Into the Wild (15 page)

“He bought me bug spray and hand sanitizer,” she whispered, in dreamy-eyed awe. She'd never been more touched or turned on in her life.

G
ATOR HATED THAT WOMAN.

She'd woken up before he'd been able to knock her out with chloroform. She'd blinded him with some damned flash, causing him to bash his forehead when he'd fallen. Dizzy and seeing spots, he'd slipped while escaping out the window, twisted his ankle in a second fall and intensified his injuries while running for his fucking life.

If he'd had his way, he would've lunged and killed her before she'd screamed. Permanently silenced, he could've searched her room at length. Searched
her.
He could've found the second half of the map. But Gator was fond of his Johnson, and The Conquistador's threat to cut it off still rang in his ears. Gator cursed the crazy-ass bastard as he limped toward his hidden truck. “Like he needed another obsession.”

Con had first laid eyes on River Kane the night before in Baños. He'd been lurking in the shadows of that dive bar while Gator had been searching her hotel room. He'd fallen instantly in love or in lust, some sort of morbid fascination.
“When the time is right,”
he'd said,
“River Kane is mine.”
Gator didn't get the attraction. The woman was a loon. Maybe that was it. Like attracts
like. Or maybe it was the rivalry Gator had sensed between Con and McGraw. Maybe Con wanted her only because McGraw
had
her. All Gator knew for certain was that blondie was a pain in his head, neck, ankle and ass.

Hurting all over, he sat in his truck, surrounded by darkness and his own black thoughts. Sutherland had given him a black eye. The Conquistador had bruised his throat and broken his nose. Now, thanks to blondie, he had a deep gash in his forehead and a sprained ankle. Swearing, he found his blessed tube of muscle-easing salve and coated his neck and ankle. Then he pulled a first-aid kit from under the battered seat and dug out the gauze and tape. At this rate he'd look like a friggin' mummy by week's end. That was if he was alive by week's end.

Minutes later he ditched the medical kit and snagged his satellite phone. He dreaded making this call, but it was safer than admitting failure face-to-face.

“Did you get it?”

He was beginning to hate that question. He detested his answer even more. “No, boss.” Gator explained what had gone down. He half expected Con to reach across the miles and strangle him.

Instead of cursing or yelling, Con spoke in a quiet, deliberate voice—which was somehow worse. “I want the second half of that map.”

“I don't understand why we can't just use the clues in that journal,” Gator blurted out in frustration. Con had scoured that old book for an hour while waiting for
his source to call back with River's whereabouts. “You said there were clues.”

“I also pointed out they're written in code, you fuckwit. Only helps if I can decipher them. I'm working on that. Meanwhile, McGraw has the lead.”

“But
you
have the first half of the map.”

“McGraw won't need the first half.
I
don't need the first half. It's merely a shortcut.”

“Alberto said whatever the professor found was on Cerro Hermoso. Can't we—”

“Do you know how fucking big that fucking volcano is? Do you want a slice of eight fucking billion U.S. dollars? Get me the fucking
map.
” The man disconnected.

Gator's head throbbed, his ankle screamed. He unscrewed the quart of whiskey he'd taken from Con's stash and drank from the bottle. He didn't want just a slice of the treasure, he wanted the whole pie.

He'd get the fucking map.

S
PENSER WAS IN THE SHOWER
stall, hands braced on the slick tiles, head dipped, wishing the hot water could wash away his sins—those committed and those in his soul—when the glass door slid open.

“I can't go to sleep with bug cooties. I have to shower.”

He glanced over his shoulder, saw River—naked, arms crossed self-consciously over her bare breasts.

Oh, hell.

Send her away.

His hesitation caused her to blush. She'd put herself out there, risked rejection, humiliation. She wanted to act on the attraction she'd been fighting since the moment they'd met. She was torn about a lot of things, but not this. He could read her every thought in those expressive green eyes. This second she was feeling exposed in more ways than one.

