Tempted by His Target (12 page)

Maybe he was legitimately cold.

The fire was crackling in the main room, beginning to lick at the small logs he’d tossed in the hearth. He’d also removed his wet shirt, and didn’t that add insult to injury? She’d seen bigger men, but none as well-proportioned. His lean muscles rippled in the firelight. He had a smattering of hair across his chest and more trailing down his etched stomach.

Before now, she’d have said that she preferred a smooth torso. But there was something so tantalizing about his rough-hewn flesh. One look at his raw, elemental male beauty converted her.

“Here,” she said, throwing a blanket at him.

“Thanks.” Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, he draped it over his shoulders.

She settled in beside him, noting that he’d hung his shirt on the back of a chair to dry. She’d have to do the same if she wanted a dry outfit to wear tomorrow. Throwing her dirty garments into the flames sounded more appealing, however.

They stared at the flickering fire, saying nothing. Soon, the room began to warm, and her trembling subsided.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” he said.

She gave him an incredulous look.
Now
he wanted her clothes off?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, appearing tired and frustrated and at odds with himself.

“Look, I don’t have any condoms. Do you?”

“No,” she said, surprised. She’d assumed a man like him would be prepared.

“We can have a pretty good time without them, of course, but I think that would be tempting fate.”

Her bitterness dissolved into a warm puddle of sexual images. Yes, she’d enjoy kissing and touching him all over, but what she wanted most was him inside her. And, after a long session of foreplay, she might beg for it.

He groaned, as if reading her thoughts. “I have other reasons, too.”

“Like what?”

“The fact that you’re on the run, for one.”

She adjusted her blanket, uncomfortable.

“You also won’t tell me why those men are after you, or what really happened.”

“I can’t talk about it,” she said automatically, her shoulders stiffening. It was too difficult, too painful.

“If our situations were reversed, and I said I’d killed someone, would you feel safe enough to sleep with me?”

Her heart seized in her chest. He seemed to be suggesting that she was a threat to innocent people. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“I think you’d do anything to protect yourself,” he said, his mouth hard.

She flushed with guilt, avoiding his gaze. Apparently, they were at an impasse. He didn’t want to bed a psycho killer, and she couldn’t defend her actions without giving him information that could be used against her.

“Do you want to keep living like this? Ducking and hiding?”

“You don’t understand,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Try me.”

“My mother came looking for me once,” she said, staring out the rain-spattered window. “I’d been calling her from a pay phone in downtown Tijuana. Not to talk, just to hear the sound of her voice. I was scared, and lonely.”

“What happened?”

“I guess she knew it was me calling, because she tracked down the location. She put up missing person posters and stood beside the pay phone for hours.”

“Did you approach her?”

Isabel shook her head, bleak. “I couldn’t. There was a man waiting in the alley the whole time. Watching her. He spotted me and gave chase.”

“He didn’t catch you?”

“No. I was lucky, because he was armed and I wasn’t. I left Tijuana that night and started training, preparing for the next encounter.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he could have killed her! If I’d let down my guard, and run to my mother, like I wanted to, he might have shot us both. Don’t you see? Anyone close to me is at risk. Anyone who knows what I did is at risk.”

“I can defend myself, Isabel. I can defend us both.”

“What if they go after
your
family because you decided to play the hero? Can you live with that? Because I can’t.”

He came up behind her, grasping her upper arms. “I want to help you,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “Let me.”

She shivered at his touch, her skin pebbling. But instead of leaning into his warm body, she shied away. “Don’t. I shouldn’t even be here with you. I can’t give you what you want.” And he couldn’t give her what she wanted—damn him.

He raked a hand through his hair, sighing.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” she said, her voice flat. “I’m not tired yet, and you only slept a few hours on the bus.”

With a curt nod, he left the room, appearing as unsatisfied as she felt. She stared out the window for a long moment, trying not to let her emotions rule. Maybe it was better this way. The intensity of their attraction disturbed her, and she knew they couldn’t have a real relationship. He was a tourist; she was a fugitive. Sooner or later, he would leave. It would be easier if she didn’t get attached.

