Cry No More (21 page)

She walked across the rock, testing the thickness of the fabric. Like he’d said, it wasn’t like leather. She could feel every pebble. “How far do you think it is to the truck?”

He glanced at the sun. “If I’m right, we’re not all that far. The truck was downstream, and the river carried us in that direction.”

“But there was that bend to the left.”

“And then this bend to the right. I’d say . . . maybe a mile.”

A mile through a mountainous forest, virtually barefoot. He evidently came to the same conclusion she’d reached, because he shook his head, then looked around. Abruptly he took out his knife again, and went to the tree. He stabbed the point into the bark, then began slicing downward.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting off a sheet of bark to use as a sole.”

She stood to the side and watched with interest as he carved off a square of bark roughly ten inches by ten inches. She sat down and began unwrapping her feet. He split the square of bark in half, then knelt on one knee in front of her again. He balanced one slab of bark on his other knee, with the smooth underside up, and laid the sleeve over it so she’d have a double layer of cloth between her foot and the wood. Then he rewrapped her foot, binding the bark to the bottom with two swaths of cloth, and tied the knot on top again. After repeating the process with her other foot, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “How does that feel?”

“Much sturdier, though I don’t know how long the bark will hold together.”

“Anything is better than nothing. If it falls apart, I’ll cut some more.”

They left the riverbank and set out at a right angle into the forest. She had to walk gingerly, because the makeshift shoes didn’t give her feet any support, but the bark at least protected their tender bottoms from the worst abuse. She tried not to step on sticks or rocks, tried not to make the bark flex very much, which would cause it to break apart. That made their pace necessarily slow, when they couldn’t afford any delay.

Under the canopy of the trees they didn’t have the sun’s warmth, and within minutes Milla was shivering violently. Her wet clothes felt like ice on her, and she realized they were in as much danger from hypothermia as they had been from the water. Diaz, with his greater muscle mass, would do better than she at producing body heat, but he, too, was shivering.

He stopped once and wrapped her in his arms, hugging her close so they could share what meager heat they could generate between them. They stood pressed against each other, and she tiredly rested her head on his shoulder. He felt so hard and vital, but he was as vulnerable as anyone else to the chill of these conditions. She could hear his heart thumping steadily, strongly in his chest, sending warming blood through his veins, and after a while she began to feel a little warmer.

“We’ll make it,” he murmured against her temple. “We have a lot to look forward to tonight. Besides, I have a couple of sweatshirts behind the seat of the truck.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” With effort, she straightened away from him. “The promise of a sweatshirt will work miracles.”

The “mile” he’d estimated was a straight line, but unfortunately they couldn’t walk in a straight line. They climbed up slopes, down slopes, always working their way around to the direction he wanted. They had to hold on to trees when the mountainous terrain grew so steep they couldn’t stand upright. What would have taken them twenty minutes on the flat took them over two hours, and twice he had to replace the bark in her improvised sandals. His sense of direction was unerring, though, and eventually they cut the trail that led them back to the truck.

By the time they reached it, the sun had set and twilight was deep, and the day’s warmth had long since fled. Milla could barely walk, she was so cold. She shuffled along like an old woman, every muscle screaming in pain. She kept thinking longingly of the missing backpack and the ground sheet in it; they could have wrapped it around themselves and huddled together, and replenished their body heat that way. Food wouldn’t have been amiss, either; it had a way of revving up the system. She thought of coffee, a big steaming cup of it. Or maybe hot chocolate. Any form of chocolate.

She thought of Diaz, and what would happen between them tonight—if they made it back to the hotel.

Just when she thought she couldn’t go any farther, she looked up and there it was, that monstrosity of a truck. Nothing had ever looked more welcome. “The keys,” she suddenly croaked. “Are they still in your pocket?”

That was the good thing about jeans when they became wet: they clung. What was in the pockets tended to stay in the pockets, even in river rapids. With difficulty, Diaz dug his fingers into his cold wet pocket, and came out with the keys. “Thank God,” she breathed.

The next hurdle was getting
into
the damn truck.

