24. Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Warmth surrounded me before I opened my eyes.
A heavy arm lay across my waist, holding me firmly against a broad, bare chest. That was when my mind caught up to my new reality. I was on the run from the remnants of a cartel led by God knows who now, somewhere on the mountainside of San Vicente Volcano.
Yet I felt safer than I had since I was a little girl.
My head still rested on Lachlan’s bicep, but sometime during the night, our fingers had slipped apart. His other arm remained draped across my waist, his hand resting on the ground in front of me and loosely caging me against his chest.
For a few moments, I stayed perfectly still, listening to the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. His body, curved around mine, held none of the tension I’d come to expect from him.
Then I became aware of the unmistakable hardness pressed against my backside.
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
Apparently, being half-starved, tortured, chased down a mountain, and forced to sleep beneath a shelf of volcanic rock had failed to interfere with at least one of Lachlan Byrnes’s bodily functions.
I found that oddly reassuring—and considerably more interesting than it should have been while armed men were searching for us.
I shifted my hips the tiniest amount and immediately decided that had been a terrible idea.
The hard length of him now pressed more firmly against me.
Well.
That answered any lingering question about whether yesterday’s attraction had been mostly desperation and adrenaline.
Mine certainly hadn’t gone anywhere.
Neither, apparently, had his.
Carefully, I lifted my head and turned in his arms until I was facing him.
Lachlan didn’t stir.
He looked different asleep, though certainly not harmless.
I doubted this man had ever looked harmless a day in his adult life.
His jaw remained hard beneath several days of scruff; a fading bruise marked his temple, and the cut on his cheek had only begun to heal.
But the constant alertness had disappeared.
His brow was smooth, and his mouth, usually ready with a threat, a curse, or something dry enough to make me laugh when I had no business laughing, rested without tension.
My attention lingered on his lips. I’d already lost my mind and stolen one brief kiss from him when he was blindfolded.
Later, he’d been looking straight at me, his attention fixed on my mouth, but we’d been interrupted before either of us could close the distance.
Now I couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to have a man like Lachlan take hold of me and kiss me the way he did everything else—with complete confidence, no hesitation, and far more intensity than was probably good for me.
I was becoming rather preoccupied with this man’s mouth and wasn’t a bit ashamed about it.
My gaze drifted lower, over the broad expanse of his chest and the bruises and red marks scattered across his skin.
“You should probably scare me a lot more than you do,” I whispered. “Instead, I keep finding reasons to like you. I’m beginning to think there may be something wrong with my judgment.”
I couldn’t quite reconcile this man with the furious Irish prisoner Ciro’s men had dragged beneath my bedroom. The filthy-mouthed stranger who had insulted everyone near him while chained to a chair was now wrapped around me as though keeping me close had become something normal.
As though I mattered to him beyond being the woman he was responsible for getting out of this nightmare alive.
Papá’s last request came back with painful clarity.
Lachlan had vowed, “On my life, she’s safe,” while my father lay dying, blood everywhere and Marcela’s men closing in. He hadn’t hesitated or dressed the promise up with assurances meant to comfort a dying father—he’d simply meant it.
I was beginning to understand that once Lachlan decided something was his responsibility, the cost to himself stopped being part of the equation. Pain, danger, inconvenience—it didn’t seem to matter. He would do what he said he would do and deal with the consequences afterward.
There was something both reassuring and slightly alarming about that kind of stubbornness.
I studied his sleeping face and lightly touched the space between his brows with the tip of one finger.
“You are an exceedingly handsome but complicated man.” My teeth caught my lower lip as I considered him.
“I heard you dare men to hurt you worse rather than give them one thing about your people or comply with their demands. I think you would let someone beat you half to death before you backed down once you decided where you stood. Admirable, certainly. Sensible? Not remotely.”
“You could’ve stopped at handsome,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Taken by surprise, I jerked so hard my knee came up between his legs.
Lachlan’s eyes flew open as his arm clamped around my waist and hauled me against him before I could do any permanent damage.
“Jesus, Mouse.”
