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  After years of successfully banishing her from his mind, Dom had thought instantly of Lilah. And that’s when it had hit him. What he’d felt when he had been with her had been nothing less than a raging case of king-of-the-world syndrome.

  Of course, that wasn’t the situation now.

  Hell, no. You’ve got a much bigger problem. Or haven’t you noticed—déjà vu all over again—that once more you’re on the verge of deep-sixing your rule about not getting intimate with a client?

  Not going to happen, he instantly assured himself. Yeah, so maybe he was feeling a little more ardent than usual from just one kiss. But then again, it had ceased being a mere kiss about five seconds after he and Lilah had locked lips, morphing into a blatantly sexual session of making love with their mouths.

  And yeah, he supposed his breath was sawing in and out of his lungs. That what he currently wanted most in life was the opportunity to rediscover the contours of her body with his hands, lick every single salt particle left by the ocean off her skin and continue to claim her breath as it left her lips. And that every atom in his body was straining to get closer to her with just one objective in mind.

  That didn’t mean he was anywhere close to being out of control. Just like earlier on the beach, in the wake of their escape, he was simply a little…overhyped. The craving to have sex, to plant his seed and ensure his genetic survival, was a perfectly normal male reaction to taking risks with his life. He was pretty damn sure he’d read that somewhere.

  Besides, Lilah sure as hell wasn’t objecting. She was breathing every bit as hard as he was. So what did it matter if she was also holding herself very still, had her eyes firmly shut and her hands tightly clasped?

  It took a sec for the ramifications of that last thought to penetrate the hot fog clouding his brain. But when it did, he felt as if he’d been sucker punched and he immediately jerked back. “Lilah? Baby? What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” See? He had control to spare.

  “No. No. I just don’t want—please don’t…” She trailed off, pursed her lips and bowed her head, obviously unwilling to go on.

  “What?” he prompted. To his irritation, he realized that, having blown the dam of his restraint, he couldn’t not touch her. Still, he restricted himself to cupping the delicate curve of her jaw, not running his palms over her nipples the way he really wanted. “Come on. Talk to me. What’s going on?” He gently nudged her chin up.

  With a sigh so faint he almost missed it, she reluctantly met his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know I’m acting like a twelve-year-old. And surely it’s obvious I like…kissing you. But down on the beach, I did something to annoy you and I don’t want to go there again.” She stopped and swallowed. “I just don’t want to be at odds with you.”

  Nope, he was definitely not the boy he’d been. Because in the face of her admission, he realized he was about to jettison his pride, something that had been beyond him a decade ago.

  And though he wanted to believe he’d do the same for anyone willing to expose their fears the way Lilah just had, he wasn’t sure. And that set off a warning. Because while he definitely aspired to have sex with her, that was all he wanted.

  Right?

  “It wasn’t you,” he said abruptly, telling himself now wasn’t the time to go down that particular road. “Until we get off this island, your safety has to be my first priority. No exceptions. Us standing on the beach, out in the open like that, was a really bad idea.” Apparently not all of him had received the order to stand down. On a mission all its own, his thumb traced a path down her cheek, then stroked the curve of her bottom lip. “The truth is, I was ticked at myself.”

  For just a second she looked puzzled and then understanding flashed in her eyes and the tension holding her rigid eased. “So it was you, not me.”

  His mouth twisted. “Yeah.” He climbed to his feet. “Now I think I’d better quit screwing around and start earning some of the money your grandmother’s paying me, huh? Will you be okay here by yourself while I go find us a place to make camp?”

  As unpredictable as ever, she managed another slight, tired smile. “I think I can handle it.”

  “Good,” he said, suddenly impatient to go. The fact that his gut had gotten an unfamiliar kink in it the instant she’d smiled didn’t have jack to do with it. He had a job to do and the more attention he paid it, the sooner they’d be shaking off the dust of San Timoteo. And that was in both their best interests.

