Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (33 page)

"Great sex?" He lopped off another branch with considerably more force than necessary. "Great sex, huh? I thought we had more than that."

"Okay. We had
three days
of great sex." Sweat caused the shirt she wore to cling to her delectable curves. She wiped her arm across her flushed face, then took the shirt off, tying the sleeves around her waist. The dark green T-shirt she wore underneath clung to her skin like a latex glove.

He took the bag she carried, withdrew a plastic bottle and handed it to her. "Drink as much as you can."

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Her hands shook, and he had to help her remove the cap. He kept his worry to himself. "I'm astonished you'd do something so rash and irresponsible."

"So was I." Delanie measured the liquid content of the bottle visually. "You have no idea how out of character that was for me." She chugged exactly half the water before handing him back the bottle.

Kyle sighed inwardly. He had a
very
good idea how out of character that weekend had been for her.

Putting together bits and pieces, he was learning a great deal about this woman. He chugged. The damn water tasted of the purification tablets.

"Don't tell me that's all I was to you, either."

Her eyebrows rose. "Luckily, I never built up any expectations, so I wasn't disappointed when you left."

He felt the blood pound behind his eyeballs. "I came back, damn it. And
you
were gone!"
She
was supposed to be the one getting pissed off, not him. Christ, she was tying him up in knots all over again.

She scowled. "What do you mean you came back? When?"

"Twenty minutes after I went down to get my clothes from my room." He'd left her snuggled under the covers, and not wanting to waste one second when Delanie was awake, he'd zipped down to his room to pack. He'd returned to find the door of her room ajar and no sign of her.

"I had a plane to catch."

"At two in the morning? Without leaving so much as a frigging note?" His jaw tightened on a fresh serge of disbelief. "I was halfway in love with you, goddamn it."

"Were you? After three days? How sweet."

How sweet? How
sweet
? "There was a hell of a lot more involved than just
sex
. We connected on a primal level that I'd never experienced before or since. And neither, I'd be willing to bet, have you."

She shrugged.

He didn't realize he'd moved. Suddenly he was so close to her he could see the darker ring around her irises. There was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip. "And
sweet
had nothing to do with it." He gripped her nape and he brought his mouth down on hers, to punish himself because her words had ripped his heart out, to punish her for being the one woman in the world he'd rip out his own heart for.

Her obstinate mouth resisted. He used a gentle implacable pressure, nibbling at the fullness of her bottom lip. His tongue traced the stubborn line denying him entry. Her bunched hands pushed ineffectively against his chest. He tightened his hold. Her lips parted slightly. More than likely to deliver some sort of diatribe he didn't want to hear. He took advantage, spearing his tongue into the heat of her mouth. She tasted sweet. God, she tasted sweet. He was dying of thirst for her.

Her tongue darted away from his. He followed it, tangling with it until he felt her fists loosen between them. He cradled the back of her head in his hand, twisting his fingers into her hair, slanting his mouth on hers until he felt her hands move up his chest and eventually twine around his neck.

God, he thought on a prayer. Thank you, God.

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The T-shirt she wore was damp, and clung to her skin. It was as though she were naked against him. He felt the erotic rub of her nipples through two layers of fabric. It made him want to tear their clothes off and take her there. Against a tree again. Naked and panting in the tropical heat. He felt delirious for her.

Filled with the taste and scent of her. His brain short-circuited by want, and need to reaffirm life.

Her hand gripped his braid in a fist. Urging him closer. His fingers tightened on her scalp. His body burned, throbbed. It took every last vestige of his control not to shove his knee against her groin where he knew the pressure alone would make her come.

As hot as he was, he hadn't forgotten what she'd just been through and that they were still two hours from camp.

They broke apart, both sucking in great drafts of thick humid air. She opened heavy-lidded eyes, her gaze meeting his. He slid his hands down her back until he held an ass cheek in each palm.

