I arch my back against his soothing strokes and it's like he heard my thoughts. He turns me around to face him, and suddenly I can smell him: a potent blend of heat and skin and male. I don't dare kiss him, but I can't stop myself from nuzzling his throat. God, the way he feels. Those blue eyes. I'm looking up at him and I can see them glowing in the darkness. I can see his mouth. I want to kiss those perfect lips, to tell him how much he means to me. How much this means.
The thought is like a directive. I arch my back, wriggling closer to him, so my breasts are pressed against his chest, and I see his eyes widen. Then my lips touch down on his, and Evan jerks.
I’m worried he will pull away, but then he groans—and that’s a sound I remember. My head spins wildly as his mouth responds to mine. God, he’s hungry. I wrap my arm around his back and hip, trying to squeeze him to me as our mouths dance. I slide my tongue inside his mouth and tug him closer and he throws his head back, shuddering as he breaks contact.
“Careful, baby.”
I run my hand over his neck, tickling his hairline with my fingers, but I can’t be careful. I can’t do anything but pull him closer to me. The way he’s breathing—fast and hard—lets me know he doesn’t mind. I find his mouth again and this time, he is rougher. Hungry.
“God you taste so sweet.”
I am gasping. “You do.”
I’m lost in the sweetness of him. Unexpected. I never thought a man could be like this. So gentle and rough and soft and hard at once. I want him so much—and Evan wants me, too.
He eases me back against the pillows and he climbs on top of me. I can feel the weight of his body between my legs. I grab his butt and press him into me. I can feel his hardness where I want it most. The world spins.
“Merri. Merri.” He groans again and starts to sit up. I grab his biceps, pulling him back down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Damnit, Merri.” This, as I sink down on her small, soft body. My right hand tunnels into her hair, caressing her forehead. I press my mouth to hers and Merri tastes delicious. Like a peach. Her lips are warm and velvet soft. Mine glide against them, and as she works her way into my veins, I feel my body trembling. Her hands are wrapped around my biceps. Her hair is everywhere. Her eyes are shining in the dark.
I kiss her once more, then pull away. I need to go. Now.
She takes my face between her soft palms. “Don't, Evan.”
“I can't stay.”
But her mouth won’t let me go. She kisses my throat, and I press myself against the heat between her legs and it feels incredible.
She's got her arm around my back, keeping me locked in place, and it's all that I can do to keep my fingers from trailing in between those curvy legs and finding her damp heat.
She glides her hands down my sides and I moan her name. Oh, fuck. How long has it been? I can barely get my fucking breath.
“Evan.” She tugs my hair, bringing my mouth down over hers, and I don't hold back this time. My tongue plunges inside her, tasting and teasing, and I squeeze her breast, stroking until her nipple hardens under my hungry palm.
She shudders, and I swear to God I see stars. I'm slipping beyond my stopping point when, with a ragged breath, I wrench my mouth off hers. It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I pull myself away.
“Be careful what you ask for, angel.” It comes out almost a growl.
Her fingers skate over my mouth. “I needed that,” she gasps. “I'm sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Unraveling her hair from around my hand, I back away from her, rising up on my knees and pressing my palm hard against my cock in a futile effort to calm myself down. “Be careful. You’re almost too much for me to resist.”
“What if I feel the same way?” Her voice is wobbly, like she hasn’t spoken in a long time.
“You don't. You don't have a damn clue what you're getting yourself into.” I sigh loudly, pressing my hand against my forehead.
Merri sits up, her gentle fingers curling around my elbow. I inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo and feel the heat of her body and see the confusion on her face, and I can't do it. I just can't be this damn close to her.
I'm off the bed and to the door before any more mistakes are made.
I stand outside her door for a few minutes with my back against the wall, breathing heavily and trying to will my erection away. I think about Merri on the other side of the wall, and the soft skin of the inside of her thighs, and all that long, red hair, and I know if I don't leave the hallway, I'll end up back in bed with her.
Walking makes everything worse, so I end up back in my room, yanking my shorts off and palming my stiff cock. One stroke and I can feel my balls draw up. My legs fall apart and all I can see is Merri's face, her breasts, her hair. I can feel her mouth on my neck and I picture it moving lower, down my chest and down my abs. I can feel her kitten-pink tongue lapping up and down my dick. I imagine the feel of my head in the back of her soft, hot throat.
I come, furious spurts that shoot all over my belly. It's the first time I've gotten myself off in months. It's the first time that I haven't felt alone.
I open my eyes, and I know right away something is different. The pale brown fabric canopy stretched above me lets me know I'm at Jesus's underground getaway, but that doesn't explain why my body feels so soft and languid. Why I feel so...
Evan.
Holy crap, last night with Evan.
That's what's different!
I flip over on my side, desperate to see him there beside me in the bed, and I hear a whistle from the other side of the room.
“This way, sleeping beauty.” He's sitting in a chair with his forearms on his knees. There's a leather bag at his feet—one I recognize from the bike. He must have gone outside to get it. My eyes slide up his body and I find him dressed in a deep blue t-shirt, ragged-out khaki pants, and scuffed-up boots. His dark brown hair looks shiny and clean, and his left hand sports a fresh bandage.