  He gave her one last, reassuring look. “I won’t be long,” he said briskly. And then he melted gracefully into the darkness.

  Lilah awoke cradled in Dominic’s arms.

  For half a second she thought she was dreaming. But the tickle of his breath on her temple and the steady beat of his heart against her back quickly dissuaded her of that.

  She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, afraid to move, wondering if she should wake him, before she finally succumbed to temptation and settled a little closer. Allowing herself a quiet sigh of pleasure, she tried to reconstruct the previous night.

  There’d been the walk, of course. After the first twenty minutes, when her feet had started to hurt and her lungs to burn, she’d dubbed it the San Timotean Not-Quite-A-Death March in a desperate attempt to keep things in perspective.

  Next they’d stopped, and Dominic had yelled at her and—oh, God—then he’d suddenly been so kind that it had taken all of her strength not to cry.

  And then they’d kissed. The memory of that was enough to set off a hot little glow inside her even now, hours later. After that, there’d been that brief but wholly unexpected talk, punctuated by Dominic doing a remarkable vanishing act, disappearing into the night as if he were a part of it.

  True to his word, he hadn’t been gone long. Ignoring her protests, he’d carried her to the spot where he’d already spread a tarp and put together a shelter. Then he’d made her drink some water and eat something remarkably filling called an MRE that he’d produced from what she was starting to think of as The Truly Amazing Bottomless Backpack.

  After that, things got very hazy. She had a dim memory of starting to fall asleep while still sitting up, of Dominic laying her down and covering her up. Just as vague, she remembered opening her eyes—it must have been near dawn—and seeing him sitting cross-legged with his back to her, as still as a rock, keeping watch.

  She had a much sharper image, however, of the moment when he’d finally stretched out beside her, big, solid, deliciously warm and exquisitely male.

  Now, sunlight danced at the edges of the shelter’s shaded overhang and birds sang, heralding a new day. The nighttime chill was a mere memory; it was already hot and muggy.

  Her cheek was pillowed on the satiny bulge of muscle above the crook of Dominic’s elbow, while his other arm was wrapped snugly around her waist. Their legs were tangled together, the smooth fabric of his pants legs tickling the bottoms of her feet.

  It was hard to believe that yesterday at this time—had it really been only yesterday?—she’d been alone. Imprisoned. On the verge of losing hope. More than a little afraid.

  Not that that last was any great surprise. Over the past weeks, Lilah had come to realize she’d spent most of her life being afraid: of disappointing her grandmother, of disgracing her family name, of turning out to be like the mother she’d never known.

  According to Gran, it had been Lilah’s beautiful, reckless mother who’d been responsible for Lilah’s father’s death. Like a siren of old, Melanie Morgan Cantrell had lured Abigail’s son James into forgetting his duties and responsibilities with a combination of gaiety, laughter and an utter disregard for his obligations. If he’d been attending to business the way he should have been—the way Gran had expected him to—he’d never have agreed to attend that frivolous house party in Montana, much less gotten on the small plane that had crashed in the Rockies, killing everyone on board, including his young wife.

  Although Abigail had never actually said it in so many wor
ds, Lilah strongly suspected her grandmother felt Melanie had gotten exactly what she’d deserved.

  Gran had been far more open, however, in stating that no matter what it took, she wasn’t about to allow her only grandchild to follow in Melanie’s careless footsteps. She’d raised Lilah to be everything her mother hadn’t been: reserved, deliberate, dutiful, responsible.

  And while Lilah’s only living relative seemed to be pleased with the results, where had they gotten Lilah? Over the past weeks, the answer to that had become painfully clear.

  She was nearly thirty and alone. She was unable to claim anything except might-have-beens as her own. She lacked the memories of a life fully lived to sustain her.

  But that could change. She could change.

  The possibility, which had seemed like so much wishful thinking only days ago, seemed tantalizingly within reach when considered from the shelter of Dominic’s arms. As did the question of where to start.

