Wild Orchids (16 page)

His fingers were moving, slowly, to probe the hardened nipple. Lora felt his touch through the thin material of her t-shirt and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Her eyelids felt heavy; they closed despite her halfhearted battle to keep them open. She should pull away from him… Those fingers were gently squeezing, pinching her nipple, torturing her until her breast arched instinctively against his fingers. He rewarded it by sliding his hand down her rib cage under the hem of her shirt and up again. At the touch of his hand against her bare skin, all Lora's nerves went haywire. His hand felt so good! Her eyes shut tight, pretending that it wasn't she who was squirming with need, arching her back so that her breast pressed wantonly against his stroking palm, thrusting her bottom backwards so that it came into even closer contact with his hard flesh. Panting, she gave herself over to the fantasy that had been consuming her for days. She wanted this—she wanted this—she wanted…

His other arm snaked beneath her now, holding her back against him while he rubbed her breast with one hand and the other slid down, down over her rib cage and around to the snap that closed her jeans. She held her breath as he unsnapped it, then slid the zipper down. The faint zipping noise acted like the most potent aphrodisiac on her already overheated nerves. She mewed as she felt his hand on the softness of her belly, one finger testing the hollow of her belly button before moving down… The hand stopped for an instant at the edge of the tiny bikini pants, and Lora quivered with frustration. This was her fantasy, and he couldn't stop now…

He didn't. The large, warm hand slid inside her panties, slid down until it covered the soft mound of hair, until his fingers were probing the moist secrets of her, gently touching the most exquisite pleasure points until she gasped, squirming, clamping her legs against that hand that felt marvelous between her thighs… The fingers were bolder now, stroking her, exploring her, parting the quivering folds of flesh and sliding inside her. Lora gasped, feeling as if she might die as those fingers teased her, moving in and out and then lingering inside her before being withdrawn to stroke her weeping flesh again and then slide back inside…

Gasping, panting, quaking against him, Lora was aware of nothing but the exquisite torture that was going on between her thighs. Desire was like a spring inside her, and with every movement of that hard, hot hand he was twisting it ever tighter until at last, at last she could stand it no longer. She cried out, her head thrown back, her eyes closed tight as her body quaked and quivered with pulsating release.

Her mind fell back to earth a little slower than her body, but when it did the result was infinitely more painful. She lay there, aware that she was still cradled in his arms with his hand still in her pants and his manhood still throbbing against her, afraid to open her eyes. Dear God, what had she done?

What had she let—no, be honest—egged him into doing? How could she have allowed him to… ? She couldn't even put it into words. She had never, ever engaged in such an act before, not to—to completion. With Brian, there was always only a little preliminary touching. Certainly he had never tried—and she had never wanted him to—to please her in that way. She had never even thought that she could be so devastatingly pleased by such an act. Was her reaction normal? And what about him?

Thinking that, Lora could no longer ignore the throbbing thrust of him against her backside. Though she was satiated to the point of numbness if one disregarded the burning shame that was threatening to rouse her, he was clearly unfulfilled. Lora chewed her lip, trying not to make the decision that had to be made. After what had just passed, he had every reason to assume that she would now make passionate love with him. Much as she hated to face the fact, she was largely to blame for that assumption. If he chose to go ahead now, she certainly could not cry rape…

He removed his hand from her pants and sat up. Lora knew that she could postpone the confrontation no longer. Rolling onto her back and gritting her teeth, she fastened her jeans, pulled down her shirt—and opened her eyes.

Light was beginning to filter through the curtains that entirely covered one wall. Despite the lingering gloom, she could see him clearly. His black hair was wildly tousled, his naked torso formidable as he half turned to meet her gaze. Those obsidian eyes glinted down at her from beneath frowning brows. His mouth was straight, expressionless beneath that villainous mustache. He looked poised for action, yet he was looking at her as if waiting for her to say something. Perhaps he expected her to moan about how wonderful it had been for her as she invited him to continue? She snorted to herself.

Not hardly, to use her students' vernacular. She would let him make love to her—it seemed only fair, under the circumstances— but she didn't intend to enjoy it. And she meant to make that clear.

"Well, go ahead," she said, glaring at him. He lifted his eyebrows at her without saying anything. Lora's scowl darkened, losing nothing because of the bright red flush that suffused her skin. This man had just performed an extremely intimate act on her, and yet he was looking at her as if she were a bug on a pin.

"If you're going to do it, do it and get it over with. I won't stop you." She wasn't being quite fair, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Intellectually, she realized that he was hardly to blame for her humiliation—she had initiated the contact, however much it pained her to admit it—but that didn't lessen her hostility toward him. He probably felt she owed him… Well, she would pay in the coin he expected, but she wouldn't enjoy it and she would let him know it.

