Tempted by His Target (11 page)

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 stuck.”

Her mouth tightened with displeasure. The money she’d saved was rapidly diminishing, but she wasn’t going to ask him for anything. “I’ll get us a room.”

While she went inside Hotel del Camino, Brandon surveyed their surroundings, noting the bizarre holiday decorations. Posters depicting elegantly dressed skeletons graced most of the storefronts. A group of women were hanging wreaths of vibrant orange flowers on every lamp-post. In addition to the roadblock signs, there was a large paper banner at the town’s front entrance with rows of grinning skulls.

Although he knew he was in a surly mood, it seemed a little macabre—and devil-may-care—to throw a party for Death. What did the revelers do in the cemetery, dance on graves? Then again, he didn’t have any room to judge. He’d lost his virginity to his high school girlfriend at the cemetery on Halloween night.

Isabel left the hotel with a piece of paper instead of a room key. “They’re full because of the holidays. We can check elsewhere, but we might not find anything. The woman inside recommended a
casa de huespedes
.”

“What’s that?”

“A guesthouse or extra room offered by a host family,” she said, showing him the printout, which was a simple map of the city. “This one is in a rural area, away from the center of town.”

Brandon didn’t like the idea of imposing on a family, but he wouldn’t have felt comfortable in the hotel, either. A remote or little-known location would be safer. And if they had limited privacy, he might survive the night.

They bought a few basic provisions at the market and grabbed some street food on the way out of town. Brandon could have eaten a dozen of the three-bite tacos Isabel purchased. The grilled fish tasted like it had jumped out of the ocean ten minutes ago, and the spicy red sauce drizzled over the top added a bright burst of flavor.

When he was finished with his to-go plate, he licked the sauce from his fingers and wished for more.

Isabel offered him fruit instead. She had a clear plastic bag filled with chopped melon. Without really thinking about it, he leaned forward, letting her pop a juicy slice into his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed the refreshing bite, she slid another piece of fruit between her lips, sucking gently.

Damned if that didn’t remind him of something.

His cynical side suspected she was doing this on purpose. She had to know she’d driven him crazy on the bus earlier today. No straight guy on earth could watch a sexy woman lick a Popsicle without picturing himself in its place.

He forced himself to stop staring at her sweet-looking mouth and focus on the journey. “Where is this place?” he asked, eying the dark clouds overhead.

“The woman said a few miles.”

They’d already walked at least three and the humidity was killing him. He felt irritable for a number of reasons. Sleep deprivation, sexual frustration, general anxiety. When thunder cracked in the sky, and the heavens opened up, his outlook didn’t improve.

They were both soaked in minutes. Isabel began to shiver, but she didn’t slow down or complain. Although his boots were weatherproof, her ratty canvas tennis shoes offered no protection from the rain. Or the pebble-strewn road, for that matter. If they had to cover several more miles, she’d get blisters.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”

The dirt road turned into wet mud, slippery and thick, adding another layer of difficulty. She slid sideways, almost losing her balance. He reached out to grip her wrist, steadying her. “Let me carry you.”

“No,” she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.

“You’re going to get hurt.”

“That’s my problem.”

“It’s my problem, too, if you can’t travel.”

“Then you can just leave me!” she shouted, stomping forward.

Brandon stopped in his tracks, baffled by her outburst. Then he realized she was upset with him for switching gears so abruptly. In the car, he’d all but ground his erection against her. She’d expected him to be eager to bed her, not desperate to cross the border.

Cursing, because his hands were tied, he continued walking. He didn’t care if she stayed angry, as long as she stayed with him. Maybe it was better this way, because he couldn’t stand any more alluring glances.

Soon after, they came upon a sturdy-looking hacienda on a hill. She pointed to it, indicating that this was the place. There were several outbuildings, including what appeared to be a guest cabin.

They climbed the steps to the covered walkway, spirits lifting. A note was posted on the front door, written in Spanish.

“What does it say?” he asked.

As she scanned it, the hope drained from her face. “The family is away for the holidays, so the guest quarters aren’t available.”

He swore bitterly, bracing his hands against the front door. Wanting to put his fist through it. Rain battered the adobe roof, pouring off the sides and rushing from the gutters. The temperature had dropped considerably, and although they weren’t in danger of freezing this close to the equator, it would be a hard, cold night in wet clothes.

Isabel appeared ready to burst into tears. She took off her cap and furrowed a hand through her dark hair, which was plastered to her head. He knew at a glance that she couldn’t continue walking in those useless shoes. The soles had probably been worn down on the sweltering road to Tehuantepec.

“I suppose you think this is my fault,” she said hotly, following his gaze. “Like the long walk yesterday.”

He sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t about to place blame on a woman who carried a dagger strapped to her thigh. As a fashion accessory, it looked sexy as hell. As a weapon, it was very effective.

“You should go on without me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You obviously can’t wait to get to Guatemala.”

“Because killers are after us, Isabel. Remember them?”

“They’re after me, not you.”

He shrugged, unconcerned with semantics.

“I don’t need your protection,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want it! Just leave, okay? I have enough blood on my hands.”

Her willingness to split up infuriated him. “You’re such a damned martyr,” he said, crowding her against the side of the house. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She shoved at his chest. “Get away from me.”

