Primitive Passion

Primitive Passion Shara Lanel (c) 2005

Primitive Passion Shara Lanel Published 2005 ISBN 1-59578-084-X Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2005, Shara Lanel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://lsbooks.com Email: [email protected] Cover Art by April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

DEDICATION This book is for all those friends who encouraged, pushed, critiqued, and loved my writing as much before it was published as now: Nik, Tracy, Dini, Jeff, Kathy, Kelly, Jenn & Cathy. Thanks guys! And I wouldn't be anywhere without my RWA Chapters, especially VRW. As always, thanks for believing in me—Mom, Dad, Dh & Z. I love you all!

CHAPTER ONE “What?” Sylvia Radcliff wanted to clean out her ears to make sure she’d heard correctly, but she was too busy clutching her purse to her chest and fearing for her life. “You heard me. Get out.” The young cab driver held a gun. Sylvia knew nothing about guns, but this one looked real enough and it was pointed at her forehead. She bit her lip, too shocked to react, and looked beyond the grimy windows of the ancient cab. “Here? There’s nothing here. You told me you’d take me to San Cristobal.” Her pen pal, Maria Alvarez, lived in San Cristobal. They were to meet for the first time after corresponding for ten years. The exchange had begun as an assignment by Sylvia’s high school Spanish teacher, but Sylvia and Maria had hit it off, so they’d continued writing, now mostly by email or Instant Message. In fact, Sylvia felt like she and Maria were best friends, though they had never met. “Señora…” “Señorita,” Sylvia corrected automatically. “Whatever. I will not tell you again. Give me your purse and get out.” “My purse?” Sylvia couldn’t help repeating each thing he said. It seemed so unreal, being accosted on her first visit outside the United States. Wouldn’t some kind soul drive around that bend and rescue her? It had to be close to three o’clock, rush hour back home, but not here in southern Mexico, apparently. “Your purse!” This time the cabby shouted, jarring Sylvia into motion. She slowly handed him her purse, hoping he’d just take her travelers’ checks and give it back. She’d need the copy of her birth certificate and driver’s license to return to the United States. The purse disappeared beyond the partition and the cabby waggled the gun in her face. “Get out now!” Her breath caught and her voice came out in a squeak. “My suitcase?” The driver looked eighteen, if that, and had coffee-with-cream skin, and a flap of blond hair covering his eyes while the rest of the strands were short-cropped black. Sylvia tried to reason that perhaps he had a hungry family to feed, but then he’d only take her money, not everything. No, his hard black eyes seemed cruel. Why hadn’t she noticed that upon entering the cab at the airport in Tuxtla Gutierrez? “You have to at least give me my ID. You can’t strand me in this country with nothing.” “I can.” “I won’t leave without my driver’s license and birth certificate. You can just shoot me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and swung her sweaty hair off her shoulders with a flick of her head, praying he wouldn’t call her bluff. The sound of her pounding heart nearly deafened her, but she had to stand her ground. She needed her identification. Grunting while still pointing the gun at her through the open partition, the teen rifled through her purse. He found the two pieces of identification and tossed them into her lap. “Get out now, or I will kill you and hide your body out there.” “Out there” was a steep slope going up the mountain on one side and a steep slope going down the mountain on the other. Palm trees, vines and various other jungle vegetation completely obscured the ground and sky. Sylvia had no doubt if the cabby hid

her body “out there” no one would find her before the bugs and heat had rotted away her flesh. Not a pleasant picture. Clutching the birth certificate and driver’s license to her chest with shaking hands, she slid across the vinyl seat, opened the door and stepped out, locking her knees to keep from collapsing in relief. The cab sped away, almost crushing her toes in the process. She tried to calm her breathing as she watched the green and white taxi whip around the bend. Once the roar of the engine faded, the silence seemed somehow loud. Then she realized it was loud, full of buzzing insects and squawking birds and creaking branches. Perhaps even rushing water somewhere not too far off. For a while, she stood numb with shock, willing another vehicle to travel around the bend, someone to rescue her and return her to civilization. Though the road was paved, it was crumbled in several sections and looked ancient and untraveled. The already dim jungle grew dimmer, and Sylvia realized she needed to take action before nightfall left her blind and vulnerable. Sundown was still a few hours off, but she couldn’t recall the last town they’d passed in the hour—or was it two?—she’d been in the cab. When the vehicle had first pulled away from the airport, she’d been too distracted by the beautiful Spanish Colonial architecture and the bustle of traffic to pay attention to where they were going. Town had given way to gorgeous, exotic vistas and she’d oohed and aahed in admiration. By the time the cab ride had begun to seem endless, she’d lost all sense of location. It had taken her several moments to gather enough courage to speak, and by then the cab skidded to a halt, and there had been a gun poking in her face. How stupid to have let her guard down. Now it was too late. Aware she couldn’t continue to stand here, Sylvia decided to walk in the direction the cab had disappeared. There had to be a town or a house somewhere out here. As she walked, her hunger raged, but that was soon eclipsed by her thirst. Sweat dribbled between her breasts and down her back. The day’s heat and humidity remained, though the dense foliage hid all but the faintest traces of sunlight. Sylvia prayed she found a town soon, or even a house. Each foreign sound scared her witless; she was expecting a strange animal to lunge from the vegetation at any moment. The thick walking stick she’d found by the side of the road wouldn’t provide much protection, but it did help her keep some weight off the searing blister that had formed on her right foot. She wore practical low-heeled shoes, but they were new, bought two weeks ago expressly for this trip to Mexico. Maria had always talked about fashion in her emails, so for this special occasion Sylvia had left her beat-up sneakers behind. Now, she longed for those sneakers, not to mention her air conditioner, some Godiva chocolates and a year’s supply of bottled water. A repetitive booming sound startled Sylvia from her progressively panicked thoughts. Was that thunder? Just what she needed, a rainstorm, to complete her magnificent day. The sound increased in volume until she recognized it. Hoof beats. She crazily thought of the time-travel novels she loved to read and wondered if she’d been transported back to the time of the Mexican Revolution and Pancho Villa. The pounding hooves grew louder, blocking out the tropical sounds. There was a chance she would get trampled if she didn’t move out of the middle of the road. Sylvia was willing to take that chance if it meant the rider might stop and offer her a ride back to civilization.

A black horse appeared on the road a short distance ahead. A big, beautiful animal more gorgeous than the horses she’d seen at the Belmont track during her rare outings. The man in the saddle wore a leather poncho, black cowboy boots and jeans. A Braves baseball cap pulled low on his forehead obscured his features. He sat straight and seemed monstrously tall from Sylvia’s vantage point on the ground. Luckily, the man spotted her and slowed the horse from a trot to a canter with a lowtoned “whoa”. “Hi.” Sylvia smiled in gratitude. “Thank God you’re here. I thought I was never going to see another human being again.” It occurred to her that he might not speak English, so she brightened her smile, hoping to convey friendliness. “I’m not human.” His tone was almost a growl, scratchy, as if he hadn’t used his voice in a while. He did speak English, though, thank God. “You’re joking, right? Are you a hallucination then, brought on by my extreme thirst?” “Maybe.” He reached behind him and unhooked something from his saddlebag, an old U.S. Army canteen. He tossed it to her. “Drink.” “Oh, thank you.” She unscrewed the cap and gulped down the water. “Not too fast. You’ll get stomach cramps.” She shook her head and continued to drink. Stomach cramps be damned. They couldn’t be any worse than what she got during that evil time-of-the-month. But then she realized this might be all the water the man had and maybe he had a ways to go yet. She stopped, wiped her mouth, and re-screwed the cap before handing the canteen back. The strong tan fingers of the man’s right hand gripped the pommel as he accepted the canteen with his left one. “Why are you here?” “My cabby deserted me. Well, really he left me a few miles back. I’ve been walking for a couple of hours.” “Why would he do that?” Sylvia still couldn’t see the man’s face, but dark brown hair curved under his ears and brushed his collar. “He took my purse and bags. He pointed a gun at me!” She tamped down the overwhelming urge to cry or give in to hysteria. The man regarded her for a few more moments. “Where were you headed?” “San Cristobal.” He shook his head. “You’re the opposite direction from San Cristobal. Did your cabby pick you up from the airport?” She nodded. “And you didn’t notice he was heading south instead of north?” “How would I know? These roads are so windy and you can’t even see the sun in here, wherever here is.” “That’s because it’s about to go behind the horizon.” Sylvia glanced around her and noted the deep pockets of shadows surrounding her. Shivers cascaded down her spine. “Can you help me, please? Get me to a town or a phone.” The horse snorted and Sylvia eyed it warily. “Do you have a car?” “No car.” The man stared at her for a heartbeat or two, then held out his hand. “Hop up.” “Um,” she hesitated. She wanted a ride, yes, but she was suddenly suspicious. This was a total stranger after all and could be as bad, or worse, than the cabby. On the other

