Running Wild (16 page)

Despite the increased need for vigilance, however, he hadn’t been able to prevent his mind from going around and around what he might have done to make the sex better than
nice
for Mags. It was hard to deny he’d been long on slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am and short on foreplay. Having her tell him that she’d been satisfied with the little he’d managed took a huge load off his mind, and his smile was spontaneous. Happy. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I was so hot to reach the finish line that any more would have been overkill.”

“Then why the hell did you call it nice?”

“Because it was! And I said
really
nice.” She scrubbed her hands over her face before dropping them back in her lap. Then she fixed those big baby blues on him. “Look, I’m not used to critiquing sexual performance. No one’s ever asked me to do that before.” She gave him a stricken look. “Oh, God. Maybe because my own stunk and I was just too oblivious to realize.”

“Trust me, you’re far from lousy,” he assured her, then added slyly, “It was really nice.”

She flashed him the sweet beam of delight he thought of as her “Magdalene” smile.

“Oh, good. That’s a relief,” she said and he realized
nice
honestly was praise in her mind. She peered at him through thick, pale eyelashes that had been washed almost clean of their usual mascara in her tearing tumble through the rapids. “I’m sorry if I messed up the postgame quarterbacking. I know now that it’s all wrong to call it nice. Even if I don’t quite understand why.”

Then she blinked and hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.” Her open Magdalene expression shut down and she looked at him with the cool gaze that had Mags’s ask-me-if-I-give-a-damn cynicism written all over it. “I guess that wasn’t a compliment, was it?”

“I was teasing you, darlin’.” Which he’d take a wild stab here and surmise no one had bothered to do much of in her life. “If you’d been any better you’d have had to bury my cold, played-out corpse back on that beach.”

And just like that, her open smile exploded back on the scene, all wide and genuine and clearly pleased. “Sweet.”

He shook his head, a half smile tugging at his mouth. “Not from the corpse’s perspective.”

Her delighted laugh was loud, raucous.

The afternoon definitely started looking up after that. They talked about the increasing boat traffic and Mags pointed out some of the more stunning birds—which, given the wide variety of vibrant plumage within the species, was saying something. The sun had begun its downward arc toward the horizon and he was trying to remember what they still had left in the way of food when they motored around a bend in the river and he saw a small town up ahead. “Whoa. Lookit that, Mags! Civilization.”

“What?” She whipped around in her seat to stare at the small town that grew closer by the minute. After she’d looked her fill, she swiveled back to give him another big smile. “Food! And a shower. And maybe even a real bed to sleep in.” She sighed. “I dream about thick, comfy mattresses and here we are with a sporting chance at actually sleeping on one. I still have half my take from yesterday’s fiesta gig.”

“A real bed sounds like Nirvana to me, too.” Give him an evening with her in one of those babies and he’d lay odds he could do some of his best work ever.

But, clearing his throat, he shoved the image springing full-blown in his mind into a deep dark closet. “And a nice cold beer.”

Her smile grew bigger yet. “Make mine a margarita. Alongside a big bowl of chips and salsa.”

As if on cue, his stomach growled and Mags laughed.

Hearing the sounds of a cantina as they pulled up to the rickety pier that thrust out into the river, they exchanged grins as he maneuvered their boat between one similar to theirs and a long orange dugout canoe with a blue open shelter on one end. Mags climbed out and squatted to secure their boat to a couple of crude bent-nail cleats.

He hauled out their belongings as she finished up and extended a hand to pull her to her feet. “You want to find a place to wash up first or to eat?”

“Ooh, God. Both sound equally wonderful. You choose.”

“I vote for a cleanup, then—if we’re quick. ’Cause I’m pretty sure that beer’s got my name on it at the cantina.”

“Deal.”

From what he could see, the town’s business section was comprised of this long block of single and two-storied buildings painted in colors that looked as if they’d once been vibrantly hued but had faded over the years to grubby pastels. They headed for the only hotel, passing by a second cantina on their way.

Finn found himself salivating at the scents that floated out of it and Mags moaned low in her throat.

“I want to eat there,” she said.

