Enamored

He stopped and turned around, his black eyes intent on hers because he needed to know her reaction to the discovery. He searched her expression, but there was no contempt, no horror, no shock. “To discourage you, I presume, from any deeper relationship with me?” he asked unexpectedly.

She blushed and lowered her gaze. “I guess I’ve been pretty transparent all the way around,” she said bitterly. “I didn’t realize everybody knew what a fool I was making of myself.”

“I am thirty-five years old,” he said quietly. “And women have been, forgive me, a permissible vice. Your face is expressive, Melissa, and your innocence makes you all the more vulnerable. But I would hardly call you a fool for feeling an—” he hesitated over the word “—attraction. But this is not the time to discuss it. Come, pequeña, we must find cover. We have little time.”

It was hard going. The jungle growth of vines and underbrush was thick, and Diego had only his knife, not a machete. He was careful to leave no visible trace of the path they made, but the men following them were likely to be experienced trackers. Melissa knew she should be afraid, but being with Diego made fear impossible. She knew that he’d protect her, no matter what. And despite the danger, just being with him was sheer delight.

She watched the muscles in his lean, fit body ripple as he moved aside the clinging vines for her. Once, his dark eyes caught hers as she was going under his arm, and they fell on her mouth with an expression that made her blood run wild through her veins. It was only a moment in time, but the flare of awareness made her clumsy and self-conscious. She remembered all too well the feel of his hard fingers on her soft skin as he’d removed the blood and bandaged the scrapes. She thought of the time ahead, because darkness would come soon. Would they stay in the jungle overnight? And would he hold her in the night, safe in his arms, against his warm body? She trembled at the delicious image, already feeling the muscles of his arms closing around her.

He paused to look at the compass in the handle of his knife, checking his bearings.

“There are ruins very near here,” he murmured. “With luck, we should be able to get to them before dark.” He looked up at the skies, which were darkening with the threat of a storm. “Rain clouds,” he mused. “We shall more than likely be drenched before we reach cover. Your father is not at home, I assume?”

“No,” she said miserably. “He’ll be worried sick. And furious.”

“Murderously so, I imagine,” he said with an irritated sigh. “Oh, Melissa, what a situation your impulsive nature has created for us.”

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “Really I am.”

He lifted his head and stared down into her face with something like arrogance. “Are you? To be alone with me like this? Are you really sorry, querida?” he asked, and his voice was like velvet, deep and soft and tender.

Her lips parted as she tried to answer him, but she was trembling with nervous pleasure. Her gray eyes slid over his face like loving hands.

“An unfair question,” he murmured. “When I can see the answer. Come.”

He turned away from her, his body rippling with desire for her. He was too hot-blooded not to feel it when he looked at her slender body, her sweet innocence like a seductive garment around her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman, but to give in to his feelings would be to place himself at the mercy of her father’s retribution. He was already concerned about how it would look if they were forced to bed down in the ruins. Apollo and the others would come looking for him, but the rain would wash away the tracks and slow them down, and the guerrillas would be in hot pursuit, as well. He sighed. It was going to be difficult, whichever way they went.

The rain came before they got much farther, drenching them in wet warmth. Melissa felt her hair plastered against her scalp, her clothing sticking to her like glue. Her jeans and boots were soaked, her shirt literally transparent as it dripped in the pounding rain.

Diego’s black hair was like a skullcap, and his very Spanish features were more prominent now, his olive complexion and black eyes making him look faintly pagan. He had Mayan blood as well as Spanish because of the intermarriage of his Madrid-born grandparents with native Guatemalans. His high cheekbones hinted at his Indian ancestry, just as his straight nose and thin, sensual lips denoted his Spanish heritage. Watching him, Melissa wondered where he had inherited his height, because he was as tall as her British father.

“There,” he said suddenly, and they came to a clearing where a Mayan temple sat like a gray sentinel in the green jungle. It was only partially standing, but at least one part of it seemed to have a roof.

Diego led her through the vined entrance, frightening away a huge snake. She shuddered, thinking of the coming darkness, but Diego was with her. He’d keep her safe.

Inside, it was musty and smelled of stone and dust, but the walls in one side of the ruin were almost intact, and there were a few timbers overhead that time hadn’t completely rotted.

Melissa shivered. “We’ll catch pneumonia,” she whispered.

“Not in this heat, niña,” he said with a faint smile. He moved over to a vine-covered opening in the stone wall. At least he’d be able to see the jungle from which they’d just departed. With a sigh, he stripped off his shirt and hung it over a jutting timber, stretching wearily.

Melissa watched him, her gaze caressing the darkly tanned muscles and the faint wedge of black hair that arrowed down to the belt around his lean waist. Just looking at him made her tingle, and she couldn’t hide her helpless longing to touch him.

