Taming Cross (Love Inc.) (26 page)

Right. He means the body.

“We don't.” It's horrible, but it is what it is. We need to get out of here and try to make it to the border.

Evan stands up, steps over to the bed, and hands me the bag from his bike. “Here are those things I bought you, if you want to use some of them now.”

I frown, trying to remember what’s in there, other than deodorant. I swear, my body temperature just climbed two degrees in the second he's been standing near me.

“Just the toiletries I showed you the other day, plus some clothes,” he says.

“Clothes...?” I wiggle my eyebrows, praying he doesn't say ‘panties’.

“Some shorts, some pants, a jacket. I should have given them to you sooner but I wasn't thinking.” He shrugs, as if it all means nothing to him.

“Okay, well thanks.” I take the bag. “Did you buy it yourself? That's really thoughtful.”

He looks embarrassed. I think I actually see some color in his cheeks. Without thought, I reach up and cup his cheek with my hand. His slight smile spreads into an irresistible grin.

“I'm a thoughtful dude.”

“Dude.” I grin, too. “A California dude.”

The smile falls off his face so fast, I wonder what I said. He takes a swift step back and nods gravely. “I am.”

I'm confused. “Is that a bad thing?”

He shrugs. “No. Guess not.” Looking like someone killed his puppy, he nods my way and slips quickly through the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Thank you for the toiletries. I didn't use all of them yet, because I'm going to wait on my next shower, but the deodorant is wonderful, and I much prefer these clothes to what I was wearing last night.”

Merri is standing before me in the kitchen, looking sexy in a long-sleeved brown t-shirt, black cotton yoga pants, and the green and purple sneakers she had back at the clinic. The way her wavy, strawberry hair hangs over her shoulders reminds me of a fairy tale princess. And I have something that will make her look even better.

“I also wanted to give you this.” I hold out my black leather jacket to her and belatedly decide I need to explain. “It's overcast.”
And I want to see my clothes on you. Because I’m an inappropriate freak.

She takes it, pulling it up against her midriff. “But you ride in front…”

“And you're my passenger.” I crack a small smile, thinking how hot she'll look on the back of my bike. Then I remember who the hell she is, and I quickly wipe it off my face. “Keep the jacket.”

I turn around and open the refrigerator, unloading bottled water from the door into my arms. I've already packed a few bottles, plus some homemade bread and beef jerky, into the storage compartment of the Mach, but I needed an excuse to turn away. I can't even look at this woman without getting hard. I laugh a little under my breath, because this is so perfectly fucking Cross.

In lust with my father's former mistress.

That’s not how I see her of course. Merri is radiant. Lovely. But untouchable for the very huge reason of her history with my father.

It makes me furious, because her past isn’t good enough for her. And neither am I. I hate myself for letting her languish in Mexico for so long. She’ll hate me when she finds out. I know she will.

That’s why I need to keep my distance now.

Without turning around to look at Merri, I carry the water into the hall, outside the laundry room, where I've got the Mach all patched up and ready to go. It took me a little under an hour to cover the two holes in the rear tire with the stuff in the patch kit I keep inside my bag. It’s not 100 percent trustworthy, but it should hold. I've got our passports tucked into the small, flat zip pouch I've got strapped under my shirt. Merri’s carrying my bike bag, and I guess I'll have to turn around and grab that from her.

I ignore the stench coming under the door of the laundry room and turn around and point myself toward Merri. My legs close the distance between us with long, greedy strides, as my mind counts down our time together.

From where we are, just outside Camargo, we can probably make it to Ciudad Juarez in five hours, give or take, if I drive like lightning.

There, she will find out who I am. If she doesn't get a glance at my passport, she'll notice the name on hers: Meredith Carlson.

Maybe I shouldn't have used Carlson for her surname, but my father is the patron saint of drug control in California, and this means he’s funded a lot of upgrades for border patrol and scheduled a bunch of campaign stumps along the border, which means most of them know his name. After my last Mexican adventure, a lot of people know me, too: Cross Carlson, black sheep. If we run into trouble, I'm going to juice my name for all it's worth.

Merri is leaning against the counter with my big, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. I've got a great view of her profile: small, straight nose; smooth lips that always look pink and are maybe a size too big for her face (I think this is one of the reasons I'm always wanting to kiss her); full, squeezable cheeks; slightly pointy chin; soft, elegant throat. My gaze races down her body and I jerk it up before her eyes notice mine.

She presses those pink lips into a tight smile. “Ready?”

“Yep.” I take the bag from her and sling it over my back, walking in front of her so my wandering eyes don't get me into trouble.

From behind me, she says, “Evan.”

“Yeah?” I look over my shoulder to find her frowning deeply.

“Do you know...if I'm wanted by anyone in Georgia? The stuff I said my ex, Sean, might have tried to blame on me?” She catches her lower lip between her flawless, white teeth, and I want to punch the bastard in the nose.

“No, you're not. You're not wanted for anything. I ran your name before I left.”

She nods. “Okay. Cool.” But her lighthearted tone of voice doesn't go with her body language. She looks weighed down. Nervous.

I wonder if she feels fucked with, because of what happened last night. I wish I'd had more self-control.

Or less...

Heat washes over me, just the thought of last night making me hard again. I look from the bike to her. “Let's get out of here.”

