KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (46 page)

“Your sleep was fitful,” he said.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“How could I resist?”

His invisible caress curled around her chin and lifted. Drowsy, she anticipated a press of lips. But like the ground in her dream, it never came.

She tossed aside the soft blanket she couldn’t remember drawing over her body and shivered against the chill. Even in early summer, the mountains could be cold. Especially right before nightfall. She glanced longingly at the fireplace, but knew they’d stayed at the cabin long enough. Rafe hadn’t exactly agreed to use Rogan’s evil magic to help her find the coins, but he hadn’t denied her, either. If she was going to get out from under Velez’s threats, she needed to act.

Besides, the sooner she paid back the collector, the sooner she could find a way to release Rafe from his cursed tether to the stone. Not that she didn’t enjoy having a man around who could make things appear out of nowhere and who needed hot sex to remain sane, but the situation was already hugely complicated. And if there was anything Mariah hated, it was complications.

Ever since her breakup with Ben, she’d striven to keep things simple. Her business. Her attitudes. Her relationships. And though she hadn’t known Rafe Forsyth for long, she had more than enough evidence to conclude that he was the epitome of complexity.

“Ready to go?” she asked, standing and shaking off the last of her lethargy.

“Have I a choice?”

“Good-point,” she said. She’d already packed the stone in her bag the night before. Still, she’d like to think she wasn’t technically forcing him to help her. He had, after all, agreed to go to the jungle with her before he determined whether or not he would call upon Rogan’s cursed magic to find the coins.

No matter his decision, she knew she’d do what she could to free him, perhaps help him regain the life cut short by magic. Not that carrying around her own personal sex slave wasn’t tempting, but she was a thief, not a psycho.

“We’re both better off if we get out of here,” she continued. “Staying in one place too long is never wise when you’re being hunted.”

“Tell me about your dream,” he said, his voice caressing her neck.

Instinctively, she curled her hair back behind her ear before shaking away the intimate sensation. “Sometimes people dream when they sleep. Not a big deal,” she replied curtly. Grabbing her jacket, she shrugged into the worn leather and headed toward the kitchen to gather the last of the rations.

“Your dreams disturbed you. What did you see?”

Determined to ignore the images still lingering on the edges of her consciousness, she shoved the beef jerky into a Baggie. “Nothing important.”

“Then why did you call my name?”

She spun in the direction of his voice, suddenly frustrated by his invisibility. Had she shouted out to him in her sleep? Even as she questioned herself, the echo of the desperate cry reverberated in her brain like a giant Chau gong.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“You lie,” he accused.

Since he was right, she did not respond, but stuffed the last of the apples he’d conjured into a plastic bin. Luckily, he did not press further.

His presence lingered around her while she locked down the shutters on the windows, collected a few of the soft pillows and blankets, then made sure that the fireplace was emptied of ash and embers. His scent, as fresh and invigorating as the forest outside, teased her nostrils until she found herself smiling again, despite her disturbing dream and his probing questions.

Once the chopper was ready for takeoff, darkness had descended and her mood had lightened. Rafe materialized and, as planned, had altered his appearance so that he no longer wore clothes that were centuries out of style. His hair swept his shoulders and his boots gleamed, but now jeans of butter-soft denim hugged his lean hips, and an equally supple blue shirt did amazing things to his silver eyes. He silently buckled into the seat beside her in the cockpit as they’d practiced, then stared at her expectantly, his mouth curved in an anticipatory smile that almost made her check to see if her blouse had come undone.

“Something amiss?” he asked.

The humorous lilt in his voice reminded her that he had a wicked talent for reading her emotions, which was only one step away from reading her mind. Mentally shaking off her libido, she concentrated on getting them into the air. Fifteen minutes later, they were headed at top speed to an abandoned airstrip outside of Boulder, where they’d initiate the first part of her plan. In the interest of her sanity, she concentrated on her scheme to get them out of the country and into Mexico unnoticed rather than on the way the blue instrument lights played against the jet-black shine of his hair.