She stood on her toes, arching her back. "Kiss me some more," she demanded, closing her eyes again, lifting her face.

His hands tightened on the firm flesh of her behind, fingers spread as he pulled her harder against him, letting her feel how hard he was. Rubbing her against him until he was almost mindless with wanting her.

"You're mine, jungle girl. And it's a hell of a lot bigger than 'just sex.' " Her mouth scorched his, shutting him up. Her clever tongue dueled with his, not giving quarter. Taking prisoners and fighting dirty. He eased her backward, so her spine was supported by the tree trunk and leaned into her, just enough so he could feel the soft mounds of her breasts flatten against his chest.

The heat they generated made the air around them seem downright balmy. God, they were nitro and glycerin together. "I love your mouth," he said roughly, "and this sweet little ass. I love your verve for life.

I love your stubborn loyalty." His mouth crushed hers, drawing life from her kiss. They were equal in every way. He'd never had that with a woman before or since. He felt her low moan, taking it into his own mouth.

Unbearably aroused, knowing they wouldn't be able to do any more right now than kiss, he shifted his upper body to look down at her, bringing one hand up to cup her face. He drew in a ragged breath. "I love you, Delanie."

She snatched her arms from about his neck. A shiver traveled up his spine as she looked up at him, eyes shuttered. A narrow shaft of sunlight filtered down, illuminating her hair and the golden tips of her lashes.

A golden Madonna, with a kiss-swollen mouth. Tenderness welled inside him.

"Did I hurt you?" The question took on a double meaning when her shoulders didn't relax. She couldn't move away physically, he had her pinned to a tree, but emotionally she was gone. His heart plodded to a stop at her closed expression.

"No," she gritted out.

He wondered which question she'd just answered. The past or the present?

Somehow she squeezed herself free. Moving a few feet away she stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, her expression closed as she looked him right in the eye.

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"I'm sorry, Kyle," she said flatly, "but I just don't love you back."

«^»

Delanie's heart ached as though she were the one to have taken the blow. Kyle seemed to have taken her declaration in his stride. And she was the one hurt by her own words.

What really fried her cookies was that he hadn't said a word. Not one damn word. She stepped over the fly-infested carcass of a small, dead animal in her path. Okay, she hadn't expected him to keel over in mortal anguish because his black octagonal heart had been broken, but it would have been nice if he'd shown some sort of emotion at her words. Even indicating a little blasted disappointment would have appeased some of her pent-up acrimony. But oh, no.

He'd come back.

For four years she'd believed he'd left her like a thief in the night. But he'd come back. Not that it mattered, really. He would have left sooner or later anyway. And sooner had been better.

How dare he say he loved her? Damn it, how
could
he? He didn't
know
her. Not the real her, anyway.

He'd only seen her when she was a poor replica of Lauren. Take away the sexy clothes and too-blonde hair, and she was just an ordinary, forgettable woman. Face it, he probably wouldn't even
like
the real her if he'd met her first.

Love schmuv.

Delanie bit back a sigh. Thank God at least one of them had 20/20. Their physical attraction was undeniable; he didn't have to tell her he loved her to justify it.

As far as she was concerned, romantic love was a highly overrated emotion. It always came with strings attached, strings that bound one tighter than a noose. Strings that when severed, brought one pain instead of relief. Delanie considered herself a quick study. Years of observing her mother and sister, both in and out of love, had proven her theory.

Bottom line. Love hurt.

Luckily she was immune.

Sort of.

It took all her energy just to walk doggedly behind him, eyes on the sway of his braid down the center of his broad back. The burn on her ankle, still agonizingly, fiery hot, hurt like blazes.

A snake dropped in front of her face. She paused, lacking the energy to scream, then stepped over it as it slithered beneath the carpet of leaves on the ground. A month ago, her heart would've done a flip-flop at the sight of a thick-as-her-wrist, five-foot-long black snake. Now it was simply same old, same old.

She glared at Kyle's back. For all he knew, she'd fallen into a nest of the darn things a mile back.

