Into the Wild (21 page)

“I wasn't there. I can't judge. As to your character…I admit I had my doubts, based purely on your profession, but…I think you're a good man, Spenser. Your sister certainly sings your praises, and Kylie's one of the nicest people I've ever met.”

He was torn between relief and disbelief…and still smarting from the vivid memories.

“If you need to place blame,” River said, “try these mountains, the altitude, the curse.”

Spenser kissed River's forehead and pulled her close. “I didn't expect you, given the circumstances, to be so understanding.”

“I guess it's because I can relate.”

After a few seconds of tense silence, she elaborated. “My mom died on one of Henry's expeditions,” River said in a tight voice. “I blamed him. I publicly blasted him at her funeral. It was…ugly. Things were never the same between us, not that they'd been great to begin with. But after a while, I realized Mom was the one who chose to go to Africa instead of staying home with me. She was the one who'd insisted on driving the jeep so he could go over his notes. She was the one who lost control of the vehicle. Henry was thrown free. She wasn't. Not his fault. Not directly. I regret the things I said, and I need to say I'm sorry. Even if we never mend our relationship. I need closure so I can move on with my life. Closure with my father. With David. I'm here to make peace. You should do the same.”

Spenser was at a loss for words. A rarity.

River cuddled closer. “Thank you for sharing the bad stuff. I know it wasn't easy.”

“Easier than I expected, but I suspect that has something to do with you.” He caressed her cheek, found her mouth. He kissed her. “River, I—”

“Please don't say anything incredibly romantic.”

“What about semi-romantic?”

“No.”

“Straight from the heart?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't trust it. I don't trust…me.” A tense hesitation, then, “I'm worried I slept with you to get back at David.”

Blindsided, he leveled on one elbow. Even though he couldn't see her face, he still stared down. “A revenge fuck?”

“You're laughing at me.”

“I'm not laughing.”

“You're amused. I hear it in your voice.”

He should've been insulted, but it was a welcome distraction…and ludicrous. “You're not the vengeful type. It's not in your nature.”

“How do you know? You've only known me for one week. Has it even been a week? What day is it? So much has happened so fast. I can't keep track—”

He squelched her nervous chatter with a kiss. She gave over, just as he knew she would, wrapping her arms around his neck as he suckled her tongue.
Revenge,
my ass.
Her desire was genuine and that wasn't his ego talking. His gut and heart concurred. He connected with River. Physically. Intellectually. And on some level, emotionally.

His thoughts melted around the edges as the kiss went on and on. God, he loved the taste of her, the scent and feel of her. He cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her messy curls, while his free hand explored her shoulders and back. He trailed his fingers lightly over her smooth skin, brushing, stroking, eliciting goose bumps and a sigh.

His dick throbbed. His heart pounded.

She tensed and eased away. “It's worse than I thought. I'm not vengeful,” she said in a ragged whisper. “I'm a slut.”

He would've laughed, but she sounded so goddamned miserable.

“When I'm with you…when you kiss me and touch me…I…I want the most wicked things. All I can think about is sex and I want it to go on forever. I…I never felt that way with… He never drove me to the brink with a…a kiss. He…”

“He wasn't the one.”

“You
can't
be the one.”

“We'll fight about that later.” Spenser suckled her earlobe, smiled when she shuddered and moaned. He rolled her onto her back, skimmed his fingers over her taut belly. “Tell me what you want.”

“Damn you, Spenser.”

“Tell me.”

Instead, she grasped his hand and guided it to the lacy edge of her cotton panties.

He peeled them away, his fingers brushing over her inner thighs, her calves, her feet.

She shivered. “Stop teasing.”

“That's half the fun, angel.” He retraced his path, skimming his fingertips up her toned calves, the backs of her knees, her silky thighs. He lingered there, urging her legs apart, tracing feather-light circles over her skin, softly brushing her feminine curls.

She whimpered.

“Say it. Tell me what you want, River. Tell me what to do.”

“I can't,” she panted, moving restlessly beneath his touch. “I don't…”

“Talk dirty or I'll talk hearts and roses.”

“Make me come. Make me delirious with ecstasy,” she pleaded. “Can you do delirious?”

His mouth quirked. “Desperate for me not to speak my heart? Or desperate for an orgasm?”

“Yes!”