He saw her reaction, and all his good intentions melted. She looked lovely with her clothing plastered to her exquisite body, and through the wet blouse he could see the very texture of her breasts, their mauve tips firm and beautifully formed. His jaw tautened as he stared at her.

She started to lift her arms, to fold them over herself, because the way he was looking at her frightened her a little. But he turned abruptly and started out.

“I’ll get some branches,” he said tersely. “We’ll need something to keep us from getting filthy if we have to stay here very long.”

While he was gone, Melissa stripped off her blouse and wrung it out. It didn’t help much, but it did remove some of the moisture. She dabbed at her hair and pushed the strands away from her face, knowing that she must look terrible.

Diego came back minutes later with some wild-banana leaves and palm branches that he spread on the ground to make a place to sit. He was wetter than ever, because the rain was still coming down in torrents.

“Our pursuers are going to find this weather difficult to track us through,” he mused as he pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and managed to light a small cheroot. He eased back on one elbow to smoke it, studying Melissa with intent appreciation. She’d put the blouse back on, but even though it was a little drier, her breasts were still blatantly visible through it.

“I guess they will,” she murmured, answering him.

“It embarrasses you, niña, for me to look at you so openly?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t have much experience…” She faltered, blushing.

He blew out a thick cloud of smoke while his eyes made a meal of her. It was madness to allow himself that liberty, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She was untouched, and her eyes were shyly worshipful as she looked at his body. He wanted more than anything to touch her, to undress her slowly and carefully, to show her the delight of making love. His heart began to throb as he saw images of them together on the makeshift bedding, her body receptive to his, open to his possession.

Melissa was puzzled by his behavior. He’d always been so correct when they’d been together, but he wasn’t bothering to disguise his interest in her body, and the look on his face was readable even to a novice.

“Why did you become a mercenary?” she asked, hoping to divert him.

He shrugged. “It was a question of finances. We were desperate, and my father was unable to face the degradation of seeking work after having had money all his life. I had a reckless nature, and I enjoyed the danger of combat. After I served in the army, I heard of a group that needed a small-arms expert for some ‘interesting work.’ I applied.” He smiled in reminiscence. “It was an exciting time, but once or twice I had a close call. The others slowly drifted away to other occupations, other callings, but I continued. And then I began to slow down, and there was a mistake that almost cost me my life.” He lifted the cheroot to his lips. “I had enough wealth by then not to mind settling down to a less demanding lifestyle. I came home.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked softly, studying his handsome face.

“On occasion. There were good times. A special feeling of camaraderie with men who faced death with me.”

“And women, I guess,” she said hesitantly, her face more expressive than she realized.

His black eyes ran over her body like hands, slow and steady and frankly possessive. “And women,” he said quietly. “Are you shocked?”

She swallowed, lowering her eyes. “I never imagined that you were a monk, Diego.”

He felt himself tautening as he watched her, longed for her. The rain came harder, and she jumped as a streak of lightning burst near the temple and a shuddering thunderclap followed it.

“The lightning comes before the noise,” he reminded her. “One never hears the fatal flash.”

“How encouraging,” she said through her teeth. “Do you have any more comforting thoughts to share?”

He smiled faintly as he put out the cheroot and laid it to one side. “Not for the moment.”

He took her by the shoulders and laid her down against the palms and banana leaves, his lean hands on the buttons of her shirt once more. This time she didn’t fight and she didn’t protest, she simply watched him with eyes as big as saucers.

“I want to make sure the bleeding has stopped,” he said softly. He pulled the edges of the blouse open and lifted the handkerchief that he’d placed over the cut. His black eyes narrowed, and he grimaced. “This may leave a scar,” he said, tracing the wound with his forefinger. “A pity, on such exquisite skin.”

Her breath rattled in her throat. The touch of his hand made her feel reckless. All her buried longings were coming to the surface during this unexpected interlude with him, his body above her, his chest as bare and brawny as she’d dreamed it would be.

“I have no healing balm,” he said softly, searching her eyes. “But perhaps, pequeña, I could kiss it better….”

Even as he spoke, he bent, and Melissa moaned sharply as she felt the moist warmth of his mouth on her skin. Her hands clenched beside her, her back arched helplessly.

Startled by such a passionate reaction from a girl so virginal, he lifted his head to look at her. He was surprised, proud, when he saw the pleasure that made her cheeks burn, her eyes grow drowsy and bright, her lips part hungrily. It made him forget everything but the need to make her moan like that yet again, to see her eyes as she felt the first stirrings of passion in her untried body. The thought of her innocence and his resolve not to touch her vanished like the threat of danger.