hand, she couldn’t continue walking around in a jungle after nightfall with no idea where to go for help. “Thank you,” she said, gripping his hand. The man pulled her up and twirled her around to sit in front of him as if she weighed nothing, which was hardly the case. She was a relatively short woman with a good amount of meat on her bones, giving her an ample bosom and too-round hips. She lamented her figure in an age when Twiggy-thin models created the American image of beauty. Sylvia didn’t get a chance to see her rescuer’s face. One strong, male arm across her belly secured her as he urged his horse into a trot. She couldn’t tell what sort of body hid beneath that poncho, but his jeans hugged his legs nicely. If his body matched, she’d bet this was one very sexy cowboy. “What’s your name?” he asked, his lips close to her ear, his husky voice putting all of her nerve endings on alert. “Sylvia Radcliff.” “Sylvia. That’s pretty. I’m Heath Williams.” “Nice to meet you.” She tried to relax as she felt his warmth spread across her back. “Is town far from here?” “We’re not going to town.” Uh oh. Perhaps it was time to rethink this plan. “But I really need to call my friend, who’s expecting me, and to report the mugging to the police and my credit card company. Where are we going then?” “My place.” She felt a tiny flutter of panic. She was at this man’s mercy. “Do you have a phone?” “No phone.” “No phone?” Now the panic edged into her voice. His arm squeezed her tighter. “Don’t be skittish.” “Do you have a car?” She’d already asked him that, but she still couldn’t believe his answer. “No car, either.” She exhaled slowly to calm herself. “But the town’s nearby, right?” “Señorita, we’re nowhere near a town.” He spoke the Spanish word with a perfect Mexican accent, but the rest of his speech was clearly American. She tried another deep breath for serenity. “But where were you riding from?” “I was checking my traps. They were empty.” His voice took on a grumpy tone. “Nothing but beans and rice for dinner.” He guided the horse off the pavement onto a narrow, matted trail. The branches hung low so that Sylvia had to put her hands in front of her face for protection. A swishing sound and slight breeze made her peek through her fingers. Heath wielded a big, heavylooking knife in one hand while keeping control of the reins with the other. Though she’d never seen one in real life, she guessed it was a machete like they used in the movies “Romancing the Stone” and “Crocodile Dundee.” Branches and vines plummeted with each slash. Sylvia broke out in a clammy sweat as the knife slashed through the air, never missing its target. “Damn jungle grows back as soon as I cut through,” Heath murmured into her ear. She nodded as if she understood. She was a city girl, an urbanite, and at the moment she

was longing to get back to the city as soon as possible. Any city would do, but preferably an American one. By the time an olive-green cottage, set in the center of a clearing, came into view, the sky was painted in orange and purple streaks. Cottage was a loose term for the dilapidated building. Paint peeled in strips from the walls, the porch sagged, and the tin roof looked rusted. The windows were the building’s unique feature. Round pieces of thick glass in a rainbow of colors gave it a stained-glass effect. Set back to the right of the cottage, weeds and vines sought to overtake a pole barn and small paddock area. Heath gave a soft “whoa” to the horse when they reached the porch. His big hands wrapped around Sylvia’s waist, lifting her into the air. Before she could protest, her feet touched the porch. She grabbed the corner of a twig chair for balance then watched, hands on her hips, as Heath guided the horse to the barn. **** Heath took his time unhooking the secondhand saddle from Priest. He brushed the tired horse down with a currycomb before opening the makeshift gate. Priest dawdled before entering the stall, lapping up blades of grass and stray grain from the ground. Heath gave him a friendly whap to the rump. This was their routine, calming in its familiarity. The woman standing on his porch was not part of that familiar routine. Heath needed to think. He tried, but only got as far as, what am I going to do with her? before his mind cycled back to the sensory sensations of her round bottom pressed against him on the horse. Her hair smelled like jasmine shampoo. She had a pert nose and bright blue eyes, and wore her blouse with the top button undone. That opening revealed just a hint of curves and creamy white skin. His body had reacted immediately, but he was pretty sure the thickness of his leather poncho and the movement of the horse had camouflaged the reaction. It had been a strong reaction that lingered as he drew a bucket of water from the well behind the barn and dumped it into Priest’s trough. A scoop of grain finished the job of settling the horse for the night, but Heath was hardly ready to go back to his house. She waited there. She’d expect something of him. He was shocked that he’d even picked her up. He hated being around people. More than hated. Feared it. The last time Heath had gone into town had been the worst. His mouth had gone dry, and he’d hyperventilated before retching on the ground in front of the public market. He’d not returned since, and that had been two years ago. He did occasionally see hikers or cars in the area, but he would always turn the other way before they caught sight of him. Yet, he’d picked this woman up, skin to skin, and his reaction hadn’t been panic; it had been lust that hit him in the stomach like a fist. Five more minutes passed while he tended to the horse. He knew she’d come looking for him if he delayed any longer, so he sauntered up to the porch and braced himself for a conversation. She stood in the spot that he’d left her, arms crossed, foot tapping with impatience. “There you are. I thought you’d gotten lost back there.” “Just tending Priest.” “Priest?” “My horse.”

“Oh.” She nodded before grabbing a fistful of her hair and lifting it off her neck. “It’s so hot and the mosquitoes have been attacking. Can we go inside?” “We can go inside.” He doubted it would be much cooler, though. He didn’t have electricity to run a fan or air conditioner so he just slept in the nude. The vegetation kept the temperatures in the area moderate, but the humidity was killer. Sometimes he’d bring in a bucket of well water and soak his feet to lower his body temperature. He looked up to see she was waiting for him to lead the way. He leaped onto the porch and the weather-beaten boards creaked in response. Quickly, he opened the door— it had no lock—and gestured for her to enter. He hadn’t forgotten all of his manners during his years of solitary existence, but probably most of them. Sylvia entered slowly, looking around. Not much to see, Heath knew. He followed her across the threshold and shut the door. The cottage was a single room without any modern amenities, not even a toilet. He’d built an outhouse a ways into the woods, and had rigged up a hand-pumped shower out by the well. The icy-cold water invigorated him on a hot day. He also had a large copper tub on the back porch for the occasional bath. This required a lot of preparation, like hauling water from the well to the wood stove to be heated, enough water to fill the tub waist-deep when he sat in it. “This is cozy.” Sylvia’s voice sounded doubtful. “Is this all there is?” “There’s a back porch.” She walked to the back door and opened it a crack. A barrel stove perched opposite the tub, crowding one end of the porch. It was rarely lit during the summer unless he needed hot water. “Do you have a bathroom?” “In the woods.” “Thank God. And a shower?” “Back by the well.” “Oh.” She closed the door and faced him, and he realized it was getting too dark to see. The matches sat next to the lantern on the table. Heath struck one and lit the lantern wick. A bamboo chair crouched next to the table and his cot rested against the opposite wall. * Sylvia carefully sat down on the solitary chair praying it would take her weight. She’d finally gotten a good look at the man’s face, which sported a solid square jaw, aquiline nose and green eyes. He was ruggedly handsome, but what had she gotten herself into? This was far worse than she could have ever imagined. The man had nothing, no fridge, no phone, no electricity; and when he said he had a bathroom, she suspected he meant an outhouse. This was truly scary. Two large trunks under the windows must hold his supplies. The building seemed clean, at least. No cobwebs or food crumbs or insects. The floor looked swept, a vibrant woven rug filled its center, and the cot was made up. A bowl and pitcher and a single glass sat on one of the trunks. Still, what kind of person lived like this? And did he do it by choice? Was he wanted by the law? She bit her lip at that last thought. What if he was a fugitive rapist or murderer? And here she was, alone with him with absolutely no means of defending herself.

CHAPTER TWO “Can I get you something?” Heath’s large body seemed too big for the rustic room. “Water would be fine, thank you.” Sylvia crossed her legs and set her hands on her knees as if she were in the boardroom discussing an ad campaign. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and visualized it hard enough, she would be; and this time-warped cabin would fade to a quickly forgotten nightmare. “Are you tired?” Sylvia’s eyes flew open at the sound of Heath’s voice. He held a glass of water out to her. She accepted the glass and sipped to cover her disappointment. Her attempt at magic had not worked. Too bad. “Thank you,” she murmured, grateful for the water. “Are you hungry?” “Starving, actually.” He grinned, transforming his face from dangerous drug runner to Hollywood movie star. Sylvia’s mouth went dry as she felt another kind of hunger, the kind that was far too dangerous to feed. She looked towards the window and concentrated on the dancing lantern light that flickered on the colored glass, hoping he hadn’t read her reaction on her face. As she stared, she realized the glass was created from an assortment of bottle bottoms. How resourceful. Behind her, Heath’s footsteps traveled across the room to the back porch. They returned a few moments later, growing louder as they drew closer to where she sat. Sylvia turned back as he placed a wooden bowl full of exotic fruit near her elbow. A slim knife pierced the flesh of a mango. The juice oozed from the wound, and the scent filled the air. She picked up the mango and began to peel and slice, while Heath produced a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth from one of the trunks. “I thought you said you only had beans and rice,” she said to fill the silence. He moved to the table, where he placed the food. He sliced mold off of the cheese before creating a sandwich for himself. He took an orange from the bowl, then marched over to one of the trunks and sat down. “An expression. I don’t have either at the moment.” “Well, thank you for the food.” She bit the mango, and sweet juice ran down her chin and her parched throat. The meal proceeded in silence. Sylvia realized this was the first time in a long while that she had really tasted her food. She savored each flavor and texture on her tongue— the yeast in the bread, the smooth tang in the cheese, the alternating sourness and sweetness of the chunky fruit. The cool water soothed her throat as the shaded interior of the building cooled her body, though nothing short of a shower would wash the stickiness from her skin and clothes. She thought it best to wait until daylight to attempt one, though. Who knew what critters liked to hang around this area at night? Satiated, Sylvia found her eyes drooping. She pinched the skin between her thumb and finger to shock herself back to consciousness. It worked this time, but probably wouldn’t keep her awake much longer. Heath stood and rewrapped the cheese and bread,