Charmed and aroused, Spenser dispensed with talk—dirty or otherwise. He kissed River hungrily and, for the second time that evening, stroked her to a shuddering climax. He ached to touch her breasts, to feast on her nipples, but he refused to touch her bra. The map, he assumed was still hidden there. He didn't want her to think he was after that map…or the chakana looped around her neck.

He was after her heart.

He relished the aftermath of her orgasm. Stilted breathing. Subtle trembling. The lusty groan as he slid his finger into her tight wetness. “I need to be inside you.”

“Wait,” she whispered.

In one fluid move, River rolled onto her side and fondled his erection. She stroked. Fast then slow. Spenser willed himself to breathe, ordered his self not to come. Not a kid. Not… Then…his balls tightened as she tickled and cupped them. His lungs seized. “Tease.”

“Half the fun.”

Undone, Spenser flipped the devilish angel onto her back. Before she could catch her breath, he plunged deep. Hard and fast. Slow and hard. He made love with bone-deep intensity, kissing her passionately, holding back as long as he could, which wasn't long. Tonight, he had the control of a boy. Tonight confirmed what he'd suspected all along.

This was love.

Spent and more content than he'd been in ten years, he rested his forehead to hers. “You slept with me because you're attracted to me, River. I slept with you because I—”

She pressed her fingertips over his mouth. “I still don't trust this.”

Smiling, he kissed her fingers, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. “You will.”

R
IVER WOKE UP FEELING
like crap. Her head throbbed and her body ached. Exhausted and queasy, she refused to open her eyes. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to stay in bed, sleep all day.

Only she wasn't in a bed, she thought hazily.

She cracked open her lids.

“You're not in Kansas anymore either, Dorothy,” she whispered.

She was in the wild. In a tent. In a sleeping bag.

Alone.

River bolted upright, tamped down a surge of panic. She looked down and noted she was still wearing her bra. Felt inside the cup and, yes, thank God, the map was still hidden there. For a blip of a second she'd worried Spenser had stolen it and run off. Her cheeks flushed with shame. Then again, he was the one who kept harping on his obsession with the lost treasure.

She shook off her anxiety, breathed deep. She smelled burning wood and…oatmeal?

A campfire.

He was out there. Cooking breakfast, watching over her.

I won't abandon you.

River sat there for a moment, gathering her thoughts and wits, reflecting on the night before. She worked backward, her skin heating as she recalled their lovemaking. Playful, passionate, tender. A combination that warmed her heart and set off warning bells. Just like Spenser's insinuation that he was her soul mate. She skipped right over that memory. Her life was complicated enough.

Instead, she focused on Spenser's past. He'd touched her deeply with the story of the ill-fated expedition. If she thought about it too much, too hard, it shook her conviction to push on. Even though she knew he'd fight it, what if Spenser had a relapse? What if he succumbed to the fever? She also worried about the altitude. What if she got severe AMS? What if he did? Then there was the matter of forcing him to walk through the area where his friend had died. Would he relive the moment? Would it cause him to wallow in guilt for another ten years? Or would he be able to make peace?

The possibilities were endless.

Her mind jumped tracks. Again, she flashed on their lovemaking. Her blood sizzled as she reflected on the sinful sensations. Spenser's hands, his mouth, his… She squeezed her thighs together and sighed. The man was well-endowed, well-skilled and tireless.

He was also impetuous.

More than once over the last few days, he'd intimated he had deep feelings for her. Last night he'd wanted to say something straight from the heart and she was
almost positive that involved three simple words. Except there was nothing simple about love.

She'd never understood the obsessive love between her mom and dad or the undemonstrative love between her grandparents. Just now she wasn't sure if she'd know honest-to-gosh true and healthy
love
if it bit her in the butt.

This morning, she was clear on one thing only. She hadn't slept with Spenser to get back at David. David couldn't have been further from her mind last night. He couldn't have been further from her heart.

Clearly, she did not love David T. Snodgrass.

Now
that
was a troubling realization. How could she have been so set on a lifetime with a man she could so easily disconnect with?

Because you never loved him. You loved the idea of him.
Stable. Conventional. Three children, a two-story single-family home on an acre of land, yearly vacations to Disney, a 401K plan…

“Oh, God.”

She hadn't used Spenser. She'd used
David.

“Morning, angel.”

Once again, all thoughts of her ex-fiancé, the man she dated for five years, the man she'd been primed to marry, evaporated the moment she laid eyes on Spenser McGraw. He stepped into the tent and stole away her breath. Dressed in his typical baggy layers, unshaven, hair tousled, he looked like a walking ad for, well, the Explorer Channel. A rugged, handsome, charismatic hunk.