As a result, they did not talk. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she caught sight of Rafe staring out into the night, one hand pressed against the glass, as if he had to brace himself for the world outside. She tried to imagine what was going on in his mind as they flew over a landscape so foreign to him. Bright lights. Imposing buildings. The blur of cars darting down the highway. If she managed to pull this salvage operation off, he’d have a wondrous world to explore. And she’d be alive to show it to him.

As the general concern of organizations like Homeland Security and border patrols tended to focus on keeping foreigners out of the United States rather than keeping their own citizens in, she figured it wouldn’t be too hard for her and Rafe to slip into Mexico unnoticed, especially by air. Until her screwup with Velez, the Mexican authorities had believed Mariah Hunter was the name of a tourist exploring the decadence of Cabo San Lucas or the real estate possibilities in the Yucatan peninsula. After her plane had been boarded and searched for the missing Mayan coins, however, the police had told her to never darken their doorstep again and her passport had been flagged. Well, she’d heard worse threats from more corrupt governments. She was probably still a wanted woman in parts of the Middle East and northern Africa. She wasn’t about to be frightened off now.

At the airstrip, Ken and Jan Barkett met them with her Cessna. On the spot, they paid a fair cash price for her chopper, giving her more than enough money to finance this excursion. During the course of the transaction, they eyed Rafe suspiciously, but asked no questions. Mariah didn’t offer introductions. If Velez’s men accosted the Barketts again, she didn’t want them to know anything.

From Boulder, she flew to Elsa, Texas, a town not too far from the Mexican border, where she knew of a guy who would help her and Rafe with forged documents, including passports, for two brand-new identities, just in case. A half hour before sunrise, she and Rafe snuggled together on a futon in the back room of the forger’s house to wait for the man to work his own brand of magic.

Exhausted, she could not fight the contentedness that drifted over her when Rafe’s hand slipped across her belly.

“The sun rises soon,” he said.

Another entire night had passed, and they’d wasted his solid form by not making love. They’d refrained since the one time in the cabin, just as Rafe had refused to use any magic since then. Magic led to darkness, which led to sex. Rafe held fast to his pledge not to take advantage of Mariah to cleanse his soul, and Mariah, though not averse to being used in such a delicious way, had respected his choice. She had to keep her eyes on the prize—convincing Rafe to call on Rogan’s sorcery to help her find the coins.

She’d acted in many more mercenary ways in the span of her lifetime, but for some reason, this situation cut more deeply.

And yet, she was tempted. Oh, so tempted. He was warm. His scent, no longer reminiscent of horses or leather, but of fresh-chopped wood and a hint of mountain rain, was instant aromatherapy. Her eyes closed; she tried not to imagine Rafe’s hand, settled possessively across her middle, moving either higher to her breasts or lower to her suddenly pulsing sex. Both ways led to decadence—and regrets. At least, on his part.

“We should sleep,” she murmured.

He shifted closer. His erection pressed against her back. Along with his muscled thighs, strong arms and rock-hard chest, she was surrounded by a solid wall of man that made her want to do nothing less than melt against him.

“Is this natural?” he asked.

The question, so unexpected, made her turn toward him. “Is what natural?”

Languidly, he ran his hand from her stomach to her side, denying her fantasy, and yet firing her desire to nearly unbearable levels.

“This attraction we share.”

“It’s certainly not unnatural,” she replied. “You’re a very handsome man, Rafe. And I’m not unattractive—”

“You’re beautiful,” he countered.

She smiled, despite her natural inclination to modesty when it came to her physical appearance. Mariah knew she could turn heads. She knew she could flirt or seduce men in the name of manipulation. A pretty face and decent-size breasts made this a common reality for women everywhere. But as much as she needed Rafe’s help and craved his touch, she couldn’t imagine operating that way with him. Something about him engendered honesty.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, then.”

His fingers toyed with the edge of her blouse. “I met Irika when I was a child. I knew from the first moment I laid eyes on her that I would marry her.”

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “I’ve never met a man I thought I could marry, especially not when I was six.”