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A man must measure time in the same way he measured inches, she thought irritably, trudging along almost blindly. The hour he'd promised had turned into two before they came to a clearing of about nine by nine feet. One "wall" consisted of three gigantic trees, their trunks grown together; another, an enormous boulder.

"This is it," Kyle said, stopping in the center. "Home sweet home. Lay out the—"

She dumped the contents of the burlap bag at his feet and had the canvas ground cover laying on the uneven terrain of the jungle floor before he finished asking.

He gave her a searching glance, which she met with a steady one of her own. She kicked a corner of the mat flat, then lowered the Uzi she carried, feeling inexplicably frustrated and somehow achingly alone.

God, she was exhausted.

She leaned wearily against a tree trunk, too tired to care if something unpleasant crawled on her. The jungle closed in.

The darkly tanned muscles of Kyle's forearms bunched as he erected the wire-framed tent: a small, dark green dome, floor and walls all in one. It was awfully small to house two people who weren't talking to each other.

Her heart still thumped with an uncomfortable erratic beat as she watched his swift and economical movements. The air, thick enough to eat with a spoon, was hard to draw into her aching lungs. A living, breathing,
green
presence. And it started to rain.

She was tired to the marrow of her bones; tired of being stoic about the pain in her leg; tired of being brave and tough and resilient and resourceful. Tired of being strong.

She wanted to fling herself down on a nice soft bed in a cool room, and sleep for ten years. Then she wanted to wake up and cry for another ten hours in a cold shower.

Then
she'd be a brave little toaster again.

Her clothes clung to her sweaty skin, her eyes felt gritty, exhaustion dragged at her. And her heart felt painfully shriveled, like one of those apple-head dolls she'd once bought her sister at a fair.

She
didn't
love him. She didn't, she told herself, watching a beetle carrying a leaf five times bigger than itself scurry across the tarp. She brushed a fat drop of rain off the bridge of her nose. And then another and another.

"Leave that bag of yours out here, and get in while I get the rest of the stuff. Here." She caught the heavy duffel bag he tossed her. "There should be medical supplies. Check it out. As soon as we're situated, I'll make coffee and something to eat. Then we need to get some shut-eye."

Delanie grabbed her own bag and tipped it upside-down, so the contents spilled on the floor of the tent.

Then she tossed the smelly thing as far as she could into the trees.

"Wait a minute—Let me see that."

"This?" Delanie picked up the little portable radio and handed it to him. "It doesn't work."

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"Yes, it does. Thanks to your sticky fingers, now I can alert my team."

"Glad I could be of service." Delanie crawled into the tiny tent—the tiny,
dark
tent—and flopped down on her back, covering her eyes with a bent arm. Stretching out her legs, she listened to Kyle mumbling on the radio and stewed about their unfinished conversation.

Rain pounded the sides of the canvas in a steady, somehow comforting beat.

She sat up as soon as Kyle crowded in, shifting her legs out of his way. The atmosphere inside the small space was thick and uncomfortable, and despite it being somewhere around midmorning, dusk dark.

"Did you reach them?"

"Yeah."

Delanie bent over her upraised knees and rested her head on her folded arms. As long as she could make both of them believe she didn't care, she'd be safe. Love had caused her mother to carry on an affair with a married man for years, and bear him two children. She'd never spent a holiday, birthday, or even a weekend with her lover. And yet she still searched for him in every
new
lover she took—more than ten years after he'd found someone younger and prettier.

"Here."

She glanced up. Kyle handed her an antimalarial pill and a canteen of water.

"Thanks." She swallowed the pill and handed back the bottle.

"Let's take care of that leg before we get some sleep."

"It's fine."

Naturally he ignored her. He concentrated on unlacing her too-big boots, then eased them off and tossed them aside. Then he pushed up the leg of her fatigue pants, removed the bandage he'd applied earlier, and dragged the first-aid box to his side.