returning them to the trunk. He gathered up the peelings, the water glass and the glistening knife. “There’s a bucket on the porch for compost scraps and a pan of water on the stove for dirty dishes.” Sylvia stood and followed him with the bowl of fruit. Absolute darkness enveloped the porch. She couldn’t even see the pole barn. The lamp light extended only inches past the doorway, attracting moths and mosquitoes, so she placed the fruit on top of the woodpile and hurried back inside. In the center of the room, she turned in a slow circle. Just the one cot. “Do you have any other blankets that I could use for a bed?” Sylvia asked when Heath ducked his head and walked back through the doorway. He closed the door and latched it with a leather strap. “No, I only have what’s on the cot.” His gaze locked onto hers and grew intense, sending shards of fear through Sylvia. She felt overheated. “No problem then. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Her voice sounded squeaky instead of the chipper she was going for. It’s just one night, she reminded herself. A hard floor with walls and a roof for protection was far superior to sleeping on rotted vegetation under the open sky at the mercy of insects and animals, the way she would have been if Heath hadn’t found her. “I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said it gruffly before stalking across the room to the lamp and blowing it out. The darkness was as thick as fudge brownies, and Sylvia let out an involuntary “eek.” Then a warm hand gripped her elbow. Goosebumps radiated across her skin as Heath guided her to the cot. “But you really should have your bed. The floor’s fine with me. It’s not fair for me to show up and…” A callused finger covered her lips, shocking her into silence. The finger remained and began to trace the outline of her mouth. Sylvia’s lips parted and her breathing grew heavy and loud, each breath caressing his finger. She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell. Her nipples peaked and moisture settled between her legs. All because of this slow, gentle, innocent caress. “I will sleep on the floor,” Heath said again, firmly. The finger and the man moved away, leaving Sylvia panting and confused. She lowered her head to the cot, curled up into a fetal position, and pulled the woolen blanket to her shoulders more for protection from her emotions than a nonexistent chill. The floorboards creaked as Heath settled somewhere in the room. She listened as his breathing slowed until she knew he was asleep, but the sandman refused to grant her rest. She lay in the darkness with her eyes wide open staring at nothing. In the morning would this odd man give her a ride to town? She had no idea where she was, or which way to go, but if she had to walk she would. She needed to contact Maria and American Express and perhaps the U.S. Embassy. The cabby thief had taken her plane ticket, as well as her travelers’ checks, cash and credit card. She would be dependent on the help of strangers to get back to the States. Getting back to the States was what she wanted more than anything. And she really hoped Heath had been joking when he’d said he wasn’t human, because, at this moment, it was extremely tempting to believe that monsters lived in the dark. *

Heath could taste the darkness. It settled on his tongue and inside his nostrils, sweet and tangible. The sound of the woman’s breathing haunted him as he forcibly closed his eyes and slowed his own breath to match hers. He doubted sleep would come, not with a stranger in his home, but he knew ways of resting that often worked better than sleep. To distract himself from the woman’s exotic scent, he recalled the smell of sandalwood incense and the long, slow chant of “ohm” sung by a hundred voices in unison. It only took the memory of that sound to begin a buzz in his head, an out-of-body feeling. In moments, he felt his limbs melt and become one with the world. He could feel the slow turn of the earth. The energy from its molten core welled up and energized him. For several minutes, he concentrated on the visual meditation. As he returned to awareness, he heard Sylvia shift on the creaking cot. She was restless and not asleep. What traveled through her mind? How to get to town, most likely. Yes, that would be her focus in the morning. What would he tell her? She had felt so curvy and luscious against his body as they’d rocked on the horse. He imagined turning her around, settling her against him, face to face, as a man and woman were meant to be. What would it be like to be inside her? Soft flesh. Warm flesh. Heath blushed in the darkness as he felt himself harden under the cotton fabric. He wanted her, that was obvious, but what to do with her? Sylvia shifted again. Very restless. Perhaps fearful. Should he offer comfort? I have to keep her here. The thought came out of nowhere, but it nearly knocked him out in its intensity. He had to keep her, for a little while at least. He needed company or he would go mad, and she didn’t incite the anxiety in him. He could be with her here. More importantly, he could never take her to town. His phobia wouldn’t let him, but he could take her close to town and let her fend for herself from there. Town is dangerous. Perhaps he had gone mad already out here in the silent jungle. He couldn’t let her go just yet. He had to feel her soft flesh, taste its saltiness. His hardness increased, wetness leaked from his cock. How could he keep her? Tie her up. No. Yes. No. There had to be a better way, something she would agree to without violence. A bargain, perhaps. Payment. If she stayed for a few days and did what he asked of her, then he would take her close enough to town that she could find her way. She could refuse and walk on out of here, true. But he knew the jungle wouldn’t let her get far. She needed him as a guide. It was unlikely another car would come through for a week or more. No one used this road anymore, since newer, more direct routes had replaced it, which was why he’d picked the location for his homestead. His hand slid across his pants, inside, and he stroked, just enough to ease the tension. Should he make his demands specific and up front, or get her to agree to a nostrings-attached arrangement? Another stroke. Ahh. Familiar, but not enough. What he wanted was her, a woman, a person who didn’t cause him to break out in hives or hyperventilate. Someone to talk to. ****

Sylvia woke and found Heath sitting cross-legged on the floor watching her. Creepy. Or was it sexy? He was shirtless, and his brown nipples grabbed her attention. It had been a long, long time since she’d been with a man. She’d had daydreams of a Mexican romance, but hadn’t put much stock in the possibility. She was too citified and too American. She dated fast talking, fast moving, upwardly-mobile men. Men who paid for the meals and the cab rides and the show tickets. But lately, she never dated the same guy twice. She hadn’t wanted to put out the effort to do the phone call thing and the meet-thefriends thing, since none of the yuppies had caused her insides to zing. Heath caused her insides to zing and zong and explode, just by staring at her. Maybe it was the stranger danger or his wildness or the fact that he was just plain sexy. She didn’t know, but the sensations scared her. As she sat up and stretched, she noted that he watched her chest rise and fall. Her nipples peaked in response. She wanted to strip off all of her clothes and climb on top of him. What a crazy thought. Well, stripping off her clothes might be a good idea, but only if it meant taking a shower. “Would you mind if I use your shower?” she asked, breaking the taut silence. “No. Would you like breakfast first?” “No. I think a shower would bring me to life faster.” “You’re not alive now?” “Hell, no. I’m a total zombie.” Heath grinned. “I see. Then by all means, take your shower.” Sylvia traipsed outside. Muggy, even in the morning. Swarms of gnats hung out in the deep shadows. She noted a lizard blending in on the boards of the porch only after she nearly stepped on it and it scrambled away. The grass seemed to teem with life, bees, butterflies, ants and more. Maybe she was just more aware of it this morning, or maybe she’d lived in New York too long to be accustomed to nature. She hadn’t even taken the time to walk through Central Park in months. There was no curtain around the shower. It was just a hose suspended from the side of the barn. How she longed for her pulsating showerhead and the whirlpool jets in her bathtub. She gripped the pump handle and lifted and lowered it. Nothing happened. She glared at the contraption, and then pumped it twice more. No water. “It’s not working,” she shouted towards the cabin. Heath stuck his head out. “You have to prime it.” “What?” “Pump it a lot. Prime it.” Sylvia “primed it” until her arm hurt and water finally rushed out of the hose. As warm as the morning was, she was not prepared for the frigid temperature of the water as it hit her palm. She shrieked and hopped back. How could she bathe like this? Very, very fast. She stripped off her clothes in two movements and dashed under the water where she scrubbed her underarms and her hair and face until the grime slid away. The water slowed to a trickle. Sylvia shook her hair and squeezed it, then yanked her clothes back on. She turned to go back to the house, and there was Heath, watching her every movement. She had no doubt that he’d watched her shower, too. Neanderthal. Certainly not a gentleman. She didn’t know any gentlemen anyway. The men who worked in her ad

agency either struck her as effeminate or smarmy. The good ones had the well-worn gold bands on their fingers and kindly daddy looks on their faces. “Did you enjoy the show?” Sylvia was shocked at her audacity. Normally she would run away in shame, but she would never see Heath again once she left here. What was the harm in a short flirtation? She bravely walked past him. “I did.” He turned to follow Sylvia back inside. “Shall we have breakfast?” she asked. “Yes.” “Then you’ll take me into town?” “No.” Sylvia stopped so suddenly that Heath stepped on her heel. He apologized, but she poked a finger into his chest. “What do you mean ‘no’?” “I won’t take you into town.” “Will you tell me how to get there? Is it nearby?” “No.” “Which?” “Either.” Poke, poke, poke. “Ow. Stop that.” He grabbed her finger. She yanked it free. “Why the hell won’t you take me to town? Don’t you want me out of here?” “No.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ah, I see.” Heath cleared his throat. “I want to strike a bargain.” Sylvia took a step back, a big step, and put her hands on her hips. “What sort of bargain?” “Let’s eat breakfast while I explain.” “No, you explain right now, or I’m not setting foot back in your house.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “What about a car or bus? If I go back to the road, one’s bound to come by. Right?” Heath advanced, and Sylvia retreated again. Did he want money? Hadn’t she already explained about the cab-driving thief? “Your cab has been the first vehicle through here in two weeks.” “You’re lying.” “I’m not.” Sylvia whirled abruptly. “Breakfast then.” She chewed her lower lip, thinking hard. Was what Heath said true? Well, she couldn’t just take his word outright. She would have to prove it to herself one way or the other, which meant after breakfast she would find her way back to the road and wait. Should she walk back the way she’d come? It was probably a day’s hike. That would be manageable, wouldn’t it? What about the other direction? Perhaps there was something just around the bend. Should she consider his bargain, though? It would be smart to hear him out. Maybe, he just wanted conversation. Fat chance. Heath’s eyes scalded her as he crossed the plank floor with the bowl of fruit in his hands. He lived here all alone. It had probably been some time since he’d seen any other female. Sylvia was pretty sure he wanted something more than conversation. Hell, no. She wasn’t some hussy.