Diaz tried to pick her up, but couldn’t. Finally he boosted her enough that she could crawl, giggling, onto the floorboard and from there up onto the seat. The situation wasn’t funny, but the choice was either laugh or cry. He had to hold the steering wheel to haul himself up, and he was shaking so hard it took him three tries to get the key into the ignition. But it was warmer in the truck than it was outside, and after it had idled a few minutes, warm air began blowing from the vents. He pulled two sweatshirts from behind the seat; they were new, with the tags still on them, so he must have bought them today to have just in case. His caution amazed her, because there was no way he could have known they’d fall in the river.

He stripped off the sleeveless remnant of his denim shirt and his T-shirt. Milla wasn’t so far gone that she wasn’t interested in the rock-hard expanse of his lightly haired chest, or his ridged abdomen. She pulled off her own blouse and her wet bra, and suddenly he hauled her across the truck seat, wedging her between the steering wheel and his chest as he kissed her. Their bare torsos rubbed together, his chest hair rasping over her chill-tightened nipples and making them tingle. She wrapped one arm around his neck and snaked the other one around his back, pressing her palm to the smooth, thick muscles she found there. This kiss wasn’t shy, or gentle. He kissed her as if he might not wait until they got back to the hotel, his tongue stroking, his teeth nibbling. He rubbed his hand over her breasts, stroking them, learning their shape and softness and how they fit in his palm.

She whimpered into his mouth. It had been a long time since she’d felt this, too long. She still couldn’t quite believe it was actually happening, that Diaz wanted her as she wanted him.

He was shaking when he drew back, but no longer from the cold. “We’d better get dressed,” he said gruffly, and pulled one of the sweatshirts over her head himself. It was a man’s shirt and there was far too much fabric, but she didn’t care. The garment was thick and dry, and she almost wept at the warmth. He pulled on his own shirt, then took off his wet boots and socks and stuck his bloodless feet up to the floor vent so the truck’s heater could blow right on them. She followed suit on the passenger side. The cab quickly heated, but it was at least fifteen minutes before her shivering subsided and her numb feet began to tingle with warmth. Finally he felt warm enough to drive, and by then the darkness was thick around them.

They had a long drive ahead of them back to Boise, and even though she was warm now, she felt drained. He had to feel the same. She put her hand on his arm. “Can you make it, or do we need to stop somewhere?”

“I can make it. When we get back to the highway, we’ll stop at the first restaurant we see, no matter what kind, and get something hot in our stomachs.”

That sounded like heaven. She pushed at her wild crown of curls. Her hair had dried, but she knew she had to look like a wild woman. She’d be surprised if any restaurant other than a motorcycle gang hangout would let her in. “The pistol is long gone, huh?”

“Bottom of the river.”

“Too bad. You might need one to make a restaurant serve us.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “I’ll manage.”

They lucked out and found a hamburger joint with a drive-through window. After getting their food, he pulled over and parked so they could eat. By then she had recovered enough to be starving, and she chowed down on her second hamburger of the day. He’d ordered each of them a large cup of coffee, and they settled back in bliss.

“We have to find a place that sells condoms,” he said abruptly. “I don’t have any.”

There was tension in his voice, and she glanced over at him. He ran a nervous hand over his face.

Suddenly uneasy, she said, “We can wait. This doesn’t have to happen if you’re having second thoughts—”

“No. It isn’t that.” He took his hand down and gave her a somber look. “It’s just—I haven’t had sex with anything other than my fist in two or three years and I—”

“Two or three years?” she echoed, then shook her head. “It’s been longer than that for me. I’m not exactly a red-hot mama.”

“I want to make it good for you, but I probably won’t last long.”

“I probably won’t, either,” she said truthfully. Since that last kiss, her body had been humming with anticipation.

Doggedly he plowed ahead. “But then I’m good for the rest of the night, and I’ll make it up to you.”

His nervousness was appealing; her nature was fastidious, and she didn’t like promiscuity. His confession was reassuring, too. “Are you healthy?” she asked, because she’d be stupid not to.

