“I landed in a tree. My seat cushion somehow stayed with me and broke my fall.”
When they reached the plane, Rocco steered her to a spot away from the pilot’s body.
“I’ll be right back. I need to let Clay know I’ve found you.” Rocco moved into the trees on the opposite side of the wreck and began shouting. He didn’t get a response but wasn’t worried. He’d try again in a few minutes.
When he returned he found Gena huddled with her face buried against her knees. She was shivering, probably from shock as well as the wetness of her clothes.
Rocco looked around and then began gathering limbs and vines to construct a lean-to. The first priority was shelter from the rain. Even if the tracking beacon worked, the darkness and stormy weather worked against them. A search-and-rescue mission probably wouldn’t launch until morning.
“Rocco?” Clay’s voice called out.
“We’re here at the plane! I found my wife!” Rocco shouted.
Moments later, Clay burst through the trees. “Is she okay?”
“Physically, yes. I’m working on a shelter to get her out of the rain.”
Clay moved closer. “Forget that. I found a shelter not too far from here. Looks like an abandoned archaeology site. Hopefully, we’ll find a dry spot there.”
“Great!” Rocco hurried over to Gena. “Come on, sweetheart.”
“Good job, Clay.” Gena pushed to her feet very slowly, reminding Rocco of what she’d been through the last two days. A fire, a thwarted abduction, now this.
“I’ll carry you,” Rocco said.
“It’s nothing serious,” she said. “Just a few aches. I can walk.”
Clay moved close and smiled at Gena. “Good to see you, ma’am. Your husband wouldn’t give up the notion that you’d survived. He was right.”
“He’s pretty stubborn,” she said. “It’s just one of the things I love about him.”
Her words echoed in Rocco’s chest. Even if she’d said the words only for Clay’s benefit, he liked hearing them.
Rocco and Gena fell in behind Clay as they hiked away from the plane. They had to backtrack once, when Clay lost his bearings, but before long they reached the clearing.
“Here we go!” Clay said.
The erratic lightning allowed Rocco to make out the outline of a building. Most of the area had been cleared, but several stone monoliths rose into the night.
“I think it’s been abandoned a while,” Clay said. “Looks like a couple of structures are just covered areas for work space.”
Rocco nodded. “That lodge was probably for workers. Let’s check it out.” He pulled Gena closer to the building. “Let Clay and me inspect the inside first. Make sure it’s creature-free.”
Gena shuddered and nodded.
The interior of the lodge appeared to be a large open space. “Hold up,” Rocco said.
Within a few seconds, another flash of lightning gave a quick snapshot of the inside.
“Looks like a fireplace on my side,” Clay said. “I’ll feel along this wall; you take that one.”
“Good plan.” Rocco appreciated Clay’s coolheaded skills. He’d obviously had some military background, which was common with most mercenaries.
And while Rocco was curious, he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to answer those same questions from Clay.
Rocco felt along the wall as he walked forward. There had been a shelf there. He carefully felt above it versus running his hand along the surface, in case a spider or scorpion had taken up residence. His hand hit a bottle, almost knocking it over but quickly righting it.
“Found something.” He pulled it down. “A kerosene lamp. Sounds like there’s fuel in it, too. Now if we can find matches.”
“Got ’em right here,” Clay said. “This fireplace must be big enough to roast a whole cow.”
Retracing his steps, Rocco handed Clay the lamp before stepping outside to where Gena huddled beneath the eaves.
“Come on.” He guided her in the doorway just as Clay struck a match and lit the lamp.
“Let there be light.” Clay fitted the glass globe over the flickering wick and then held the lamp up.
The room was large, at least twenty feet long. The walls were constructed of logs, but the floor and fireplace were made of stone, probably by-products of
the dig. Several more oil lamps were on the shelf. Rocco checked them for fuel, then grabbed one.
Several rustic wooden tables and benches were shoved against the far wall. Wood was scattered near the fireplace.
A message was painted in Spanish on the wall. “Can you translate that?” Rocco asked Gena.
She squinted. “El Brisa ruin. Private property. Leave or die.”
“That last was probably added by the local drug lord,” Clay said. “They’re notorious for taking over these older sites. Great place to process drugs.”