She nods.

I strap the bag to the back of the bike and take the black and grey helmet off the seat. “Here. This is yours, remember?” She takes it from me and cradles it to her chest, giving me a sad look.

“What?”

“I just...kind of think you need it more than me.”

Because of my neck. I shake my head. “It's yours.”

“Thank you, Evan.”

After strapping the thing onto her head, Merri pushes the visor up and presses her back to the wall, getting in front of me and the bike. She opens a little metal flap on the wall where the door is and says, “Did you notice this? The camera?”

“Nah, I just chanced it.”

“Well, there's nobody out there that I can see.” She pauses for a second while she takes in a few different views on the screen below the metal flap, then looks back at me. “I'm going to press this button and make the door open. You push the bike out and I'll press it again so it closes, then hurry out and get on behind you. I don't want to linger.”

“Me either.”

“After we get going, we’re going to take back roads for a little while and then get on a main road. I forgot the name of it but I’ll know it when I see it. Just pay attention when I tap you and we should be okay.”

When she presses a button on the wall, I've got my left arm in its support and I'm pushing the Mach awkwardly, the way I always do now. I high-tail it outside, where the dusty ground is mud and the sky is a sheet of melancholy gray.

I start the bike up, then get on, nearly falling over as I do; with my arm already in its strap, I'm not very mobile. But I manage, somehow, and then Merri climbs on behind me. She calls over the hum of the motor which direction to veer in. I nod.

Her arms wrap around my waist, and my cock hardens as I gas the bike and we coast down the path the late David chased us down. We wheel around the house/dirt mound and I pray no one is waiting for us on the road.

They're not. Our path is a barren, cracked ribbon of asphalt, faded pale from the sun and lined with desert scrub.

I drive fast: ninety. Behind me, Merri feels like everything I didn’t know I wanted, and I wonder what it will feel like to lose someone I never had.

I was right about the drive. Slightly more than five hours later, we’re nearing the end of our sprint to safety, on the outskirts of sprawling, dirty, sophisticated, dangerous Ciudad Juarez. Up until about thirty minutes ago, we’d seen almost no one.

We make a quick stop at a gas station and after we study the map for a few minutes, I walk Merri to the ladies’ room, counting down the seconds until we’re back on the bike. Before I pull back onto the road, she squeezes my waist.

“We’re almost there, Evan!”

I nod, glad she can’t see that I’m not smiling.

I’m a selfish ass.

As we work our way through almost an hour of thick mid-city traffic, I’m tense with wanting to get her somewhere safe, but a part of me is also glad for every minute spent without her knowing who I really am.

You need to get over it. Forget about her. The sooner the better.

I know that’s the logical thing to do, but logic means nothing to me. I can’t think straight when I’m near Merri. That she’s the one girl I can’t have: that’s a curse I fucking earned. I tell myself I’ll have to tough it out, and when I feel the hollowness inside my chest, I just ignore that shit. Nothing else I can do, right?

There are a couple ports of entry into El Paso, and we’re headed toward the one Meredith thinks will be the least busy. It’s a tiny bridge near some farm land, and by the time we reach it, my heart’s pounding hard enough to make me sweat despite my lack of bike helmet.

Merri’s grip tightens on my waist, and she presses her cheek against my back. I inhale deeply, trying to save the moment onto my hard drive. I have the sinking feeling I might need it later. For the next five minutes as we wait on a transfer truck to pass, my neck aches and my arm feels strange, but I know it’s just from stress. Nothing weird going on here. I’ve got the appropriate papers, plus our passports. As soon as we get through the checkpoint, Merri will be home free.

I try to find happiness in that.

When the wooden bridge spits us out at a rickety plywood wall topped with barbed wire and outfitted with a rusted metal tower, my stomach clenches so hard I think I might be sick.

Merri's hands stroke my back. She's feeling grateful, I realize. She lets out a little whoop, and as a black van is waved through the gate, I’m washed in cold sweat, kind of like the feeling you have when you're in opiate withdrawal.

We roll closer—close enough so I can see two dark-haired border patrol guards with automatic rifles—and I tell myself again that I'm just being paranoid. Feeling nervous because I had to ditch my gun at the last bathroom stop before the chekpoint. Anticipating what's going to come next, with Merri.

I swallow hard as we get close enough that I can see the tallest guard’s eyes. They go right past me, seeking Merri's face behind the helmet. Sweat breaks out on my chest, and I have the overwhelming urge to gas it right past him.

I slow down, though. Automatic rifles make big holes in bare skin, and Merri is behind me.

I slow down, and both guards lunge at us. Before I can even stop the bike, the larger one's hand is locked around my left arm. The shorter one shoves his gun into my face.

My arms around Evan's waist go numb as the barrel of the semi-automatic is shoved into his face. Before I can scream or even flinch, the larger guard points his own gun right at my nose.

“Get off the motorcycle!” he screams in Spanish. He waves the gun, his torso bobbing up and down as his face twists furiously. “You are coming with us!”

I blink at him. Logically, I understand why this is happening, but some part of my mind—the innocent part, the part that still has dreams and wants—is stunned to stillness. This just can't be real.

“GET OFF THE BIKE!”

I shut my eyes as the cold, hard muzzle digs into my forehead.