“Yeah. I haven’t been with many women, and never with a whore or a drug-user. And I give blood at the Red Cross, every three months, so I’m tested regularly.” He said it with an earnestness that touched her. Diaz was so sure of himself in every other way; she liked this more human side of him. She sensed that he really had to trust a woman before he’d let down his guard enough to be intimate with her, and even then he probably kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Tonight, she would find out.

She leaned over and kissed him. “Forget the condoms. I’m on birth control.”

He took control of the kiss, and he might not have had a great deal of sexual experience, but he knew what he was doing. He kissed her deeply, a little roughly, and with growing urgency. When he set her back from him, his eyes were narrowed and fierce. Without a word he put the truck in gear, and they roared down the highway toward Boise.

20

The tension between them grew more the closer they got to the hotel, until it was thick and smothering. She tingled from head to foot, her thoughts feverish as she thought about what she was going to do. Against all common sense, she was going to bed with Diaz. This might just be a very human reaction to the danger they’d survived together, she might regret it in the morning, but she was going to do it.

She was so hungry for him that she ached with need, so desperate to feel him inside her that she thought she might climax as soon as he touched her. She wanted to tell him to pull over to the side of the road so she could straddle his lap and get it done, now, before she died from tension. But, like him, she wanted a bed for what was going to happen between them, so she kept silent and gritted her teeth against the sheer lust that gnawed at her.

Finally they were there. He stuffed his feet into his wet boots, left his socks on the floorboard, and got out. Milla wasn’t about to hop out with only fabric and pieces of bark to protect her feet, so she sat there while he came around and opened the door to lift her out. She thought that this time he might let her slide along his body, but he held her at least six inches away and set her gently on her feet. She looked up into his face, expecting the hard, remote expression so natural to him, and finding exactly that. But he tucked her against his side and walked with her into the hotel.

The night desk clerk looked at them with curiosity as they approached, and she knew he didn’t often see a woman with rags wrapped around her feet. At least with the new sweatshirts they didn’t look homeless. If it hadn’t been for that, she suspected the desk clerk might have called security.

On the way up in the elevator, she and Diaz stood side by side, not talking. She could feel every heartbeat; even her fingertips were tingling.

He tried his key card and wonder of wonders it still worked.

He unlocked his door and ushered her inside, turning on the light in the tiny entrance. Suddenly feeling like Little Orphan Annie, Milla sidled toward the open connecting door to her room. “Uh—let me get my feet unwrapped and take a shower, and I’ll—”

“Sit down,” he said.

She blinked at him.

He pulled out a chair and pushed her down into it. After turning on the bedside lamp, he knelt and began untying the knots that held the sleeves around her feet. When her feet were bare, he carefully examined them, looking for scrapes or cuts, but she’d come through the ordeal in good shape.

When he was finished, he stood up and she did likewise, shoving a hand through her unruly hair. “I’ll take a shower,” she said again, trying to step past him, but he curved a hand around her waist and pulled her back to him.

“The shower can wait.”

“My hair—the river water—”

“The water was clean.”

“But I’d rather be fresh.” She didn’t know why she was making excuses now to delay what was going to happen, but she was suddenly nervous. It had been a long time for her, and Diaz wasn’t an ordinary man. Both facts were staring her in the face, and she wanted to slow this down.

He unsnapped her jeans and said, “I want you just like this.” Then he kissed her.

There was nothing romantic about Diaz, no murmured sweet things, no gallant gestures, just this kiss that went on and on, deep and voracious. She’d never been kissed like this before, with an intensity that stripped everything down to the simplest components: male, female. He held her with his hand burrowed into her hair, her skull gripped in his palm, her head tilted back while he fed from her mouth. That was what it felt like, a taking. And yet he gave, too. He gave pleasure. She burned with it, the flames fueled by nothing more than his mouth and tongue.

His erection bulged in the crotch of his jeans. It was a rock-hard presence pushing against her stomach, and her loins tightened with need. Frenzied now, she pulled back a little, fought with button and zipper and won, wrenching the damp cloth aside so she could grasp the hard length that thrust outward. She wrapped her fingers around him, delighting in the thickness, the silky slide of his skin. She moved her hand up and down, circling the thick crown of his penis and dragging a deep, raw sound from his throat as he shuddered convulsively.

