs. He pressed into her, and she answered by rotating her hips, stroking him—a move he felt all the way to his toes.
With a groan of blissful agony, he broke from her mouth to kiss a trail down her throat, pausing with his lips over her pulse point, feeling the pounding of her heart. “Oh, baby. What I want to do to you...”
“What you want to do to me?” she teased, reaching between them to unsnap the top button of his jeans. “What about what I want to do to you?”
He rose and looked into her vivid green eyes, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. She really didn’t get it yet, did she? The depth of his love for her. “You’ve already done it, Camille.”
Inhaling sharply, she tucked her chin, averting her gaze. One day soon, he’d push the issue of their future, but for tonight, making love to her was enough. After brushing a kiss across her temple, he dropped his hands from her face and pushed her pants and panties down, then divested her of her shirt and bra.
He slid a hand behind the small of her back, arching her chest up as though in offering to him, and captured a nipple between his lips. He teased it into a taut point, then suckled it between his teeth. Camille moaned and wound her leg around him.
“I love the way your skin tastes,” he murmured. “I need more.”
He swept her off her feet and set her atop the dresser. Beginning at her ankles, he kissed the inside of her leg all the way up. She braced her hands in his hair with the first stroke of his tongue on her folds. His name rolled from her lips, over and over, a plea and a prayer. The most exquisite sound he’d ever heard, raw and real and full of the love she was so scared to admit. He reached up her side and twined his fingers with hers as she tipped over the edge with the sharp cry of release.
He stood, licking the wetness from his lips, the need to be inside her stringing him as tight as a rubber band stretched beyond its limits. Out of habit, he reached for the wallet in his back pocket, trembling with the need to get a condom on and surge into Camille’s body, but his hand only found the cheap, canvas wallet he’d bought at the corner store their first night in La Paz.
Then it hit him. The box of condoms he’d purchased on the sly the day after he decided to seduce her was tucked in the yacht’s dresser—unopened. The night he and Camille made love, using protection hadn’t once crossed his mind. He’d never forgotten before, not in the seventeen years since losing his virginity. Then again, he’d never felt as crazy in love or as crazy with need as he had that night on the boat. All he’d wanted was to make her his in a permanent, tangible way. Well, mission accomplished.
For all either of them knew, Camille could be pregnant.
He stared in wide-eyed wonder at her gorgeous body, open and wet—ready for him. And maybe, miraculously, carrying his child. He braced his hands against the dresser on either side of her thighs. “Camille, the first time...we didn’t use protection.”
The calm strength on her face sent a fresh wave of surprise through his body. This wasn’t news to her.
“I know,” she whispered, dragging a finger along his tensed jaw. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t have a condom tonight either.” Impossibly hard and trembling with barely leashed control, he waited for her response to his unspoken question, not trusting himself to even brush her leg before she granted him permission to proceed. If she told him to stop, to wait until a different night when they were more prepared—God help him—he’d bow to her wishes. They had a lifetime to explore each other’s bodies, and that knowledge might have to be enough to sustain him tonight.
Hurt flashed in her eyes. Nodding, she sat back, folding her arms over her breasts. “You want to stop. All right.”
Slipping his fingers into her clenched fists, he tugged her arms away from her body and held her hands in his. “Oh, baby, it’s not like that. I’m all in. This is your choice.”
Gradually, her fingers relaxed in his grip and the worry lines on her forehead eased. She met his gaze, her expression no longer hurt, but stubborn. “I’m not scared of the future anymore, not like I once was.” She reached a hand between them, her fingernails rasping against his stomach, and grasped his erection, stroking it to full hardness. “I want this. I want you.”
Seizing hold of her hips, he pulled her toward him until the tip of his hardness nestled at the entrance of her body. “You have me, Camille.” His voice, low and raw, surprised him. He sounded as desperate as he felt.
With his hands under her hips, he surged into her. She met his challenging pace, demanding it as hard as he was willing to give. When she opened her mouth in a moan, he claimed it with his tongue, wondering if she tasted the lingering spice of her arousal on his lips, as he did.
The moment he felt his release building, he slowed the rhythm of his thrusts and reached a hand between them. As his fingers worked, he dived into the skin of her neck with his teeth and lips until she tensed and stopped breathing. Then she shattered with violent intensity around him. He moved his hand to her hips and thrust deeply into her pulsing core. With a guttural sound, he spilled himself into her.
Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he lowered his head to her shoulder, breathing hard, reveling in the feel of their bodies joined together. She clung to him, locking her ankles around his waist, squeezing his still-pulsing erection inside her. He knew, unequivocally, that he’d never let her go.
* * *
By midday on Monday, they were in final stages of preparation to board the four o’clock ferry. Once they confirmed that the cartel truck had embarked, Aaron walked to the terminal to purchase tickets. Camille stayed behind to prep their weapons and perform a final check of the tracking device and explosives.
As she strapped on her ankle holster, Aaron walked through the hotel room door. “I love it when you go into warrior mode.” He smacked her backside. “It’s sexy as hell. Maybe you can wear that to bed sometime.”
She smiled indulgently, relieved that his playful side had returned in full force. Anything but the intense, dead-serious man he became during sex. “Do you have our tickets?”
“Yep. Had to double the bribe I wanted to pay to the ticket guy, but it’s done.”
Camille hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder. “Let�
�s get to work.”
Camille and Aaron boarded the ferry with at least fifty other people. They each wore hats and black shirts they’d picked up that morning, all with tourist slogans, and sunglasses. Camille carried the backpack with the tracking device wrapped in a change of clothes, should she need a fresh disguise. Aaron had a backpack, too, with a change of clothes, a flashlight and duct tape, among other items.
Another bribe gained them entry without passports to validate the names on their tickets. Once past the ticket taker, they descended the stairs to the auto level and slipped to a section packed tightly with vehicles whose drivers had already left for the upper decks. The cartel delivery truck sat sandwiched between an RV and a minivan near the center of the boat.
The smell, a heady blend of gasoline and car exhaust, was nauseating. Camille breathed through her mouth but was supremely annoyed by the distracting urge to throw up.
Aaron tested each door they passed until he found one unlocked. They hustled into the backseat of a tiny, rusted gray car in case the ferry personnel did a final check that the level was cleared of people before locking it for the journey. Aaron lay on the floor of the car and Camille dropped on top of him. There they waited, embracing tightly, two bundles of white-hot nerves.
They heard their entombment one sound at a time, each echoing through the cavernous chamber with unmistakable clarity—the gears grinding as the ramp lifted, the clunk of the light switch turning off followed by the receding hum of the fluorescent bulbs into silence, the stairwell door sealing with a dull thud and, finally, the turn of the lock.
The rumble of the ferry motor rose to a roar. Low haunting moans and creaks told them the ship had started its trip across the sea.
Camille rose, blinking and looking around, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was disorienting to realize there would be no adjustment—there wasn’t even the barest hint of light for her eyes to filter. She grabbed her backpack, opened the door and stepped into the darkness.
Seduction Under Fire Page 15