Darkness closed in and the rain let up. She fed the fire another log and glanced around the small room. There was a kerosene lamp on the table and a cast-iron cook pot near the hearth. She’d kill for a hot bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d soaked in a tub. That wasn’t going to happen, but she could wash her face, at least, and rinse out her clothes before she hung them up to dry.

She slipped out the front door and did a visual search of the grounds, looking for a hose or water spigot. A quaint little structure on the hillside caught her eye. A well—of course. There was a sturdy plastic bucket beside the door. She picked it up, moving quickly in the fading evening light. Rainwater dripped from the eaves and tree branches, splashing her face. Filling the bucket wasn’t a difficult task, but it took time and effort. She transferred the first gallon to the cook pot and went back for one more.

Brandon didn’t complain about the minor commotion she was making. Perhaps he guessed what she was doing. The mattress springs creaked under his weight but he didn’t get up. She locked the front door as a precaution and put the pot over the fire. While she was waiting for the water to heat, she found some string and fashioned a simple clothesline.

The cabin wasn’t devoid of all amenities. There was a small crate in the corner with strips of linen and a bar of soap inside. She sat down on the rug in front of the fire, rubbing her bare arms. Soon, steam rose from the water, and the room glowed with warmth. She removed the pot from the fire and dipped the linen inside, testing the temperature. It was perfect. Tugging off her wet clothes, she took a leisurely sponge bath, dragging the rough fabric over her naked limbs.

Although she was aware that Brandon could walk in at any moment, she didn’t rush. Maybe he was listening to the soft splash of water, picturing her like this. She wanted him to want her. To ache like she ached.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to set aside the linen washcloth. Her nipples jutted forward, begging for more stimulation. Between her legs, she was moist and swollen. The temptation to touch herself was overwhelming.

Flushing, she wrapped a blanket around her wet body and tossed her clothes into the soapy water. After giving them a good scrub, she rinsed the garments, wrung them out as best she could and hung them up to dry.

Brandon’s clothes needed washing, too. She listened for the sound of bedsprings but heard only his deep breathing. So much for him lying awake, pining for her. On tiptoe, she sneaked into the bedroom and grabbed his cargo pants from the floor.

He reached out and locked his hand around her wrist, fast as lightning.

“You don’t want me to wash these?” she asked, her heart pounding.

With a low groan, he let go of her, rolling over in bed. His response was muffled, incoherent. She wasn’t sure he’d actually woken up. Unsettled by his quick reflexes, she took the pants with her, along with his socks and boxer shorts.

When the washing was finished, she curled up in front of the fire with the thin blanket, using a folded towel as a pillow. If she climbed into bed with Brandon, he’d probably get up to stand guard. She didn’t think Carranza’s men would be searching remote cabins near the Guatemalan border in the middle of the night, however. Without a good four-wheel drive vehicle, they’d have trouble getting here during the day.

For now, she felt safe.

She also felt restless, despite her fatigue. Flames danced in the hearth, warming the small space, inviting her to bare all. She wanted to be naked here, in front of the fire.

If she had a little more nerve, she’d let the blanket fall off her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts. She would cup her tender flesh and toy with her stiff nipples, pinching them gently. When she was ready, she would smooth her hand down her belly and part her trembling thighs, stroking herself to climax.

The possibility of getting caught made the fantasy twice as hot. Would Brandon enjoy watching her?

Although she longed for release, and a blissful sleep, she wouldn’t be satisfied with her own soft touch. She wanted his rough handling, his callused fingers and aggressive mouth. She wanted his firm grip, holding her wrists over her head. His hard chest against her breasts. His thick length, filling every inch of her.

But she couldn’t have that. She couldn’t have any of that.

Eyes glittering with unshed tears, she rolled away from the fire. Naked, and alone, and emptier than ever.

When Isabel fell silent, Brandon breathed a sigh of relief, stifling the urge to grind his erection against the mattress.

