CHAPTER 12 #2
She’d be lying if she denied that what he’d told her had made her feel safer.
A short trek across the desert into the U.S.
was surely a cakewalk for a man who’d fought in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan.
He’d probably had lots of outdoor survival training.
He would know what supplies to bring. He would know how to navigate with GPS so they wouldn’t get lost. And if they ran into armed traffickers in the middle of nowhere, he would know how to deal with them, too.
She finished rinsing her skin, then stepped out and patted herself dry with a fluffy white towel, her gaze fixing on her reflection.
The bruises on her cheek and temple were now a dull color of purple.
She ran her fingers over them—proof of how close she’d come to dying. If it hadn’t been for Zach . . .
He’d already done so much for her. More than once he’d put himself between her and danger, even shielding her with his own body.
If you die, angel, it means I’m already dead.
He’d spoken those words to reassure her, but they struck her differently now, stirring something uneasy inside her. She clutched the towel to her chest, dread gathering cold behind her breastbone.
Oh, God, she didn’t want that. No, she didn’t want that.
She’d already lost her parents, already lost Beau. They’d been trying to help her, too. She didn’t want anyone else to die.
No, that wouldn’t happen. That couldn’t happen.
She wouldn’t let it happen. She would do exactly what Zach told her to do.
She would carry her own weight. She would do her best not to slow them down.
And she wouldn’t complain. He’d told her he didn’t think she was a wimp, and she would do her best to prove him right.
They would make it. They would both make it.
Trying to draw comfort from her resolve, she draped the towel over the nearest towel bar, then reached for the silk nightgown, the fabric cool against her skin as she slipped it over her head.
Then she set about brushing her teeth. It was only when she’d finished rinsing her mouth that she saw her reflection again.
Oh, my stars!
The nightgown made her look beautiful—like a bride on her wedding night.
But this wasn’t the sort of nightgown a woman wore in the presence of a man unless she wanted very much to have sex with him.
White silk clung to her breasts, her belly, her hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
The swells of her breasts were covered only by lace, her nipples dark against the shimmering fabric, the thin stripe of her pubic hair a shadow.
Had Zach bought this hoping to see her in it?
Rather than making her angry, the thought made her breath catch, sent a trill of excitement into her belly.
She found herself wanting to let him see her in it, wanting to see how he would react, wanting to see where that would take them.
He was such an intense man. Kissing him had shaken her to her core. Making love with him would be . . .
Did she actually want it? Did she truly want to sleep with a man she’d known for all of three days, a man with secrets, a man who might be a criminal? Did she truly want to have sex with Zach?
Would it be so wrong if she did?
For six long years, she had grieved for Beau, missing him, holding on to his memory, hating herself for calling him from the hospital and asking him to come get her.
That phone call had cost him his life. She’d wept for him until there was nothing left inside her, until the pain of losing him had left her numb, until she’d begun to think that she had died, too.
But Zach’s kiss had brought her back to life. He had awakened something inside her, made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. She couldn’t help but want him.
Would it be so wrong if she let herself live again?
The question jabbed at her conscience, but her body had a very different response.
Even the idea of sex with Zach aroused her, the wetness between her thighs having nothing to do with her shower.
She couldn’t help but want him. Besides, hadn’t she promised herself that if she got away from the Zetas she would live her life to the fullest?
Yes, she had.
Who have you become, Natalie?
She met her own gaze, unable to answer. She didn’t appear any different, not on the outside. But something inside her had changed. During the course of these past few days, something had definitely changed.
Her gaze dropped to the nightgown.
No, of course, she couldn’t wear this. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.
But she couldn’t seem to get herself to take it off either.
ZACH READ OVER the list of supplies he’d just written, checking to make certain he hadn’t forgotten anything.
Handheld GPS. Batteries. Compass for when the GPS fucked up.
Wristwatch. Night vision goggles. Infrared binoculars.
Night scope for the AK. Box of 115 grain +P jacketed hollow point rounds for the Glocks.
Cartridges for the AKs. Double shoulder holster.
Flashlight. Two backpacks. Sturdy trail shoes, athletic socks, BDU pants and jackets for both of them.
