Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (54 page)

The car rounded a curve and suddenly there was a dusty clearing ahead. A handful of straggly palm trees pointed towards the sky.

"We're here," she said. "Las Palmas."

Blake nodded. "A metropolis," he said, easing his foot from the accelerator pedal. "Just look at all those people."

She chuckled. "Yes, it's booming." The only visible citizens of Las Palmas were two old men, seated on a bench outside what seemed to be the only store. "Still, that's a good sign, isn't it? If there were soldiers or rebels around, those two wouldn't be sitting there."

"Well, we don't have much choice anyway. We're damned near running on empty. And my guess was right: there's a gas pump." Blake pulled up beside it and shut off the engine. "Here," he said, pulling some bills from his pocket, "you go on into the shop and buy us some supplies."

"I have
some money."

His blue eyes met hers. "You're my wife, remember?" He gave her a teasing grin as he put the bills into her hand and folded her fingers over them. "What's mine is yours, Princess. Now, go on, see what there is to get us."

Not much, she thought, staring around her at the almost barren shelves of the little store. The place looked as if it had been ransacked. She peered into every corner and searched every shelf, but all she could come up with were two tins of anchovies, three tins of something she couldn't identify because the labels, were missing, a couple of dusty bottles of San Miguel beer, and a leaking box of rice.

She turned to the shopkeeper, who had trailed along after her with a nervous smile on his face.

"Are these the only foodstuffs you have for sale,
senor?"
she asked in the soft, up-country Spanish of the area.

He nodded. "I'm afraid so,
senorita,"
he said, wiping his hands on his dingy apron. "There was more this morning, but..." He shrugged and held out his hands in apology.

Her pulse quickened. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she said pleasantly.

The shopkeeper made a mumbled reply about people who had bought out his stock because of fighting in the city.

"I am sorry,
senorita."

She looked at his downcast face and nodded. "I see. Well, then, I'll just take these things," she said, dumping the armful of items on the counter and counting out enough
quetzals
to pay for them. Her gaze fell on two ancient cans of insect repellent, and she added them to her purchases.

By the time she got outside, Blake had finished filling the tank. "That's it?" he asked as she put her sack of groceries into the back seat.

Elena climbed into the car beside him and slammed the door. "I'm afraid so." The car sprang forward as she told him what the shopkeeper had said.

"Yeah, it figures. That's the first sign that things are falling apart. I'll feel better when we're off this road."

She let out a gusty sigh. "Well, if the map's right, the turn-off is just ahead."

"The sooner the better." Blake glanced over his shoulder at the paper sack lying on the back seat. "At least you got us some supplies."

"Not very many. And none of the important stuff—no quinine, no aspirin, no machete…"

He grinned and reached beneath the seat. "Scratch the machete off your list, Princess," he said, brandishing one.

"Wow!” Gingerly, she took the big, broad-bladed knife by its wooden handle and stared at it. "Where did that come from?"

"Modesty prevents me from telling you that I liberated it from the uninteresting life it was leading, propped against the gas pump."

"Then don't," she said, laughing as she lay the machete on the floor beneath her feet.

"I offered to buy it, but those two old codgers who were baking themselves in the sun refused to talk to me. As for quinine and aspirin, I have some in my luggage."

Elena looked at him in surprise. "Luggage?"

He nodded. "Luggage. We were supposed to be on a plane this morning, remember?"

The smile fell from her lips. "Yes," she murmured, "I remember."

Blake glanced at her. "We'll be OK, Princess." She said nothing and he reached for her hand. "You're just worn out," he said softly. "Put your head back and get some sleep."

"I’m fine," she said, but after a while, she did as he'd suggested…

And awoke
to the squeal of brakes.

"What is it?  Why have we stopped."

"There's a roadblock ahead," he said. "See it?"

The road dipped ahead of them, a serpentine series of curves gleaming in the afternoon sun. Elena sat up straight and stared out of the windscreen, trying to see whatever Blake had seen. Finally, she shook her head.

"No, I don't."

"Look," he said, touching his hand to her cheek. "Turn your head. That's it. Look down there."