“What’s your bargain?” she finally blurted to break the strained silence. Heath smiled. He had straight white teeth. She thought of running her tongue over them, and mentally slapped herself. Get a grip. She needed to get back to civilization, not have sex with some mountain man. The mountain man walked close enough to where Sylvia sat that his knees touched hers. He ran his fingers through her hair. She shivered as he lifted her chin with gentle pressure. He stared down at her steadily, hungrily. He was still shirtless. She imagined leaning forward far enough to place her tongue against his muscle-lined stomach and lick. He obviously had the same thought in mind, or perhaps he imagined her licking somewhere lower, since his erection strained visibly against the fabric of his pants. He remained in the dominant position. “The bargain is you stay with me for a few days and do what I ask of you, then I will take you to the outskirts of town.” “So, town isn’t really that far away?” “It’s two days ride on horseback. I imagine three or more on foot, without water, and you would be sleeping unprotected on the ground.” “I could take water with me.” “I only have one canteen.” In other words, he didn’t plan to loan it to her. “This is the rainforest, isn’t it? There must be plenty of water around.” His grin turned lopsided. “Did you come across water during your walk this afternoon? And if you do find water, I cannot vouch for its sanitation. But I will not stop you. Feel free to try.” “Only you won’t help me at all.” “Unless you help me.” “An eye for an eye…” “One good turn deserves another.” “Hah.” Sylvia chewed her lip, wishing Heath would move out of her view. His flat stomach was as tempting as chocolate truffles in a bakery window. “What if I offered to pay you once we get to town? It should be no problem to get my travelers’ checks replaced.” “I won’t go into town.” “Why not?” He was a murderer. There must be posters up at the local post office, or maybe the Federales would recognize him on sight. She wanted to scream and pound her fists against him. While licking him. Which was definitely illogical, and she prided herself on her logic. “I never go into town. “Are you a wanted man?” “No.” “Heath, work with me here. You’re the hero, right? You don’t really want to take advantage of a stranded woman. You certainly don’t want to kick me when I’m down, right?” “I’m no hero. My bargain doesn’t involve kicking, and I don’t need your money.” Sylvia’s eyes widened in disbelief and gazed pointedly around the sparse room. “I have everything I need.” “Except a woman.” He crouched down until his eyes were level with hers. “Except you.”

CHAPTER THREE Heath knew Sylvia would think any woman would do, but that wasn’t the case. Just the thought of talking to most women, getting close enough for them to ogle him, would make him puke. He didn’t know how to explain it—it was a weakness and he hated it— but if Sylvia agreed to this bargain, he would be in control for once. She inhaled. Heath watched her chest expand, her nipples firm against the fabric of her blouse. “What exactly does this bargain entail?” He remained focused on those perky cloth-covered points for another moment before her question registered. “You do what I say.” “Anything you say?” “Yes.” “And what are you going to say?” “I don’t know exactly.” With a sigh, Heath retreated to the cot. “Look, I can’t agree to just obey you. I don’t know you. You could ask me to murder someone.” “I wouldn’t do that.” “How do I know?” Heath watched as Sylvia picked at her cuticles. She had clean, curved fingernails, so he didn’t think it was a habit, probably just something brought on by extreme duress. I’m doing that to her. He didn’t like himself for it, but he was slowly going mad alone in his self-imposed prison. All thoughts of God had long since left him. He still practiced the chants the monks had taught him, but his mind would no longer quiet enough to meditate for more than a few moments at a time. The nights seemed endless, and masturbating did not satisfy his body’s growing desires. He only found peace when riding Priest, and then only in snatches. “You can always leave,” Heath said. “And if I choose to leave, will you take me to town?” Then she would choose to leave almost immediately. “No.” * Sylvia had no choice. She would have to risk the walk and hope that Heath had exaggerated the distance to town and the lack of drinking water. She could even hold out hope for a bus or truck to come through. No matter what, she couldn’t stay another night in this cottage. She would never agree to Heath’s outrageous demands. She would have to be crazy to even consider giving a strange man that much power over her. Absolutely crazy. Insane. No matter how sexy this particular man happened to be. She stood and checked her pockets for her IDs. “Thanks for your hospitality, but I’ll be going now. Can you at least tell me which way I should head?” The stoic man hesitated, but then he shook his head. “Damn you,” Sylvia muttered. “I already am.”

What did he mean by that? She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know what sort of past drove a man to hide in the jungle with no electricity, no indoor plumbing, and no TV. She unstrapped the leather band and opened the front door. Heath stalked towards her and opened his mouth, but then he stopped and just watched her leave. Sylvia didn’t look back. She thought she saw the remnants of the path from last night, but as Heath had mentioned, the branches and vines seemed to have grown back overnight. Sylvia looked for broken branches, the ones cut through. She would find one then go for several feet without finding another, all the while wondering if she’d lost the path for good this time. After only a half-hour of walking, sweat poured down her back and off her forehead into her eyes. She had a zillion mosquito bites and tons of tiny slashes from attacking vegetation. Her throat burned. She imagined a Coke machine at the road’s edge and used that image as the carrot that kept her going. When she did reach the road, there was no shiny red Coke machine or even an icy cold water fountain. There was, however, a fallen coconut. Cracking open that coconut became Sylvia’s mission in life. She banged it on the crumbling asphalt, whacked it with a stick, chiseled at it with a rock. Nothing worked. She was ready to cry. Determined, she tucked the coconut under her arm as she hiked along the road. Every now and then, she would listen, hoping to hear an engine in the distance. Sometimes, she would sit and rest, and bang the coconut against the road. Around midday, the thing cracked, but half the milk splattered onto the ground. Sylvia lapped up the rest and munched on the meat. One of the blisters on her feet burst when she resumed walking, and pain accompanied every step. By late afternoon, the sun disappeared beyond the foliage. Sylvia had no idea how far she’d come and no idea how much farther she had to go. In fact, she was quite sure she was going to die out here. She lowered herself to the ground and leaned against a stump. The sticky puss from her blisters glued her shoes to her feet. She nearly screamed with the pain of pulling them off. Her feet were raw and twice their usual size. Sylvia leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” Unfortunately, the Good Witch did not appear to send her back to the States. She’d be ecstatic to be beamed to Kansas, though of course she would prefer New York. Anywhere but here. Anywhere with Evian. **** Heath had followed Sylvia to the road to see which direction she chose. Then he’d given her a couple of hour’s lead-time before he’d followed on Priest. The slow pace made it harder to hear the horse’s hooves. All day, he’d kept her in his sight, while staying out of hers. Now he watched as she leaned against the stump immobile, completely beat. The shadows grew longer until the jungle became a general gray. He couldn’t see her open her eyes from this distance, but he saw her little jump and heard her squeak when she awoke. Five minutes passed and blackness descended. Then her sobs began. Heath dismounted and walked towards the sound of Sylvia crying. He hated that sound. He wanted to comfort her, scoop her up in his arms and pat her head soothingly, but he doubted his presence would soothe her. Still, by now she had to know she needed him to get out of here. “Sylvia?” He spoke as softly as he could, but still she jumped.

“Who’s there? Heath?” “Yes.” Sylvia’s silhouette moved to a standing position. “How did you find me?” “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” “You’ve been following me? All day?” She didn’t sound pleased. “Yes.” “And you didn’t offer me water or a ride!” “You didn’t want my help.” “Yes, I did, you imbecile, but you’re just too selfish to give it.” She backed up a step. Heath crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he was too selfish to give his help unconditionally. He could neither defend his behavior in any way that she’d understand nor back down from his demands. He needed her as much as breath. He needed to touch her, taste her, control her, in order to regain control of himself. She was crying again, the sound soft like a kitten begging for milk. Heath reached out and pulled her to him. His broad hand stroked her hair and pressed her cheek against the rough leather of his poncho. His other arm encircled her soft shoulders. He lowered his lips to the top of her head and kissed her there, inhaling her scent. His penis throbbed, begging for release. If he gave himself over to the demands of that organ he’d take her here and now on the edge of the road—rough, clothed and primitive. His hold grew tighter until she squeaked. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his sanity. Finally, he could think of only one word to say. “Please.” * Sylvia pulled back and looked up, though she couldn’t see his features in the darkness. “But you’re not really asking me. You’re not giving me the choice to say yes or no.” “Please say yes.” Sylvia leaned her forehead into Heath’s strong, solid chest, and exhaled slowly. She could still say no and keep on her journey. She knew he wouldn’t forcefully keep her against her will, but he also wasn’t playing the part of the rescuer hero. Well, heroes only existed in storybooks. In real life, everyone had his or her own agenda. Even Sylvia. Her agenda was to survive this ordeal, contact Maria, and get safely back to her life in New York, so she was selfish, too. Admitting it made it a bit easier to breathe and eased the sick sensation in her stomach. “Take me back,” she mumbled without lifting her forehead. She was comfortable here, leaning against this tree of a man. She felt oddly safe, though he was asking her to do the unthinkable, to blindly obey him. She cringed whenever she’d heard the “love, honor and obey” passage at wedding ceremonies, and she’d attended several in the past few months. Her friends were settling down, one by one, like balloons on a dartboard. Heath kept his arm around her waist as he guided her to the restless Priest, who snorted and stomped a few feet away. Without a word, Heath swung himself into the saddle and pulled her up in front of him. He lifted the reins, clicked his tongue, and nudged Priest into a trot. Darkness surrounded them, pressing in from all sides. Heath let Priest find his way. At first, Sylvia tried to stay stiff and upright, but the day had been too much. She sagged back and closed her eyes. Heath’s arm encircled her, his thighs framing her butt and legs, while the swaying of the horse’s footsteps lulled her into slumber.