  She wanted Dominic. She could try to delude herself into thinking that the overpowering attraction between them the past twenty-four hours was merely a reaction to their being thrown together in a very stressful situation. That if they’d met again on the street or some other benign social situation, they would’ve exchanged polite hellos and nothing more.

  But deep down, she knew better. She knew that there was a part of her that had never quit thinking or caring about him. That from the instant she’d looked up and seen him being dragged into the cell block by those guards, she’d wanted him back in her life—whether it was for a lifetime, a year, a week or an hour. She wanted a chance to find out if they could have a future now that they were both grown-up.

  And then what? What if it doesn’t work out? Losing him before nearly destroyed you, and this time the stakes will definitely be higher. Are you really willing to take that risk?

  Yes. Without a doubt or a hesitation, the answer was yes.

  Her mind made up, she took a breath and pressed a lingering kiss to the bend of Dominic’s elbow.

  She felt the change as he awoke instantly. Like a switch being thrown, his body seemed to hum with an energy that hadn’t been there a second before.

  She twisted in his arms, shifting so she was looking up at him. His face was creased with sleep, his cropped hair rumpled. But his clear green eyes were totally alert.

  He was so beautiful, she thought, not caring that it was a word rarely used to describe a man. More than a little amazed at her audacity, she reached up and smoothed a fingertip across one straight black eyebrow. “Good morning.”

  “Yeah.” Something flickered in his eyes as they played over her and then his gaze hooded over. “You get some rest?”

  “Yes.” Her heart beat faster as she realized that she—and her wandering fingers, which were now toying with the thick silky hair cropped close to his temple—were responsible for the wariness he couldn’t completely disguise.

  The realization lit a little fire inside her, giving her the courage to slide her hand to the back of his head and tug him closer.

  Inches apart, they regarded each other. Lilah wet her lips, prepared to throw caution to the wind. “Dominic—”

  His name was only partly out of her mouth when he tensed, his gaze becoming unfocused as his concentration shifted outward. “Shh. Do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That.”

  She strained to listen, but still it was an anxious moment before she heard the rumble of trucks and men’s shouted exchanges off in the distance. “Do you mean the—”

  “Damn, damn, damn!” Without warning he scrambled out of the shelter and onto his feet. “Come on!” he ordered between his teeth. “Move!”

  Her heart pounding, she crawled after him, still not entirely certain of the cause of his urgency. “What is it? I don’t understand! Surely you expected them to look for us. Didn’t you?” She was barely clear of the shelter before he’d rolled up and stowed the tarp and the thin blanket that had been covering them in his backpack.

  “Oh, yeah.” His face grim, he tossed her now-dry sandals to her, then knocked down the makeshift lean-to of palm and plantain fronds he’d built to conceal them overnight and spread the foliage around. “But I sure as hell didn’t think they’d bother to bring in dogs to track us.”

  “Dogs?” A chill went down her spine as she fumbled into the shoes, which felt tight after their dowsing of the previous night. She struggled to fasten the buckles.

  “Yeah.” He slipped the backpack on, settled it into place and adjusted the straps. “Can’t you hear them?”

  Now that he’d pointed it out, she could. She was suddenly able to isolate a distant baying from the rest of the far-off sounds that didn’t belong to the jungle’s normal hum. “Oh, my God.”

  He looked up, hesitated a fraction of a moment, then reached out, gripped her by the shoulders and tugged her close. He looked down at her. “Pay attention. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. I swear.”

  She parted her lips to assure him she trusted him to keep her safe, but before she could say a word, his mouth came down and claimed hers.

  The kiss was quick but potent, the firm press of his lips momentarily displacing her fear, the unhurried heat of his heart against her palms more reassuring than any words.

  He set her away from him. “Ready?”

  Lips tingling, she nodded.

  “Whatever happens, stay close and do exactly what I tell you, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl.”

