Dangerous Desires (22 page)

Her eyes flashed with understanding. “You thought I’d run again.”

He nodded.

“I see.” She sucked in a breath, her fingers lacing together. “Well, for the record, I grabbed the stack without realizing how much money was there. And the bulk of it is on the kitchen counter. Next to a change of clothes—for you. Mine aren’t the only ones that have seen better days.”

She let her gaze run up and down him, and despite the fact that he was still angry with her, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to take her right here in the candlelit courtyard.

“Look, Madeline, I…”

“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Nothing matters tonight except that we’re here and we’re safe. Everything else will keep until the morning. All right?” Her gaze was hopeful, and he felt guilty for believing the worst of her.

“I’ll go change,” he said, turning to leave, still feeling as if he’d let her down somehow.

“Wait,” she said, her hand on his arm. “What about your wound? Do you want me to help you dress it?”

He sucked in a breath, knowing it was a stupid idea—letting her touch him. “I did it myself.”

“And I’m sure you did a fine job.” She nodded. “Except that it’s difficult to bandage yourself. Especially a shoulder.” She reached for the neck of his T-shirt, pulling it down. “Not bad. But you need more padding.”

“So what? Now you’re a nurse?”

A shadow crossed her face, and he wished the words back. Hell, everything he said was coming out all wrong.

“When my father was on a tear he could do a lot of damage,” she murmured. “So I guess the nursing skills are a product of necessity. Cypress Bluff didn’t offer much in the way of medical care.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting a hand to caress her face. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Just as well,” she said, her gaze meeting his. “I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone. But tonight isn’t about the past—or the future. It’s about now. About letting go and enjoying the moment. So let’s go back inside and I’ll rewrap this and then we can have our dinner.”

“There’s food?” he asked, as she shoved him toward the door. Living in the now had a hell of a lot of appeal, and not just on the sensual level. He wanted her. There was no denying the fact, but he also craved something more. A sense of normalcy. And the idea that if even for a night, the two of them could pretend to be regular people leading regular lives—well, it was a hell of a fantasy.

“Yes, of course,” she was saying. “That was actually the point of going out in the first place. Your safe house might be safe, but it’s poorly stocked.”

They walked back into the house and for the first time he noticed the smell of something wonderful bubbling on the stove.

“That smells amazing,” he said, as she pushed him toward the bedroom.

“Just some stuff I bought in the market,” she said, tossing the clean clothes on the bed and indicating that he should sit down. “Take off your shirt.”

For just a moment his imagination went into overdrive, but he pushed the images aside as she picked up the medical kit, her intent clearly business. With a wince, he lifted his arms and removed the shirt, noticing that his makeshift bandage had already come loose.

She carefully peeled it off. “It hasn’t started bleeding again. Which is a good sign. And it looks like it’s clean.” She probed the wound, and he winced again. “Sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure the bullet was gone.”

“No worries there.” He twisted so that she could see his back. “There’s an exit wound.”

“Right. I forgot.” She ripped several strips from the pillowcase, folding them into two small pads, one for the front and one for the back. “At least that should help it heal. I’d say, all things considered, you’re a pretty lucky man.”

“And you really do know your way around a bandage,” he said, as she spread antibiotic on one of the pads.

“Yeah, well, as I said,” she said, keeping her eyes on her work, “my father wasn’t keen on doctors. Too many questions.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she shook her head. “It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge.” She shrugged, using some tape to secure the bandages. “There you go.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork. “All done.”

“I don’t suppose you bought any aspirin when you were out in the market?” he said, rotating his shoulder to test the bandage, the pain bearable but still uncomfortable.

“No. But I did remember the rum.” She smiled. “Put on your new clothes and then we’ll have a drink while I finish heating our dinner.”

She walked out the door and he shook his head,
wondering how someone could come through all that she’d endured and still be able to smile like that. He understood the will to survive. But with Madeline there was something more. As if somehow she’d been able to keep a part of herself separate from all the ugliness.