The green of his eyes was startling this close.
I stared at him. “You were awake?”
“Aye, and nearly paid dearly for it.”
“How long have you been awake?”
He smirked. “Long enough to learn I’m exceedingly handsome but complicated. And that you may have concerns about your judgment and mine.”
Heat rushed into my face.
“I can’t believe you pretended to be asleep.” I shoved at his shoulder.
“I was asleep. Then you started poking at my face and discussing my character flaws.”
“I touched you once.”
“Very invasive.”
“You did the same thing in the cellar. I thought you were unconscious when I covered you, and you just sat there letting me talk while I cleaned you up.”
“I remember. It was enlightening.”
“I’ll never trust you again.”
His smile faded. “I hope that isn’t true.”
The quiet seriousness in his voice caught me off guard.
Lachlan rolled onto his back and took me with him, settling me partly over his chest before wrapping both arms around me.
“I like knowing what’s actually going on in that head of yours, Mouse. You keep so much to yourself that sometimes I’m left guessing. Then every once in a while, something slips out.” His gaze held mine. “I’d rather not lose that. Or your trust.”
Something warm tightened behind my ribs.
“I do trust you.” My teasing fell away. “And I haven’t thanked you yet.”
“For what?”
“For getting me out. For coming after me when I ran down that mountain like a lunatic. For holding me together after Papá died.” My throat tightened, but I kept going. “You never once made me feel weak for needing you.”
“You weren’t weak.”
“I know.” I studied him. “That’s the point. You’re probably the most dangerous man I’ve ever willingly gotten close to, but with you, I don’t feel small. You make me feel safe without making me feel helpless.”
His arm tightened around my waist.
“Good. Because you’re not helpless. And anyone who tries to put you in another cage will have to go through me first.”
For the moment, neither of us seemed inclined to move.
For a few minutes, I was perfectly content to stay where I was, warm against his chest with his arms around me and far too aware of how much I liked being there.
Eventually, Lachlan shifted beneath me, breaking the spell.
“Come on, Mouse. Marcela’s got a head start figuring out where we went, and I’d prefer Nik finds us before she does.”
That was enough to pull the morning back toward reality.
We got up and ate what little food I’d managed to pack before everything at La Cruzona erupted, then shared the remaining water.
It wasn’t much, but the lower slopes were cultivated.
I was sure we would pass by bananas and papayas, and even the pulp around ripe coffee cherries would give us something to eat if we needed it.
We weren’t going to starve before we found help.
I checked the backpack once more. Mamá’s photograph and her antique locket had survived the escape undamaged, which felt like a minor miracle.
I was equally grateful that the end of January fell in the dry season.
Sleeping in a small rock hollow was unpleasant enough without spending the night soaked through.
Lachlan checked both pistols while I repacked everything. A few minutes later, we crawled from beneath the overhang and started down the mountain again.
The farther we descended, the more the mountain changed from tangled forest to land shaped by the farmers who earned a living from it.
Coffee shrubs appeared beneath taller shade trees in organized rows, some still heavy with clusters of red cherries, while banana plants and the occasional papaya grew along the edges of the cultivated plots.
The bananas we’d eaten earlier no longer seemed like a lucky find.
We were getting close to the farms. For the first time since leaving La Cruzona, there were signs that people lived and worked somewhere nearby.
As we walked, I pointed out the pruned coffee branches, fruit picked clean from some plants but left on others, and narrow footpaths worn into the volcanic soil by people moving between the rows. Lachlan listened to all of it.
More than listened. When I told him which direction I thought would be best, he changed course without question.
It was such a small thing that he probably never gave it another thought.
I did.
All my life, men had questioned or dismissed me whenever I knew more than they thought I should. Lachlan simply found my knowledge useful and acted on it.
A distant engine somewhere uphill sent us into cover until the sound faded.
“It was probably just a farmer,” I said once we started moving again.
“Could’ve been. Could also be one of Marcela’s men looking for the two of us. Until I know which, I’m assuming the second.”
I couldn’t argue with his caution.