"Generous." The word was dry. His eyes, as they swept over her before returning to meet hers, were hooded. "But don't strain yourself to be nice, babe. I like my women hungry. Like you were earlier…" His mouth curved into a nasty smile.

She flinched at the reminder of how she had been, feeling humiliation bum into her flesh. He smiled grimly at her reaction, then got out of bed without regard for his nakedness or her eyes on him, and began to dress.

Chapter IX

It was barely past dawn, but sunlight was already filtering brightly into the compound when they left Onega's fortress some half hour later. The procedure for leaving was the same as entering: armed men watched from different vantage poults about the grounds as Lora was blindfolded and then Max drove away. Lora did not protest the blindfold; after what had happened between them, she was speaking to Max only when absolutely necessary. He was speaking to her even less than that. He had, perhaps, grunted twice at her since ordering her to get dressed as he did so himself. Shame was the uppermost of the emotions keeping her silent; from the grim set of his mouth, he was just plain mad.

Lora took the blindfold off herself, finally. After nearly forty minutes of driving, during which Max said not one word to indicate that they were safely away, Lora finally got the idea that he would leave her to swelter under the blasted sarape all day if she didn't do something about it. He gave her a single hard look as she emerged, blinking, from the swathing folds of cloth, and turned his attention back to the narrow road. Lora cast him a glance of loathing, and turned her attention to the view outside her window. If he was going to sulk, why, that was fine with her. Sulking was exactly what she felt like doing herself.

It was a beautiful morning. Water droplets glistened like diamonds on the deep green of the jungle foliage. The road twisted through the densest part of the rain forest, climbing steadily into the mountains all the while. Parrots and a multitude of smaller birds that Lora could not identify squawked overhead, their brilliant plummage gleaming in the sunlight as they fluttered from tree to tree. More tarantulas scuttled across the road. Lora counted three before they had driven more than ten miles. The encroaching undergrowth on either side of the road rustled intermittently, and Lora did not like to imagine what kind of animal might be causing the movements. Like nearly everything else associated with this man and the nightmare trip he had forced her on, it was probably better not to know.

The car was slowing. Lora saw that they were approaching a rickety wooden bridge. The thing was only wide enough to permit one car to pass at a time, and it looked as if it was as old as Mexico.

"You're not going to drive across that, are you?" The first civil words that she had spoken to him that morning squeaked from her lips as she stared, appalled, at the bridge that wasn't more than twenty feet from their front tires.

He said nothing, just shot her a narrow-eyed look from those glittering eyes. Lora glared at him, folded her arms, and determined not to say another word. Even if he was bent on killing them—which, from the looks of that bridge, he was—she would endure it in bitter silence.

The car crept onto the narrow planks. As the structure was forced to bear the combined weight of the orange Volkswagen and two adult humans it groaned loudly. Lora knew she must have whitened; her nails bit into her upper arms through the windbreaker and shirt as she fought to stifle a terrified protest. The car crept forward, the moan intensified, the bridge swayed… Lora shut her eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake!" The unexpected sound of Max's voice made Lora's eyes fly open again. She found that his expression was as unfriendly as his tone, but it was surprisingly comforting just to hear his voice, under the hair-raising circumstances. "The damned bridge is perfectly safe. I've crossed it before, in a lot heavier vehicles than this."

"But it's—moaning." Lora was too worried about falling into the swirling brown waters of the river far below to remember that she was not speaking to him. She was all in favor of letting bygones be bygones—at least until they reached solid ground again.

"It's something in the structure of the bridge. I tell you, it's perfectly safe."

"So you say." The words were muttered under her breath, but from the glinty-eyed look he shot her, he heard. Lora said nothing else, barely breathing until the Volkswagen reached the other side and crawled safely on into the jungle.

She drew in a deep breath, then frowned. Just around the first turn past the bridge two vehicles were parked at the side of the road, a nondescript brown sedan and a battered pickup truck. Except for the vehicles in Onega's fortress, Lora had not seen another car along this road since they had left Palenque. Something about them, parked end to end and seemingly deserted in this impenetrable jungle, seemed odd to her. What…

Without warning, what appeared to be an entire platoon of armed men burst from the jungle, forming a line across the road and aiming their weapons at the Volkswagen. Lora uttered a little choked scream, ducking her head instinctively beneath the dash. Were they police or terrorists or maybe more bandidos? They would certainly start shooting at any second… She gritted her teeth and prayed that she would not be struck by any stray bullets as she waited for the fusillade to start. The car was slowing. Max pulled off the road just behind the other vehicles and stopped the car. Lora sat up, eyes huge as the armed men—she saw now that there were only four, armed with large pistols like the one Max had stuck in his jeans—surrounded the car.