Dylan more than made up for it, but even so, MacGowan was constantly aware of the woman, and it wasn’t simply because she was the first relatively available female he’d been around in years. He glanced over at her, passed out or asleep on the narrow, sagging bed, and tried to picture someone he wanted more. He couldn’t.
The old lady took the money he offered her, the grease-stained pesos part of the poker winnings he’d been amassing, and then disappeared, leaving the three of them alone in the rude hut. MacGowan pushed away the uneasiness that always stalked him. The years had taken their toll – he could no longer trust his instincts. Everyone seemed suspect, including the harmless old woman who’d disappeared into the night, tucking his money into her blouse. She’d taken one disapproving look at them, the disapproval fading as he brought out the money, and then she was gone.
The night air was cool, even down at these lower altitudes, and he grabbed an extra blanket from the bed and spread it over Dylan’s gangly figure. The kid was starting to sprout whiskers – maybe he was older than Finn had thought. He was still a brat.
He looked around the room. He’d slept on hard wood floors before - in truth, he was more used to it than Dylan would be. He’d slept on worse, and there was a quilt he could roll up in.
He wasn’t going to do it. None of his little chickens had eaten anything, and abuelita had left some savory mixture of meat and beans for them, with fresh tortillas to mop it up with, but he figured they needed their sleep more at this point.
So did he.
He closed and locked the flimsy door. Not that it would keep anyone out, not anyone determined to get in, but it might slow them down a few seconds. He doused the lights, so that only the glow of the cooking fire lit the shabby room. He shouldn’t do it, he knew he shouldn’t.
And he knew he was going to.
He kicked off his boots and went to the bed, lowering himself down beside her, pulling her into his arms as he settled into the narrow space. She was dead to the world, and he moved against her, surrounding her body with his. Even after falling into the river he figured he wasn’t smelling too sweet, but that was the least of their worries. For some damned reason he wanted to put his arms around her, bury his face in her blonde hair, and breathe in the pure animal smell of her.
He’d been too fucking long without a woman. And here she was, the antithesis of every woman he’d gotten near in the past few years. Blonde, pale, almost ethereal in her beauty. She’d be a trophy for anyone, and he’d never been the kind of man to collect trophies. His job was to get her safely back to her millionaire lifestyle, collecting a healthy reward in the bargain. Enough of a reward that he could take his time and find half a dozen blonde-haired gringas who wouldn’t react like a frightened virgin every time he came near her.
He almost might have thought Izzy and his friend had gotten to her, but he’d overheard their arguing and knew that no one had raped her. Yet. That was probably one reason he’d decided to bring her with them. And it all worked out for the best, didn’t it? Hans Froelich sold him out, and MacGowan’s reward went south with him. He could use the money the Pennington Foundation would pay him for the return of their precious heiress.
And he got to spend a few hours wrapped around a soft, female body. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. It smelled like the jungle, it smelled like flowers. He slept.
It was the pain and stiffness that woke her, and for a moment Beth didn’t move, disbelieving what her senses were telling her. She’d been dreaming for what seemed like hours. She had heard the soft rumble of MacGowan speaking in liquid Spanish, a woman’s voice answering him, and the smell of something divinely delicious on the air. Either she’d been dead or dreaming, and either way she wasn’t going
The old lady took the money he offered her, the grease-stained pesos part of the poker winnings he’d been amassing, and then disappeared, leaving the three of them alone in the rude hut. MacGowan pushed away the uneasiness that always stalked him. The years had taken their toll – he could no longer trust his instincts. Everyone seemed suspect, including the harmless old woman who’d disappeared into the night, tucking his money into her blouse. She’d taken one disapproving look at them, the disapproval fading as he brought out the money, and then she was gone.
The night air was cool, even down at these lower altitudes, and he grabbed an extra blanket from the bed and spread it over Dylan’s gangly figure. The kid was starting to sprout whiskers – maybe he was older than Finn had thought. He was still a brat.
He looked around the room. He’d slept on hard wood floors before - in truth, he was more used to it than Dylan would be. He’d slept on worse, and there was a quilt he could roll up in.
He wasn’t going to do it. None of his little chickens had eaten anything, and abuelita had left some savory mixture of meat and beans for them, with fresh tortillas to mop it up with, but he figured they needed their sleep more at this point.
So did he.
He closed and locked the flimsy door. Not that it would keep anyone out, not anyone determined to get in, but it might slow them down a few seconds. He doused the lights, so that only the glow of the cooking fire lit the shabby room. He shouldn’t do it, he knew he shouldn’t.
And he knew he was going to.
He kicked off his boots and went to the bed, lowering himself down beside her, pulling her into his arms as he settled into the narrow space. She was dead to the world, and he moved against her, surrounding her body with his. Even after falling into the river he figured he wasn’t smelling too sweet, but that was the least of their worries. For some damned reason he wanted to put his arms around her, bury his face in her blonde hair, and breathe in the pure animal smell of her.
He’d been too fucking long without a woman. And here she was, the antithesis of every woman he’d gotten near in the past few years. Blonde, pale, almost ethereal in her beauty. She’d be a trophy for anyone, and he’d never been the kind of man to collect trophies. His job was to get her safely back to her millionaire lifestyle, collecting a healthy reward in the bargain. Enough of a reward that he could take his time and find half a dozen blonde-haired gringas who wouldn’t react like a frightened virgin every time he came near her.
He almost might have thought Izzy and his friend had gotten to her, but he’d overheard their arguing and knew that no one had raped her. Yet. That was probably one reason he’d decided to bring her with them. And it all worked out for the best, didn’t it? Hans Froelich sold him out, and MacGowan’s reward went south with him. He could use the money the Pennington Foundation would pay him for the return of their precious heiress.
And he got to spend a few hours wrapped around a soft, female body. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. It smelled like the jungle, it smelled like flowers. He slept.
It was the pain and stiffness that woke her, and for a moment Beth didn’t move, disbelieving what her senses were telling her. She’d been dreaming for what seemed like hours. She had heard the soft rumble of MacGowan speaking in liquid Spanish, a woman’s voice answering him, and the smell of something divinely delicious on the air. Either she’d been dead or dreaming, and either way she wasn’t going
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