Chapter 15
Shep woke slowly. The first thing he noticed was the lack of pain an ease of motion. The second was the scent…an intriguing meld of mint and contentment. The third made him forget the other two entirely. It was the titillating feel of a woman’s hand upon his hip.
He lay still, thoughts coalescing leisurely. As a Ranger—and a bachelor with a devout appreciation for women—he had awakened in hundreds of strange places. Some horrible, some interesting, some marvelous. He wouldn’t trade any of them for this one tantalizing moment.
Carlotta Padilla-Osorio lay behind him, warm and soft, curled against his backside like a sleepy kitten. Of course, he very much doubted she was aware of their intimate positions. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the situation…and wonder how she planned to kill him if he made an unsolicited advance.
He lay still, pondering that question until her hand moved, just a twitch of slim fingers at first, then a slow, sensuous slide forward. Tingling feelings scattered under her palm, ramping up his libido even before her fingers slipped softly down his belly toward his…
He caught her wrist in a reluctant but steady grip. “Question for ya, darlin’,” he rumbled.
He sensed her awakening, felt her stiffen, heard her soft inhale of surprise.
“Ya still plannin’ to commit homicide in the event’a sex?”
She snatched her hand away. His body moaned in response, making him wonder if perhaps one time with her might be worth a little thing like death.
Shifting away slightly so as not to frighten her—after all, he was one hell of a man—he rolled over and steeled himself against the onslaught of her appeal. Well…those parts of his body that weren’t already hardened, steeled.
In sleepy disarray, she was as shatteringly beautiful as he’d feared. Maybe more so. Her eyes, slanted in drowsy repose, hid a hundred sultry secrets, while her hair, that tousled, wild mane, looked as if it had been crafted by some mischievous deity. The God of Sex perhaps. Or the God of Temptation. But maybe they were one and the same.
“Mornin’.” His voice sounded rusty and unused, hers atypically squeaky.
“I’m…I just… I did not…” She cleared her throat, found her usual husky tone and continued. “Good morning.”
He couldn’t stop the grin. “Ya sleep okay?”
“Sí. Yes. It was good.”
He nodded. “Me, too. That’s some impressive salve ya got.”
She failed to meet his gaze.
“Or maybe it’s the company.”
“I should get—“ she began, but he placed a hand on her waist, stilled her. “Just a second, honey. Don’t go rushin’ off. We gotta plan.”
“Plan?”
Her disorientation thrilled him. He couldn’t help it. This woman, this intriguing paradox, sometimes so boldly confident, sometimes so cautiously shy, was flustered—by him. “Plan. Our day.” He eyed her askance. “Unless this whole shebang was just a complicated ruse to get me into bed.”
She jerked back a few regrettable inches, eyes wide as duck eggs. “It was not!”
“Your sister really is missin’, then?”
A trace of outrage mixed with the embarrassment on her morning glory face. “Still you think I would lie of such a thing?”
He didn’t know anymore. And that was scary enough, but far more frightening was the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure he cared.
“Do you?” she asked.
He watched her mesmerizing eyes, wary as a doe’s, crafty as a vixen’s. “I ain’t sure,” he admitted, though he told himself now was not the time for such rash honesty. This was the time to lie his ass off and maybe, if he were really lucky, get laid and manage a stay of execution. But sharing the truth was too seductive, almost more so than the enthralling feel of satin beneath his fingertips.
“I think Santiago has a hold on ya,” he said quietly.
“What does this mean? This hold?”
Sadness swamped him as memories spilled in. Self-pity maybe. Abandonment. Like a kid who’d lost his best friend. And how damned sappy was that? “I thought, back in Colombia…I figured maybe you and me mighta had somethin’.”
“Something what?” Her voice was still soft, but now it revealed a smidgeon of defensiveness. But was it mixed with a breath of hope? A whisper of regret?
He wasn’t a clingy man. Just the opposite. He had no idea how to be loyal to another human being. Except his fellow Rangers. And his crotchety grandfather. His sainted mother. And Durrand, of course. But that dumbass needed a caregiver like a baby needed a blanky. “Somethin’ special,” he admitted reluctantly. “Between you and me.”
“Why you think this?” She stared at him, transfixed, slim fingers frozen on the bed-sheet she’d tugged against her chest. “Never did I gave you reason to believe such things.”
Perhaps it would have been wise to agree, to play along, but there was something about her that begged for honesty. That demanded it. “Didn’t you?” he asked.
“No!” she said, but she could no longer hold his gaze.
“So ya didn’t feel nothin’?” He let his hand stray a little, dragging his left ring finger up her bare arm to her elbow. She shivered at his touch.
“I but felt what I would for any man who had been injured by my countrymen.”
“Ragin’ desire?”
“No!” She jerked her gaze back to his, blushing furiously.
Despite the tornadic feelings that roiled in the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t help but smile. “Undeniable lust?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You tease,” she accused.
Maybe. But maybe not entirely. Certainly, he’d hoped she’d felt something for him. Something besides the kind of maternal nonsense she seemed to be implying. “What’s Santiago to ya?”
“I have told you before.”
“Tell me again.”
“He was a friend of my papa’s.”
“Alright,” he said and waited for more.
“The señor has been nothing but kind to me. To us,” she insisted, but her gaze had dropped away.
“Not all’a us,” he reminded her.
She was silent for a moment. “I am sorry you suffered at his hands. But he thought you to be the runner of the drugs.”
Perhaps she believed her own words. But perhaps not…not entirely anyway.
“Regardless what you think, Señor Tevio despises what the sale of the coca has done to our homeland.”
“You really believe that?”
“Sí!” she said, but he wondered if she protested too loudly. She was no fool, of that he was certain, but what would she do to remain safe? To keep her sister safe? To keep Sofia fed and healthy and educated. That was the question that burned like an open flame.
“I know what it’s like to be desperate,” he said.
She snapped her gaze back to his. “What is it you mean by this?”
“Desperate enough to sell your soul to the Devil.”
“How you dare!” she snarled and raised her hand. He caught it without thinking, held it gently in his grip and eased his thumb, slow as sunrise, over the pad of her palm and along the delicate curve of her fingers.
Her plump lips parted. Her eyes, those glorious windows to paradise, widened.
“Did you—“ He knew he shouldn’t ask again, but the thought of her with Santiago still burned his mind. “Are ya sure ya didn’t allow him…privileges?” he asked and, drawing her hand close, kissed her fingertips.
She shivered, weakened. It was slight, delicate as an orchid, but he felt it and reveled in the knowledge. “Please,” he said and, releasing her hand, trailed the pads of his fingernails along her forearm to her elbow. Her lips parted slightly, showing pearlescent teeth. “Tell me the truth.”
“Sí.” The single word was almost inaudible. “There were privileges.”