The sign on the hotel they walked toward read merely Hotel, so it was probably a safe bet it was the only one in town. When they entered its tiny lobby they found the small counter that served as check-in desk unoccupied. But it had an old-fashioned bell atop it and Finn slapped it a few times.

A man came out through the door behind the counter, tugging a napkin out of his collar. He greeted them in Spanish and Finn let Mags step forward. What followed was a rapid exchange in which he understood maybe one word in ten. The upshot, however, was that Mags ultimately began rooting through her big purse, no doubt for yesterday’s leftover earnings.

He put a hand on her arm. “I’ve got this,” he murmured and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

She told him and he paid the clerk. The man passed him two keys with different room numbers.

He promptly pushed one back and said,
“Uno habitación. Uno.”
But stomach sinking, he turned to look at Mags.

She shrugged. “I requested two rooms.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“U
NREQUEST
IT
.” The flat demand in Finn’s voice and hard look in his eyes made Mags’s heart thunder in her chest.

But damn his eyes if she’d let it show. “No.” Sticking out her chin, she returned hard look for hard look. “I need breathing room.” Okay, and maybe she was running away rather than having to face how this afternoon’s sex had affected her. But if that were the case, so be it. She really did need some space that wasn’t filled to the rafters with Finn’s testosterone.

“Then ask for a room with two beds and we’ll hang a blanket between them,” he said in a way that let her know she’d have a fight on her hands if she didn’t follow his demands pronto. “Did you even look at the numbers on these keys?” He held them out for her to see that one was on this floor while the other was upstairs. “If Joaquin or his hired muscle show up here, you have some plan in place for contacting me?”

Feeling naive and stupid, she shook her head in silent admission that she did not. Then she sighed...and acknowledged what was truly on her mind. “I get the feeling you’re expecting more sex.”

His dark eyes did the impossible and darkened yet more. “I won’t lie, darlin’, I’ve been thinking about just that.” He slicked his hands over his hair from his temples to his nape, where they locked at the base of his skull, one palm stacked atop the back of his other. His bent arms squeezed the sides of his face, his elbows pointed her way as he locked her in the bull’s-eye of an intense gaze. “But I’m a big boy,” he said unequivocally. “I take no for an answer.”

She blew out another sigh. “Maybe I’m worried about my own poor impulse control.”

“Oh, baby—” his grin was wide, white and wicked “—you don’t wanna be telling me that. Because unless you have a gun to both defend yourself and bring me running, we
are
sharing a room.” An odd expression crossed his face as he took her arm and walked her away from the desk clerk. “I forgot all about Joaquin’s gun in the bottom of my pack. I’ll give it to you if you really want to be alone and can get two rooms on the same floor.”

Revulsion surged quick and hot and her hands jerked up, palms out, fingers spread in an age-old, if involuntary, don’t-even-go-there reaction. “I’ve never touched a gun in my life and I don’t plan to begin tonight. I believe I already mentioned, the last time you offered it to me, it’s a better bet I’d shoot myself or have it taken away and used against me than be a threat to anyone else.”

“Then one room it is.” He jerked his head at the clerk, who gazed longingly toward the door behind which his dinner was no doubt growing cold. “Tell him.”

“Finn—”

“Those are your options. The gun. Or me.”

She swore under her breath. “Fine.” She walked over to redo their arrangements.

“And keep the one on the main floor in case we have to bail like we did at Senora Guerrero’s,” Finn called softly from behind her.

She rejoined him a few moments later, shoving the refunded money at Finn as she reached him. “The only room with two beds available is upstairs,” she said, handing him the key.

“Dammit, I said—”

Something in her expression must have given him pause, because he cut himself off midrant or demand or whatever it had been about to be. But just in case he was merely marshaling his arguments, she used his own words against him. “That’s your only option,” she said evenly. “Deal with it.”

He grunted but let it go, and they headed up the stairs to the second floor, walking in silence until they reached their room. He unlocked the door and opened it, then stepped back with a gesture that invited her to enter first. They’d barely cleared the door when he stabbed a forefinger toward the small attached bath.

