Read Heart of Fire Page 24


  Wearily she removed her boots and socks and stretched out on the thin foam pad, moving over to make as much room as possible for Ben. He shoved the pack into the far corner, placed the pistol close at hand, then removed his own boots and socks. He clicked the flashlight off, and darkness consumed them, darkness so complete it had a certain solidity to it. Ben lay down beside her, his big body hot and comforting.

  Now that she had relaxed, all the things she had refused to let herself think about during the day came rushing over the barricades. Rick was dead.

  “He told me to run,” she murmured. “I wasn’t blind to Rick’s shortcomings; we were never close. Most of the time I think he actually hated me. But when he saw Dutra with the pistol and realized what was happening, his last words were for me to run.”

  “When you kept him from going off the ledge, it got his attention, made him think,” Ben replied, his deep voice quiet. “He wasn’t as much of a shit-ass after that.”

  “No,” she said, remembering the short conversations they’d had. “He wasn’t.” After a minute of silence she said, “He stole one of my dolls once, when I was little. He destroyed it, hacked it to pieces. I was nosing around in his room one day and found it. I don’t know why, but I never said anything.”

  “Were you scared of him?”

  “No. He just seemed . . . not really part of the family. I was so close to Dad, and I know now that Rick wanted to be, but I was so like Dad in temperament and interests that poor Rick didn’t have a chance. He got only the fringes of Dad’s attention. No wonder he hated me.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d never been born,” Ben said. “People are what they are. He wouldn’t have amounted to much under any circumstances.”

  “We’ll never know now, will we?” she said sadly. After another short silence she spoke again. “Vicente is dead. He was the first one Dutra shot.”

  Ben swore, then sighed. Vicente had been a steady worker, a happy-go-lucky fellow always ready for a laugh. Even the strong warning Ben had given the men hadn’t saved him.

  Jillian began to tremble. Ben felt the slight movement and turned to her, taking her in his arms and holding her as she battled the shock of reaction. His vital animal heat was comforting, and she sought to get closer.

  She felt him touch her hair, smooth it back from her face. Then his mouth covered hers, and she turned her face more fully toward him. She was quiescent, accepting both the kiss and the slow domination of it as his tongue penetrated her mouth. She began to breathe more deeply, a heavy languor stealing into her body. After all they had been through that day, she both wanted and needed him. A shock of recognition hit her: the sparring was at an end; it was time. He lifted his mouth and she sensed him leaning over her in the dark.

  “I can’t believe you’ve held me off this long,” he said in a low, guttural voice. “Let me inside you, sweetheart. Now.” There was no Supplication in his tone, only primal male determination.

  His hands were hard on her body as he removed her pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding them down her hips and legs, and off over her feet. He swept her panties down in the same movement, leaving her naked from the waist down, trembling. She felt his movements as he stripped out of his own clothes, and shut her eyes as if the act would freeze time, give her an opportunity to think.

  He was moving too fast, unwavering in his intent, and she couldn’t muster any protest or denial, couldn’t think why she would want to. Why slow him down? She had that feeling again, that sense of. . . waiting, as if the time had been long approaching and had now arrived. There was an inevitability to it. She loved him, and for a while that day she’d thought she had lost him to death. All of the squabbling competition seemed unimportant right now. He had called her his woman, and she lay there in the darkness feeling the final acceptance of it.

  He opened her legs and moved between them, mounting her. Jillian clutched his steely biceps, her nails digging into the skin. She felt him brace himself over her on one arm, while he reached down with his other hand and guided his penis to her. The first heated touch made her flinch, and he murmured, “Easy, sweetheart.”

  She tried to relax, but somehow it didn’t seem like an option she had. There was no time to prepare herself, no foreplay, only the basic act itself. He pushed into her with slow, inexorable force, squeezing his thick penis in to the hilt. She writhed beneath him, feeling unbearably stretched, on the verge of pain, her soft sheath quivering as she tried to accustom herself to his girth.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, and only then did she realize she was making small whimpering noises. He stripped her shirt off and let his weight down on her, the crisp curls on his broad, hard chest rasping against her tender breasts. She locked her arms around his shoulders, clinging desperately.

  He withdrew a little and slowly squeezed forward again, testing her tightness, shuddering with the pleasure of it. He was so aroused that he felt almost ready to climax right then, a startling realization for a man who was accustomed to drawing the sex act out for at least an hour. His testicles were drawn tight against his body, signaling how close he was to orgasm. It was going too fast; he didn’t want it to end so quickly. At last he had her naked, her arms around him holding as if she never meant to let go, her taut, firmly muscled body welcoming him, and he never wanted it to end.

  But the Lorelei of irresistible pleasure beckoned, and his body, so long denied, refused to be denied a moment longer. He began thrusting heavily, groaning as he pounded into her, feeling her sheath grow moist and supple as she clung to him. She wound her strong slim legs around his waist and he lost it. His climax slammed into him like a freight train. He hammered into her with the violent rush of semen from his body, groaning deep in his chest.

  It was over. In the silence afterward, Jillian lay still beneath him, feeling dazed and a little battered from the force of his passion. He had been overwhelming, so dominant in his need that her mind reeled from it. He lay heavily on her for a time, his chest heaving like bellows and sweat dripping down his side. When he had rested, he began slowly to thrust again.

