Hold Me (3 page)

Chapter Three

Jane needed rest, yet sleep evaded her. If a body could burn from mortification and frustrated lust, hers did. She lay on her cot in the tiny room, facing away from Harrison. How could she have read him so wrong? A spider—probably the one that had awakened her—crawled up the wall, and she studied it with intense concentration. But it wasn’t the spider’s fault that she had made such a fool of herself. The effects of the margaritas had worn off so she couldn’t blame the alcohol, either.

She had never disrobed that way for a total stranger. Never mind that the stranger was completely hot and noble to boot, or that the tropical heat had fired up her hormone levels. The feel of Harrison’s hard body against hers had been exhilarating. Two years had passed since she and her last lover had broken up. Harrison was right there and highly attractive. Was she wrong to want one night of blissful respite from her grief? Contact with his fine male physique, combined with the chirp of cicadas and the sultry air, must have pushed her beyond her boundaries. Surely, that could account for her lingering state of arousal.

Who was she kidding?

An unfamiliar lightning-hot desire seared through her. Despite her embarrassment, she longed to feel Harrison’s mouth on her body. When he’d raised the straps of her nightgown, his hands brushed her skin and she’d shivered in delight. She shivered again just thinking about it. The man radiated heat. Had she imagined a reciprocal flare of desire? She must have. Otherwise why would he have stopped?

Oh, lord.

Was he married?

She turned and watched him sleep, the dawn light seeping through the slats of the window shades. In repose, his features looked boyish. He definitely reminded her of someone and he hadn’t liked it when she intimated that she recognized him. What did he have to hide?

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his muscled chest tanned and smooth. A light dusting of dark hair spread across his torso. Her eyes followed its path over his abs to where it ended, covered by the thin blanket. It would have been such a pleasure to touch him. Reluctantly, she raised her gaze back to his face and found him looking at her.

Jane’s heart leapt. Would the embarrassment never end? She flushed, grabbed her suit jacket from the end of her cot, and pulled it on. Feeling him watching, she stuffed her feet into her pumps and gritted her teeth, regretting that she hadn’t packed sensible shoes. She blamed the stress of her mother’s death for her forgetfulness. Tomorrow, she would buy sandals.

The clatter of pots and pans indicated the kitchen would open soon. Avoiding eye contact with Harrison, Jane found her toiletries and headed to the bathroom, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.

A couple of tourists in their early twenties passed her on the way to the showers. One of them, a male with a dirty- looking goatee, whistled at her. She shot him a quelling look and pulled her jacket closed. The anonymity she had felt in the middle of the night had added to her false sense of security with Harrison. Back in New Mexico, people knew her face, and she had to be careful about who she was seen with in public. Glancing around her now, she realized she wasn’t as far from her viewership as she’d thought. Most of the emerging guests were white and probably from the States.

She entered the ladies bathroom, found an empty shower stall, and looked around—no curtain, no towels. The hostel redefined cheap. How much could a shower curtain cost, for heaven’s sake? Someone could walk by at any time and see her naked. Jane hesitated a moment, then thought of facing the day without a shower. To hell with privacy. She stripped off her nightdress and draped it over one of the concrete walls.

Lukewarm water trickled from the showerhead, but at least it wasn’t cold. Keeping one eye out for spiders and an ear perked for other patrons, Jane soaped her skin as the water drizzled over her hair and face. The dirt and stress of two days’ travel swirled down the drain. She even began to feel better about her midnight adventure with her handsome companion. Although he’d rebuffed her advances, he hadn’t appeared disgusted—merely patient, with what seemed like a twinge of regret.

She rinsed off the suds and wondered again if he was in a relationship. He was probably traveling home to his loved ones. Some poor woman might be out there waiting for him, unaware of Jane’s failed seduction. Thank God. Worried, she pulled her clothes back on, not caring if they got damp.

The kitchen area teemed with students and backpackers, dressed far more appropriately than her. A quick perusal confirmed that Harrison wasn’t among them, but after she knocked on their bedroom door and stepped inside, she found that his belongings were gone.