He grasped her wrist and pulled her inside the cramped stall. A dozen pornographic thoughts crossed his mind. A hundred romantic thoughts tortured his soul.

She raised her face to the spigot, soaked her golden hair.

He could stare at her for eons. So pale. So pretty. Usually he went for the buxom, voluptuous type, but River's delicately boned body was a smoking hot turn-on.

Spenser's mind raced, his conscience twinged. He wanted this, but he didn't. He squeezed liquid soap into his palms, admiring her toned curves before pressing his front to her back. The sensation of skin on skin intensified his already burning need. Surely she felt his hard-on pulsing against her lush ass, but she didn't flinch. Didn't bolt.

Oh, hell.

His heart pounded as he soaped her arms, her breasts. Small. Round. Firm.
Perfect.
His thumbs grazed her pebbled nipples.

She gasped. “I've never done anything like this before,” she whispered as he soaped her taut belly.

His fingers ached to slide south, but he heard the hesitation in her voice, felt the tension in her body. She wanted this, but she didn't. Spenser stilled. “In spite of what I said this afternoon, about not refusing sex the next time you offered—”

She turned in his arms, wet, naked and so goddamned pretty it made his chest hurt. She slaked water from her face and nailed him with those earnest green eyes. “I know what you're thinking.”

He was thinking he wanted to bury himself between her beautiful legs for a month.

“You're thinking I was jilted. I'm vulnerable. You're thinking I'm sheltered. Conservative. You're thinking I
had a roller coaster day, that I'm not myself and that I'll regret this in the morning.”

“There is that.”

“I'm thinking of this as a damage control.”

His lip twitched. “How so?”

“You were right. There
is
something between us,” she said. “Some spark. I've never felt anything like it.

You don't want it. I don't want it. Maybe if we act on it, it'll go away.”

“Scratch the itch?”

“Sort of. If we don't act, the itch will only get worse.

Instead of concentrating on the rugged terrain we'll be distracted by sexual tension. If we're distracted, there's a chance one of us will mess up and get hurt.”

He smiled down at that angelic face. “Logical, but…” He trailed off as she squirted soap into her palms then lathered his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. The feel of her hands—caressing, exploring—ignited his blood. He groaned when she wrapped her soapy fingers around his rock-hard shaft. “What are you doing?”

“Taking the lead.” She was staring at his cock like shiny new bling, or maybe she was simply avoiding his gaze. “You said you like being dominant, but that it's a turn-on when the woman takes control,” she rambled as she stroked. “You said—”

“You talk too much when you're nervous.”

She glanced up, desire sparking hot in her eyes. “Then shut me up.”

He kissed her with the passion of a star-crossed lover.
One hand cradled her face while the other slid over her slick back, the swell of her hip, the curve of her ass.

She let go of his cock in order to press her length against him. She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, infused their kiss with a torrid passion that torched his brain cells.

The water pounded. The steam swirled.

He broke the kiss, desperate to suckle her breasts, to taste her folds.

“Show me some of your tricks,” she whispered.

“Looking to spice things up, angel?”

“Yes.”

“Ever made love in the shower?”

“Never.”

He was so hot for this woman, he couldn't think straight. He'd blame the tequila, but this was lust. Lust infused with love. He kissed her again, then maneuvered her around. He wanted to obliterate that bastard ex-fiancé from her mind. He wanted to give her sex like she'd never had it before. He placed her hands on the tiles, kissed the back of her neck, then nipped her earlobe. “Do you want it slow or fast?”

“I…I don't know.”

He squeezed her nipples, rolled and plucked. “Sweet torturous foreplay?” He abandoned her breasts, slid his hand between her legs and probed her wetness. “Or instant gratification?”

She moaned. “Fast,” she said. “This time.”

Implying this was going to be a long night or maybe the first of many. “You're killing me, hon.”

“Please don't bite the dust before I get my instant gratification.”

He smiled at that. Angel and devil rolled into one. He angled her body and thrust deep from behind.

He absorbed her lusty groan, savored her tightness.