**** Sylvia slept, her cheek cradled against Heath’s chest, her body centered between his legs. He adjusted himself until the swaying of the saddle caused Sylvia’s bottom to rub against him in just the right way. Her breasts nudged his arm. Wisps of her hair tickled his chin. He lowered his lips and kissed her several times, all around her crown. He let go of the reins, since he couldn’t lead Priest in the dark anyway. The horse knew the way home. Both of Heath’s hands were free and itching to touch the sleeping woman’s soft body. He lowered his left hand to her jean-clad thigh, letting his thumb stroke up and down. When she didn’t stir, he spread the fingers of his right hand and cupped them over her breast. Firm and pliant at the same time. He lifted it slightly, feeling its weight. He remembered this, the feeling of a woman’s flesh in his hands, but it had been so long. A lifetime ago. He stroked his thumb across her nipple—flick, flick, flick—and the crown grew taut. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, using the slightest pressure. Sylvia moaned. He thought for sure she’d awakened, but she didn’t shriek or swat him away. Her breath remained steady and slow. He explored the inside of her thigh, higher, until he cupped her mound. He pressed his body against her while holding her tightly to him. He wanted to fuck her now, on this horse, from behind. But that was impractical since they’d probably fall off, and she was asleep. But God, he wanted to. * Sylvia concentrated on maintaining her slow breathing. She was awake, wide awake. She wanted to tell him no. Tell him to stop touching her, but she remembered his condition. She was to do whatever he asked. It was easier to feign sleep than have him make a specific request of her. The moan had been involuntary. As his fingers stroked between her thighs, her heartbeat increased. He would soon know she was awake because she was going to moan again. The pleasure he inflicted on her nipple was nearly her undoing. She wanted to grind her butt against him. She knew he was hard. She could feel that plain as day. As he transferred his attentions from one nipple to the other, she couldn’t stop the picture of him bending her forward against the horse’s neck and fucking her from behind. How could she imagine such a thing? The picture was so strong and sensory that she moaned once again and wiggled her ass against him. He nibbled her ear in acknowledgment. His left hand found the snap on her jeans and pulled, then tugged down her zipper. The nibbles turned into licks along the rim of her ear to that sensitive spot on the side of her neck. His fingers slid inside her panties. Now he would know the truth, that she was totally wet, totally hot, because of what he was doing to her. How could she feel this way when this man was coercing her obedience? His finger stroked at the top of her nub, then dipped into her liquid heat, before returning to stroking. His fingers never released her nipples from their torture. His tongue slid along the back of her neck. So good. He tasted her then bit her lightly while her hands gripped his thighs, her nails biting into the denim. The dark encased them in this world of pleasure. Sylvia’s mouth opened and her breath came quickly. She needed to tell him to stop. This was shameful. She shouldn’t be doing this.

Heath’s heartbeat pounded against her back. He slipped his long finger inside her, mimicking fucking, and that put her over the edge. Her legs stiffened, her back arched, and she exploded. * Heath felt a rush of power from the pleasure he gave Sylvia. He’d made her lose control, complete control. For a moment, she slumped against him. Her warmth and weight against his chest soothed his body’s agitation somewhat, but still he couldn’t wait to get back to his cabin. The warmth left him, though. Sylvia straightened her spine and leaned forward, letting her hair hide her face. “Sylvia, what’s the matter?” She didn’t speak. Heath lifted a tendril of hair away from her face, and she spasmed as if jolted by an electrical charge. He touched her shoulder, and she jerked away. “Sylvia, I thought you were enjoying yourself. Did I hurt you?” “Yes.” Just that one word, spoken with her face averted. “What? Where?” He wanted to kiss it and make it better. Had he been too rough with her? She’d been wet, way wetter than he’d expected. “I hate you.” Tears smothered her voice. He smoothed his hands down her back and felt her shaking. With one arm around her waist, he took up the reins and nudged the horse into a canter. He thought he understood Sylvia’s distress. It wasn’t physical pain, but the embarrassment and shame that came from letting a virtual stranger touch her in such an intimate way. Worse, she’d enjoyed it. She’d let go of her inhibitions completely. Heath wanted to bring her to that point again and again. She’d given him his first sense of freedom from the past nine years of hell. It was nine years ago that the illness started to take hold, the panic attacks, forgotten appointments, excuses to keep from going out with friends. He’d actually come to Mexico to stay at a monastery that he’d heard about, a place known for healing the troubled. The trip down had nearly killed him. He’d been unable to leave his car. He’d used full-service gas stations and gone through fast-food, drive-up windows. When he’d reached the front gates of the monastery, Brother Hernandez had to coax him from the vehicle. The grounds and sanctuary had been quiet and peaceful, but more and more he’d stay in his cell, refusing mass and group meals. He’d lost a lot of weight. Finally, Brother Hernandez had asked him to leave, to get professional help. Of course, to get professional help he would need to return to the States. He’d only moved as far as a room in a motel in a small town at the edge of the mountains. He’d stayed until the money ran out, two months exactly. Heath shook his head at the memory. He knew what shame and embarrassment felt like. He wished there was some way to take that feeling from Sylvia. Play the hero and take her to town, his conscience whispered. “No.” * Sylvia jerked at the sudden sound of Heath’s voice. “I do hate you.” “No.” He softened his voice. “You want to perhaps.” She adjusted herself in the saddle and looked over her shoulder at his face. She could only see his silhouette, and that only when the branches parted enough to let the moonlight filter through. She brushed back her hair and repeated, “I hate you.” “Yet, you are still going back to the cabin with me.”

“I have no choice, do I?” “Our deal still stands?” “Yes. But I think we need to get more specific. I need a time limit so I know you’re not going to keep me here indefinitely and never uphold your end of the bargain.” “A month.” “That’s too long! People will be looking for me. Poor Maria must already be frantic. I think one day should be sufficient.” Heath’s body had begun to throb where her bottom pressed against it. “A week.” “No.” “Three days, and that’s my final offer.” Sylvia sighed. Three days seemed like a lifetime to her. What could he do to her in three days? Everything, over and over again. She felt his hard cock pressed against her ass, and still felt as if his hands were on her. Her nipples perked at the memory and wetness filled her vagina again. Her body craved everything her mind rebelled against, and her cheeks burned with shame. But three days was a tangible goal. She only had to live through this captivity for three days, then he would take her to town. “If I agree to three days, how do I know you’ll do as you say?” “I’ve been honest with you so far. I didn’t try to think of some more palatable reason for you to stick around. I am trustworthy. You must have faith I’ll come through in the end.”

CHAPTER FOUR She was expected to place her faith in a strange man in a Mexican jungle. Sylvia swallowed hard and wove her fingers through the horse’s mane. She would agree to Heath’s arrangement, at least until she thought of a better plan. Her code of ethics did not necessarily apply to forced captivity. “I agree to the three days. The very next morning you will take me to town.” “Would you like to shake on it?” Heath’s arms wrapped around her and clasped her hand. He gave it a small shake and squeeze, but didn’t let it go. “Are we almost there?” she asked, debating whether to pull her hand free. “Yes. Priest is very good at finding the way back to his food.” Sylvia closed her eyes and focused on the swaying rhythm of the ride. She forced herself not to think about the rightness of her decision and tried not to worry about what Heath would demand of her once they reached his cabin. She just emptied her mind and listened to the night sounds around them and the clip clop of the horse. **** Heath deposited Sylvia on the moonlit front porch of his cottage. “I’ll bring in some water in case you’d like to freshen up.” “Thank you.” Sylvia hurried inside, wishing she’d thought to bring bug spray and anti-itch ointment with her. Of course if she had, they would currently be in the hands of the cabby-thief. No point fretting about it, but the bites did sting. At least, she hadn’t been able to see the mosquitoes do their damage. She shut the door behind her, and felt her way to the cot. Since the room was so sparse, she had no problem avoiding the furniture. Should she lie down and feign sleep before Heath finished with the horse? Would this get her off the hook for the night? Her muscles were so sore and her emotions so taxed that a horizontal position was all the signal her mind needed for sleep to overtake her. The coarse cotton linen at her cheek felt like heaven. She didn’t even get to the count of three… * “Sylvia?” Heath set the teapot down while searching for the matches on the table. Once he had the lamp lit, he poured the warm water into the pitcher. Perhaps tomorrow, a true bath was in order. “Sylvia?” He turned and saw her asleep on the cot, but was she really asleep or did she just hope to avoid his demands? He knelt in front of her and listened to her slow, even breathing. She had not slept well the night before. Then, she’d trekked through the jungle all day. No wonder she was out cold. Heath reached out and petted her hair. She gave the slightest mew and rolled onto her back. He let his fingers trail down the side of her face, to her neck, and to her chest. What would she taste like? It had been nine long years since he’d made love. Two traumatic events in succession had numbed his body, though they’d had nothing to do with sex and

