CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Livvy

 

The breath I'd just sucked into my lungs came out as a startled gasp and Thomas froze next to me. Whipping my head around, I saw a tall, burly man holding a very large gun on us, his expression tight and cold.

Thomas swore softly as he began to stand. I shot him a panicked look, but he didn't look at me. I stood, too, putting my hands in the air.

"Take off your packs and toss your weapons to the ground," the man said again, his eyes glued to Thomas. He was speaking English, though his voice was heavily accented. My eyes darted to Thomas as he very slowly slid his backpack off his shoulders. I followed suit as Thomas tossed the gun that had been in his waistband to the ground at the man's feet and then slowly removed the knife attached to his belt. The man bent slowly, his eyes trained on us along with his rifle and picked up the handgun and then the knife, sticking the gun in his own waistband and pulling the knife from its sheath, inspecting it quickly and then throwing it into the thick brush. He gestured with his gun. "Now move."

I was shaking so badly I wasn't sure I could walk, but I did, following Thomas who still hadn't glanced at me. His jaw was tight and his expression blank.

When we stepped out of the brush, the men who had been talking and laughing all stopped, surprise etched in their expressions as they either halted where they were, or stood taller; the man smoking the cigar dropped it in the dirt at his feet. No one had bothered to move the dead man lying in the dirt—seemingly, no one cared that the cigar man had shot him where he stood.

The two men carrying a crate set it down quickly and both drew weapons, pointing them at us. Panic made me feel lightheaded, and I wanted to get closer to Thomas but I didn't dare make any movement that the men holding guns on us didn't direct us to make.

Now out of the brush, I noticed a couple of beat-up motorcycles off to the side, likely belonging to the men moving the crates. The man leaning against the shiny Mercedes was dressed in an expensive-looking suit. What was this? Had we interrupted some type of mafia drug transport? They obviously had hired guns roaming the perimeter of the spot they'd chosen to do the exchange, and we'd walked right into it. It had to be drugs in those crates, right? God, what did it matter? The point was we'd walked into the middle of . . . whatever. And the fact that we'd witnessed a murder would make it unlikely that they’d let us walk away.

I dared a glance at Thomas and his expression was enigmatic, his stance loose and seemingly calm. What were we going to do? What could we do?

The older man in the black suit walked forward, saying something to Thomas that made him frown, casting his head toward me. I blinked back and forth between them, imagining I looked like some terrified owl.

The man coughed, a deep, loose sound that spoke of the cigar he'd been smoking earlier. He said something in Spanish, and Thomas said in English, "I apologize, my Spanish isn't very good. Do you speak English?" Lied.

The man gave Thomas a bemused look but said, "Yes, I speak some English." He gave me a once-over then looked back to Thomas. "Who do you work for?"

"We don't work for anyone. We're backpacking through your beautiful country. If you'll let us go on our way, we won't mention this to anyone."

The man sighed. "Unfortunately, I cannot count on the promises of a stranger. Business is business, you understand?" He looked at me and brought his hand to his face, stroking his mustache. The man with the big gun—rifle? Machine gun?—was standing between Thomas and me and the man in the suit nodded his head to him and said something in quick Spanish.

"We really were just walking through," Thomas said, his eyes finding mine for the portion of a second, his lips tipping. "Your man there"—he gestured to the man with the long gun—"has the element of surprise going for him." He looked back to me. "Liv, our best bet is to listen to what he says," he said, putting a subtle emphasis on the words best bet.

He has the element of surprise going for him. Best bet.

When had he said that before? My terrified mind struggled to place it.

That was the element of surprise. But your best bet, is to knee an opponent in the nuts.

Iced water filled my veins, a cold buzzing. Oh God, was that what he wanted me to do? I couldn't. I couldn't. I didn't dare look at the man next to me with the gun, but I could see him in my peripheral vision. He was close. Very close. The two men who had been carting the crate were holding guns in their hands too, but they were smaller and held by their sides. They were at the ready but were no longer trained on us. 

Don't think. Just do it, Livvy. Trust Thomas and do what he's telling you to do.

Your best bet.

As soon as I caught the first twitch of movement from the man with the gun next to me, I threw my head back and started crying, big wracking sobs. The man in the suit said something in Spanish, and as soon as the man with the gun looked at him, I spun, bringing my knee up with all my strength and connecting with his crotch as he let out a high-pitched yelp, buckling forward in shock. I saw his arms raise as I immediately pulled myself backward, tripping him as he attempted to right himself. He was still holding the gun though, and it fired as he went down, a wild shot up toward the sky, and as he fell, I heard a whistling sound and then a knife lodged in his chest with a wet sounding thud. The man gurgled, his eyes bulging as he hit the dirt. My head whipped to the right where the man in the suit was suddenly screaming, another knife lodged in his eye as he fell to the ground and went still. Thomas, Thomas had thrown the knives. Where had all the knives come from?

