Gabriella
Mateo was wound tight after dinner, every muscle strung like a tightrope.
He didn’t speak as he ushered her away from the noise and laughter, steering her through the camp with a hand firm at her elbow.
The shared quarters waited for them—a squat little house with a single bed shoved against the back wall, lantern light flickering like it knew secrets.
The ligneous door shut behind them with a dull thud that seemed muffled by the rustic home.
He turned on her immediately, crowding her space, the air between them suddenly too thin.
“Is everything okay?” she squeaked, hating how small her voice sounded.
She did her best not to notice how attractive he looked right now, anger and frustration coiled like a snake waiting to strike.
His frustration possibly stemmed from their delayed start to reaching Panama, or possibly because he was an ass. She liked the last reason more.
Those dark eyes pinned her. “Fine,” he said flatly. “Your performance tonight was convincing enough.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, nodding too quickly. “Good.” She took a step back until the cool concrete wall met her spine. “That’s … that’s what we wanted, right?”
“Hmm.” His gaze dragged over her, slow and assessing. “Indeed.”
She bit her bottom lip without meaning to, nerves buzzing under her skin. She definitely did not want to focus on how the look was sending jolts of pleasure down her body, nestling in her core where she wished his fingers would roam.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Almost too good,” he added quietly. “I might not want to sleep here at all.”
The words hit harder than she expected. Heat flared, sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy spiked before she could stop it.
“And where would you go?” she asked, too fast. “With Sally?”
She hated the edge in her voice. Hated that she cared, but the last thirty-six hours had been one hell of a ride for her. Not exactly what she had hoped for on her first date after her divorce.
Mateo’s brows lifted slightly. “Does that make you jealous?”
She turned her face away, pulse hammering. The flush crept from her cheeks down her neck, betraying her. “It’s not like you have any interest in me, Mateo,” she muttered. “You made that clear.”
His expression shifted—surprise cracking through the control. “When did I do that?”
“When you called me your ward.” She looked back at him then, chin lifting. “That didn’t exactly scream desire.”
He dragged a hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply. “Listen, tica,” he said, voice lower now. “I have always been interested in you. Hell, the other night we were begging each other’s names.”
Then why do I feel so terrible? she asked herself.
Her heart skipped, then hardened into defiance.
Spending the day playing haughty and untouchable had apparently gone to her head because she didn’t back down.
Her next set of words were stupid, going against everything that screamed at her of what not to do.
“Prove it,” she challenged, a spark of daring in her eyes. “Show me that you mean it.”
“That I am still interested?” Mateo’s gaze dropped to her mouth, something dark and intent settling there. “With pleasure.”
He stepped in, one hand bracing beside her head as he leaned down. The kiss was anything but gentle—firm, claiming, lips pressing into hers like he’d been holding back for far too long. It stole her breath, left her dizzy, her earlier doubts scattering under the weight of it.
His tongue brushed past her last scrap of defiance, as if he were testing how far she’d let him go.
Heat bloomed instantly, wild and consuming, and she melted into it despite herself.
Whatever control she’d been clinging to dissolved as his mouth claimed hers, unhurried but relentless, drawing a soft, helpless sound from her throat.
It was everything she’d imagined and worse—better—than she’d allowed herself to want.
He tilted her chin, angling her enough to deepen the kiss, and the contact sent sparks racing through her.
When her chest brushed his, the sensation made her gasp, body betraying her completely as her nipples hardened to stiff peaks begging for more.
The room felt too small, the air too thick, desire roaring up like a fire she couldn’t smother.
This was insane. No, worse. Reckless and dangerous.
And she didn’t want it to stop.
When he finally pulled back, it felt like being cut loose from gravity.
Everything slowly began to shift back into place: the ambient noise of the camp behind them, the insects screaming in the forest, and finally, their shared breaths.
His forehead rested against hers, breath warm and controlled, but only just. She felt the tension humming through him, tight as a drawn bow.
