luxuriated in his superior strength.
“Don’t do that again,” he scolded. “Every decision you make out here, you check with me first. We’re partners, got it?”
Partners.
The word sounded symbiotic, summoning images of the way they used to be.
She’d been self-reliant for nearly a decade. Could she even operate that way with another human being? “Got it,” she affirmed,
dismayed by her desire to kiss and be kissed by him again.
“We’d better get back,” he said, eyeing the slope they would have to climb. “This will take some coordination,” he warned.
In the next ten minutes, Lucy discovered she could trust Gus to look to her safety. Of course, the reverse was also true.
So long as safety was the result of partnership, she was all for it. She’d already admitted she needed him to make this assignment
a success.
What she didn’t need him for was to fulfill her deeply buried feminine yearnings. Those would have to go away on their own.
By the time they arrived at the garcinia tree, all the fruit was gone, stolen away by creatures unseen. Lucy didn’t even want
to know what they were. All she knew was she was still hungry, in every sense of the word.
A ROOSTER CROWED WELL before dawn, and Gus’s eyes sprang open.
The ghostly shimmer of the mosquito netting reminded him where he was. Oh, yes, asleep in a bungalow, way up on La Montaña,
a guest of the FARC.
Lucy’s soft body pressed to his made up for the thinness of the mat. He could feel her shivering, but she was sleeping at
last, given the steady rise and fall of her chest. He hadn’t slept much himself, not with the dull ache in his groin.
Playing Luna’s husband while remaining professionally vigilant was even harder than he’d thought it might be. Lucy’s scent,
her softness, the way she fit against him like his long-lost other half were undermining his intent to keep their relationship
professional, to keep his heart intact.
His weakness for her was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted her on this assignment. Ironically, it was probably also the
reason he had given in. A number of women had thrown themselves at him over the years—SEAL groupies, mostly—but he’d never
found another Lucy. And despite his common sense warning him of her danger to his heart, his body and soul had a will of their
own.
He wanted Lucy the way he’d had her eight years ago, before she’d cut him from her life. Only Lucy didn’t seem the least bit
interested in rekindling intimacies. She was too obsessed with saving the world, regardless of the cost to herself.
The groaning of Buitre’s screen door interrupted Gus’s reflections. Curious, he parted the leafy wall by his head and peered
outside. With a clear view of camp from this end of the bungalow and the sky a dull shade of pewter, he could see Buitre stalking
toward the head of the trail with an AK-47 in one arm and a battery-powered lantern in the other. The rebel paused by the
fifty-caliber machine gun to speak with the man on watch.
Where would the deputy be headed this early in the morning? Gus wondered.
The promise of his departure brought Gus more fully awake. He eased carefully from the mat, loath to waken Lucy. Donning his
socks and boots, he ducked out of their cubby and slipped from the bungalow’s rear exit, stepping quietly off the platform
onto the muddy ground.
By then Buitre had disappeared up the trail.
Studying Buitre’s hooch, Gus weighed his odds of entering it unseen by the kid on watch. With the lean-to that housed the
rebels blocking the guard’s view, his chances of success looked good, providing he kept close to the building’s shadows.
Counting on the wet earth to muffle his footfalls, he crept toward Buitre’s quarters. The door yielded with a groan, and he
slipped inside, shutting it softly. Letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, he waited for his fast-beating heart to find a steady
tempo.
Predawn light shimmered in
“Don’t do that again,” he scolded. “Every decision you make out here, you check with me first. We’re partners, got it?”
Partners.
The word sounded symbiotic, summoning images of the way they used to be.
She’d been self-reliant for nearly a decade. Could she even operate that way with another human being? “Got it,” she affirmed,
dismayed by her desire to kiss and be kissed by him again.
“We’d better get back,” he said, eyeing the slope they would have to climb. “This will take some coordination,” he warned.
In the next ten minutes, Lucy discovered she could trust Gus to look to her safety. Of course, the reverse was also true.
So long as safety was the result of partnership, she was all for it. She’d already admitted she needed him to make this assignment
a success.
What she didn’t need him for was to fulfill her deeply buried feminine yearnings. Those would have to go away on their own.
By the time they arrived at the garcinia tree, all the fruit was gone, stolen away by creatures unseen. Lucy didn’t even want
to know what they were. All she knew was she was still hungry, in every sense of the word.
A ROOSTER CROWED WELL before dawn, and Gus’s eyes sprang open.
The ghostly shimmer of the mosquito netting reminded him where he was. Oh, yes, asleep in a bungalow, way up on La Montaña,
a guest of the FARC.
Lucy’s soft body pressed to his made up for the thinness of the mat. He could feel her shivering, but she was sleeping at
last, given the steady rise and fall of her chest. He hadn’t slept much himself, not with the dull ache in his groin.
Playing Luna’s husband while remaining professionally vigilant was even harder than he’d thought it might be. Lucy’s scent,
her softness, the way she fit against him like his long-lost other half were undermining his intent to keep their relationship
professional, to keep his heart intact.
His weakness for her was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted her on this assignment. Ironically, it was probably also the
reason he had given in. A number of women had thrown themselves at him over the years—SEAL groupies, mostly—but he’d never
found another Lucy. And despite his common sense warning him of her danger to his heart, his body and soul had a will of their
own.
He wanted Lucy the way he’d had her eight years ago, before she’d cut him from her life. Only Lucy didn’t seem the least bit
interested in rekindling intimacies. She was too obsessed with saving the world, regardless of the cost to herself.
The groaning of Buitre’s screen door interrupted Gus’s reflections. Curious, he parted the leafy wall by his head and peered
outside. With a clear view of camp from this end of the bungalow and the sky a dull shade of pewter, he could see Buitre stalking
toward the head of the trail with an AK-47 in one arm and a battery-powered lantern in the other. The rebel paused by the
fifty-caliber machine gun to speak with the man on watch.
Where would the deputy be headed this early in the morning? Gus wondered.
The promise of his departure brought Gus more fully awake. He eased carefully from the mat, loath to waken Lucy. Donning his
socks and boots, he ducked out of their cubby and slipped from the bungalow’s rear exit, stepping quietly off the platform
onto the muddy ground.
By then Buitre had disappeared up the trail.
Studying Buitre’s hooch, Gus weighed his odds of entering it unseen by the kid on watch. With the lean-to that housed the
rebels blocking the guard’s view, his chances of success looked good, providing he kept close to the building’s shadows.
Counting on the wet earth to muffle his footfalls, he crept toward Buitre’s quarters. The door yielded with a groan, and he
slipped inside, shutting it softly. Letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, he waited for his fast-beating heart to find a steady
tempo.
Predawn light shimmered in
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