I sit up, pulling the sheets over myself, and I notice Evan's eyes comb over me. There's a weird expression on his face, like he's intensely interested...but unhappy about it.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
“I guess so.” I glance over him again, wondering where he slept. Wondering, as I did last night for hours as I tossed and turned, what he meant when I said I didn't know what I was getting myself into.
Looking over him again, I feel a misplaced sense of possession. A sense of excitement and concern. I want this man. My heart beats hard and fast, and I try to water down my feelings with mundane small talk. “Where did you sleep?”
“I was in here with you,” he says. “You were quiet.”
Meaning I didn't freak out or cry in my sleep. “That's good.” I push my palm through my mess of hair. I probably look like crap, and Evan is all clean and showered. I grip the sheet pulled over me, feeling self-conscious and confused. He must notice it on my face, because he frowns. My awkward-o-meter starts buzzing and I know I don't want to talk about last night. Not yet. So I ask about his wound.
“How’s your hand?”
He shrugs. “Not bad I guess. No gangrene yet.”
“Good.” I nod. “That's awesome.” I look around the room for windows, but it's just a habit from when I was at the clinic. I know there are none here. I look at him again, getting hung up on those blue eyes. Not just his eyes…but everything about him. I like the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he smells. I remember how much I liked his lips on mine and have to look back at the blankets.
I can't believe that happened last night. I can't believe how much I want him now. I feel so...drawn to him. Like we're magnetized. I fold my hands together and hope that he can't see it on my face. Seconds tick by. I can feel the tension coming off of Evan, too. He doesn't like what happened last night. That's the impression that I get. It brings me back to Earth.
When I think it's been a full minute of silence, I turn toward him and do my best to put on
a neutral face. “What time is it?” I ask.
Without looking anywhere but my face, he says, “It's a few minutes after six.”
“Oh, okay. That's good. We should leave here soon.”
Evan nods. “I fixed the bike.”
My eyes bulge. “Yours, with the flat tire? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “I got up early.”
How early would he have had to have gotten up to do the things he's done so far today? I arch a brow at him. “Did you sleep?”
His mouth tugs up on one side. “Quit worrying, woman. I slept some.”
“Is your head feeling okay?” I'm reluctant to pry, but I can't help wondering.
He shrugs. “Pretty good.”
His eyes hang onto mine as the half-smile on his lips falls away, and again, no one speaks. This is incredibly awkward. I guess I've forgotten just how awkward things can be in these sorts of situations.
Something passes over his face—some emotion that is there, then gone—and I hold my tongue another beat because I think he's going to say something. Last night was inappropriate; you mean nothing to me except in a business sense: something like that. When he doesn't, I take a big, deep breath and force myself to act like things are normal between the two of us.
“So, are you ready to leave? I can just get some clothes on and then I say we just...go.”
He nods, just as stiff and forced as I am. “I don't think we have the time to focus on...the laundry room.”
Right. He means the body.
“We don't.” It's horrible, but it is what it is. We need to get out of here and try to make it to the border.
Evan stands up, steps over to the bed, and hands me the bag from his bike. “Here are those things I bought you, if you want to use some of them now.”
I frown, trying to remember what’s in there, other than deodorant. I swear, my body temperature just climbed two degrees in the second he's been standing near me.
“Just the toiletries I showed you the other day, plus some clothes,” he says.
“Clothes...?” I wiggle my eyebrows, praying he doesn't say ‘panties’.
“Some shorts, some pants, a jacket. I should have given them to you sooner but I wasn't thinking.” He shrugs, as if it all means nothing to him.
“Okay, well thanks.” I take the bag. “Did you buy it yourself? That's really thoughtful.”
He looks embarrassed. I think I actually see some color in his cheeks. Without thought, I reach up and cup his cheek with my hand. His slight smile spreads into an irresistible grin.
“I'm a thoughtful dude.”
“Dude.” I grin, too. “A California dude.”
The smile falls off his face so fast, I wonder what I said. He takes a swift step back and nods gravely. “I am.”
I'm confused. “Is that a bad thing?”
He shrugs. “No. Guess not.” Looking like someone killed his puppy, he nods my way and slips quickly through the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Thank you for the toiletries. I didn't use all of them yet, because I'm going to wait on my next shower, but the deodorant is wonderful, and I much prefer these clothes to what I was wearing last night.”
Merri is standing before me in the kitchen, looking sexy in a long-sleeved brown t-shirt, black cotton yoga pants, and the green and purple sneakers she had back at the clinic. The way her wavy, strawberry hair hangs over her shoulders reminds me of a fairy tale princess. And I have something that will make her look even better.
“I also wanted to give you this.” I hold out my black leather jacket to her and belatedly decide I need to explain. “It's overcast.” And I want to see my clothes on you. Because I’m an inappropriate freak.
She takes it, pulling it up against her midriff. “But you ride in front…”
“And you're my passenger.” I crack a small smile, thinking how hot she'll look on the back of my bike. Then I remember who the hell she is, and I quickly wipe it off my face. “Keep the jacket.”
