Mayan Lover (5 page)

Arka hesitated. If he rose, she would see the
evidence of her effect on him, but he had little choice. Sure enough,
her gaze traveled down his chest and lingered at the bulge in his
shorts before she blushed and looked away. He wished he could take
her hand as he'd done in his dreams. Instead he simply walked beside
her.

She removed her hat, stepped carefully over the
strings, squatted, and placed her other hand directly over the
location of the skull. “You are going to share your treasures
with me?” she whispered to the ground. The sun reflected off
her hair, held tightly bound to her head by the braid.

Arka grinned at the look of joy on her beautiful
face. “Would you like to start now?” he asked. Despite
the dark circles of fatigue under her eyes, she nodded. Arka searched
through the tools that had been dropped off when the trailer had been
delivered, giving him a much-needed moment to collect his thoughts.

She'd laid out a tarp when he returned with a
trowel, screen, and brush. She bounced up and down on her toes, her
hands clasped together at her chest. Every hop lifted a peek of
cleavage into view at the top of her shirt. The blood he'd begged
back to his brain turned traitor and returned to his groin. He gave
the sun a brief glare.
Kinich Ahau, you are cruel to this man. I
hope you find your manhood as uselessly hard as mine is right now,
he mentally told the Sun God with an internal groan.

When she reached out her hand for the trowel, he
noticed scrapes, as if she had fallen. His eyes traveled up her arm
where four distinct fingerprint bruises glared from her pale skin.
Her knees too were scraped up. He caught her elbow gently in his hand
and she flinched. Rage coursed through him. “Who dared to touch
you in this manner?”

She jerked her arm free, snatched the trowel,
and glared at him. “That is none of your damn business.”

Enrique broke the stare off. “Please
forgive my uncle, Dr. Kramer. He sucks with women.”

Arka opened his mouth to argue that when Gwen
spontaneously erupted in laughter. “I highly doubt that,
Enrique.” She rolled her eyes. With the first scoop of dirt she
became completely engrossed in her work.

Dr. Hanson brought over sack meals for Enrique,
Arka and Gwen long after nightfall. “She's driven,” he
noted with an admiring shake of his head.

Arka notice the way the moonlight graced her
with its glow, reflecting and caressing every strand of her hair. Her
eyes turned a deep purple hue, stealing his breath whenever they met
his. He joined her in the knee-deep hole. With Enrique sifting,
they'd found several fragments of clay pottery and a small quartz
crystal. With her legs bent to remain in the small excavation, she
lay on her back, exhausted.

“Stick a fork in me … I am done.”
Her eyes fluttered closed with a self-satisfied smile on her ruby
lips.

Enrique glanced between them. He winked at Arka.
“Then I will see you in the morning, Dr. Kramer.”

“Gwen,” she called out to his
retreating form. Her eyes shifted to his. “Call me Gwen.”

Arka lay beside her with his head propped on his
elbow. “Gwen?”

“Hmmm.”

“Would you like me to walk you to your …
home?”

She sighed. “I think I'll just sleep
here.” Her groggy voice betrayed how close she was to sleep.

Arka climbed up and scooped her into his arms.
She squealed with fear and pushed hard against his chest. Terror
infused her expression. “Gwen.” He soothed as she
peppered his face with slaps. “Goddess, I am your guide and
protector. I would never harm you,” he told her in his native
tongue.

She covered her face with her hands. “Oh,
God, Arka. I'm so sorry. I must have dozed.” Her fingers spread
and he could see her peek through them. “Did I hurt you?”

“I didn't mean to scare you.” His
long strides had them in front of her door. He released her to her
feet, retaining his support with his hand at the small of her back,
and opened the door to the dark interior.

“Thank you Arka. I ...” She climbed
the metal step to the entry before she met his gaze. With her palm
against one cheek, she placed a soft kiss to his other cheek. Arka
knew he could die this night a happy man. She seemed as surprised by
her action as he was. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Gwen.” She stepped back
into the darkness and he shut the door. Reaching under the dwelling
to where Enrique had hidden his bedroll, he spread it out on the
ground in front of her door. The spot on his cheek held her warmth
long after the night air chilled him.