He’d listened to her bathe, his ears straining for every sound, imagination running wild. He wanted to hear her soft panting and sweet little gasps of pleasure. He wanted her sobbing with ecstasy, shuddering beneath him.

That was impossible, so he tortured himself with solo fantasies. Although he doubted she was masturbating quietly, less than ten feet away from him, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The idea of her touching her pretty breasts, or fingering her slick, hot sex while she moaned his name, drove him over the edge.

He wanted her so damned bad.

Closing his eyes, he focused on controlling his breathing. His stiff arousal surged against the sheets, threatening to erupt. Kissing her had been a mistake. He wished he could erase the feel of her body and the taste of her mouth.

Now he knew how good it would be between them.

He forced himself to relax, calm down and consider his objective. Trust and integrity were huge in his line of work. He couldn’t throw his career away for one hot night. Getting romantically involved with a target was against the rules.

She’d also be devastated when she found out who he really was. Sleeping with her under false pretenses was like…sexual warfare. It wasn’t moral, or ethical, or decent. He didn’t lie to women to get them in bed.

He couldn’t have her. Bottom line.

Normally he collected information that could be used against the target. Circumstantial evidence, background history, criminal connections. With Isabel, he’d started doing the opposite. He wanted to help exonerate her.

Maybe if he cleared her name, they could meet again, start over. But it was far more likely that she’d hate him forever.

Gritting his teeth, he punched the pillow under his head. No matter what, he was destined to do wrong by her.

He was contractually obligated to betray her.

When his blood had cooled, and the only sound coming from the main room was that of the crackling logs, he rose from the bed. Securing the blanket around his waist, he walked through the open doorway. Isabel was curled up on the floor, her hands tucked beneath her head, hair spilling across her bare shoulders.

Their wet clothes hung on a string-line near the hearth, her panties next to his shorts. He’d never had a live-in girlfriend, and couldn’t recall a woman ever washing his clothes before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Luckily, he’d transferred the important documents from his cargo pants to a hidden compartment in his backpack.

Isabel didn’t wake when he knelt before her, scooping her off the ground. She was heavier than he’d figured, and her sleeping form made an unwieldy bundle. He could smell her hair and feel the silken heat of her skin as he carried her toward the bedroom. Hoping she wouldn’t rouse, he placed her on the mattress as gingerly as possible.

He wanted to strip away the blanket and eat her with his eyes. But it was dark in the room, and he’d only just gained mastery over his desire. Studying her nude body while she slept was also an invasion of privacy.

Clenching his jaw, he covered her with the bedsheets and walked away.

After checking the lock and doing a final sweep of the premises, he settled down in the space she’d just inhabited. He didn’t toss another log on, as the room was warm enough and smoke gave away their presence. It wasn’t a big concern because most houses in Tapachula had cooking fires, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

There was a damp washcloth hanging over the plastic bucket. On impulse, he brought the fabric to his nose and inhaled. It smelled like mild soap and cool water and Isabel. Longing welled up inside him, from a deeper place than lust. Wrapping the cloth around his fist, he pressed his lips to it, staring at the glowing embers until sleep overtook him.

Chapter 10

I
sabel awoke to a strange sound.

Opening her eyes, she realized that she was alone in the bedroom. The room was bright with early-morning light. Sitting up in bed, she clutched the sheet to her chest, listening for another sharp crack.

It came, preceded by a faint hissing sound.

The striped blanket she’d been using as a toga was tangled around her ankles. She wrapped it around her body and walked to the window, curious. Brandon was outside, stripped to the waist, chopping wood. The cargo pants she’d washed last night rode low on his hips and his chest glistened with perspiration. While she watched, he drew back the ax and let it sing through the air, splitting a thick log.

She backed away from the window, her throat dry. It wasn’t fair for a man to be so relentlessly good-looking. Shivering, she walked into the main room. The fire had burned down to ash, and he’d replaced the wash water with a fresh bucket. Noticing the ladle hanging by the hearth, she dipped it into the bucket, getting herself a cool drink.