Rocco looked around. “Doesn’t look like they’ve been here in a while. I say we take our chances and trespass for the night.”
“No argument from me,” Clay said.
Rocco opened the door at the farthest end of the room. “Looks like they bunked in here.” Cots were stacked against one wall.
“Place looks like heaven to me,” Clay said. “Why don’t you folks take this room? I’ll drag a cot out there for me. I want to see if I can get a fire going. Maybe we can get our clothes dry.”
“Sounds good.” Rocco helped Clay move a cot and then he returned to Gena.
She had already moved two cots into the middle of the room. “I found a couple that don’t have holes. There are blankets stacked over there, too. Just not sure if they’re clean.”
Rocco tugged several blankets from the middle of the stack and shook them open. “These aren’t too bad. We’ll need to strip down, Gena. If I put our clothes by the fire, they’ll be dry by morning.”
“But, what do I wear?”
Rocco held up a blanket. “It’s better than sleeping in wet clothes. You’re already shivering. Take off everything and wrap up in the blanket.”
He moved to the far corner and began stripping off his own wet clothes and shoes, keeping his back to her. “You decent?” he asked a minute later.
“Yes.” She had a blanket wrapped sarong style around her as she untangled her clothing.
“Be right back.” Rocco took her clothes out with his.
Clay had a roaring fire going now. “Just as well I’m sleeping alone. I’d roast with clothes on.”
Rocco tossed a couple blankets on Clay’s cot, then moved a bench closer to the fire and draped his and Gena’s clothes across it. Clay had stacked up more wood near the fire.
“You need anything else?” Rocco asked.
“Room service?” Clay joked. “Nah, I’m good. Try to get some rest.”
“Holler if you need anything.”
When Rocco returned to the rear room, Gena hadn’t moved. She stared at the flickering oil lamp, looking more vulnerable than when Rocco had first arrived two days ago.
“Lie down, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “There’s nothing we can do till morning.”
She nodded but instead moved closer to him. “Rocco, please hold me.”
He enveloped her in his arms, squeezing her as tight as he dared. “Better?”
She shook her head. “When I found the pilot, I was so scared. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“That you were worried about me means a lot, Gena.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “I was frantic to
find you, too. Quite frankly, I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it. What would I dream about every night?”
“You … you dream about me?”
“Never stopped.” He probably never would either. “Let’s get you settled.”
“Rocco, make love to me.”
Her words stunned him, even as his body sprang to life, ready to make her words true. He lifted her chin, so he could look into her eyes. The flickering lamplight emphasized the hollows beneath her eyes, but her gaze was steady.
“Are you sure, Gena? Remember this morning?” Had it really only been that morning that they’d been in the Holiday Inn? It seemed light-years ago.
“I’ve been miserable remembering that I had a chance to be with you this morning and I blew it.” She tugged at the blanket at his waist. “I’m sure this time.”
Rocco caught her mouth and kissed her with a ferociousness that startled him. The adrenaline that he’d felt before the crash suddenly seemed to spring back to life.
Gena’s movements were as rushed and eager as his. She broke the kiss and loosened her blanket to stand naked before him. As soon as he tossed away his blanket, her hand closed over his erection. She began to stroke him, moving back against him to rub him with her abdomen as well.
Rocco’s hands closed over her breasts, plumping, massaging. When his fingers tapered down to her nipples, she moaned softly and whispered, “I want you now.”
Rocco looked around the room. The cots wouldn’t
hold two thrusting, driving bodies. And he wasn’t about to lay her on the ground. Which only left one option.
“Hold on.” He lifted her straight up.
Gena wrapped her legs around his hips. She still had his cock in her hand and guided him between her legs.
He hadn’t been prepared to enter her so soon, but the feel of her, moist and hot, had him swelling even more. He pressed up and in. Her body was tight, resisting him at first, until Gena surged back against him, pressing her pelvis down.
She gasped as Rocco slid in fully and buried himself to the hilt. Gena pressed kisses across his shoulder, then started raising and lowering her hips.
Rocco could do nothing but hold her. He wanted her breasts in his mouth, he wanted to touch her clitoris, but he couldn’t do any of it. Holding her, letting her control the pace was a divine torture.