More shots sounded, shouts, but there were suddenly strong hands on my arm, pulling me and I ran, my heartbeat whooshing in my brain as the muted sounds of shouting, guns firing, and general mayhem ensued. I was picked up and then I was sitting on something—a motorcycle—as Thomas jumped on the seat in front of me, turned the key that must have still been in the ignition, and shouted, "Hold on!"

I wrapped my arms around his waist as the motorcycle lurched forward, and I let out a shocked squeal.

"This is gonna get rough," he yelled, turning his head so I could hear him. "Don't let go."

I was so terrified I couldn't form words. I squeezed his waist tighter, pressing my cheek to his back, hoping he knew I'd heard him and had no plans to let go.

I heard the second motorcycle rumble to life behind us and realized we were being pursued. Thomas sped up, and we bumped over the rough ground, flying past trees and over small hills, going airborne here and there. I clenched my eyes shut, and held on for dear life.

Thomas turned off the dirt path we were on, and a second later we were flying along concrete, the ride smoothing, the wind whipping through my hair, which had fallen from its loose bun. But when I heard a second roar behind us and dared a glance back, the other motorcycle had turned onto the road too, and was only a short distance behind. I heard Thomas swear as he turned off the road, back into the cover of the trees, but into rough terrain that jarred my teeth and had my stomach in my throat.

A couple of times we were so close to a tree I braced for impact; a scream lodged in my throat as I prepared to slam into a hard trunk. But instead we raced by, so close I swore I smelled the earthy woodiness of bark mere inches from my face.

For a few minutes, the roar of the engine behind us grew faint, and I allowed myself a breath, but then it grew louder and my heart slammed into my throat again. I felt Thomas's arm flex as he sped up, and we flew forward at a speed that had to be suicidal for the terrain we were in.

"Get ready," he yelled back at me. "Hold tight!" Get ready? Hold tight? Get ready for what?

The question was answered when Thomas swerved suddenly to the side, bumping through the trees, our speed slowing as he leaned the bike so I felt like we were riding the ground and then squeezed the brake. When we were going slow enough, Thomas shut off the engine, put his foot down to hold the bike up, and pushed me off before the bike fell on top of me. We both lay on the ground on our bellies, panting, the wheels of the motorcycle still spinning next to us. It was another minute before the other motorcycle went flying by on the path we'd just been on, a cloud of dirt rising above the bushes we lay behind. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"There's a paved crossroads up ahead. They won't know which way we went." Thomas rolled onto his back, breathing harshly as he stared at the sky, and we listened to the sound of the motorcycle fade away. A bird squawked in the tree above us, berating us for disturbing the peace. The moisture in the air grew heavier and raindrops began plinking softly on the leaves around us, not a shower, but a drip, drip, dripping that caused steam to rise eerily from the ground.

Our mingled breaths faded as the jungle sounds rose around us, the animals and insects responding to the light rain: rustles, flutters, buzzes, and cries of elation.

I turned my face to Thomas, and he was staring back at me, our gazes only inches apart. His eyes darkened, silver to gunmetal, his lids drooping very slightly, and I stared as a loud boom sounded in the air around me. My blood was buzzing. There was a sudden throbbing, and I didn't know if the thunder had come from overhead or somewhere within. "Fuck it," he rasped.

I wasn't sure who moved first, me or him, but suddenly his lips were on mine, hot and demanding, and I moaned, a deep sound of desire and longing. His tongue dipped between my lips, and I opened to him eagerly, sucking on his tongue before using mine to twist and tangle with his. A growl sounded deep in his chest, and it electrified me, causing a hot spark of lust to spiral between my legs and settle there as a heavy, beating pulse. His weight came over me, and I pressed my core upward, seeking, needing, desperate for him to fill the aching void within me, to meet the throb inside with the pounding of his body.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, tilting my own and rubbing against his rock-hard shaft that slid so deliciously against my swollen clit. Oh God, it feels so good. I broke from his mouth and gasped out, a sound of desperation, of raw lust as I tilted my head backward, my fingers grabbing at his ass to press him closer, closer, but not close enough.

"I need to stop, or I'm going to fuck you right here on the ground," he said, his voice gravelly, tortured.

"Yes," I panted. He let out a choked-sounding groan, his hot breath fanning against my skin.

"You'd regret it"—he nipped at my neck, and I moaned—"I can't . . ."

Regret what? I couldn't organize my thoughts, was just a melting mass of sensation and desire. Why would I ever regret this? It was magic. Dizzying, whirling, glittering magic. Something had awakened inside me, something wonderful. "No," I breathed. "I won't."

Thomas groaned and then his head went lower, his mouth locking onto my nipple through the thin material of my shirt. I cried out as he sucked deeply, another spiral of lust rocking through my core and landing in a hot pulse at the apex of my thighs. He rocked against me, using his hips to make slow circles right where I needed him most, and it felt so good. I was losing my mind, gripping his hair, panting, my blood steamy, hot, coursing, my nipples tingly and hard, and between my legs slick and soft. Ready.