Oh,
hell.

His body pulsed with a heady rush. Being inside River was more thrilling than discovering an ancient relic. Blindsided, he spoke close to her ear before taking her fast and furious. “This one's for you, River. Slow will be for me.”

She was walking down the aisle. He was standing at the altar. He looked besotted. Her own heart fluttered.

She was smitten, too. A lifetime of incredible sex. A lifetime with Spenser. She was giddy with excitement. Brimming with love. Burning with lust.

But then he was gone. He had a show to shoot. Myths to debunk. Treasures to discover.

“If those mountains don't kill you, they'll make you go mad.”

The curse.

Bovedine gone. Mel gone. Henry gone. Spenser…

“No!” River's eyes flew open. Her heart pounded.

“Easy.” Spenser pulled her into his arms. He pushed damp curls from her face and kissed her forehead.

She clawed through the mental cobwebs, willed her pulse steady.

“Bad dream?”

“Didn't start off that way,” she whispered against his chest.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She thought about how thrilled she'd been at the prospect of marrying him. As if that could or would ever happen. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I never drifted off. Not completely. You, on the other hand—”

“I was exhausted. Between the roller coaster day and our nocturnal gymnastics…”

He laughed.

“I had no idea I could bend into so many positions.”

“A pleasant discovery on both our parts.”

She flushed thinking about all the ways they'd made love. And with the lights on! After making her come in the shower, he'd toweled her dry, laid her on the bed then kissed, licked and savored every inch of her body. Sweet torturous foreplay. She'd lost count of her orgasms, but she remembered all the positions. She remembered all his sexy, dirty talk and the besotted expression on his face when he'd finally allowed himself to peak. She remembered falling asleep in his arms and dreading the morning.

Now the first streaks of dawn permeated the bungalow. The last vestiges of sleep faded away.

As if reading her mind, Spenser smoothed a calloused palm down her bare arm. “Regrets?”

“No.” It was strange. She thought she'd feel guilty for betraying David. Even though he'd left her, he still owned her heart. Or so she'd thought. “But I am confused.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She needed to sort through her feelings, her relationship with David. She needed to get a handle on what she felt for Spenser. Anything more meaningful
than friendship or lust was dangerous. Even now, lying like this, talking like this, she was treading in risky territory.

Conscious of Spenser's weighted stare, she eased back and met his gaze. “What?”

“Kylie said you were intensely private.”

She shrugged. She equated expressing her feelings with being shut out or shut down. There always seemed to be some adverse effect.

“I want to know what makes you tick, angel. How you developed so many phobias. I want to hear about your childhood. Your relationship with your parents.”

“I don't talk about those things.”

“Why not?”

Her insides froze. “Because they make me feel bad. Do you like discussing things that make you feel bad? What happened on your last trek into the Llanganatis? Mel said you were crippled with guilt. Why? What did Lana mean when she said she's glad you've put the past behind you? What's behind your love-hate relationship with Baños?”

Spenser dragged a hand over his face. “You're right. No thrill in discussing painful topics. On the other hand, keeping all that angst inside sucks, too. The hurt, the regret, frustration, bitterness, guilt, shame—whatever—it just…festers. I've been living with a mountain of angst for a long time, River. I want to move on.”

She rose up on one elbow and stared down at the insanely bewildering man beside her. “Are you for real?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's just that you're this macho, thrill-seeking adventurer. A textbook alpha male. The provider. The protector. Yet you say the mushiest things. Mr. Sensitive. Mr. Insightful. I don't get you, Spenser McGraw. You're an enigma.”

“You mean, like you?” He winked. “Makes us an interesting match.”

She flashed on her good-dream-turned-nightmare. “We're an awful match.”

“Why?”

“I could name a dozen reasons.”

“Name one.”

“I can't live your life.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I need stability. I need order. I need—”

“Show me the shots.”

“What?”

“Yesterday in the canopy. I was worried about your safety and you were snapping pictures of monkeys.”