everything to do with grief. He’d felt no emotion, no pleasure. Until the paranoia had set in. Then, all he’d felt was fear, paralyzing fear. Lucy had been the last woman he’d made love to, the night before she’d died. Lucy had been his fiancée, the love of his life. His world. Though the premarital pregnancy had been an accident, they’d both looked forward to starting their own little family. That night they’d stopped at a convenience store after leaving the doctor’s office. Lucy had held the ultrasound photo in her fist, vacillating between elation and anxiety, as she walked down the store aisles looking for the perfect food to ease her cravings. Heath had been only a few steps away from her when the armed kids entered the store. They had worn ski masks and had started firing without any apparent targets. It wasn’t even a robbery. The storeowner had insulted their gang somehow, Heath had learned later. Lucy had gone down first, followed by the owner. Heath had only been spared because he’d happened to be standing behind a tall row of metal shelves. The store had been two blocks from their apartment. The second life-altering event took place a week later. His parents had been returning home from a party when their Taurus was squashed by an SUV driven by a drunk driver. The paramedics had had to use the Jaws of Life to get them out. His father had died instantly; his mother had reached the hospital before doing the same. Heath rocked back on his heels, still watching Sylvia sleep in the flickering light. He recalled how his first shrink had explained that he was clinically depressed. The paranoia was a symptom of that. The antidepressants cleared up most of his suicidal thoughts, but did nothing to help with the paranoia. It grew worse, until one day he’d stopped taking the pills altogether simply because he couldn’t leave his house to get to the pharmacy for a refill. Heath stood and stalked over to the trunk that held the bread and cheese, forcing his thoughts away from the past and back to the mundane. He hadn’t had time to check his traps today. Perhaps tomorrow, they would have meat to eat. He also needed to forage for fresh fruit and greens. He bought the cheese from a farmer who lived two days’ ride from here. The man owned goats for the milk and cheese, and raised maguey plants for tequila. Heath would trade for some of that, as well, the next time he went, but the alcohol never lasted long. After polishing off several slices of bread and cheese, Heath pulled his work-inprogress out of the trunk. He unwound the old T-shirt he used to protect it. The knife and sharpening belt fell out in succession. He spent a few moments swishing the knife back and forth across the belt until it gleamed. Then he picked up the hunk of wood that was beginning to look like something and started to carve. This piece and many others he would trade with the farmer. Felipe and his wife would take the pieces to the market in town and sell them to the tourists. The town sat near a small mound of Mayan ruins. The ruins and the fine tequila drew the tourists. This figurine would be a Mayan temple. A wood sculpture resembling a bottle of tequila, another of a maguey plant and a third of a sombrero also resided in the trunk. The second trunk hid the sculptures he would never trade. The ones that represented the dreams he’d given up; the futuristic office complex he’d hoped to design and build one day; the Tower of Pisa, he and Lucy had planned to go to Italy for their honeymoon; a baby boy with arms raised, waiting for his mommy to pick him up.

After an hour of whittling, Heath felt settled enough to head to bed. He blew out the lamp and had the intention of sleeping on the floor once again, when he realized he didn’t have to. It would be a snug fit on the cot, but Sylvia had agreed to do whatever he asked. Of course, he would have to wake her up to ask her. It didn’t seem right when she was sleeping so peacefully, so Heath carefully lowered himself to the far side of the cot and pressed himself against her back. He rested his head on his right arm and wrapped his left arm around Sylvia’s toasty body. She murmured something in sleep language, and then returned to her calm, even breathing. Heath closed his eyes and snuggled closer, curving his jean-clad thighs to hers and bending his head towards her soft, fine hair. I can’t believe I’m here. It had been so long since he’d even been in the same room with a woman, and now he was sleeping next to Sylvia. Nirvana. Wisps of her hair tickled his nose. He wanted to kiss her, just along her neck. Would she wake? He grazed his lips along the soft skin at the back of her neck, and then licked along the collar of her shirt. Damn shirt. He was rock hard and couldn’t stop himself from pushing against the curves of her bottom. She still seemed to be asleep, so he pulled the hem of her shirt slowly higher until he could slip his hand underneath. She wore some sort of silky, lacy bra. He skimmed his thumb over it, back and forth, first one nipple then the next. * Sylvia bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Heath was touching her again while he thought she was asleep. Was he afraid she’d reject him when awake? Of course, she had fallen asleep, and that probably hadn’t been his plan for their evening. But the things he was doing to her now—she wanted to wriggle and moan. She wanted to turn around to face him and strip off his clothes and her own, which was not acceptable. Where had she lost her infamous self-control? Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico, she supposed. He unhooked the front clasps of her bra, and her breasts sprang free. His fingers immediately cupped one then the other. He stroked and squeezed and thumbed her nipples, until she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out. Oh, my God! She was so wet again. Her arousal seeped along her thighs, and Heath’s hard dick pressed against her butt. He wanted to penetrate her, and suddenly she wanted that same thing. As he rolled her shirt higher so he could lick along her shoulders, Sylvia shuddered and let a groan escape. She felt his lips curve into a smile against her skin. “So, you’re awake,” he said gruffly. “Yes.” She could barely stand what his fingers did to her nipples. He pinched one so hard that she thought she would scream, then he switched to the other. And the pleasurepain just made her wetter. Her breathing increased and her heart raced. “Oh, my God.” Heath rolled her onto her back. The cabin was pitch black. Sylvia couldn’t see his features, but she could feel his breath against her lips. “Are you ready for our deal to take effect?” “Yes. No.” “Sylvia, the longer you wait; the longer ‘til you get to town.” “I know. I’m afraid you might really hurt me.”

He used his knees to spread her legs apart, and settled between them. His arms still held most of his weight off of her, but he kept a steady pressure between her legs. “I won’t injure you, but I might spank you if you disobey. And I might…” He squeezed her nipple hard again. This time Sylvia did cry out, but fresh liquid oozed into her panties. “Besides, I think you’ll enjoy a spanking. You seem to like this.” He squeezed her nipple again. “God, yes.” Sylvia closed her mouth. How could she have admitted that? “I thought so.” The words were cocky, but his tone sounded closer to relieved. “Look, Sylvia, you’re going to be here for three days. Think of them as three days out of time, three days where you can lose your inhibitions and just live for pleasure. You pleasure me, and I’ll pleasure you. Then you’ll go back to your world with spectacular memories, and no one will be the wiser about what you did, what you’re really like.” Sylvia closed her eyes. She’d had sex once while more than a little tipsy, and it had been the best sex of her life. It had been at a party in a bedroom where anyone could’ve walked in. At the time, she hadn’t cared, just climbed on top of the man and rode him like she was a sex goddess on her steed. She’d come so hard that the man couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again. Only she hadn’t let him; she’d been so ashamed the next day that she’d refused to go out with him ever again. Sylvia’s lack of response didn’t seem to matter to Heath, as he settled his lips over her breast. He kissed the top curve and around the sides, then placed a gentle kiss on the nipple itself. “Suck me,” Sylvia heard herself say. “Suck me hard.” And it crossed her mind to be grateful that she’d had her birth control injection the week before. Without hesitation, his lips closed around her sensitive nipple and he sucked it into his mouth where his tongue could torture the tip, circling and tapping. The suction did something to her nerve endings. Each time he pulled the nipple further into his mouth, pleasure shot from her chest to her core. Sylvia lost herself in oblivion. “I want us naked.” Heath lifted up, denying her other nipple equal pleasure. She heard the snap of her jeans and the rasp of the zipper. He slid both the pants and her damp panties down and off her legs, leaving them to plop onto the floor. Goosebumps rose on her skin, but not from a chill. In the silent room, it was easy to hear the subtle rustle of fabric as Heath disrobed. She wished she could see his strong body. In the dark, she could only inhale and savor as his masculine scent washed over her. Her heart picked up, pounding against her ribs as realization settled in fully. Oh, my God … oh, my God … he’s going to fuck me. This strange man is going to fuck me, and I’m going to let him. With trembling arms, Sylvia pulled her own shirt over her head and the bra from her arms. When Heath’s naked skin contacted with hers, it was like a static shock. He didn’t give her time to adjust to their closeness, but slid his middle finger inside of her. And, oh God, that felt so good! He added a second finger, spreading her wider, massaging her passage. She ached with pleasure as his fingers moved. His knuckles brushed her G-Spot. He rotated his hand until his fingers found that magical place. Once situated, they circled slowly, applying an even pressure.

Sylvia could not stop herself from moaning as she slid her fingers across his shoulder blades and arched her hips toward his hand. Then his hard shaft replaced his fingers, shoving into her slick core without pause. Sylvia gasped. She was tight—it had been a long time—but she was also wet, easing the way. Her vagina squeezed him as he pushed his dick to the base. The head of his cock bumped against her cervix, and the intense sensation made her scream. He pulled back and pushed again, so deep. He filled her and stretched her. She was so sensitized she felt every inch of him inside her, every inch sliding against her raw nerve endings. He fucked her hard and fast. Sylvia dug her fingers into his shoulders and tried to match his rhythm. The inner friction, the heat and movement, brought on intense pleasure. He fucked her as if the rest of the world had fallen away, as if this one moment was the most important of his life. Was it? Her inner muscles squeezed his cock with each inward push. He came fast, without waiting for Sylvia, but he maintained his rhythm. She followed him swiftly with a quiet scream, her muscles milking him rhythmically. Heath lowered his body against hers without removing his cock from her body. He laid his head against her chest, no doubt listening to her heart race. Sylvia stroked his hair and his leanly muscled back. It had happened so fast. Had that been her lifting her hips, craving each hard thrust? “Oh, my God,” she said again. It had been her, and the realization was like a firecracker going off in her brain. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive, so real. “Yes.” Heath kissed the valley in her neck. She wriggled a bit. “Shh … be still. I want to sleep inside you.” “Yes.” Sylvia didn’t mind his weight and, after a few moments, she felt him growing hard again. He started moving slowly. It felt different when he wasn’t quite stiff; Sylvia liked it and began moving with him. His mouth took over her nipples again. His hand pushed between their stomachs, past her pubic hair, until his finger found her pleasure hub. The pad of his finger circled relentlessly, warming her, making her wet and juicy around his shaft, which lengthened within her once again. With eyes closed, Sylvia hummed a low, throaty sound. His finger dipped and danced in her wetness, moving, moving. His cock pushed and pulled gently. When she came, it was long ripples of pleasure flowing through her body rather than a sudden explosion. Very nice. After several more leisurely thrusts Heath went soft without coming, but this didn’t seem to bother him since soft snores blew from his mouth, tickling the skin on Sylvia’s chest. **** Sylvia thought she was dreaming, even after she opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the bottle-bottom windows to cast a kaleidoscope along the floor. Overhead, a salamander perched on a rafter. It was the sensations, though, she felt on her body that were dreamlike. Gentle licking, lapping and sucking all along her core. She lifted her head to find Heath between her legs. He had her thighs arched over his arms, his fingers spread her labia apart, and his tongue roamed over and around her clit.