  “Let’s go, then.” He set off, his long legs quickly eating up ground as he wove a path only he could see through the undergrowth.

  Her eyes locked on his broad back, Lilah was hard on his heels.

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  Six

  “T hey’re getting closer, aren’t they?” Lilah gasped, as she and Dom scrambled up yet another shallow, bracken-covered rise.

  “Maybe a little,” he conceded, lengthening his stride as they crested a hill and the ground briefly leveled out. He didn’t see any reason to tell her that even though they’d exchanged a brisk jog for a dead run wherever the terrain allowed, experience told him the hounds would catch them sometime within the next half hour. That is, unless he could locate the source of the muted rush he could hear coming from somewhere to his right in the foliage-choked hills ahead of them first.

  After all, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle a few hounds, he thought grimly, as he ducked under a thick, trailing vine. If it became necessary he could and would take them out courtesy of the 9mm automatic wrapped in a waterproof pouch at the bottom of his pack, a weapon he’d purchased on a back street in Santa Marita.

  But he didn’t want it to come to that. Sure, it would buy him and Lilah some time, but it would also give away their position every bit as much as the dogs themselves. Plus the handgun would have to be used at close range to be effective. And though taking such action would keep Lilah physically safe, there was nothing pretty about shooting other living things, threatening or otherwise. It would be damn traumatic for someone who’d led the sheltered life she had, and he’d prefer to spare her the experience if he could.

  Not that he thought she’d protest, much less fall apart on him. He was starting to accept that she was a little less spoiled and a lot more intrepid than he remembered. And though he couldn’t decide if that was because she’d changed or he simply hadn’t been entirely fair to her over the years, he supposed it didn’t matter.

  What did was that with every hour they spent together, she continued to surprise him. Earlier today, it had been awakening to find them entwined together like two strands of the same rope. He couldn’t recall a time since he’d qualified as a SEAL that he’d slept through anyone getting that close to him. Yet somehow she’d managed to slip past his defenses undetected.

  Now he was finding himself surprised and impressed by the way she was keeping up with him, even though he was a nearly a foot taller, a good hundred pounds h
eavier, and hands down better shod than she was. Plus there was the not-so-inconsequential fact that he was trained to do this kind of high-speed evasion.

  Somehow he doubted it was a skill that appeared on the how-to-be-a-successful-debutante checklist.

  Yeah, smartass. They must’ve left it out to make space for the how-to-tie-a-guy-up-in-knots-just-by-breathing sequence.

  God knew, Lilah had that particular ability down cold.

  Because just beneath the edge of his fixation on getting them clear of their current situation was his intense, unwavering carnal awareness of her as an attractive, desirable female.

  Of course, that was no longer any great surprise, either, he admitted, as he shoved a branch out of his way, held it a second to give her a chance to get clear, then grabbed her hand again to tow her up a short but steep incline. At some point during the night, as he’d sat in the inky darkness listening to her sleep, he’d accepted that the odds of them making it back to civilization without having sex were absolutely nonexistent.

  And because he had, he’d subsequently decided it was a waste of energy to resist the inevitable. He wanted her. He was pretty sure she wanted him, too. They were two unmarried adults over the age of consent, and if they could find some pleasure in the midst of danger, why shouldn’t they pursue it?

  No reason on earth, he assured himself.

  Of course, before that could happen, the small but pressing matter of evading their pursuers had to be dealt with first.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her, grabbing her hand and lending her his strength as the vegetation thinned unexpectedly and he picked up their pace even more. “They’re not going to catch us. Trust me.”

  She let loose with a brief, swallowed laugh that made him jerk his head around to look at her. “Dom, I do,” she said, wincing as a strand of her hair caught on a thorny branch for an instant before her forward momentum tore it free. “I don’t know why, but I do. Although I must confess—” her hand tightened on his as she followed him up and over a fallen log “—I’d love to hear your escape plan.”