Tempted by His Target by Jill Sorenson

noting that her cheeks were flushed.
    God, she was hot.
    Instead of apologizing for his hard-on, or pretending it wasn’t there, he repositioned her on his lap, letting her feel all of him. After a moment of resistance, she reclined her body, resting her head on his shoulder. Neither of them was relaxed; he could feel her rapid breaths and quickened heartbeat. But at least they were acknowledging the need between them. Maybe now it would go away.
    She held herself very still, as if trying not to squirm against his erection. He tried not to picture her in a fishnet bikini, the fabric playing peekaboo with her taut nipples, exposing the slick folds between her thighs.
    Nope. Not going away.
    He smoothed his palm over her belly, feeling it quiver. She covered his hand with her own, pressing tight. With his other hand, he laced his fingers through hers. They stayed locked together, trembling and desperate, for what seemed like an eternity.
    Finally, his erection subsided a little, and her tension eased. He thought she might fall asleep on him. If the rhythmic jostle of the highway hadn’t been broken up by annoyingly random speed bumps, he might have drifted off himself.
    As they approached Tapachula, Brandon started to come back to his senses. The blood was circulating to his brain again.
    Staying in Chiapas was out of the question. They had to cross the border tonight. After another close call with the authorities, they couldn’t afford to stop moving. There was also no way he could continue to keep his hands off her if they shared another tiny hotel room. The temptation to toss her down on any available surface, and throw his career out the window, was overwhelming.
    He didn’t give a damn about delivering the goods anymore. He just wanted to get at her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to her. Nothing.
    When the driver turned his radio down, Brandon gave Isabel a gentle shove, moving her pert bottom away from his distended fly. “Van a Guatemala?” he asked, hoping they could travel straight through.
    “No. Está cerrado .”
    Brandon frowned. Guatemala was closed?
    “The road is closed,” Isabel interpreted for him. “Why?”
    “Por la festía.”
    Her expression was blank for a moment before she clapped a hand over her forehead. “Today is All Saint’s Day.”
    “Sí,” the driver’s wife said, patting the baby, who had started to fuss.
    Isabel stared at Brandon. “And tomorrow is día de los muertos .”
    “What the hell does that mean?”
    “Day of the Dead. There will be a festival, parade, processions….”
    “Will the road be closed tomorrow, too?”
    The driver nodded, claiming there would be no through traffic in Tapachula for the next two days. He considered this a happy coincidence. His wife sang the praises of the celebration, claiming it attracted visitors from all over Mexico and Central America.
    “I’m sorry,” Isabel said to Brandon, chagrined. “I didn’t even think of it. Day of the Dead is a very popular holiday on the Isthmus, like Christmas. The townspeople gather to visit the graveyard en masse.”
    “How far to the border?” Brandon asked.
    The man said it was about twenty miles. Isabel was in great shape, and so was he, but they couldn’t walk that distance safely. The heat and humidity would slow them down, and they’d be out in the open for too long.
    Isabel thanked the couple for the ride, exchanging pleasantries with the mother about her chubby baby, and Brandon handed the driver some cash for his trouble. They both waved as the small car sped away, leaving them near a popular hotel.
    “We’ll have to stay,” she said. “At least for tonight.”
    “Yep.”
    She arched a brow at his clipped tone. “Would you rather see if we can rent bikes or something?”
    He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at the darkening sky. It was late afternoon, and it smelled like rain. At this latitude, sudden showers were common. “Maybe tomorrow. Right now, we’re