He was close to the edge but refused to come until she’d satisfied herself. Gradually she increased the pace of her movements.
“Please help,” she whispered against his ear. “I’m … I’m so close.”
“Me too.” He turned, easing her just slightly against the wall, which allowed him to shift his weight and gain leverage. He pulled his cock out, then drove it back into her. “Better?”
She nodded, writhing in his arms. When her orgasm exploded, he felt her sheath tighten around his cock, bathing him in pleasure.
Rocco began pistoning his hips, slamming in and out of her body, loving the feel of her fingernails and
teeth on his flesh, amazed as she launched into a second orgasm.
And then he was coming, too. He had the brief thought to pull out, aware he wasn’t wearing a condom, but he couldn’t stop.
He selfishly reveled in the moment. If Gena was to get pregnant, she’d be bound to him. And then— All thought ceased as his hips pumped and flexed into her one last time.
He hugged her close and felt her tears against his neck. That she was crying broke Rocco’s heart. “Talk to me, Gena. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, it all feels very right.” Gena lowered her legs and Rocco eased her to the ground. As they uncoupled, his semen dripped down her legs.
He kept her pinned against the wall. “Gena, we didn’t use protection. If you’re pregnant, I want you to—”
She cut him off, her voice low. Hurt. “Don’t say it! I know I screwed up last time. If I’m pregnant, I’ll do everything in my power to take better care.”
“Last time? Had you gotten pregnant with Harry?”
“No!” She shoved at his shoulder, wanting to move away. But Rocco wouldn’t let her.
“Are you saying you were pregnant … by me? Talk to me, Gena! Damn it, I have a right to know.”
“You did know! When Harry told you I was pregnant, I was there, Rocco! I know you denied it. I know you were with Brandy.”
Rocco felt as if he’d been transported to another universe where he didn’t speak the language. “What are you talking about? Harry never told me you were pregnant. And who is Brandy?” He groaned and
shook his head as it became obvious. “Was that why you married Harry? Because he got you pregnant?”
“It was your child, Rocco. Not Harry’s. He married me to give the baby a name, to help me out. But— I lost the baby.”
Rocco didn’t know what to say. His shock was tempered by her loss. His sister, Adele, had suffered a miscarriage after having Billy and she’d been devastated.
He relaxed his grip. “I’m sorry about whatever happened.”
Gena moved away to grab a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Rocco picked up his blanket, then motioned toward the cots. “Can we sit down and talk? It feels like there is something neither of us is getting, though it sounds like Harry lied to both of us.”
Gena opened her mouth. “Why would he do that?”
“Who knows? Let’s stick to what we do know. About us. I’ll start. After that last time I saw you, I was pissed and I shouldn’t have been. I went on a deep undercover job in the Middle East thinking you’d be glad to see me after six or eight weeks. But then I heard through the grapevine that you’d married Harry Gambrel. I went ballistic, Gena. In fact, I picked a fight with Harry after he told me the two of you had been seeing each other for months.”
“He told you that?” Gena went pale. “I thought Harry was my friend. I knew I was pregnant when you came over that last time. My father had just cut off my trust fund and was pressuring me to return to Texas. I had made up my mind I’d tell you the truth the next time you called. But then I got an e-mail from someone named Brandy. I don’t even recall her last
name, but she basically accused me of having an affair with you. She sent photos of you with her. And copies of text messages. I had pretty much decided to go back to Texas to have the baby. But Harry came by. He called you for me, said you denied the baby was yours.”
Rocco hugged her as she wept. “It was a lie, Gena. Harry and I never spoke about your being pregnant. And I didn’t date anyone after first laying eyes on you in Mexico. Whoever sent e-mails from Brandy was in league with Harry. Or maybe Harry did it himself. I wish I could have seen the photos because I bet they were doctored.”
“I guess I never realized how much Harry disliked me,” Gena said. “But honestly, I don’t remember much of my marriage. After I miscarried, I fell into a horrible depression and drank to drown the pain. Which is no excuse.”
“Maybe you were drinking to drown other pain, too,” Rocco said. “Harry’s abuse was more frequent than you told the police, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “At the time, I thought I deserved to be punished for losing the baby. Our baby. I shouldn’t have stayed with Harry as long as I did.”