  She moaned, softly, and he kissed her, his tongue probing deep. “It’s all right,” he said in a soothing whisper. She was slick from his climax, accepting him easily, her hips rising in an involuntary little movement to meet each inward stroke. He could take his time now; he was still hard, and knew he would come at least once more, maybe twice, but not for a while. He could savor every inch of her, the smooth satin of her skin, the hot wet silk of her sheath.

  He drew it out, with slow, steady thrusts. He felt the tension grow in her, felt the subtle vibration of arousal as her slender body tightened and lifted to him.

  “Ben,” she said, just his name, but laden with desire.

  It was as perfect as he had known it would be, and yet it was more. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity, the overwhelming need to brand her body with his, using the heat of ecstasy. No other woman had ever mattered as much, had ever fit him so tightly, been so wonderfully perfect. He’d never been this excited before, every inch of him alive, or so aware of every tiny sound and movement she made.

  She began heaving under him, crying out in a soft, strained, mindless sound. He slid his hands beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her up as he thrust more solidly into her. He felt the deep, delicate inner shivers around his penis as she convulsed in his arms.

  He didn’t stop.

  The day had been an endless nightmare to Jillian. The night became endless too, but in a different way. He knew just how to wring another response from her, even when she thought it was impossible, when she wanted nothing so much as sleep. He whispered to her, lovemaking words, both sweet and raunchy. He lavished attention on her breasts, and between her thighs.

  When they did finally sleep, he was still on top of her, still penetrating her. Several times during the night he grew hard within her and made love to her again. Or had he ever stopped? The darkness gave everything an aura of un
reality, a drama conducted by feel alone.

  She learned his body. She found that a firm touch on his nipples made him shiver with pleasure and that he loved having his back stroked. She cupped the soft, heavy weight of his testicles and he all but purred. He was a total sensualist, without a shy or modest gene in his body. And he learned her body, touching her in ways she had heard about but never before experienced, gentle as he led her into pleasure, then letting himself be as rough as he sensed she needed when her own desires rose beating in heavy rhythm.

  The close, intimate darkness wrapped around them, allowing a lack of inhibition that would have embarrassed her had they been able to see. But the night was timeless, stretching on forever, their lovemaking guided solely by touch. He never left her alone for even one minute, holding her close, pushing away her sadness with the demands of his hard body. She felt infinitely secure and desired, cradled so close she could feel the strong pounding of his heart, the boundaries of the night set by his arms and steely thighs. His heavy weight pressed her down into the mat, and it was so wonderful she could have cried. Instead she forgot about the dawn.

  She slept. They both did, finally. But she awoke and, without even opening her eyes, became aware of the light, very dim, creeping in through the thick canopy, edging past the layer of fronds he had used to camouflage the tent, seeping through the thin nylon to forever end this particular night. She lay very still, not wanting to face the day just yet. Ben lay sprawled on top of her, the weight of his torso eased a bit to the side so she could breathe, but he was still very heavy. His head was turned away from her, his chest moving in the slow, easy rhythm of sleep. Her thighs were open, his hips cradled between them. He had drawn one leg up, forcing her leg higher on his hip. He was soft now, but still nestled within her. The only time he had left her at all during the night, she thought, was to change position.

  Monkeys chattered in the treetops. Ben woke; he didn’t move, but she could tell because he swiftly grew erect within her, and a fine tension invaded his muscles.

  Gently she stroked her hand up his back and curled her arm around his neck. Just as gently, he began thrusting. She kept her eyes closed, holding the dawn at bay for just a while longer.

  Afterward he allowed only a few minutes of rest before saying, “We have to start moving. Kates probably stopped on the other side of the ledge last night, giving us a few hours, but we can’t afford to waste time.” He disengaged their bodies and sat up, running his hand through his hair. God, he’d have liked to stay here with her for a week or so, doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and making love.

  Jillian opened her eyes and faced reality. Rick was dead, but she couldn’t just stop. Life inexorably moved on, and she and Ben were still alive, and in danger. She would grieve for Rick, but only in a private place in her heart. So she pushed his memory into that private place and sat up, ready to go on.

  Or maybe not so ready. She took immediate stock of the situation and said, “I need a bath.”

  He grinned as he lay back and began pulling on his underwear and pants. “I’d say we both do, but it’ll have to wait.”

  “It can’t wait very long,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose in fastidious distaste as she too began dressing. “I’m sticking to myself. Why couldn’t you have waited until we got back to Manaus where they have bathrooms and showers?”

  He gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding? I’d already waited so long I was having hallucinations. I’m allergic to abstinence; it causes all sorts of health problems.” Then his expression turned serious and he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Are you okay? I forgot about your shoulder last night.”

  “My shoulder’s fine.” She moved it to show him, and added wryly, “I have a few aches and pains, but not in my shoulder.”

  His eyebrows slowly lifted. “Do tell. Anywhere that needs massaging?”

  “No massaging until I have a bath.”