“It wasn't just the monkeys. That high up, beyond the canopy, I could see what I thought was a snow-topped volcano.”

“Cerro Hermoso”

“I just…I was mesmerized. It looked so far, but near. So forbidding, yet surreal. Henry's there, I thought.
There.
But where? It's so…”

“Massive.”

“Yes. And—”

“We'll find him.”

“You can't know that for sure.”

He stroked her cheek. “We'll give it our best shot. Speaking of shots…”

“Oh, all right.” Heart pounding, River nabbed her Nikon from the bedside table. She dreaded sharing those photos with Spenser. Silly, since she shared her work with people all the time. Silly, because she was used to her work being judged. Except this wasn't her normal work. Monkeys versus people. Volcanoes versus wedding cakes. Photographing in the wild…she was out of her element, her comfort zone.

“I promise I won't break it.”

River started. “What?”

Spenser grinned. “You've got a death grip on that camera. Hard for me to see the three-inch screen when you've got it pressed to your chest.”

“It's just that they're crude, untouched, I mean. I haven't had a chance to—”

Spenser pried the Nikon from her grip, powered on. Obviously, he had some knowledge of digital cameras.

“Use this button to scroll forward and back. And this one to zoom in and out.” River scooted closer so she could see what he saw. Lying on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, heads angled together…naked. She'd certainly never viewed photos like this with Ella. “I should have framed that one differently,” she said, frowning at the shot of four… “What kind of monkeys are those anyway? Do you know?”

“Squirrel monkeys. Unusual to see an isolated few. They usually roam the treetops in troops of twenty to a
hundred. Interesting shot. Intimate. And you framed it just fine.”

He scrolled back, an action shot of zip-lining from her point of view, the jungle canopy a green blur, the tips of her trekking boots… Criminy. “I was trying to capture the feeling of well, flying, only I didn't set the shutter speed right and…”

“Shhh.”

River lay still, pulse racing as Spenser studied the pictures she'd taken over the last two days. Pictures she'd snapped through the window of the speeding bus, shots of volcanoes, waterfalls and tropical birds. Shots of Baños—the architecture and the surrounding mountains. As a professional, she found fault with each picture, but that didn't diminish the wonder every scenic photo inspired. With a little tweaking, some retouching and…

“Whoa.”

River blinked at the monitor, smiled. “Oh. That's Carla Aubry. Or rather her thigh. She and her husband were bawdy newlyweds, a lot of fun, actually. I thought they'd appreciate a close-up of Richard sliding the garter, well…you can see.”

“Uh-huh.” Spenser grinned. “Sexy.” He scrolled through a few more of the wedding shots she'd yet to delete. “I can see why my sister and Jack hired you to shoot their wedding. Kylie didn't want you just because you're a friend.” He glanced at her with bald appreciation. “You're a skilled photographer, River.”

Her cheeks burned, her heart fluttered. “Thank you.”

“You have an artistic flair with people, but…”

“What?”

He set the camera on his bedside table. “I like the nature shots even better.”

She blinked. “I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

He brushed a thumb over her red-hot cheeks. “You're right. Those jungle shots are crude, as in raw, as in
passionate.
Are you happy being a wedding photographer?”

Another uncomfortable subject because, no, she wasn't. Not completely. But it offered stability and she was good at it. “I'm good with people. I tune in to their personalities and that enables me to recognize the perfect photo op. Take now, for instance. You.”

She reached over Spenser, grabbed her camera, then scooted to the edge of the bed.

He rolled on his side, propped up on one elbow, and raised a questioning, sexy brow. His heated gaze slid over her body.

She didn't care that she was naked. The point was Spenser was naked. And he looked…incredible. Yes, she wanted to distract him from a conversation she didn't want to have, but also… She looked through the view-finder and focused…. “I've ached to do this ever since I first saw you at the airport in Quito.”

He cocked an ornery grin. “I'm not going to find these posted on the Internet, am I?” he asked as she snapped a shot of his ripped torso.