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside, almost before it was fully formed. Women lied, used whatever tools necessary to obtain what they wanted. It was a cynical view. But it was the only way to protect his heart. Better to take a step back than risk getting hurt again.

He changed into the pants and shirt she’d bought, grateful for the feel of clean cotton next to his skin. Then, after tucking the gun into the back of the pants, he walked back into the living room to find Madeline behind the counter, stirring the pot and humming softly to herself.

“The clothes are great,” he said, sliding onto a barstool, careful to keep his tone neutral. “So what am I smelling?” he asked, moving the subject to safer ground.

“It’s called
sancocho.
A fish stew. Ingredients vary by location, but I figured since we’re on the coast it’s probably going to be good. And I bought
arepas
—these are corn. They’re sweeter than tortillas you’ll find at home, but I find they offset the stew nicely.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I’ve lived in Colombia for over three years now. It’d be impossible not to have gained a little knowledge about local specialties. The rum’s over there.” She nodded toward the far end of the counter. “I didn’t know how you liked it. So there’s fruit juice—or if you prefer, just some fresh lime.”

“What are you having?” he asked, walking over to the makeshift bar.

“Rum and
feijoa
. It’s a kind of guava. Really sweet. I like it.”

“Think maybe I’ll stick with the lime.”

“I suspected that might be more your style. You don’t seem like an umbrella drink kind of guy.”

“Actually, I prefer scotch. Straight. But when in the tropics—” he said, squeezing a lime into his glass, then raising it. “Cheers.”

“To better days.” She lifted her glass and then took a sip, the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed, their gazes locking for one long smoldering moment.

Drake took a long drink, clamping down on his surging hormones, while Madeline put her glass back on the counter, making a play of stirring the stew. At least his wasn’t the only libido on overdrive.

“I think it’s done,” Madeline said, lifting a spoon to her lips, to verify. “Why don’t you grab the
arepas
and I’ll bring the stew. The table’s already set outside.”

He grabbed the basket with the tortillas and his drink and followed behind her, his eyes locked on the soft swaying of the skirt as her hips moved beneath it. After placing the food on the table, they sat down, and Madeline ladled the stew into earthenware bowls.

“Enjoy,” she said as they began to eat.

Drake wasn’t sure if it was the company or the fact that he hadn’t eaten real food in days, but the stew was heavenly. “This is great,” he said, reaching for a tortilla and dipping it into the broth.

“So you’re not mad anymore that I went to the market?” she asked, a little frown cutting across her forehead.

“I wish you’d told me,” he said, taking another bite, “but no, I’m not mad. This is perfect.”

“I’m glad,” she said, with a crooked little smile. “I wanted to do something nice. And they do say that the way to a man’s heart is—” she cut herself off, the smile fading. “I’m sorry that didn’t sound right. I just meant that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“Well, it’s not over, until we’re safely out of here. Which means we have to stay alert. And you can’t go running off without telling me.”

“I know. I should have said something. But you were in the shower, and I really wanted to surprise you. Anyway, I won’t do it again,” she promised, solemnly. “Did you talk to your friends?”

“I did. And they’re on their way. They should be here early tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” She frowned.

“I thought you’d be pleased. I mean the sooner we’re out of here, the less likely it is that di Silva will find us. And you’ll be free.”

“I know,” she said, her face shuttering. “I guess I was just enjoying this respite. I mean, once you get me back to D.C., it’s going to be all about protective custody and testifying. Not exactly freedom in the true sense of the word.”

“I guess I can see that,” he said. “But it’s got to be better than being forced to work for di Silva’s organization.” He nodded toward the fading bruise beneath her eye and self-consciously she reached up to touch it.

“Absolutely. But there’s a part of me that wishes I could go back. Do it differently. Somehow keep Jenny alive.”