Embarrassment flamed her cheeks. What was he doing? No one had ever done this to her before. She should tell him to stop. Or maybe … ahh … never stop. Pleasure had helped her sleep, and now pleasure would help wake her up. She lifted her pelvis and spread her legs wider, silently urging him to move lower. As if he knew her growing need, his tongue moved lower, penetrated her, swirled at her entrance. He pulled back and nibbled along her inner thigh. Then his fingers spread her wider and he sucked at her swollen lips, almost as if he were giving her a blow job. Sylvia closed her eyes on the thought. The sensation his clever tongue evoked was sheer ecstasy. She hovered on the edge of climax, closer and closer, and then came swiftly, bucking against his face, begging for release. Heath didn’t release her. Instead, he gently closed his teeth on her clit, and teased her with small bites. He ate at her until the pleasure was almost pain. Then he licked and sucked some more, and Sylvia came again, this time with a shriek. Trembling with sensation, she pushed his head away. “No more.” He lapped at her juices once more, and then came up onto his elbow and grinned. “Are you hungry?” His stiff penis slid along her thigh. “Starving.” His grin grew broader. “I want you to suck me as an appetizer.” “Ugh.” She’d tried that once at the insistence of the man she’d been dating at the time. She’d nearly puked when he’d stuck his shaft in her mouth, and his had been nowhere near the size of Heath’s. “I don’t like to do that, and I really am hungry. For food.” He cupped her chin in his hands and turned her face to his. “What was our deal?” “Heath…” “Sylvia, I will not give you real food until you eat me.” Sylvia shook her head and pushed herself into a seated position. The thought of putting him, hard and huge, in her mouth made her want to gag. Heath sat up, also. “Have you forgotten our conversation from last night?” Sylvia cocked her head. What had they talked about? Oh yeah, if he would hurt her. “Remember, I said I’d spank you if you disobeyed?” She peeked at him over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t.” “I would.” “You monster.” Her tone bordered between disgust and panic. He sighed. “You gave me the control, Sylvia. That was our deal.” He slid next to her and planted his feet on the floor. They were both still naked, and his hard cock prodded up thick and sturdy between his thighs. “Come here. Either kneel before me and suck, or lay across my knees.” “I won’t do, either,” Sylvia whispered. Her face burned even as her nipples puckered. Damn her body. How could it get excited about something like this? “Obey me, Sylvia, or our deal’s off.” The sound of that word “obey” made her cringe. To her, the word meant subservience and a thankless life of cooking, cleaning and turning a blind eye, as her mother had with her father’s indiscretions. But Sylvia needed to get out of this hellhole, and she needed Heath to help her. Somehow the spanking seemed the lesser of two evils, so she blocked the memories from

her mind and crawled across his lap. His flat hand slapped her bottom, not hard really, and her own juices seeped onto her leg. How could this turn her on? * Heath’s hard-on raged as his hand connected with her supple ass once again. He slid his finger inside her, felt her wet, hot flesh. “This is turning you on, isn’t it?” Sylvia’s skin flushed pink. She didn’t reply—stubborn woman!—so he spanked her again, harder this time. She squeaked, and he could feel her arousal dripping from her thighs to his own. “Admit that this turns you on.” She said nothing. Another harder swat. Her buttocks were a pleasing cherry red. Heath dipped his fingers, three this time, into her damp hole and mimicked fucking her. She moaned. He loved hearing that sound. “Admit the spanking turns you on.” “It doesn’t. I hate it.” But her breath caught as she spoke. “Liar.” He spanked her again, harder still, and was pleased to hear her yelp. “Are you ready to obey me?” She exhaled a long and exaggerated sigh. “Yes.” “Then get on your knees and suck me.” “No. I’ll do anything else.” Heath grinned and swatted her again. He’d been raised never to hit a woman, but he’d been spanked once by an old girlfriend. It had started as a game, but he’d never forgotten the way the woman’s gentle swats had activated all of the nerve endings in his ass until he couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain. His erection pressed against Sylvia’s stomach, his free hand fondled her hard-tipped breasts. Another swat. He twisted her nipple like a radio dial, aware it might hurt a bit and yet more aware it would make her incredibly sensitive. She would anticipate and wonder, would he spank her or would he fuck her? Would it be pleasure or pain? He decided a much harder spank was needed to get her to cooperate. She would get down on her knees and suck him. “Ow!” “Suck me.” Another swat. Her butt wiggled. “No. Ow!” “Suck me!” Smack. Her thighs fell open in invitation. Her fingers kneaded his calf and the breath from her mouth tickled the hairs on his legs. Then her tongue licked just behind his knee and he almost gave in. He almost threw her over the cot to fuck her from behind, but that’s what she wanted, anything to avoid blowing him. He couldn’t give in. He spanked the top of one thigh, then the other. Hard. “Ow, dammit! I’ll do it.” Sylvia slid off his lap before he could swat her again and settled onto her knees. He spread his legs wide and waited. She looked up into his face. “I hate you,” she whispered, but everything about her appearance belied her statement. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowed, her nipples jutted like little pink towers, and liquid heat flowed from the juncture of her legs, glistening on her thighs. “Yeah, yeah. Suck me.” Heath had been a gentleman in his earlier life. He never would have forced a woman to do something so obviously distasteful to her, but so many years alone in the jungle dealing with his fears had changed him. Some days he felt closer

to an animal than a man. Right now, he wanted to howl as Sylvia’s lips closed around his dick. She was too tentative, so he threaded his fingers through her hair and guided her to take him deeper into her mouth. “Suck.” He grimaced. “Without the teeth please. Ah, much better.” He guided her fingers to massage his balls while her lips moved up and down his shaft. “Open your mouth wider. Relax your throat. Ahh.” His glans brushed against the back of her throat. He watched her lips, red from the friction, in an O around his thick shaft. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell the exact moment distaste gave way to sensation, because her moan vibrated from her throat to his cock. The massaging fingers on his balls slowed, smoothed, explored further, brushing back along his ass. Her free hand left his knee and, as he watched, she tweaked one of her own nipples, then the other. She moaned again and her hand slid down her stomach to her mound. She sucked him ferociously, so deep, her wetness surrounding him. He wanted to close his eyes and concentrate on his own sensations, but the sight of her fingers rubbing furiously at her clit was too erotic to give up. Her knees slipped further apart, her thighs flexed visibly, the vibrations in her throat increased. He knew she was coming, and finally he closed his eyes. The pressure built until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He meant to move her lips away first, but the feeling was too intense. His cum shot into her mouth. Sylvia gagged and jerked her face away, so that some of the cream got on her cheeks and chin. She spit and swiped her hand across her mouth. “Why did you do that, you cretin?” Regretting the sudden removal of her heavenly lips, Heath opened his eyes, and saw that her fingers still swirled around her clit. She licked her tongue across his thigh as if trying to rid herself of the taste. Then she used both hands to push herself up shakily, and spit again. “Nasty!” She poured water from the pitcher into her mouth, gargled, and spit once more. She obviously did not care if she messed up his floor. Heath didn’t care at the moment, either. He plopped back against the cot and smiled. It occurred to him that he could be offended that Sylvia hadn’t wanted to swallow every drop, but he knew she wasn’t used to it. In time … in time, she’d learn that swallowing a lover’s juices was incredibly erotic. That’s how he’d felt every moment as he ate her.

CHAPTER FIVE He was a barbarian. A sadomasochist. An imbecile. Sylvia could not wait to escape this place. Yes, the sex was good, especially since it had been so long, but Heath was a demanding, chauvinistic idiot! She couldn’t think of enough negative words to describe him, but it was easier to focus on Heath’s negatives than to admit she had enjoyed sucking his hard length into her mouth. It had given her a rush to know that she controlled his pleasure … or pain, as she’d learned when her teeth had gotten in the way. All that was fine until he’d squirted into her mouth. She hadn’t been prepared for the amount or for the taste. She’d heard some women liked the taste, but she doubted she’d ever be one of them. She would dwell on how much she hated this Neanderthal, and not on the fact that their deal had just begun and she still had three whole days to live under Heath’s control. “Sylvia.” “Yes?” She was tempted to snap “Master” in a sarcastic tone, but he would probably enjoy the title and miss the sarcasm. “I would like to take a bath today.” “Have at it.” “And I would like you to join me.” “I don’t think so.” “But first you’ll need to bring water up from the well that we can heat it on the stove.” Sylvia jabbed her hands onto her hips and turned to face the grinning man lounged on the cot. “Excuse me?” “You did agree to do anything I say.” “But, but…” What could she say? That she’d thought he’d meant sex only? He hadn’t mentioned that specifically, though he’d implied it. This was crazy. How much was a ride out of the jungle worth? Three days’ wages? Certainly not at the twenty-five dollars an hour she earned at the ad agency back home. It totally grated on her to obey him this way, but it would at least get her away from the caveman for a while. Maybe she could think of a better plan while hauling water. “Yes, Master.” She infused the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster, adding an exaggerated curtsey. The heathen only laughed. Outside, the sun filtered through the green, canopy, and Priest whinnied a greeting as Sylvia primed the pump. Once the water started rushing out, she filled a bucket and lugged it to the stove on the back porch where she dumped it into a metal tub on the stove. She discovered Heath, still naked, kneeling in front of the open door of the stove, arranging kindling and paper. He struck a match and watched the fire roar to life before adjusting the flue. Then he saluted her and walked back inside. Sylvia stuck out her tongue. Five more trips and her biceps burned, sweat poured down her back and into her eyes, and she had a raging headache. There had to be enough water for the tub by now, so she went inside and collapsed onto the chair. Heath sat on a trunk peeling an orange. He raised his eyebrows. “Done already?”