Jane dressed, ignoring the quick stab of loss at the thought of him leaving her behind. As she pulled on jeans, a fitted gray shirt, and those darned heels, she sighed. Abandoned by yet another man. What was it about her that invited rejection? She shook her head. After making sure she’d gathered all her things, she left the scene of her midnight disgrace in search of coffee.

She spotted Harrison at a communal table with four other travelers. Taking a breath of courage, she sauntered toward him, her suitcase in tow, and handed him the can of OFF he’d loaned her last night. He glanced at her outfit, and she wished against all reason that he found her appealing. He took the canister from her fingers and she avoided any accidental touch.

“Coffee?” He lifted his tin billycan of brown brew in her direction.

Jane wished she could read his thoughts but his polite mask was back in place. She took her cue from his behavior and pretended nothing untoward had happened between them. “Yes, please.”

He filled a chipped mug with coffee as she sat on the opposite bench.

One of the travelers seated at the table spoke. “I recognize you.” The man sounded American and looked about Jane’s age, despite his receding hairline.

Across from her, Harrison froze mid-pour.

“Yeah,” the man said. “You do the news on Channel 18, right?”

The comment was addressed to her, and Harrison seemed to relax. Interesting.

Curiosity replaced Jane’s wariness.

She took the cup from him and turned to her fan. “Guilty as charged. Are you from New Mexico?”

“Lived there for a while. Hated Albuquerque.” The man scooted close. By the looks of things, he was settling in for a conversation for which she had no energy.

“Drink that down, babe,” Harrison said. “The bus is about to leave.”

He had called her
babe
. From his lips, the casual endearment sounded sexy as hell. Gulping down the thick dose of caffeine, she rose, offering the American man a polite smile in parting. She tried not to stare at Harrison’s muscular back as she followed him onto the street, but she gave up and indulged herself. What was the harm? She would probably never see him again after this morning; a sobering and lonely thought.

Heavy traffic clogged the streets as they wound their way along the sidewalks. Harrison stopped at a street vendor and bought a burrito. Jane eyed the merchant’s ungloved hands as he laid out a tortilla. Food poisoning would derail her journey, for sure.

“I eat here when I’m in town,” Harrison said. “It’s good.”

“Then I’ll have what you’re having.” Juggling her purse, suitcase, and burrito proved difficult. Harrison took her suitcase without a word. He was quite the gentleman. If only he could have been less of one last night. She sighed and took a big bite of her breakfast, narrowly avoiding an oncoming pedestrian.

The bus station hummed with activity. Seven buses lined up against the curb and travelers queued alongside. Suddenly, Jane became nervous about the road ahead, which ran through Belize City, one of the murder capitals of the world. Forcing herself to appear steady, she extended her hand to Harrison.

He grasped it, confusion creasing his brow.

“I want to apologize for what happened during the night,” she said. The right corner of his mouth lifted with either amusement or scorn, she wasn’t sure which. “For all I know, you’re married.”

“Flores,” the conductor shouted.

“That’s you.” Harrison released her fingers and nodded toward the bus in lane two.

Jane froze. Compared to the others, her bus was a broken-down hunk of metal. A rickety sign that said
Flores
swung from the driver’s-side mirror. No way was there a toilet on that bus. “How long is the trip to El Remate, do you know?”

Harrison hefted her suitcase into the luggage compartment in the side of the bus, muscles flexing beneath his black T-shirt. He shrugged. “Ten to twelve hours, depending.”

She swallowed. “Depending on what?”

“That depends.” This time he smiled.

The driver arrived, looking surly and unwashed. He threw a cigarette butt on the pavement and pulled himself onto the bus.

“Flores,” the conductor shouted again.

“After you,” Harrison extended his arm toward the door.

Jane’s eyes widened and she tried to tamp down a crazy surge of excitement. “You’re coming with me?”

He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders. “
I’m
going home.
We
just happen to be on the same bus.”

She blushed. Of course he wasn’t coming with her. Even so, her heart fluttered despite the nerves that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t have to say goodbye to Harrison—yet.