“Don't insult me.” River continued to snap away,
various angles and compositions. Her artistic eye skimmed the hard planes and contours of his chiseled abdomen and chest, his broad shoulders, smooth back and muscled arms. His stubbled jaw, mussed hair, the twinkle in his beautiful green eyes. She felt a sensual pulse between her legs and,
geez,
he was only exposed from the hips up. Inspired, she flung away the sheets, revealing his sculpted thighs and… “Oh.”

“Mmm.”

He had a hard-on. A
massive
hard-on.

Her stomach coiled tight. Her inner thighs tingled. River licked dry lips and snapped a fully nude shot of an incredibly virile man.

Click. Click. Click.

“You could probably fetch a pretty penny for these from
Playgirl,
” Spenser teased in a gruff, low voice. “I'm a celebrity, you know.”

“So I hear.”

“I can't believe you've never seen my show.”

“Don't take it personally.”

He smiled. “By my estimation you've taken two dozen shots in less than three minutes.”

“I'll delete them if you want,” she said, feeling a little guilty and a lot horny.

“No. I like the idea of you ogling naked pictures of me.” He winked then and relieved her of the camera. “Are you as turned on as me?”

“Incredibly turned on.”

Spenser rolled on top of her and covered her mouth with his own. His tongue swept inside, igniting her
passion. His hands caressed her naked curves, stoking intimate desires. His kisses were intoxicating. His touch lethal. She could easily imagine becoming addicted to this man, his macho antics and sensitive musings.

She could easily imagine him breaking her heart.

Take control!

River bent her leg, used leverage to flip their position. She took the lead, nabbed a condom packet from the nightstand and tore it open. They'd slipped up the first time last night, in the shower. Unprotected sex in the heat of the moment. Spenser had been quick to address that, and luckily he had an ample supply of Trojans.

“Sweet torturous foreplay?” he asked as she dallied.

She gave him the exact opposite. She straddled his erection and rode him hard. He gripped her waist, groaned his pleasure. Her muscles tensed and quivered. She was flying, soaring, in control, out of control. He rose up, rammed deep and she screamed her release. Limbs melting, lungs burning, River slumped on top of the thrill-seeking treasure hunter.

Beware of the hunters.

Dammit.

Spenser stroked a hand down her back and then, again, reversed their position. “My turn.”

She expected one of those explosive episodes, like in the shower. Like what she'd just done to him. But Spenser took it slow and deep. By the time he brought her to her second orgasm, she couldn't form a coherent thought. By the time he climaxed, she was nearly
comatose. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly, and she nearly wept for the beauty of the moment. “Damn you,” she whispered.

“You're an adventurer, River.”

“Maybe a long time ago.”

“It's still there. The fire. The curiosity.”

He said things she longed to hear, but the timing…the timing was terribly wrong. She framed his face with her hands. “Listen to me. I have a plan, a mission. Rescue Henry from whatever mess he's in, then hash out our past issues. Closure. I'm here for closure. With Henry. With David. I want to move on, too, Spenser. But I have to do it in my world. I have a business. A…house.” She started to say a life, but she wasn't all that nuts about what she'd be going back to.
At least it's stable. Safe.

He raised a brow. “So you're telling me I'm moving too fast? Crank it down a notch?”

She gawked, then laughed. “Don't you ever give up?”

“That's right. You've never watched my show.”

“That really bugs you, doesn't it?”

“Actually…no.” He flashed a devastating smile. “But it does put you at a disadvantage.”

“How so?”

“Hundreds of thousands, no, millions of viewers, unlike you, know what makes me tick.”

She smirked. “Enlighten me. Short version, please.”

“I've searched for the Holy Grail, Excalibur, Montezuma's treasure, Black Beard's treasure, the Ark of
the Covenant and the Seven Cities of Cibola. Some of them twice. One of these days I'll shout,
eureka!
It's all in working the puzzle, unraveling the mystery. You're looking at a man who believes in infinite possibilities, angel.”

River stared up in him in awe, grappled for a response and failed.