"I still don't see..." The breath caught in her throat. Far below them, a pair of army trucks angled across the road. As she watched, men in camouflage suits jumped from the backs. Sunlight glinted on the weapons cradled in their arms. "Oh my God," she said in a shaky whisper. "What do we do?"

But he was already moving, shifting into reverse and slamming the car into a squealing turn. "We go back," he said grimly.

"Back? Back where?"

"We passed a turn-off while you were sleeping," he said, stepping down hard on the accelerator. "Five or six miles behind us."

"The one we were looking for? Why didn't you..."

"No, not the one on the map. This was just a dirt track. A wagon trail, probably." Blake glanced into the rear-view mirror. "It was just an excuse for a road—but we haven't got much choice."

Elena's eyes followed his. "Is there anyone following us? Did they see us?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. But I'll feel a hell of a lot better when we get off this
road. There's the turn-off. I think you'd better brace yourself for a rough ride, Princess," he said as he swung the wheel hard to the right. The car bounced on to a narrow, packed-dirt trail. "I just wish to hell we had four-wheel drive."

Heavy foliage closed around them. The narrow road cut through the trees and tall grass like a thin brown ribbon, and the car groaned in protest as Blake urged it forward.

Elena's teeth clattered together as they hit a deep rut. "You were right," she said, raising her voice so she could be heard over the clank and squeal of metal. "It's not much of a road, is it?"

"No, but it's all we've got. Just call out if you see us aimed at something."

Tall trees crowded in from each side, and thick vines brushed against the windscreen. The light became greyer as the heavy growth blocked out most of the sunshine. It was hard to believe they were only a few hundred yards off the road, Elena thought, glancing over her shoulder at the seemingly impenetrable jungle behind them. She felt as if they had entered another world, one composed of heat, humidity, and the shrieking cries of unseen birds.

"Nobody's following us," she said with a sigh of relief.

"Good. All we've got to worry about now is whether or not the car can take much more of this."

The answer came quickly. The engine began to labor loudly as the car bucked like an unbroken horse across the ruts and grooves in the dirt. Elena braced her feet against the floor and her hands against the dashboard as the engine wheezed, gave a last gasping cough, and then spluttered into silence.

"Goddammit!" Blake slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Come on, baby," he muttered. "Don't give up now." Elena held her breath as he turned the key and stepped on the accelerator. The engine cranked and caught, only to die seconds later. He sighed and threw open his door. "Maybe something was jarred loose."

"You mean maybe something wasn't," Elena said, trying to take the edge off the situation. But Blake's face was grim as he opened the hood and peered into the engine.

"Nothing I can see," he said finally.

There was a moment's silence, and then he slammed his fist against the fender and uttered a string of curses . She opened the door slowly and stepped outside. The heat of the jungle made the breath catch in her throat.

"Have we broken something?" she asked carefully.

He sighed and shook his head. "It's my fault, Princess."

The distress on his face made her heart go out to him. "This road would kill any car, Blake. Didn't you just say you needed four-wheel drive..."

"Believe it or not, the road's not what did us in. It's probably the
gas I put into this thing."

"I don't understand."

He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. "I was so damned glad to get my hands on some fuel that I never thought to check on what was coming out of that pump." He pulled out a small, soft-sided valise, zipped it open, and dumped out the contents. "Garbage," he said as he stuffed handfuls of things back into it, "that's what it was. The gas was contaminated with water and God knows what, and  I probably sucked the bottom of the tank dry. How could I have been so stupid?" He shook his head and tossed the soft case at her. "Here, put the stuff you bought into this. Just give me a minute or two..."

“
Don't blame yourself for what happened. We'd have broken down anyway. You said yourself we were running on empty. So if you hadn't filled the tank, we'd have come to a halt before now."

He lifted his head and stared at her, and then his teeth flashed in a quick grin.

"Now, why didn't I remember that, Princess?"

Her smile matched his. "Modesty forbids me telling you that you would have, eventually," she said.