Conscious of his view of her butt as she climbed aboard, she hurried to hand her ticket to the driver. He sat behind the steering wheel, sweat staining his shirt beneath his armpits. Jane brushed past quickly and grabbed a seat.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” Harrison said as he approached.

She looked at him with trepidation. “Why not?”

“That window doesn’t look like it closes.”

She tried pulling the grimy pane shut. No luck. The bus was filling with oncoming passengers. By the looks of things, they were going to have a full house. Jane followed Harrison halfway down the aisle. He chose a seat with a curtained window, threw his pack on a wire shelf above, then sat. Jane almost sat next to him, then stopped herself.

“Are you married?” she asked.

He drew the curtain across the pane to shut out the brightening sun and pulled his sunglasses out of his front pocket. Putting them on, he looked at her, sensuous lips turning up at the corners. “No.”

“Engaged?”

He shook his head.

She sat beside him, relieved that he was available—and more than a little hopeful.

He folded his sinuous arms across his well-defined chest and faced ahead. “You ask a lot of questions, Jane.”

“It’s my job.”

“Right, you’re a reporter?”

“Anchor.”

“Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“Not these days.”

He nodded.

“I’m twenty-seven. How old are you?”

He smiled. “Thirty-eight.” His entire face lit up and she couldn’t ignore the lurch in her chest. Harrison was handsome when serious, and devastating when happy.

The bus started with a loud rumble and a cloud of belching smoke. No catalytic converters here. “Do you live in Guatemala?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Aren’t you a little old?” she asked.

“For what?”

“Escaping to the third world.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Isn’t that a teenage thing to do? You know, when you’ve finished college and want to see the world?”

He was silent as the vehicle chugged backward.

“What are you running from?” she asked, fascinated.

“Questions like those,” he answered in a chilly tone.

“Oops, there I go, crossing the invisible line.”

He sighed, tightening his crossed arms. “This is going to be a long ten hours.”

…

“Is this what you meant by ‘it depends?’” Jane asked
.

They had stopped again after yet another border checkpoint. The crossing into and out of Belize had involved everyone disembarking, lugging their baggage through two security checks, a ‘Welcome to Belize and Guatemala, pay us please’ charge in Belize dollars and Guatemalan quetzals, respectively—neither of which she’d had—and slogging across muddy ground to rejoin the bus. Harrison had helped her with the payments.

What would she have done if he hadn’t been there? Well-armed guards paced the barbed-wire fences at the border. Jane would probably have had to ask for change from other tourists, or risk being stranded. She shuddered, thinking about what might have happened if she’d had to beg for leniency from the grim, male patrol officers.

The bus driver had turned off the engine, after parking the bus several feet inside the border of Guatemala.

“
Diez minutos
,” he called out, standing in the aisle and adjusting his crotch.

The other passengers tromped off the bus in a hurry. Jane looked to Harrison.

“I imagine he’s headed for the bathroom,” he said. “I encourage you to do the same.”

It had been almost five hours since their last pit stop in Belize City, and she did need a bathroom break—and some fresh air. The bus stank of sweat and spicy food. There was no air conditioning so most of the passengers had opened their windows, and hot, wet air assailed her. The threadbare seats offered no cushioning against the constant bumps in the road. A short break would be nice.

Jane stood to let Harrison out. He reached up to take his backpack and she couldn’t help admiring his muscles again.

Not married.

She shivered with glee. He must have some other reason for resisting her advances last night. She had felt his erection. He hadn’t been able to hide
that
behind dark glasses.

Outside, muddy pools of water pitted the road. Shacks had been built to serve the transient population, offering food and drink. Each looked dirtier than the next. Dogs ran in and out, and a rat skittered away from a rusty trash barrel. The smells of smoke and sewage intermingled in the humid air.

Welcome to Guatemala.

Jane and Harrison entered one of the food stands, and a semi-toothless woman spoke in Spanish to Harrison, then promptly served him a plate of beans and rice. He asked the woman where to find the
banos
, then told Jane where they were.