His arms tightened and he bore her down on the bed and, in twenty tumultuous seconds, had her stripped naked. Another ten had his own clothes on the floor. He put his hands on her knees and pushed them apart, not waiting for her compliance, and moved into place over her. Milla put her hands on his ribs, holding on as he braced his weight on one arm while with his other hand he guided his penis to her and in the same rough motion pushed deep inside.

He froze in place, his breath panting between his parted lips as they stared at each other. She couldn’t move; the feel of him inside her was too sharp, almost painful in its intensity. Their gazes met in the mellow lamplight, and she was mesmerized by the tension in his face, the way his steely muscles were locked as if he didn’t dare move. It built and built, that clawing need, and yet she remained poised on the razor’s edge of something she knew she couldn’t control. His chest suddenly heaved on a convulsive breath, and he moved in a long, deep stroke that took him all the way to the hilt.

She clenched: her vagina, her entire body. She clenched around him and her vision blurred and she began to come, wave after wave of almost blinding pleasure. She had never come like that before, so totally lost in the physical that she had no sense of self, of surroundings, of anything beyond the moment and the ecstasy that spasmed in her belly, down her legs, along her nerve endings. He rode her through it, thrusting hard, demanding his own release and in doing so prolonging hers. He made that raw sound again and arched back, shaking convulsively as his hips jerked and plunged before, long seconds later and trembling in every muscle, he slowly collapsed on top of her.

The aftermath was like a wasteland, desolate and empty. She lay beneath him, too exhausted to move, barely able to breathe, and fought the urge to cry. She had never before been weepy after sex and didn’t know why she should be now, but she felt a haunting need for comfort. She wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and sob like a child.

Because this had been a monumental mistake? Or because it was over?

Even though he lay heavily on her, sucking deep breaths into his lungs, she could still feel a fine, subtle tension running through his every muscle, as if he never quite relaxed—as if he was already thinking of moving on.

What did one say after an experience like this? “Wow” seemed both inadequate and out of place. “Do it again” was what she wanted to say. Right at this moment, she never wanted to be separated from his body again. Sanity would return, she was certain. Maybe in another few minutes. Maybe tomorrow. Until then, she wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel again what she had felt moments before, though she didn’t know if she could muster the energy to try, or survive it if she did.

“Do it again.” She said it anyway, because she couldn’t
not
say it. She slid her legs up his sides and coiled them around him, clung to him with her arms, tilted her pelvis in an effort to hold his softening penis.

He laughed, that low, rusty growl of sound, and his breath was warm in her hair. “I’m not sixteen. You’ve gotta give me a few more minutes than this.” He still sounded a bit breathless. But he didn’t withdraw from her; he settled down a bit more heavily, as if he finally relaxed that last little bit, and snuggled in so that as long as they didn’t move, his penis would remain inside her. “I think that lasted about fifteen seconds.”

“I didn’t last that long,” she murmured, closing her eyes and inhaling the warm male scent of his skin.

“Thank God.” He nuzzled her temple, then whispered, “Take a nap,” and he closed his eyes and proceeded to do just that.

This was nothing like the first time he’d told her to do that. This time, the feel of him on top of her was so wonderful she was still fighting tears. How could he expect her to sleep when he weighed a ton and she could barely breathe, when she wanted to cling to him and cry and laugh at the same time? How could she sleep when she was afraid to relax her muscles, lest she lose him? And yet she did, too exhausted to do otherwise.

She woke to long, slow strokes that went deep into her, to his hard hands gripping her bottom as he tilted her up and ground her clitoris against his pubic bone. He might not have had vast experience, but he knew what he was doing, knew all the hot spots and pleasure points of her body, and he used that knowledge to push her high and keep her there, without letting her go over the edge. This time was as prolonged as the first time had been brief. After a while she began struggling with him for supremacy, fighting him for her release, but he was too strong and controlled her until he was ready. Then he rode her hard and fast and hurled them both into orgasm.