Blake's eyes glinted with laughter. "All right, woman. When your life depends on me thinking kindly of you, I'll remember that act of decency. Now, go on and pack that case. We have a lot of walking ahead of us."

She leaned against the car and peered into the soft bag he'd tossed to her. "The man's a walking supermarket," she murmured. "What did you put in here, Blake?" she called.  "Quinine—aspirin—bandages—antiseptic..." A hint of laughter wove into her voice. "I don't suppose you have a couple of blankets stashed away, do you? We're liable to need them..."

Elena turned towards him, a smile on her face, and her words trailed away into silence.

Blake was standing beside the car, changing his clothes. A pair of faded blue jeans hung low on his lean hips; beneath, she caught a glimpse of dark briefs. He was  pulling on an equally faded blue
T-shirt, drawing it down over his tanned torso. Her gaze moved over the dark mat of hair that crossed his chest, then tapered to a narrow line as it bisected his muscled abdomen. His eyes met hers as he tugged the shirt into place and he smiled.

"Just give me a minute," he said, tucking the shirt into his jeans. "Let me pull on a pair of boots and I'll be ready for anything."

She nodded.

All she could think of was that she wished she could say the same.

Elena ra
n her fingers through her hair and shook her head wildly.

"Damn it," she muttered, "go on—get away from me!"

Blake looked up and grinned. "Gnats," he said. "The terrors of the jungle." He leaned into the trunk of the car and dug into the sack of supplies she'd bought at Las Palmas. "Douse yourself with some of this," he said, tossing her a can of repellent.

She depressed the button on the aerosol can and sprayed a bit on her hand.

"Whew," she said, turning her face away from the pungent smell, "that's awful!"

"Worse than awful," he said agreeably. "But it's all we've got. Go on, spray it on. Put some on your face, too."

She shuddered  but she did it. Then  she tossed the can back to him.

"OK," she said, "no bug in its right mind will come near me now."

"Until you begin to sweat that stuff off," he said, ducking his head into the open trunk of the car again. "Here," he said as he straightened up, "catch."

A pale blue shirt came sailing through the air. Elena caught it and looked at him.

"What's this for?"

He barely looked up. "Take off what you're wearing and put that on instead
.

She looked at the shirt again. It was his, obviously, long-sleeved and made of cotton. It would hang to her knees, she thought, and the sleeves would dangle inches beyond her fingertips. All that extra fabric would be hot and bulky. Her own shirt was short-sleeved and scoop-necked.

"Thanks," she said with a smile, "but I'll stick with what I have on."

"Change your shirt, Elena."

Her smile wavered. Was there an edge to his voice? No, of course there wasn't. He'd told her she'd have to follow orders, but surely not about something as trivial as this.

"Look, I'm sure you mean well, Blake, but..."

His eyes met hers. "Do it."

"But it's silly. I..."

"I told you to do something, Elena. Now, do it!"

Disbelief clouded her features. He had to be joking—but he wasn't. His voice was hard as steel, and the look on his face...

"All right," she said stiffly. "Have it your way."

She stepped behind the car and drew her shirt over her head. So, she thought, that's how it was going to be. Nothing would be trivial; Rogan was going to remind her of her vow to obey whenever he had the chance. A hot tide of anger raced through her. Her guard had slipped for a moment there and she'd almost thought he was human. But he wasn't; he was cold and heartless and a petty dictator...

And she was stuck with him. She slipped his shirt on and began to button it. What a pleasure it would be to reach Miami and be free to tell Blake Rogan exactly what she thought of him. And she'd tell her father, too. Whatever he'd paid for Rogan's services, it had been too much.

She grimaced as she looked down at herself. The shirt was even larger than she'd expected. It hung below her knees and the sleeves were a hand's length too long. And she was sweating already. She opened the first few buttons, rolled the cuffs until they were at her elbows, and stepped out into the road again.

"Satisfied?" she asked coolly.

Blake was looping a belt through the handles of the carryall. He glanced at her and then went back to what he was doing.

"Roll the sleeves down."

Her jaw clenched. "Aye
aye, captain."

He looked up again, his eyes narrowed. Her heart thudded, but then he sighed.