“Not even Ben Rousseau?”

She smirked. She’d walked right into that one.

“Maybe for a brief moment, I thought it would be possible,” she admitted. “He came into my life when I was seventeen, but I looked older, and I conveniently neglected to tell him I was still underage. He was supposedly an archeological intern studying at my mother’s museum. He was sexy and smart and unattainable, though he flirted with me shamelessly. And I ate it up and found a million excuses to follow him around. Anyway, when it turned out that he wasn’t actually at the museum to study the artifacts but to steal them, my constant presence became a liability. I could have ratted him out. Luckily for him, I was so enamored, I not only helped him take the pieces he wanted, I ran off with him. He taught me the ropes of the treasure-hunting game. By the time I was nineteen, we were lovers. I didn’t want marriage or a family—I wanted adventure and risk and excitement. And he gave me those things in spades.”

“And as a husband, he could not do the same?”

She chuckled. “Honest to God, Rafe, I never even thought about it. My parents divorced when I was five. Neither one of them married again. Even my brothers are still single. Marriage simply has never been on my list of things to do.”

As she’d hoped, Rafe’s fingers had drifted beneath her shirt. His touch skimmed up and down her sides, always stopping just shy of the curve beneath her breast and the low-slung waistline of her jeans.

“Such a shame.” His eyes were liquid silver, sharp and hot. His touch finally slipped beneath the lacy edges of her bra. “Imagine having someone to make love with each and every night. Sharing your secrets with them. Learning their bodies and having them learn yours until pleasure is both unspoken and yet assured.”

At that moment, he tweaked her nipple. She gasped as an orgasmic spike shot straight down to her clit, which suddenly needed his touch so much more. She snuggled against his erection, and yet he denied her. He remained utterly still, his only movement continuous sharp circles around her areola, softly scratching her skin until the itch became unbearable.

“You don’t have to be married to connect with someone that closely,” she said.

“How do you know?”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to answer quickly so that he’d continue his sweet assault on her senses. With Ben, Mariah had had a hot sex life. That much was undeniable. But she didn’t fool herself that they’d ever shared any real connection. What they’d enjoyed had been simple and direct, with none of the nuance that might have come with time and real commitment.

“I don’t,” she answered.

“I do,” he replied. “And I am the one who was married.”

“Does it hurt to talk about her?” she asked, unsurprised when his hand stilled. She would have been sorely disappointed if he’d been able to continue arousing her when he was talking about his wife. And as much as she wanted him to use his last minutes of solid form to soothe her sexual ache, she couldn’t resist learning more about what made him tick.

“Yes,” he replied.

A single syllable, fraught with the deepest of emotions, cut straight through her. She pressed her forehead against his chest. “Then don’t say another word. I’m sorry I asked.”

For a long minute, she heard nothing but his steady breathing, commingled with a heartbeat. The sound wasn’t strong and seemed almost hollow, but phantom or not, Rafe Forsyth lived. He witnessed the new world with fresh eyes, and he mourned the woman he’d loved with an honest heart. She suddenly felt very inadequate, and she didn’t like the emotion one bit.

She forced a yawn. Rafe pressed his arm possessively around her back and whispered, “You are exhausted!”

She murmured her agreement, and then closed her eyes. In her entire adult life, she never remembered wanting a man to hold her until she fell asleep. This was certainly one for the record books, she thought, before the soft stroke of Rafe’s hand along her spine lulled her into dreamless sleep.

* * *

“If there’s one thing I love about thieves and reprobates, it’s that they don’t ask a lot of questions,” Mariah replied to Rafe’s inquiry the next evening about how she’d explained his disappearance to the man who forged their new passports. “By the time I took possession of our papers and paid him, he had a whole new set of customers.”

Rafe nodded, looking out into the inky black night and wondering how Mariah knew where she was going when there were no landmarks visible from this height and night was too cloudy to use the stars for navigation. He simply had to trust that she knew what she was doing, a task he found increasingly difficult since their talk just before dawn, when he’d learned how little she understood about something as elemental as relations between men and women.