“Be quick, will ya? I don’t know about you, but I could eat a live cow with my bare hands.”

“Your mouth would probably work better,” she said, “but you got it.” Tote slung over her shoulder, she walked straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The shower was small, its water the color of weak tea and its pressure feeble. Yet it felt like a little piece of heaven right here on earth. She would have loved to linger, but she, too, was hungry and she had no desire to fight with Finn all night and ruin what promised to be a mammoth treat. She’d gotten her way with the two beds and he hadn’t beaten to death her failure to notice the different floors the rooms occupied when he’d seen the original keys.

She quickly soaped up and rinsed off, washed and conditioned her hair, then cranked off the water. After squeezing as much of it from her hair as she could manage with her hands, she stepped out of the shower stall.

When it came to a clean change of clothing, she didn’t like anything her tote had to offer. The river drenching they’d received certainly hadn’t done them any favors. She used the towel to absorb more of the water streaming from her hair, then wrapped the now-damp towel around her and stuck her head out the bathroom door.

The first thing she noticed was a blanket hanging between their two beds that he’d managed to jury-rig just as he’d said he would. At the moment part of it was flipped over the line, giving her a direct view of Finn lounging on one of the narrow beds reading what appeared to be a pamphlet of some kind.

But still.

“You wanna change places with me?” she asked. The damn man had kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt and she looked away when she found herself tracking the curves and dips of his musculature. Seeing a piece of peeling paint on the doorjamb, she tore it off. “I’ll get dressed in here while you shower.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The bed creaked slightly as he pushed off the elbow he’d propped himself up on and she nonchalantly stepped into the room.

That’s when she realized which bed he’d left for her and she whipped around to flash him a spontaneous, genuine smile as he passed her. She didn’t even care that she caught him seriously scoping out where her towel hit the tops of her thighs. “You gave me the bed closest the bathroom.”

“Well, yeah.” His mouth tipped up on one side. “That’s a no-brainer.”

She laughed. “Get your shower. I really need to eat. When was the last time we did that?”

“Too long ago, if neither of us can remember.” He disappeared into the bathroom and she went to find something to wear.

Digging through Finn’s backpack where she’d put some of her clothing when he’d made her lose her suitcase, she came across a red sleeveless top. It was girlie and its cotton scroll lace made it feel kinda dressy even though it, like most of her shirts, was a tank top. Unlike her usual body-hugging style, however, this one skimmed her curves and had a pretty scooped neck and a shirttail hem.

Dropping her towel, she pulled on clean panties, then rapidly slathered on lotion and donned a pair of white capris. She’d only brought one other bra and it didn’t make her feel as pretty as the one she’d been wearing. But that one was grubby and no way was she putting it back on her clean-for-the-first-time-in-what-felt-like-forever body. With a little sigh, she donned the more utilitarian one, then slid the red tank top over her head and twitched it into place.

Her hair was still damp, but she combed it out, then dug through her tote for her makeup case. Standing in front of the flyspecked mirror above the room’s only dresser, she used navy and metallic gold shadows, black liner and navy mascara to design smoky eyes that made her irises bluer, her whites whiter. Then she studied her bare lips, carrying on a silent debate for several seconds. She didn’t ordinarily wear red lipstick, but if this wasn’t the time for a celebratory color, when she was clean and all awash with the prospect of a cold drink and a hot meal, she didn’t know when would be. She dabbed on MAC Good Kisser lipstick with a light hand, however, because her coloring was too all-over pale to support a deep slash of red. She blotted a good portion of that away, dabbed on more and blotted again. Then again, until, finally satisfied, she stood back and smiled.

Until she looked down at her feet. Dang. She sure wished she had a pretty pair of strappy, dressy sandals to complete her look.

“Yeah, well,” she sighed.
If wishes were horses
. She’d just have to make do with her Tevas.

Making do was something she had down cold, so she pushed the minor dissatisfaction aside. It didn’t pay to get all stressed over things you had no earthly chance of changing.

The bathroom door opened and she looked up as Finn strode into the room. All the moisture left her mouth.

