The Fury (38 page)
He’d had sex in a tree, once.
He cursed under his breath and finally moved, rubbing his injury against bark.
That
got his mind off the woman.
“You okay?” she asked in Spanish, frowning as she dropped a duffel bag of food on the jungle floor. “You look pale. Let me see your bandage.”
“It’s fine.” His words were quick; he was half afraid that if she touched him it’d be more than he could stand. He knew she’d have soft skin, the hands of someone who spent most of their time indoors. Gentle fingers would glide over his shoulder and back, stroking down his spine as if he wouldn’t notice—
Damn it. She hadn’t even touched him and he’d lost the battle. Santiago shifted his legs, and the blanket with them, into a slightly more concealing pose.
“Don’t be dumb,” Meg said, apparently unaware of his dilemma. “Let me see.” She’d already kneeled behind him, wedging herself between the tree and his skin, one leg tucked up against his ribs. He imagined her flesh beneath her clothes, soft and pale, muscles defined but not bulging. Delicate hands swept his hair out of the way, then skimmed down his shoulder to the medical tape.
He winced as she peeled it off, focusing on the pain to bank his arousal.
“Well, the infection hasn’t gotten any worse.” Her breath ghosted over his ear. She moved, her thigh brushing against his hip. His stomach tightened, and he resisted the urge to turn and see just how close her mouth was to his.
“Good.” His voice came out in husky tones. Seemed like it had been husky since he’d first woken to find her kneeling before him.
“I’m just going to change this.” She stood and strode back to the Jeep. Tossing the old bandage inside, she fished out a new, clean one, and walked back.
Santiago took a deep breath to settle himself, to steel himself for the torture about to come. Oh, God, he didn’t know if he could take much more of this. She knelt behind him again and the very air seemed to warm. Then she rubbed cool cream over the wound, making the pain subside. Next came the cloth itself, and the worst bit—the tape. Specifically, the way she smoothed the tape over his skin, the pads of her fingers over his damp flesh, the occasional graze of a nail.
Just lust, he reminded himself, and a tourist probably wouldn’t appreciate being bedded by someone she’d seen turn from a jaguar into a man. Besides which, it’d hurt his shoulder like hell itself.
He clung to that thought, even when the scent of heightened arousal spiked at his back. Damn women. Then he smiled slowly, entirely too self-satisfied. Maybe in a day or two, when the infection was better, maybe she wouldn’t mind so much being bedded by a Tezcatlipoca. She was certainly interested.
He angled his head to watch her over his shoulder. Her pupils were large in clear blue eyes, dilated despite the sunshine.
Definitely attracted.
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