white. The pink tip of her tongue showed through the gap. She sighed, her turgid nipples scraped his arm, and the slight contact fired his dick and stones.
“I will clean up the kitchen and see if there is enough left for a meal.”
“Thought you couldn’t cook.” He couldn’t resist teasing her, wanting to see that brilliant smile again.
She huffed. “I will manage.”
Cupping her chin, he gave her a swift kiss. “Okay, it’s a deal. Come back when you’re done.”
Demon watched her leave and then realigned the direction of the boat. He had identified several safe harbors the night before and knew exactly where they would moor for the night before heading to the town with the communication tower. Hundreds of islands of varying sizes dotted the Orinoco’s length. He’d found one with a horseshoe bay, which, according to Fredo’s notes, consisted of little more than large, craggy boulders where some sort of poisonous creatures nested. A perfect defensive location.
They arrived at the island after nightfall, and he relaxed somewhat when the narrow opening to the bay barely accommodated the houseboat’s width. He dropped anchor, scanned a flashlight over the rocks bordering the bay, and grinned. Virtually impenetrable if, as Fredo indicated, the thousands of insects carpeting the rocks carried venom. Attack from the rear would be difficult if not impossible, and he could pick off any ship trying to squeeze through the bay’s entrance.
Not a place anyone in their right mind would choose for an ambush.
No overhead stars shone, and no trace of the quarter moon showed. The air held the dankness that portended a storm, and the humidity had doubled even though the sun had long set. A storm brewed.
The sound of Jacinta’s bare feet slapping the deck preceded the aroma of strong, black coffee. He leaned on the deck rails and watched her approach. She’d taken out her contacts, and in the dim light spewing from the engine room, her unique turquoise eyes glittered. A vague memory of meeting a wolf face-to-face in the mountains on the border between Russia and Afghanistan surfaced. She had wolf eyes and yet had a feline grace of movement. The languid sway of her hips oozed a purring sensuality.
His dick approved. His nose too, as the scent of soap and some flower sank into his lungs when she stopped right in front of him and offered a mug.
“Black and strong. The way you like it.” She craned her neck and grinned when he drank half the cup in one go. “I found dried cod and some potatoes.”
“Oh? And the gun? Where’d you find that?” Demon finished off the java and wedged the mug into the cup holder built into the bench.
“Sister Helen always said every boat owner kept a stable of weapons. I found several in a drawer in the engine room. Put them in my boot before I came out on deck.”
The blasted nun sounded more like a guerilla than a holy woman. Demon clutched Jacinta around the waist and palmed her ass. “Stash of weapons. Sister Helen becomes more intriguing by the minute. Tell me more about her.”
“I should like to, but the food is hot.”
He had an armful of warm, curvy woman and a stomach ready to digest an entire Las Vegas-size porterhouse. And though he relished a great meal, he could eat raw meat if necessary, but she beamed with pride about the food. “Let’s have dinner, then, and for dessert I’ll let you eat all the M&M’s if you can find them.”
Urging her forward with a hand to the small of her back, he asked, “How is it that a nun knows how to use knives and guns?”
“Sister Helen and her brothers fought with FARC.”
Demon stumbled. Sister Helen had been a member of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia ?
Another fucking coincidence? Pedro Nunez funded factions of FARC, which in English translated to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, and Nunez utilized the border-based rebels for supplemental transport as needed.
Jacinta took two plates from a
“I will clean up the kitchen and see if there is enough left for a meal.”
“Thought you couldn’t cook.” He couldn’t resist teasing her, wanting to see that brilliant smile again.
She huffed. “I will manage.”
Cupping her chin, he gave her a swift kiss. “Okay, it’s a deal. Come back when you’re done.”
Demon watched her leave and then realigned the direction of the boat. He had identified several safe harbors the night before and knew exactly where they would moor for the night before heading to the town with the communication tower. Hundreds of islands of varying sizes dotted the Orinoco’s length. He’d found one with a horseshoe bay, which, according to Fredo’s notes, consisted of little more than large, craggy boulders where some sort of poisonous creatures nested. A perfect defensive location.
They arrived at the island after nightfall, and he relaxed somewhat when the narrow opening to the bay barely accommodated the houseboat’s width. He dropped anchor, scanned a flashlight over the rocks bordering the bay, and grinned. Virtually impenetrable if, as Fredo indicated, the thousands of insects carpeting the rocks carried venom. Attack from the rear would be difficult if not impossible, and he could pick off any ship trying to squeeze through the bay’s entrance.
Not a place anyone in their right mind would choose for an ambush.
No overhead stars shone, and no trace of the quarter moon showed. The air held the dankness that portended a storm, and the humidity had doubled even though the sun had long set. A storm brewed.
The sound of Jacinta’s bare feet slapping the deck preceded the aroma of strong, black coffee. He leaned on the deck rails and watched her approach. She’d taken out her contacts, and in the dim light spewing from the engine room, her unique turquoise eyes glittered. A vague memory of meeting a wolf face-to-face in the mountains on the border between Russia and Afghanistan surfaced. She had wolf eyes and yet had a feline grace of movement. The languid sway of her hips oozed a purring sensuality.
His dick approved. His nose too, as the scent of soap and some flower sank into his lungs when she stopped right in front of him and offered a mug.
“Black and strong. The way you like it.” She craned her neck and grinned when he drank half the cup in one go. “I found dried cod and some potatoes.”
“Oh? And the gun? Where’d you find that?” Demon finished off the java and wedged the mug into the cup holder built into the bench.
“Sister Helen always said every boat owner kept a stable of weapons. I found several in a drawer in the engine room. Put them in my boot before I came out on deck.”
The blasted nun sounded more like a guerilla than a holy woman. Demon clutched Jacinta around the waist and palmed her ass. “Stash of weapons. Sister Helen becomes more intriguing by the minute. Tell me more about her.”
“I should like to, but the food is hot.”
He had an armful of warm, curvy woman and a stomach ready to digest an entire Las Vegas-size porterhouse. And though he relished a great meal, he could eat raw meat if necessary, but she beamed with pride about the food. “Let’s have dinner, then, and for dessert I’ll let you eat all the M&M’s if you can find them.”
Urging her forward with a hand to the small of her back, he asked, “How is it that a nun knows how to use knives and guns?”
“Sister Helen and her brothers fought with FARC.”
Demon stumbled. Sister Helen had been a member of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia ?
Another fucking coincidence? Pedro Nunez funded factions of FARC, which in English translated to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, and Nunez utilized the border-based rebels for supplemental transport as needed.
Jacinta took two plates from a
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