“Still think I’m not interested?” he murmured.
Her pulse thundered. “I think,” she said, voice unsteady but challenging, “you need to show me again.”
A low sound rumbled from his chest. “Gladly,” he said. “All night, if you let me.”
She opened her mouth to answer when a sharp banging rattled the door. They sprang apart like they’d been burned, adjusting clothes and wiping mouths. If they hadn’t been on opposing sides, Gabriella would have cracked a joke about feeling like they had been caught by their parents.
Sally’s voice cut through the door, falsely sweet and threaded with steel. “The hot springs are free if you want to go, gringa.”
Gabriella’s chest constricted, suddenly feeling unsure and afraid. She glanced at Mateo. “Can’t I stay here?” she pleaded. It hurt her pride to be so vulnerable to him.
Mateo closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening. When he looked at Gabriella again, something had shut down behind his gaze.
“Maybe another time,” he said quietly. Then, firmer: “Go.”
He stepped back, creating distance where, moments ago, there had been none. The sudden absence of him hit harder than she expected—an ache blooming in her chest, sharp and humiliating.
“Mateo, we should talk about—” she started, hoping she could delay the inevitable of being alone with Sally. Trepidation caused her heart to spike. She had been projecting strong and haughty for too long, and she was so tired.
“No.” His tone was final.
The word snapped like a whip, slicing off whatever she’d been about to say. She felt betrayed again and guilty that this hurt more than seeing her friends die. I must be really messed up, she thought as she numbly nodded.
He crossed the room and opened the door, hinges squeaking against rust from years of humidity and rain. Sally stood there, gorgeous in the light of the camp lanterns, already victorious with her smile wide and knowing.
“See you in a bit,” Mateo said, not looking at Gabriella again.
So much for keeping watch over me. Hypocritical ass.
She crossed the room on unsteady legs and stepped outside, tears stinging her eyes. The heat of the moment curdled into something ugly—confusion, rejection, a sickening sense that she’d been pulled in only to be discarded.
With numbed limbs, she moved robotically after Sally, who seemed to find enjoyment in her distress. She spoke little until they got closer to the edge of the jungle, where the path began.
Sally glanced back at her, pleased. “The springs are our favorite part of town,” she said as she led the way down a lantern-lit path. “You’ll enjoy them.”
The trail opened into a clearing where steam curled lazily into the night air. A creek flowed through smooth stone, water shimmering and alive. The scent of sulfur mingled with rain and wet earth. It was beautiful and otherworldly.
Sally showed her where to leave her clothes, gesturing absently. “We soak nude so I will give you privacy and be back in a bit,” she said. Gabriella noted the glint in her eyes before she disappeared.
She probably wants alone time with Mateo.
Gabriella thanked her, though the words felt hollow and only settled on empty air where Sally once stood. She looked around and thought of her options.
She could try to escape, trek through the jungle in the night with nothing but the clothes on her back. The moon was out enough that she could see a little, but it also meant she could run into animals happy to nibble on her flesh, or worse, a man.
Her other choice was just to enjoy the damn bath.
She chose the second option.
The water wrapped around her like a sigh when she stepped in—warm, soothing, easing the tight knots in her muscles.
Don’t think about the bugs. Don’t you dare, she recited to herself as she sank lower, letting the heat quiet her thoughts, the ache in her chest dulling to a throb.
All around her, the jungle was alive. The stream’s bubbling, singing birds, buzzing bugs, and whispering leaves all merged together to create a long uniform song of preservation and tranquility. It’s nature’s white noise machine, she chided herself. Just think the bugs are white noise.
It helped calm her mind, and pushed her to simply focus on the heat of the water, her limbs relaxing. For a moment, she almost drifted to sleep, but then footsteps crunched nearby.
“Sally?” she called, lifting her head, droplets of water tickling her heated skin.
She turned and froze.
Several men stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shadowed, watching her far too closely. None of them were smiling.
The warmth of the springs suddenly felt cold as ice.