Although she was strong and determined, her efforts failed to move him. They did incite him, however. He didn’t like being pushed around, literally or figuratively. So he pushed back the only way he could without hurting her.

Gripping her chin in one hand, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter 9

I
sabel was prepared for a fight, not a sensual onslaught.

One moment they were involved a heated argument, the next he was silencing her with an insulting kiss. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the firm grasp of his fingers, or the rough scrape of his beard stubble, or the careless way he plundered her mouth. She certainly didn’t like him pinning her against the house, holding her prisoner.

Didn’t he know she could pull her dagger and teach him a lesson?

She clenched her hands into fists, ready to pummel him. He wasn’t making any attempt to secure her arms, but instead of striking him, she felt herself relax. Her body melted against his as he swept his tongue inside her mouth, penetrating her with bold strokes. He tasted like rain and heat and desperation. She moaned, threading her fingers through his hair and encouraging him to kiss
harder
.

Maybe she did like this.

With a low groan, he obliged her, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. Her nipples puckered against the damp cups of her bra and need blossomed between her legs. Kissing him back with hungry bites, she explored the bunched muscles in his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his wet shirt.

He made a strangled sound and slid his hands to her bottom, cupping her soft flesh. She whimpered as he lifted her against him. When his erection slid along the cleft of her sex, creating an exquisite friction, she almost wept with pleasure.

Oh, God. She wanted that inside her. So bad.

Sitting on his lap earlier this afternoon had been torture. He’d felt like a thick, hot brand against her buttocks. She’d wanted to rub herself along that exciting length and bring his hands up to her taut nipples.

They’d both been aroused for hours.

His touch accessed that sweet agony, bypassing any slow build. Within seconds, they were panting, heaving, straining for more. He gripped her hips and tilted her for a better angle, as if seeking to penetrate her through their clothing. She gasped, wishing for no barriers between them as he thrust against her.

She was aware of the smell of rain and wet dirt, mingled with his earthy masculine scent. His skin felt cool beneath her fingertips, but they were generating so much heat that steam rose from his shoulders. Water rushed from the gutters in streaming rivulets and pounded the rooftop, urging them closer to the brink.

He released her, breathing heavily. “Let’s break in.”

She blinked at him, confused. He gestured toward the empty guest cabin in the distance, indicating that they seek shelter from the elements before continuing. Although she appreciated his thoughtfulness, she didn’t need a bed. She was willing to do this against the door, in the mud, or under a tree.

“Come on,” he said, dragging her away from the main house.

Rain pelted her hair and stung her hot cheeks, dampening her ardor. She almost expected Brandon to pick up a rock and smash through a window. That kind of action would have matched her urgency. When he proceeded to scan the perimeter of the small cabin with calm deliberation, she felt a surge of impatience.

It he didn’t hurry up, she might come to her senses.

He found a narrow window which appeared to be unlocked, but it was no easy task to slide it open. Rain continued to pour on their heads as he went through a series of impromptu tools and unsuccessful strategies. He finally managed to inch the pane aside, creating a very narrow space to slip through.

“You’ll fit,” he said.

She let him boost her up, twisting her body to gain access. The window frame scraped her hip as she wriggled through, and there was nothing to break her fall on the way down. She sprawled across the tile floor, elbows and knees smarting.

“Are you okay?” Brandon asked, his voice muffled.

She squinted at the open window, torn between the urge to tell him off and the desire to finish what they’d started. Smothering a groan, she rose to her feet, studying her surroundings. A small, squeaky-looking brass bed dominated the room. She walked into the main area, which boasted a scarred wooden table with four chairs and a stone hearth.

No kitchen, no bathroom, no electricity. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Neither could wanted fugitives who were breaking and entering.

She unlocked the front door, letting him in.

“Damn” he said, smoothing a hand over his wet hair. “I thought you cracked your head open.”

Shivering, she watched him check out the cozy space. He nodded his approval, apparently finding it secure and easy to defend. The cabin sat back on a hill, offering a clear view of the road. She wondered if he’d sleep tonight or stand guard.

When his gaze returned to her, wandering down the front of her body, she was once again aware of the hard points of her nipples against the wet fabric. The pale gray tank top and thin white bra were both soaked to transparency.

“I’ll make a fire,” he said, clearing his throat.

Next to the hearth, there was a box of wood. He found some matches and knelt down, snapping a few thin, dry branches for kindling.

Isabel realized that he wasn’t raring to go anymore.
He
was the one who’d come to his senses. He’d broken in here to get dry and warm, not to bounce on the mattress with her. She should have appreciated his foresight. Instead, her stomach twisted with hurt. A few minutes ago, she’d been ready to strip naked for him in the rain. He must have felt something less powerful. A fleeting temptation, easily brushed aside.

The tears that had been threatening earlier sprang into her eyes. She turned on her heel and fled the room, horrified. Letting him see her cry was worse than throwing herself at him. She took a deep breath, struggling to hold the tears at bay.

Get it together, Isabel.

When her emotions calmed, she noticed a pair of light, multicolored blankets at the foot of the bed. She put one around her shoulders like a shawl, covering her exposed upper body. The other, she took to Brandon.