I turn around and open the refrigerator, unloading bottled water from the door into my arms. I've already packed a few bottles, plus some homemade bread and beef jerky, into the storage compartment of the Mach, but I needed an excuse to turn away. I can't even look at this woman without getting hard. I laugh a little under my breath, because this is so perfectly fucking Cross.
In lust with my father's former mistress.
That’s not how I see her of course. Merri is radiant. Lovely. But untouchable for the very huge reason of her history with my father.
It makes me furious, because her past isn’t good enough for her. And neither am I. I hate myself for letting her languish in Mexico for so long. She’ll hate me when she finds out. I know she will.
That’s why I need to keep my distance now.
Without turning around to look at Merri, I carry the water into the hall, outside the laundry room, where I've got the Mach all patched up and ready to go. It took me a little under an hour to cover the two holes in the rear tire with the stuff in the patch kit I keep inside my bag. It’s not 100 percent trustworthy, but it should hold. I've got our passports tucked into the small, flat zip pouch I've got strapped under my shirt. Merri’s carrying my bike bag, and I guess I'll have to turn around and grab that from her.
I ignore the stench coming under the door of the laundry room and turn around and point myself toward Merri. My legs close the distance between us with long, greedy strides, as my mind counts down our time together.
From where we are, just outside Camargo, we can probably make it to Ciudad Juarez in five hours, give or take, if I drive like lightning.
There, she will find out who I am. If she doesn't get a glance at my passport, she'll notice the name on hers: Meredith Carlson.
Maybe I shouldn't have used Carlson for her surname, but my father is the patron saint of drug control in California, and this means he’s funded a lot of upgrades for border patrol and scheduled a bunch of campaign stumps along the border, which means most of them know his name. After my last Mexican adventure, a lot of people know me, too: Cross Carlson, black sheep. If we run into trouble, I'm going to juice my name for all it's worth.
Merri is leaning against the counter with my big, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. I've got a great view of her profile: small, straight nose; smooth lips that always look pink and are maybe a size too big for her face (I think this is one of the reasons I'm always wanting to kiss her); full, squeezable cheeks; slightly pointy chin; soft, elegant throat. My gaze races down her body and I jerk it up before her eyes notice mine.
She presses those pink lips into a tight smile. “Ready?”
“Yep.” I take the bag from her and sling it over my back, walking in front of her so my wandering eyes don't get me into trouble.
From behind me, she says, “Evan.”
“Yeah?” I look over my shoulder to find her frowning deeply.
“Do you know...if I'm wanted by anyone in Georgia? The stuff I said my ex, Sean, might have tried to blame on me?” She catches her lower lip between her flawless, white teeth, and I want to punch the bastard in the nose.
“No, you're not. You're not wanted for anything. I ran your name before I left.”
She nods. “Okay. Cool.” But her lighthearted tone of voice doesn't go with her body language. She looks weighed down. Nervous.
I wonder if she feels fucked with, because of what happened last night. I wish I'd had more self-control.
Or less...
Heat washes over me, just the thought of last night making me hard again. I look from the bike to her. “Let's get out of here.”
She nods.
I strap the bag to the back of the bike and take the black and grey helmet off the seat. “Here. This is yours, remember?” She takes it from me and cradles it to her chest, giving me a sad look.
“What?”
“I just...kind of think you need it more than me.”
Because of my neck. I shake my head.
“It's yours.”
“Thank you, Evan.”
After strapping the thing onto her head, Merri pushes the visor up and presses her back to the wall, getting in front of me and the bike. She opens a little metal flap on the wall where the door is and says, “Did you notice this? The camera?”
“Nah, I just chanced it.”
“Well, there's nobody out there that I can see.” She pauses for a second while she takes in a few different views on the screen below the metal flap, then looks back at me. “I'm going to press this button and make the door open. You push the bike out and I'll press it again so it closes, then hurry out and get on behind you. I don't want to linger.”
“Me either.”
“After we get going, we’re going to take back roads for a little while and then get on a main road. I forgot the name of it but I’ll know it when I see it. Just pay attention when I tap you and we should be okay.”
When she presses a button on the wall, I've got my left arm in its support and I'm pushing the Mach awkwardly, the way I always do now. I high-tail it outside, where the dusty ground is mud and the sky is a sheet of melancholy gray.
I start the bike up, then get on, nearly falling over as I do; with my arm already in its strap, I'm not very mobile. But I manage, somehow, and then Merri climbs on behind me. She calls over the hum of the motor which direction to veer in. I nod.
Her arms wrap around my waist, and my cock hardens as I gas the bike and we coast down the path the late David chased us down. We wheel around the house/dirt mound and I pray no one is waiting for us on the road.
They're not. Our path is a barren, cracked ribbon of asphalt, faded pale from the sun and lined with desert scrub.
I drive fast: ninety. Behind me, Merri feels like everything I didn’t know I wanted, and I wonder what it will feel like to lose someone I never had.
I was right about the drive. Slightly more than five hours later, we’re nearing the end of our sprint to safety, on the outskirts of sprawling, dirty, sophisticated, dangerous Ciudad Juarez. Up until about thirty minutes ago, we’d seen almost no one.