Thick leather gloves. Bandanas. A heavy wool blanket.
Duct tape. Sunscreen. Lip balm. Hats. Rope.
Powdered electrolytes. Moleskin for blisters.
Antihistamine. Insect repellant. Snakebite kit.
Codeine-caffeine tablets. Hard candy. MREs if he could find them.
Canned food and a can opener if he couldn’t.
Hand wipes. And eight gallons of water—enough to last three or four days if they traveled at night.
As a supply town that served everyone from poor families planning to cross the border illegally in search of work to wealthy drug lords, Altar had pretty much everything on the list. To avoid attracting attention, Zach would pay in cash, wear sunglasses, speak only Spanish.
Shopkeepers in Altar had long ago learned not to ask questions, and there was almost no chance that Zach would be recognized.
There was only one Zeta still alive who knew what he looked like.
But Natalie was a different matter. Her photo had been in the papers and on the news. As striking as she was, she’d be recognized immediately. What was he going to do with her?
He stood, stretched, pain in his ribs stopping him short.
He looked over at the bed, his body desperately in need of sleep.
He was still in combat mode, exhaustion kept at a distance by adrenaline.
But he’d had only one full night of sleep since being taken by the Zetas.
Eventually, it was going to catch up with him.
He dragged one of the chairs over to the door, jammed it beneath the doorknob—an extra obstacle just in case—and had just started checking the weapons when the bathroom door opened and Natalie walked out. He glanced up—and his mouth went dry.
Sweet Jesus!
She was wearing it. She was wearing the nightgown.
And damned if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—virginal, achingly feminine, seductive as hell.
The fabric seeming to slide over her skin like a whisper, breasts that had teased him all day from beneath her tank top now daring him to touch them, kiss them, suck their velvety tips.
And that dark stripe where her thighs came together . . .
Not a triangle, a stripe.
She waxes.
The thought of smooth, bare labia knocked the breath from his lungs, heat rushing to his groin, his cock already half-hard and getting harder, his jeans uncomfortably tight.
You are such a fucking idiot, McBride! Why did you buy the thing? Haven’t you been tortured enough lately?
Oh, but this was a completely different kind of torture, as sweet as it was unbearable—and much more likely to break him.
Through a testosterone fog, he realized she was watching him.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks glowed a delectable shade of pink. “It’s beautiful.”
He wanted to tell her that the gown was only beautiful because she was wearing it, but he was too caught up defending himself from the part of him that wanted to kick his own ass. “I was half-asleep when I grabbed it. I think it was all they had.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she turned away from him, her hands suddenly busy drawing down the covers and plumping pillows.
The sight of her hips and sweet ass swathed in silk shorted out his brain, so it took him a moment to realize that he’d hurt her.
Well, it had been years since he’d spent any real time with a woman.
Obviously, he’d forgotten everything he’d learned about dealing with females—which probably hadn’t been much in the first place.
Son of a bitch!
Sexually frustrated, irritated with himself, he went back to what he’d been doing.
But there’d been a change of plans. Rather than setting the Glock on the nightstand, he carried it to the table together with the duffel bag of weapons and ammo.
He drew one of the chairs into the corner beneath the AC and leaned an AK against the wall beside the chair.
He told himself this position would enable him to look out the window and keep an eye on the parking lot.
But the truth was that it would keep him from lying in bed beside Natalie.
You handled it last night, and she was only wearing a towel.
Yes, but last night he’d been half-dead. Tonight, he was half-hard.
He turned to face her, found her crawling beneath the covers. He grabbed one of the Glocks, and set it on the nightstand next to her. “At the first sign of trouble, run into the bathroom and lie down in the tub. And take this with you. Understand?”
“Yes.” Her face expressionless, she looked up at him, then glanced over at the chair. “Are you sleeping there? It doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“I want to keep an eye on the parking lot.”
She propped herself up on an elbow, raised a graceful brow. “While you sleep?”
“I’ll catnap.” He took off his shirt, tossed it onto the table, then clicked off the light, neon from outside flickering red through white curtains. “Get some rest.”
He went and sat in the chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and kicked his feet up onto the table, settling in for the night. Overhead, the AC rattled.
It was going to be one long damned night.