I ran my hand over the hard swell of his ass, up the straining muscles of his arms, and over the solid mass of his back, up those wide shoulders as he continued to roll his hips, those slow circles driving me higher, higher until the whole world burst in a white cascade of falling stars. I cried out, shuddering, pulsing, the pleasure so intense I didn't even know if I should call it pleasure. Because I'd never felt anything like that. And suddenly all the old words I'd used to describe sex seemed weak and meaningless. For a moment, everything around me—the entire world—felt new and . . . different.

I blinked at the pewter sky as reality flowed back in like cool water. It wasn't raining anymore and the thunder and lightning had moved away while we'd . . . been locked together. I was lying in the grass, my hands still in Thomas's hair, the motorcycle we'd taken a wild ride on lying completely motionless beside us. I brought my face forward and locked eyes with Thomas. He was staring at me with a look on his face that was both tense and still. It was as if he was waiting for my reaction and wasn't sure what it would be.

"You all right?" he asked warily.

I blinked at him, my mind still cloudy, the lust dissipating slowly like the mist rising on the jungle floor. "Yes," I said. I'd never realized it could be that way . . . never experienced that level of intensity by a man's touch. I let out a slow breath. "Yes."

He must have sensed my wonder because I saw the brief flare of satisfaction in his eyes. I also saw when he schooled it. My God, only a handful of days with this man and I was learning to read his expressions when he'd seemed incapable of any emotion when I met him. He kept his reactions under wraps for the most part, but not completely, at least not with me.

He pulled away, falling to the side so he was lying next to me. He moaned, bringing one arm over his eyes. "God, you have no idea how much I'd love to feel you coming while I'm inside you," he murmured almost as if to himself.

Another zing of lust rang through me, a small aftershock, brought about by his words alone. While I'm inside you. My God. I became aware of a slight pulsing inside and realized I was still craving being filled, still in want of a delicious stretching that hadn't happened. Which also led to the realization that he was probably desperate to come. I glanced at his crotch and saw the full outline of his erection pressing against the thick fabric of his cargo pants.

"I'm, ah . . ."

He glanced over, following the direction of my gaze and sitting up. "I'll live." He came slowly to his feet, grimacing. "Maybe." He reached out his hand, I grabbed it, and he pulled me to my feet.

I still felt wobbly, off balance, but I was also beginning to feel a bit embarrassed, sort of guilty for leaving him in a much less fulfilled state than I was currently enjoying—physically at least. "I wouldn't have stopped things." My cheeks heated again, and I glanced away. "I mean . . . if you . . ."

He paused for a moment. "I don't want you to do something you'll end up regretting. I couldn't help kissing you, Livvy. Fuck, I want you. I'm not going to deny that. But you and me . . . we just . . ." He shook his head, looking frustrated, angry, maybe even a little sad. "Do you love him?"

For a moment I had no earthly idea who he was talking about, then realization dawned, and my throat tightened. I glanced at the ground where moments ago we had been locked together, me practically begging him to do whatever he wanted with my body, when I'd hired him . . . to get me safely to my ex-fiancé.

This pull I felt, these emotions were growing by the day, and I felt helpless to stop them. And yet . . . and yet, I had come here to confront another man, and if necessary, to reassure the man I'd said I'd spend my life with that I would not desert him, even if he had made mistakes. I'd lived and breathed this commitment for so long and now . . . now what? A few days spent with another man and I was wavering, entertaining doubts I hadn't entertained before. Kissing him. Writhing on the ground beneath his welcome weight. Was I that fickle? That inconstant? What kind of person was I?

Do you love him?

No man wants to take a snake to bed.

"You must think I'm as immoral as Carmen." I barely whispered the words in my shame.

He frowned, studying me for a moment, his lips thinning and something hard coming into his eyes. "No. He left you," he said simply, obviously understanding my meaning.

I bit at my lip, feeling embarrassed, uncertain. Before I could say anything else, Thomas walked over to the motorcycle and picked it up. Of course he made that look easy too. It had to weigh hundreds of pounds. "We should get going. I'd say the coast is probably clear by now."

The coast is probably clear. Right. We'd been chased by drug dealers shooting at us. Somehow I'd all but forgotten once Thomas put his lips on mine and settled his body over me.

We were both drenched from the light rain, but the weather was warm so there was no risk of chill. I climbed on the bike behind Thomas, and wrapped my arms around his waist. The first time I'd ridden this way I'd been terrified out of my mind—not to mention he hadn't given me an orgasm with nothing more than hot kisses and his body moving on top of mine—but this time I was completely aware of the press of our bodies, stuck together by our wet clothing.

If I'd been able to, I might have run away, given myself some distance from this man who shook my senses so badly and made me question . . . everything. But that wasn't possible, so I held on to his hard, capable body as he started up the motorcycle and turned back onto the dirt road.

He left you.

I closed my eyes as we rode, knowing in some way, my whole life had just shifted. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to think about what that meant.