  Her voice was firm and he said, “Oh, hell.” The appalled look he gave her said that he was taking her request for a bath much more seriously. “Okay, if we come to a stream that’s safe, you can take a bath. A fast one. If not, we’ll find a clear spot and stand in the rain. Will that do?”

  She pulled on her boots. “Anything will be an improvement.”

  Breakfast was instant oatmeal and coffee, and five minutes after the meal began, Ben was packing up the tent and supplies and stowing them in his pack, taking care that the diamond was protected and that Jillian didn’t so much as glimpse it.

  God, he felt wonderful. Making love with her had been so much more than he had ever imagined. Powerful, intense . . . caring. His body was relaxed, marvelously sated and rejuvenated; he could take on the world and win. He felt violently possessive and protective, all at the same time. She was his now, and he’d never let her get away from him.

  They didn’t take the same path returning to the river as they had taken inland; on the trek inland they’d had to follow the directions and landmarks laid out in the map; not only would it have been dangerous to follow the same trail, but a more direct, and therefore faster, route was now possible. Ben figured they could cut their time by at least one full day, maybe more. They had to reach the boats before Kates could cut them off. He didn’t have a minute’s doubt that they were being pursued; Jillian had witnessed two murders, and Kates knew that he had the diamond. Yeah, they were being followed. The only question was how close behind them the hunters were.

  He used the machete as little as possible, not wanting to leave such clear sign. An Indian could easily have trailed them, but Kates and Dutra didn’t have that degree of skill. Kates, in fact, had none. No point in helping them along by slashing at every bush that got in the way.

  They splashed across several small streams, but they were too shallow and grassy for bathing. The daily thunderstorms blew up, but of all days for the storms to sweep by in the distance, that was the day it happened. Ben looked around once and saw that stubborn look on her face, the one that said she wasn’t going to change her mind even if it wasn’t his fault the storms had missed them.

  “It’ll be better if it’s late afternoon before we bathe,” he pointed out. “Neither of us has a change of clothes; that way we could wash these out and they would have time to dry before morning.”

  “You make it sound as if I’ve been nagging you every step of the way,” she said.

  “You have. Silently.”

  She gave him a long, level look. “When I decide to nag, you can bet I won’t do it silently.”

  He sighed. “No, I don’t guess you will.” Inwardly he felt cheerful at the prospect. With Jillian’s rapier tongue, it was bound to be entertaining. What he didn’t feel cheerful about, however, was the possibility of not being able to make love to her that night, and he had no doubt she would cross her arms and stubbornly refuse to let him touch her, if she didn’t have her bath. Why did women have to be so damn fastidious? Cleanliness was great in its place, but they were in the middle of a jungle, for God’s sake. A certain amount of grunginess couldn’t be helped.

  But Jillian wanted a bath.

  To hell with leaving it to chance that they would come to a suitable stream. He began searching for one in earnest.

  The one he finally found wasn’t anything to brag about, certainly nothing to compare with the waterfall they had bathed under or the pools they had found at various times during the trip. But it was wet and safe, even if it was less than a foot deep and that only because it was filled with runoff from the storms that had passed to the northwest of them. He found a clear, rocky section, and they both stripped and stepped into the stream. Ben carefully placed the pistol where it wouldn’t get wet but would be within reach.

  One of the things he hadn’t packed, not considering it essential, was soap. They had nothing but the clear, tepid water to bathe with, but it was enough. Jillian stretched out so she could let the water flow through her hair while she scrubbed her scalp with her fingertips, feeling her
sweat-clumped hair unmat as she worked. Ben watched her with hunger in his eyes, for her naked body was fully exposed to him for the first time and his body plainly revealed his interest.

  Under his amused gaze, she also washed out her underwear.

  “Just what do you plan on wearing under your pants?” he drawled. “I didn’t think to bring any extra pairs of panties.”

  “We won’t be walking for much longer,” she replied briskly. “I can manage to do without underwear for that length of time. Then tomorrow, when I get dressed, I’ll have clean underwear to put on.”

  He was so relieved that she planned to undress that night, all he could do was grin at her. Of course, he’d have to find some way for them to clean up in the morning, or it would be the same routine all over again. It would be so easy if they had enough drinking water that they could afford to waste it, but he had only so many purification tablets and they had to preserve as much as possible.

  “You’re grinning like an idiot,” she said as she stepped to the bank and leaned over to wring out her hair, then began wiping herself dry with her hands.

  “Like a jackass eating saw briers,” he admitted cheerfully.

  “Well, the jackass part is right. I don’t know what saw briers are.”

  “Neither do I. It was just something folks said back home.” He smoothed his wet hair back and also waded out of the stream.

  She watched as he dressed, and suddenly realized that he was enjoying every minute of this. He was an adventurer down to the soles of his boots—cynical, wily, and supremely capable. She was well aware how much more dangerous their situation would be right now if he hadn’t taken the precaution of gathering some extra supplies and hiding the pack along the trail. Just the tent was a lifesaver in itself, protecting them from snakes, insects, and various other creatures while they slept. And the food he’d packed meant they didn’t have to kill to eat, but could save his supply of bullets for protection. Come to think of it, he had been prepared for every danger they had faced, from the very beginning.