She, on the other hand, no doubt looked like she felt.
Crappy. Self-conscious, River smoothed her matted curls from her face wishing desperately for a breath mint, a shot of Pepto-Bismol, and a bar of soap—in that order. “Hi.”

He moved toward her carrying a cup of something. Coffee? She wasn't sure her stomach could take the acidity, although the caffeine might help her headache.

“How do you feel?”

“Hungover.”

“It's the altitude. I felt the same way.” He crouched next to her. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Alka-Seltzer.”

“Seriously?”

“Never travel without it.”

She drank eagerly, burped. “Sorry.”

He grinned. “Now these.” He passed her a small water bottle and three tablets. “Two Motrin—you're allergic to anything else, right?—and your antimalarial meds. I kept a supply with me. Just in case.”

She blushed, remembering how she'd duped him into going to the drugstore for her while she'd fled Baños with Mel. To add to her chagrin, he'd not only hunted down her requested pain reliever, he'd also hoarded some of her primaquine.
Just in case.
She lowered her gaze and downed the meds. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

She drank more water, waited for him to broach the night before. He didn't. She was okay with that. She didn't need to rehash the story about Andy and Jo or to
expand on her mom's death. She wasn't ready for his straight-from-the-heart declaration. But she
did
miss the physical intimacy they'd shared. Instead of saying something mushy or kissing her good-morning, Spenser hurriedly packed gear and invited her to use his toiletries. She appreciated that, but there was a nervous energy about him that made her uneasy.

“I aired out your cargo pants,” he went on. “Grass-stained but dry. You can wear one of my tees and my hooded sweatshirt.”

“Don't suppose you have any clean underwear in your gear?”

“Only if you don't mind wearing men's briefs.”

“I'll take them.”

“Once you're dressed,” he said, tossing her a pair of white Hanes, “join me by the fire. A quick breakfast, then we'll be on our way.”

“Why the rush?”

“We lucked out. It's cold, but clear. If the weather continues to cooperate we can meet up with Cy in under an hour and make the volcano by late afternoon.”

River's mind had been so jammed with Spenser's bad stuff and the love stuff that she'd somehow pushed Cy and that potential disaster to the back of her mind. Suddenly it was all she could think about. “Is Cy trustworthy?” she asked as she wiggled into Spenser's briefs.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think he'll be waiting for us at Brunner's camp?”

“Why wouldn't he be?”

“Did you tell him about the map?”

He didn't answer right away, which suggested he had.

“Damn.” She dressed quickly, ignoring her aching body. Holy heaven, every muscle in her body screamed. She was paying for yesterday's strenuous walk and climb, but she'd eat mud before complaining. She had to get her camera back!

“I was indiscreet,” Spenser said. “I'm sorry. I had your best interest at heart. Your safety.”

“I don't doubt that.” She honestly didn't. “But we're talking about a potential fortune and Cy's not with us now. He's
ahead
of us.” She shoved her feet into a pair of socks, then the pink boots.

“Granted,” Spenser said as he rolled the sleeping bag, “Cy's made several expeditions in search of the treasure, but he doesn't have the map. You do.”

This time it was her turn to hold silent.

Spenser slowly stood and faced her. “Tell me you didn't put the map in your backpack.”

“I didn't. But my camera's in there.”

“So?”

“I took a picture.”

“Of the map?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Yesterday morning while you were loading up the jeep. I couldn't make out some of the tiny words in the margins and I didn't have a magnifying glass so I took a picture. That way I could zoom in on any section.”

“Smart.”

“Also, I wanted backup. What if something happened to the actual page? What if I lost it? Or someone stole it? Or…”

What if it got wet?

Yes, she'd put the map in a baggy but she'd gotten soaked in the downpour. Not clear through to her undies, but still.

She reached under the tee she'd just pulled on, nabbed the treasured baggy from the cup of her bra. She couldn't open it fast enough.

Spenser just watched.

“It's smudged.” Her heart dropped to her toes. “I guess some moisture seeped in. Or maybe my body heat? I worked up a sweat climbing that jungle wall. And then last night when we, well, you know. Between that and the folded page rubbing together…” She trailed off, desperate for another hit of Alka-Seltzer.

“How bad is it?”