Ho-ly crapuccino. The man really was sex on a stick—or maybe it was simply that she now had knowledge of what he could do with that body, those hands, those lips.

His normally rich brown hair was inky with the water still clinging to it, and that newly shaven jaw gleamed like old satin under gaslight. Not that she knew from personal experience what the latter looked like, but she’d read enough historical romance to be fairly certain she was at least in the ballpark. And that towel, wrapped around his hips and tucked low—

Well.

The thing was shabby and on the thin side, and it acted like neon arrows pointing out all the good stuff that wasn’t covered. The long, muscular legs. The corded belly and that strong chest with its virile dusting of hair. Those wide shoulders. Not to mention his strong arms.

God, those arms. She’d had a couple of dreams about them holding her through the night. She’d bet it would feel like security squared to sleep wrapped in Finn Kavanagh’s arms.

But that was a slippery slope she was staying the hell away from. She could hardly tell the guy she wasn’t interested in having sex with him again, then expect him to merely hold her so she could sleep without feeling the need to do so with one eye open.

As if physical proximity ever improved anything anyway. It was that exact illusion of depending on someone else for her security that she’d worked so hard to eradicate. Besides, even if they survived this, when it was over she’d go back to her little apartment in LA, where she hoped to get her makeup-artist career back on the track she’d almost gotten it on. And Finn would go home to his big, supportive family.

She snorted. Not that he had the good sense to appreciate how lucky he was to have them.

“Ladylike,” Finn murmured. But he gave her an appreciative smile. “You look very pretty. Red’s a good color on you.”

“Thanks. Throw on some clothes and let’s go get something to eat.”

“I’m with you there, doll.” And he dropped his towel.

* * *

“F
OR
G
OD
’
S
SAKE
, K
AVANAGH
!”

Finn watched as Magdalene whirled to give him her back. And smiled to himself as he shook his head. She was a dichotomy: so bold and freewheeling and pulsing with sexuality one moment, then damn near bashful and prudish the next.

Even as he watched, she reached toward the line he’d strung between their beds to hang the divider he’d promised her. She grabbed the bottom corner of the blanket that he’d flipped back up over the line to keep things airier and mostly open until she absolutely needed her privacy.

Which was now, clearly. Or so her twitching the blanket free and letting it drop between them told him.

He blew out a gusty breath and turned to look at the clothing he’d laid out while Mags was in the shower. The wardrobe he’d brought on this trip, if you could even call it that, ran mostly to shorts and T-shirts. Given how nice Mags looked, however, and the obvious attention she’d paid to putting herself together, he went back to the pack and pulled out the pair of khakis he’d thrown in at the last minute and the silky golden-brown Perry Ellis T-shirt his sister Hannah had given him “just in case you find a senorita you want to impress.”

Not that he was out to impress anyone. Still...
Thank you, Hannah.

He got dressed, tried to hand press the worst of the wrinkles out of his pants, then gave it up as a lost cause and dragged a comb through his hair. After putting on his shoes, he called it good. Feeling great, he sang a section of an old favorite song where a man urged a woman to “wear a dress, babe,” while he wore a tie. And added how they’d laugh at that old bloodshot moon, in that burgundy sky. Then, drumming his fingers on the little nightstand next to his bed, he made his voice go falsetto for the bluesy piano-and-drums instrumental that normally followed the lyrics.

He heard Mags’s muffled laugh from the other side of the blanket.

“How ’bout it, Mags? You ready to put a new coat of paint on this lonesome old town?”

“I am.” She came around the corner of the divider. “I’d probably appreciate your musical abilities more, though, if I weren’t starved half to death.”

“I hear ya, darlin’. Let’s go get us a drink and something to eat.” He hovered his hand just above the small of her back as she preceded him out the door. “Did I tell you that you look really pretty?”

“You did.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder before turning her attention to navigating the stairs. “I have to admit, though, a girl just can’t hear enough of those sweet nothin’s.”

They crossed a lobby that once again was empty, then stepped out the front entry to find that night had fallen. A silvery sliver of the rising moon barely crested the flat horizon to the east.