She finally got her shower, though with him in there with her it was more orgy than shower. He paused once, with the water pouring over them, and touched the patch on her hip. “What’s this?”

“My birth control patch.”

He regarded it with interest. “I’ve never seen one before. What if it comes off?”

“I’ve never had one come off until I take it off. They stick pretty good. But I check it every time I shower, just to make sure.”

He trailed his fingertips over the slope of her breasts, then lightly circled her nipples. His expression was serious. “I’ve never had sex without wearing a condom before.”

“Never?”

He shook his head. He watched his fingers as they moved down her stomach, over the gentle curve of her belly, before curving into the notch between her legs. His two middle fingers slid between her folds and up into her. Milla’s breath hissed between her teeth and she lifted onto her toes, clinging to his shoulders for balance.

“I liked it,” he murmured.

“What?” She had totally lost the thread of their conversation.

“Coming inside you. So don’t lose that patch.”

She had never been into kinky sex; oral was as far as she would go. But Diaz knew no boundaries on her body and she was drunk with physical pleasure; she let him do whatever he wanted. He took her in the shower, on the floor, sitting on the vanity. He put her against the wall and took her standing up. It was sex as she had never known it before, raw and powerful, surprisingly sophisticated in execution but primitive in design and intent. And she kept coming back for more, arousing him with his penis in her mouth, her hands cupping his heavy balls and feeling them tighten, and doing some of the same things to him that he’d done to her, just to hear the thick groans he gave.

By morning, she was raw and sore, and knew walking would be an effort. By morning, she could barely remember what it had been like to
not
know his body, not to have felt him inside her and held him in her arms and absorbed the power of his thrusts as he came. By morning, she was his.

She woke to see light seeping around the edges of the pulled curtains. He lay behind her, one heavy arm draped over her waist, his breath warm on her shoulder. She felt stupid. She was more than a little shocked at herself, but there it was: she was his, in a way she had never been David’s. The knowledge hurt her. Though until the day Justin was stolen, her marriage had been a happy one, she had remained her own person and David had remained his. He had been absorbed in his work, of course, as he still was, and she had been content to have that small, almost imperceptible distance between them. It had felt good, that sense of autonomy, of controlling her own life.

But David was a civilized man, and Diaz . . . wasn’t. He hadn’t let her maintain that tiny sense of distance.

She knew very well she had bedded down with a predator. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and she had never felt safer than when she was in his arms. He had used her for his pleasure, but he had also let her use him in return. Last night hadn’t been just sex, though she had thought it would be. Instead it had been a . . . claiming, raw and raunchy and unexpected.

How could she have known he wanted that? She could have handled her emotions better if it
had
been only sex. But he had known what he was doing, and ruthlessly used the physical to cement the emotional. Claimed, and bonded. No matter what, now, they were linked, and not just by memories of what had passed between them. No, there was something else, something primitive and elemental that she couldn’t quite grasp.

Love? She couldn’t call it that. There was a powerful attraction between them that seemed to go all the way down to the cellular level, but it wasn’t love. She was damn certain he didn’t love her. It was almost a case of like calling to like, a sense of ease as if they were two halves fitting into one perfect whole, and that made her even more uneasy than thinking about love. Was she like Diaz? Was she that ruthless? Had she become like him, in her relentless search for Justin?

He stirred and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “We need to get to the airport,” he said sleepily.

She didn’t want to move. “I have two more days of vacation left.” She should go back to El Paso, she knew. Diaz should renew his search for Pavón, and now that they were fairly certain someone had been misdirecting her all these years, they had another angle to explore. But for ten years she had been battering herself against a blank wall, and she was tired. Yesterday she had nearly died in that river. Would it be so horrible of her if she stole two days just for herself, away from the constant struggle? Two days, that was all she was asking. She had never even considered doing such a thing before.

“What will happen if we go home?”

“I’ll probably go back to work,” she said honestly. Things would be different when she was home. El Paso was the center of it all; she couldn’t be there and
not
work. Boise was a different world, away from everyone she knew.

He rolled over and picked up the phone. “I’ll cancel our flight reservations.”