She blinked up him. He hadn't moved. She remembered how she'd accused him of looking at the chakana like the Holy Grail. He wasn't looking at the map or the amulet, but directly at her. He wanted her to trust him.

“Here,” she said, moving to his side and displaying her father's detailed drawing. “The writing in the margins. It was tiny to begin with and now it's smudged. And this part here.”

“Could prove a problem,” Spenser said, staring hard at every detail. “Or maybe not.”

“You're just trying to make me feel better.”

“You have a backup, remember?”

“Cy has the backup.”

Spenser passed her the map and started breaking down the tent. “He doesn't know you took pictures of the map, angel. I didn't know. Why would he scroll through your camera? I'd be surprised if he even knows how to use a digital. He's pretty old-school.”

He was still trying to make her feel better.

She set down the map long enough to pull on his green hoodie, then shoved her arms through the sleeves of her turquoise coat. “What if he does scroll through?” She froze. “Oh, my God. The nude photos of you.”

“Nothing Cy hasn't seen before. Figuratively speaking.”

“Okay. Fine. But the
map.
What if he decides to go it alone? Screw us. Screw Henry. Hello, eight billion?”

Spenser wrapped her orange scarf around her neck and nudged her outside.

She shivered as a brisk wind whipped her hair, squinted against the bright morning sun. No fog. No rain. The twisted and gnarled trees were still twisted and gnarled. There were still countless flowery bushes and cactus-like plants. There were oceans of prairie grass, too, but gone were the eerie shadows and silver-gray tones of the day before. Colors were vibrant. The sky was clear. And toward the east… Whoa. “Is that Cerro Hermoso?”

“Impressive, huh?”

It took her breath away. Majestic and daunting, the snowcapped volcano towered high above all else in the
Llanganatis. A vast mountain of lush green and stark craggy regions, untouched by human influences and surrounded by a patchy cloud bank. Primitive. Intimidating. The Inca general had chosen his hiding place well. “How would someone survive up there alone for several months?” she wondered aloud. Every other person involved in her father's expedition was dead. Logically, Henry was dead, too. She'd considered the possibility, but she'd held out for a miracle. Staring at that formidable volcano, it was hard to keep the faith.

“Sit by the fire while I finish packing,” Spenser said softly, as if sensing her mounting distress. “I made oatmeal and coca tea. I know you're not keen on the tea, but it'll be another physically demanding day and we'll be ascending.”

She heard the rough edge to his voice. Slight, but there. “I'll drink it.” After hearing his story last night, she'd do anything to avoid a severe case of AMS. So she'd get loopy and maybe embarrass herself. It was better than walking off a cliff.

“The oatmeal will give you energy, along with that protein bar.”

“Oatmeal, protein bar, tea. Got it.” She pulled her attention from the volcano and back to the problem at hand. “Back to Cy. What if—”

“He'd have to decipher Henry's code,” Spenser said as he continued to break camp. “Figure out the clues. That would slow him down.”

“Did you decipher the code?” she asked with a mouthful of sweetened oatmeal.

“Haven't studied it enough. I'll cross that bridge when we get there. It's easier to spot clues and visual markers when you're in the thick of it.”

She was still holding the map in her free hand. “What should I do with this?”

“I could hold on to it. Or not,” he added when she frowned. “Just stash it where you did before.”

“But what if it smudges more?”

“I could take a picture with my phone. Backup for the backup.”

She liked the idea of having another copy of the map—insurance—but…he could send that picture to another phone or even a computer.

“It was just a thought,” he said.

She was being paranoid. Either she trusted this man or she didn't. She took a leap of faith. “Do it,” she said. “Take a couple of shots. Make sure you get the whole thing.”

He didn't say anything, just took a few pictures, then folded the map and passed it back to her.

“Don't suppose you've got a fresh baggy in that backpack.”

He handed her one.

“It's like a clown car,” she joked to lighten the mood. “Stuff just keeps coming out of there.”

He grinned while stashing the remainder of the tent. “You forget, Gordo and I travel like this all the time.”

“I didn't forget.” She poured a second cup of tea, surveyed the daunting landscape, thought about the legend, then looked back to Spenser.

No wonder his show was such a hit. The man was fascinating. His way of life…fascinating.

No wonder Kylie was so crazy about her brother. There was plenty to be crazy about. River remembered how the woman's face had lit up when she'd said she couldn't wait to see her earthy brother in a sophisticated tuxedo.
“He'll hate it,”
she'd said with a giggle.