Gwen stood staring at the closed door while her
eyes adjusted to the dark interior of her trailer.
I touched him …
kissed him … what is wrong with me?
Two steps back and her
knees felt the cushion of the built-in table that doubled as a second
bed, perfect for midgets or little girls who insist on coming with
their dad to play in the dirt. Her ass plopped down. Self-contained
trailers and canvass tents had been the standard living arrangements
on her father’s digs. Her hand fell unerringly to the
brick-sized cardboard box of stick matches centered on the table next
to an oil lantern. The sulfur flare as she struck the match dimmed to
a soft flame and she lit the lantern wick.

The bed was piled high with her bags. The
trailer held a tiny sink, a two-burner propane stove, a small fridge,
and a door to a broom-closet-sized bathroom where you sat on the pot
while holding a sprayer if you wanted a shower in two gallons of
water or less. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. This
was the life she loved.

When she’d boarded the plane, her heart
clenched with fear every time a man entered the small cabin of the
commuter flight. Her newest brush with John had set her confidence
back. Once the plane took off, she’d been able to start erasing
the encounter, putting the past behind with every mile. Landing in
Belize, neither the hours in customs nor the jeep ride through the
thick, heavy tropical forest had withered her spirits. Sitting in
this trailer in a foreign country, Gwen felt like the carefree, happy
person she used to be.

She dug through her carryon bag. The childhood
journals she’d read on the flight explained her reaction to
Arka. He reminded her of the imaginary boy in her dream sanctuary.
Most nights she dreamed of visiting the ancient civilizations like
those in her father’s stories. It didn’t matter where …
Egypt, Australian Aboriginal, Maya … the boy was always
waiting for her. When her father died, she said goodbye to her dream
friend to spare him the burden of her grief.

Shortly thereafter she’d met John, tall
with strawberry blonde hair and laughing blue eyes so different from
the young man in her dreams. They dated for two years while she’d
feverishly worked to get her degree early and he’d finished
college. She’d fallen short of her degree but left school to
marry him anyway.

Two years of dating … and he’d
never once raised a hand to her. He put on such a “nice guy”
act that most people thought Gwen was a liar. Hell, when it happened
it was hard for Gwen to reconcile the nice guy she knew to the
monster welding his fists on her. He’d never revealed his
capacity for violence … until the last day of their honeymoon.
A waiter had given her a compliment …

Gwen pulled her thoughts away from the dark
memories. “It’s over, Gwendolyn May Kramer. Done.”
Her whisper echoed back at her. She found her phone at the very
bottom of the bag. The signal was surprisingly strong. She glanced at
her watch with a shrug and dialed.

“You better have dug up a fully preserved
Aztec god.” Maggie’s sleepy voice held humor. Her words
brought Arka to Gwen’s mind.

Gwen moved her bags to the seats of the table.
“Close.” She giggled, “He looks like a god.”
She undid her braid, holding the phone with her shoulder.

“I thought for sure you were calling to
regale me with old shit.” Maggie sucked in an audible breath.
“This is about a guy? Talk to me, sista.”

The back of her head hit the pillow with a sigh,
every detail of Arka fresh in her mind--his rippling, defined abs;
the way the muscles of his back, chest, and thick biceps flexed under
his deeply tanned skin when he moved; his long, straight, nearly
black hair, tied back to emphasize his high cheekbones and squared,
strong jaw line; his deep-burgundy colored, thick lips, and eyes the
color of milk chocolate. The feel of him carrying her like she
weighed nothing in his arms while his masculine scent made her swoon.
The smoothness of his cheek when she’d kissed him.

“He’s gorgeous, Mags. One hundred
percent Yucatan Indian. His name is Arka. He’s one of my
assistants.” Gwen grinned like a schoolgirl.

The silence on the other end gave her more time
to envision. The obvious bulge in his shorts roared to the forefront,
sending a pool of moisture between her legs.

“If anyone deserves a fling, it’s
you. Just be careful, okay. I love you, but you have the
worst
taste in men.” Maggie’s chuckle offset the harshness of
her statement. That didn’t make it any less the truth. Gwen
knew the statistics of battered women. The ones lucky enough to
survive had a tendency to go from one abuser to the next.