"Look, it's going to be buggy as hell once we start walking. And it's going to be hot. You'll sweat..."

His tone was mild, but she was too angry to notice. "I'm sweating already," she said. "This damned shirt is too warm. It cuts off what little breeze there is. And..."

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "What it cuts off are the bugs, Elena. The spray's going to wear off once you start sweating, and then the bugs will start dropping in for dinner. You want to offer them as little exposed skin as possible, unless you like the idea of becoming a walking buffet for everything that has wings."

She felt a prickle of contrition. It was a reasonable explanation, she thought, watching him stuff the carryall. Maybe she'd over-reacted. Maybe this hadn't simply been an exercise in command. But if it hadn't been, if he simply wanted to keep her from being plagued by insects, why had he made a simple situation so difficult?

Elena's eyes narrowed. Because it wasn't simple, that was why. Because Rogan wanted to put her through her paces, because he couldn't resist the chance to remind her he was in charge, because he was the kind of man he was...

"I can take care of myself," she snapped.

He looked up and she drew in her breath. There was a measuring coldness in his eyes that made her wish she could call her words back. But it was too late for that, she thought, as the silence between them stretched on. Then, at last, he shrugged.

"Yes," he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it, "you sure as hell can."

"Well, then, you..." A frown creased her forehead. "What are you doing?"

It was a stupid question. She could see what he was doing—he was hoisting the improvised pack on his shoulder, sliding the machete into his belt, and marching off along the road, heading deeper into the jungle.

"Rogan? Rogan, don't you just walk away from me..." Her voice rose. "Dammit, Rogan..." He was almost out of sight, swallowed by the heavy foliage. She took a step forward and then another. "Rogan?" she said in a disbelieving whisper. He couldn't just leave her here—could he? Elena ran forward a few steps. "Blake, please..."

This time, he stopped at once, his back to her. There was a tension in the set of his head and shoulders that made her skin prickle.

"What do you want, Elena?"

"Where... where are you going?"

There was a pause barely longer than a heartbeat. "North. To the mountains."

"On this trail
?"

He turned towards her slowly and lowered the carryall to the ground. "Did you have a better idea?" he asked politely.

Too politely.
"Well, no," she said, "but..."

Blake nodded, his expression thoughtful. "
You have a decision to make. You can come with me, or you can stay here."

Two spots of color splashed across her cheeks. "I just asked you a simple question, Blake. I thought..."

His eyes turned the color of midnight. "Don't," he growled.

"Don't?"

"That's right—don't. Don't think. Don't question." His hands went to his hips. "That was the deal we made, remember?"

"Yes, but you can't expect me to... to just follow you blindly, no matter what you do or say or..."

His lips curved in a smile that never reached his eyes. "You're right," he said softly. "I can't."

In one fluid motion, he hoisted the carryall again, turned his back to her, and started walking briskly along the
path. Within seconds, the encroaching jungle had swallowed him up.

Elena stared at the empty
trail in disbelief. What kind of game was this? She took a hesitant step forward and then another. Come on, Rogan, she thought, get it over with. Step out of the jungle and bark an order at me...

But
he didn’t. And gradually, as the silence settled around her, the sounds of the jungle returned.

A bird screamed somewhere in the dark green canopy overhead.

Elena glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the road they’d been on just a few minutes ago. A brisk twenty-minute walk would take her back to it. Sure it would—and then she could choose between going back to the fighting in the south or heading north to the roadblock.

"Terrific," she murmured aloud, and then she sighed. There was a third choice, and it was the only one she could make. She'd have to catch up to Rogan and eat humble pie.

She began walking along the narrow road. It stretched ahead like an arrow before curving to vanish in the encroaching tangle of trees. That was probably where Blake was waiting for her. Of course he'd wait for her, no matter what he threatened. After all, he'd had the chance to leave her behind before and he hadn't. Her footsteps slowed. Let him wait. Let him worry a little bit. It would do him good.