“I think you did everything you could,” he said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “Given the situation, you made the right choices. Sometimes that just isn’t enough.”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes sparkling with
unshed tears. “Thank you for that. It means more than you can possibly know.”

“Hey, I thought we were supposed to be living in the moment,” he said, purposefully shifting the mood. “So no more thinking about the past.”

“Or the future.” She nodded. “At least until tomorrow.” They sat for a moment listening to the sounds of the night. And then she smiled. “Do you hear that?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, come on. The music. It’s coming from the market.” She closed her eyes, swaying a little as the melodic sound of drums and guitars carried on the breeze. “When I was little my mother played her records and my sister and I would dance. And in that moment, nothing could hurt us.”

“Then we should dance,” he said, holding out his hand. “Although I should warn you I’m not that good at it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She smiled as he pulled her to her feet. “There’s no one here to see you but me.” She pulled close, their elbows bending between them, and then moved back again, arms straight, following the infectious Latin beat.

They moved around the courtyard, his feet miraculously following her movements. And as the music swelled to a crescendo, he whirled her around, his hand at the small of her back, dropping her into a deep dip at the end of the turn.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” she said, eyes wide with pleasure and surprise as he pulled her upright again.

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I was just winging it.”

“Well, I liked it.” She swayed gently as the band started a new tune, this one soft and slow. They stood in silence as the tune drifted across the courtyard, and then
she lifted her arms. For a moment he considered refusing her, knowing that they were playing with fire. But in the end desire trumped reason and he pulled her close as they began to move together to the sweet, seductive sound.

She laid her cheek against his chest, her breathing slowing to match his, their bodies moving in sync as if they’d danced together often. She sighed, and he tightened his arms around her as they swayed back and forth, letting the music carry them around the courtyard.

He rested his chin on her head, the fragrance from her hair teasing his senses. The breeze brushed against them as they moved, carrying the sweet scent of hibiscus and the pulsing sound of the music. It circled them like a cocoon, keeping reality at bay. There was nothing here but the two of them. And for the moment at least, that suited Drake just fine.

They rocked together slowly, back and forth, no longer moving, just holding each other. The music changed, the tempo faster, but they stayed together, neither willing to break the spell.

Finally, Madeline mumbled something against his shirt. “It’s not a slow dance anymore,” she repeated, her voice clearer as she lifted her head.

“I know,” he said, still not willing to let her go.

“Then maybe we should—” she started, but broke off as her gaze met his, her breath coming in an odd little gasp.

With a groan, he bent his head, slanting his lips over hers as he took possession of her mouth. It started as a gentle kiss, a counter note to the melody drifting over from the market, and then like a variation on a theme it became more sensual. More hungry.

She opened her mouth, welcoming him inside, and he relished the thrust of her tongue as they tasted each other. Thrusting and parrying. The tactile sensation becoming their own private language, both of them advancing and retreating. Giving and taking. A prelude of things to come.

His hands moved in slow, languid circles across her back, his breath lifting the tendrils of hair around her face. She moved closer, her hands twining through his hair, and the kiss built in intensity, passion coiling deep inside him. He wanted her. More than he’d wanted anything in a long time. Maybe it was the music, or hormones—hell, maybe he was just a fool.

He reached behind her, loosening her braid, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders. She laughed and tipped back her head. And he kissed her ears, her nose, his mouth trailing kisses along the line of her throat to the valley between her breasts. Her skin was soft and supple, smooth as silk.

His pulse pounding in his groin, he kissed his way back to her ear, dipping his tongue inside, sucking on the lobe, using his tongue to tease her, building the sensation until she squirmed beneath his touch, her breath shuddering in gasps of delight.

Madeline couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel like this. As if anything were possible. She turned her head, taking his mouth again with hers. Loving the feel of his lips against hers, his beard rough against her face. She pushed closer, feeling his erection hard against her stomach. Her thighs clenched as her body demanded more, and she stood on tiptoe, pressing her heat against his.