“I will. Promise. Are you still coming in
two weeks?” Gwen reined in her hormones.

“Hells yea! You don’t get to have
all the fun. I plan on haunting you every break I get.” Maggie
laughed. “Besides, if you don’t help me with my next
test, I’ll fail it. I miss you already.”

“I miss you too. See you soon.”
Hanging up the phone, Gwen powered it off to conserve the battery and
dozed off instantly.

The pool rippled under her fingers, and she
felt him behind her. With a smile she turned, only it wasn’t
the gangly young man she remembered, it was Arka. Primal, mature, he
reached out his hand. She took it and rose to her feet, staring up
into his face, trapped by the look of passion in his eyes.

“
Arka,” Gwen sighed as she said
his name in her mind. His eyes widened.

“
How are you speaking to me?” His
voice was deep and pure. She heard his voice, but his lips never
moved.

“
I don’t know, and I don’t
care. Just … hold me.” It was her dream; she could do
whatever she wanted. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her ear
pressed to the sound of his heartbeat. The feel of his erection,
thick and hard, pressed to her stomach sent butterflies through her.

His arm around her back and a hand buried in
her hair, holding her head to his chest, he bowed his head and drew
in a deep breath. “You smell of sweet night rain, Goddess.”

She lifted her face to his. His breath
mingled with hers an instant before their lips met. Tenderly, gently
he kissed her bottom and then her top lip with a groan. Her hand rose
to his head. Lifting to her tiptoes, she crushed his lips to hers. He
opened to her and her tongue slid into the warmth of his mouth while
his explored hers. She moaned at the sensual eroticism of his kiss.
Her nipples hardened and begged for his attention …

Light filtered in through the frosted-glass
windows. A soft drizzle tinged against the metal overhead. The
morning rain in the tropical forest filled the air with smells she
hadn’t experienced in years. Excited, Gwen leapt from her bed
and threw the door open. Jumping past the metal step, she lifted her
chin to the rain and drew the smells deep into her lungs. It felt
like a baptism to her soul.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the
blanketed lower half of a body protruding from next to a tire beneath
her trailer. Empowered, hands on her hips, she kicked the bundle
lightly. “Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re
doing?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from
laughing when whoever it was tried to sit up, slammed his head with a
grunt, and slithered out. Arka rubbed his forehead, looking at her
through one eye, and Gwen let the laughter go. It rolled through her,
liberating, tears streamed down her cheeks. Only the awed expression
on Arka’s face calmed the laughing-fit.

He leaned his head back against the side of the
trailer. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

She sat on the metal step next to him. The flap
of a tent a few feet away opened and Enrique popped his head out with
a smile and a wave. Gwen waved back.

“Why are you sleeping on the ground …
in front of my trailer?”

One side of his lips—lips she still
vividly remembered from her dream—lifted in a quirk. “I
was protecting you.”

Protecting … me?
Gwen glanced
around at the encampment coming to life around her. The remoteness of
dig sites had always made her feel safe. Especially since her mother
never accompanied her and her father on them. Her father never drank
when he worked at them either. She patted Arka on the shoulder.
“That’s sweet but really not necessary. You want coffee?”
Now that she was awake, the percolator on the stove was calling to
her need for caffeine.

“What’s coffee?” Arka asked.

Maybe his English wasn’t so good after
all. Gwen tried in Spanish, “café.” The confused
look didn’t change. “Boxha, kaape.” She used one of
the few terms she knew in Yucatan. He smiled and nodded. She climbed
the step and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Come on in.”

She found what she needed in the third tiny
cupboard, measured the coffee into the basket and fired up the burner
with a match. Arka had to practically duck in half to get through the
door, leaving it opened behind him. Gwen quickly moved her still
unpacked bags over to the rumpled bed and he sat down. She took the
seat across the table from him. The aroma of coffee filled the space.
He reached over, lifted a lock of her unruly hair and rubbed it
between his thumb and finger. A shiver raced down her spine.