But he wasn't waiting in the curve of the road. She came around the bend and the
path stretched on again until it lost itself in the green of the forest. It wasn't actually a path anymore. It was a barely visible arrow of packed dirt, dark beneath an overhanging canopy of leaves.

S
weat dripped off the tip of her nose. She felt the light brush of something leggy on her cheek and she flinched as she brushed it away.

The bugs were impossible. Blake was right—they seemed to attack any unprotected inch of skin, and never mind the repellent. She grimaced and wiped her arm across her forehead. Sweat darkened her sleeve—
Blake's sleeve—
and she sighed. Maybe she owed him an apology about the shirt. Just maybe...

Something crashed through the underbrush and her heart skipped erratically. Soldiers, she thought. Or rebels. It had to be; there was no animal in the jungle large enough to make so much noise. Jaguars were large, yes, but the big cats never hunted this time of day. And animals moved through the heavy shrubbery without making a sound...

A troop of monkeys suddenly swung across the trail ahead. Monkeys! Of course she should have thought of that right away. Her father always said they were the noisiest creatures he knew.

"It's the jaguars and the anacondas that move like ghosts," he'd told her when she was little and she curled up in his lap, demanding stories of the jungle.

And her mother would laugh and chide him. "Don't frighten Elena," she'd say. "What does she know of jungles, Eduardo?"

It was true, she knew nothing of them. There was always a classmate or a teacher
in the States who'd ask her some wide-eyed question about jungle creatures, and then she'd have to explain that she lived in a modern ranch house just outside the capital city, and that she'd never been in a jungle in her life except for that one trip into the mountains.

She'd never been in the midst of a revolution before, either. And now here she was, trapped in both. And she was alone. Alone—without Blake, without the man who'd kept her safe, who'd brought her all this distance. He could have abandoned her hours ago, but he hadn't. He'd stayed with her, protected her, held her in his arms...

"Change your mind, Princess?"

He was there, suddenly, standing before her as she came around a bend in the trail. She tried to stop in time but it was too late, and, as she stumbled forward, he caught her in his arms. She fell against him, leaning into his hard body, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of relief that turned her legs to jelly. His heart beat smoothly and steadily beneath her ear.

"I thought..." She drew a deep breath. "I thought you'd left me."

His arms seemed to tighten around her. "Isn't that the way you want it, Elena?"

There was a silence. "No," she said finally. Her face was pressed against his shirt. It was damp with his sweat, the taste of it salty on her parted lips. "No," she said again, and a tremor passed through her. She leaned back against his encircling arms and looked up at him. "I want to stay with you, Blake."

She knew the words had come out strangely—her voice had a breathless quality to it, as if she were saying something else. Her heart thudded once and then seemed to stop, waiting. His eyes, she thought, staring into them, his eyes were that midnight-blue they'd been that night on the terrace, just before he'd kissed her.

The world seemed to stand still, everything around them becoming exaggerated—the heat, the humidity, the intense scent of jungle wild flowers—all of it seemed larger than life. Something was going to happen, she thought wildly. Something...

And then, suddenly, Blake's hands slid to her shoulders and he pushed her from him.

"OK," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "OK. We'll give it another try."

Elena nodded. She felt a strange kind of disappointment, as if something that had been just within her grasp had slipped away. But she smiled at him and, after a moment, he smiled back.

"I get a second chance, then," she said.

He nodded. "I know you think I'm being a hard-nosed bastard, but..."

She took a deep breath. "Blake, were you waiting for me, or did you come back to look for me?"

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Does it matter?" She said nothing and finally he ran his tongue across his lips. "I came back for you. But next time..."

His words sent a spiraling warmth through her body. "Thank you," she said softly.

A quick smile flickered on his mouth. "You're welcome." The smile faded and his hands fell to his sides. "Look," he said briskly, "if we should run into real trouble, I can't afford to stand around and explain my decisions to you." His eyes sought hers. "Do you understand?"

Elena nodded. "Yes."

"
Good. Because, as it is, we've lost time. There's not a lot of daylight left, and we've got to make the most of it." He opened the carryall and pulled out one of the bottles of beer she'd purchased in Las Palmas. "Thirsty?"