“Yes.” Sylvia nearly spit the word. “How many buckets?” “Six.” “Six isn’t nearly enough to fill that tub.” “Well, that’s all that will fit on the stove. I filled the teapot and that pan to the brim.” Heath nodded. “It’s a slow process. That’s why I usually stick with the cold shower.” “You need the cold shower.” She refused to look at him, but his disgusting good humor radiated in waves across the room. “Ho, Ho, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” “It has nothing to do with which side of the bed I rose on, and you know it.” His voice lowered. “Sylvia, I am sorry about that. I got carried away. I should have pulled out before…” Sylvia glanced his way and saw the contrite look on his face. “Last night and this morning were the best times I’ve had since coming to Mexico. Thank you.” “‘Thank you’ implies I had a choice, which I didn’t.” “But you did enjoy yourself.” “Maybe.” She wouldn’t admit it to herself, so she certainly wouldn’t admit it to him. “Would you like some breakfast? I did promise you.” Sylvia’s stomach had started growling by bucket number three. “Yes, please.” This time, besides the fruit, Heath pulled some gray corn tortillas and an avocado from the trunk. The fresh oranges provided the juice to wash it down. “I need to check the traps again today. Hopefully, we’ll have some meat to eat tonight.” “What are you trapping?” “Do you really want to know?” At the sight of Sylvia’s widened eyes, Heath laughed. “Come on. It’s not that bad.” “Chicken?” “Tastes like chicken.” He laughed again. “I’m hoping for a wild pig or a deer, but I’ll settle for a rabbit or crocodile. Hell, I’ll even settle for a snake.” “You eat snake?” “Sure. I’ve even tried an armadillo once.” Her eyes were saucers of disbelief. “No way.” “I’ll never tell.” “Do you garden?” Sylvia had noticed a section of tilled earth and what looked like foot-tall corn stalks. “I’m trying to. The farmer I trade with—his wife is from an indigenous tribe—so he’s been telling me some of the old methods. Obviously, I’m doing something wrong. Last year the whole thing flooded, and this year I can’t seem to combat the bugs.” “Oh.” Sylvia knew nothing about gardening. She’d even killed her houseplants. Finally, she’d resorted to silk and plastic plants as the best she could do to improve her feng shui. She’d recently added a tinkling ceramic fountain in her living room. In her bedroom, she ran a white noise machine to block out the sounds of car alarms and police sirens. What a difference a few lines of latitude could make. “Where are you from?” Sylvia asked. Heath paused looking down at his toes, which were tanned from walking barefoot. “I’m from the States.”

“Whereabouts?” “Northern Virginia.” “Really? How’d you wind up here?” “That’s a long story.” He looked uncomfortable, even pulling at a cuticle with his teeth. Sylvia glanced around and shrugged. “Well, since you won’t take me to town today, we have plenty of time, wouldn’t you say? Or do you have some social engagement I don’t know about?” “Actually, I do have a social engagement … with you.” Sylvia’s palms grew sticky and her heart palpitated. Only three days. Only three days. The mantra did little to calm her down. “What do you want now?” “The bath, of course.” He stood. “I’ll help you get the rest of the water.” The water on the stove was well heated by now, so Heath dumped it into the brass tub on the porch and watched the steam rise. They worked quickly to refill the containers on the stove, and Heath stoked the flames. The teapot steamed, and the water from it went into the now lukewarm tub water. And so the process went. By the time the tub was filled enough for a bath, the water was tepid, but much better than the ice water that shot forth straight from the hose. “Strip and get in,” Heath commanded as he untied the string that held his pants about his hips. The pants dropped, and Sylvia blushed. Why was she blushing? It wasn’t like they hadn’t already done quite a bit. But this was daylight, outside, face-to-face. She stripped and waited for Heath to step into the tub. He helped her in and settled her between his legs, her back against his stomach and chest. The hard length of his shaft pressed against her derriere, but he seemed content just to relax in the water. Sylvia closed her eyes and listened to the many bizarre jungle sounds. “Howler monkeys,” Heath said after a particularly raucous noise. Her eyes flew open. “Oh.” She couldn’t even fathom what a howler monkey looked like, and didn’t think she wanted to. “Um, so do you keep a gun out here?” “Why? Are you going to shoot me?” “I meant for protection from the … whatever.” “Jaguars, crocodiles, boas … that sort of thing?” “Exactly.” “Nah. The only thing I need protection from is other people.” He paused and cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t meant to admit that. Sylvia craned her neck and caught him shaking his head. “Animals pretty much leave you alone if you leave them alone.” “You’re sure?” “Oh, definitely.” Sylvia found Heath’s blithe manner less than reassuring, but she leaned back against him and faced forward. Heath reached to his left and took a bar of primitive soap from a bamboo stool. The stool also held a natty looking towel and a loofah sponge. “I’ll soap you.” Before she could protest, he dunked the loofah in the water between her legs to let it soften. Then he rubbed the soap against it until it foamed. “Ready?” “I guess.”

With one hand, he stroked the loofah between her thighs under the water, and with the other he swirled the soap over her breasts. Sylvia closed her eyes and imagined she was at a New York spa. Of course, there was no spa that she knew of which included these particular services, but her little daydream allowed her to relax and open herself to this new experience. New experiences made life worth living, right? Or not. She could have done without the hauling buckets thing and the mugging at gunpoint. But a sexy man bathing her seemed like a good thing. She began to squirm at the intense sensations. His hands moved in unison, lower and higher, until every part of her was scrubbed and sudsy and turned on. “Now this is a bath.” “Glad you like it.” “Your turn.” Sylvia started with Heath’s legs, which stretched out on either side of her. She rose to her knees and turned around to face him, giving her access to the rest of his body. She took her time, especially on his lower anatomy, wanting to do to him what he had done to her. He leaned back with his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips as she washed his chest of curly brown hair and his lean, muscular stomach. She smoothed the loofah over his arms, admiring the definition in his biceps. When she wrapped her sudsy hands around his penis, he opened his smoky eyes and watched her playful fingers dance around his shaft. Sylvia bit her lip to hide her smirk. She felt like a goddess, knowing she controlled him with the stroke of a hand. Heath pulled her hips closer, positioned her knees to the outside of his thighs, and leaned forward to draw a nipple into his mouth. It felt so natural to have him flick and swirl his tongue on her breasts, as his slippery fingers darted between her legs. He parted her folds and stroked. The water lapped against various parts of her body eliciting a sigh of happiness from her lips, and he chuckled. Sylvia hung onto his shoulders to keep her balance and to keep him close. He gripped her butt cheeks and eased her forward and down gradually, giving her time to ease around the tip of his erection, until he impaled himself deeply inside her. “This is a bit awkward,” Sylvia breathed. “But it feels damn good.” His eyes were closed again. “I can’t really move.” “Don’t move. I’ll do the moving. You just hold still and let me fuck you.” Holding still was even harder. The more excited she became the more she wanted to move, but the tub walls didn’t really allow for that, so she grabbed the edges, closed her eyes and let Heath do the work. The movements were minute, but deep. So deep. Each bump of the head of his penis against her core sent intense sensations through Sylvia’s body, until she couldn’t contain her shouts. Her fingers dug into Heath’s skin. Her thighs and knees ached from holding the position. But then he would shove his cock deep again and all the discomfort would vanish as pleasure took over. She clenched him with her vagina, silently begging for more. Go deeper, deeper than anyone’s ever been before. And he did. Sylvia’s body shuddered and squeezed in the most exquisite cascade of pleasure. Heath’s hands kept her body firmly in place until he gasped and came inside of her, warm liquid flooding her womb. She leaned against his chest and held on as her body convulsed around him.

Finally, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. For a moment, she could only see the expression of peace on Heath’s face and the soft lock of hair that curled around his ear. Then she glanced beyond and gasped. Mere inches from the back of Heath’s head a spider marched along the wall. Not just a spider, the biggest, hairiest spider Sylvia had ever seen. “Oh, shit!” She didn’t realize that she was constricting her arms around Heath’s neck until he gurgled, “Sylvia.” “Spider,” she whispered, as if the spider might be alerted by the sound of her voice. Heath disengaged her arms from his neck and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Jim.” “Jim?” “Yeah. He’s a tarantula. Don’t worry about him. There’re actually much more dangerous things around here to worry about.” “What?!” Heath chuckled. Sylvia was getting damn tired of providing him with so much amusement. He didn’t elaborate, though, and she knew she’d have a much harder time sleeping tonight knowing that Jim was around. Heath stood, all naked masculinity. “I usually rinse under the hose.” Sylvia looked towards the torture device. “How do you live like this?” “What do you mean? It’s paradise. No one to answer to.” “No one to talk to.” “I have you.” “Only for three days.” Sylvia stepped out of the tub and trotted across the lawn. She supposed it was fun being naked outside, knowing that no one was around to watch. Other than Heath. And he was watching once again from a few feet away, obviously enjoying the view while waiting for his turn. Sylvia rinsed as quickly as possible, even though Heath decided to join her under the icy spray. She pushed his grasping hands away and dashed towards the house. She’d had enough of communing with nature and wanted her clothes back on. **** Only three days. Sylvia’s answer haunted Heath as he scooped feed into Priest’s trough a couple of hours later. He patted the horse’s withers and spent a few moments with the currycomb. The repetitive motion calmed both him and the horse. He refilled the water then stripped off his clothes so he could run under the shower. Sylvia remained inside the cottage. She was missing the city, he could tell. What could he offer her by way of entertainment? Certainly not dinner and a show. Mexico had its metropolitan areas, but Heath would never visit them. Sometimes, he missed the amenities. Sometimes he wished he’d become a hermit in Miami or some place where, at least, he’d have electricity and cable. He could avoid people just as easily in a city, couldn’t he? No, in a city he’d have to pay rent or risk eviction, and someone would have to deliver his food. He couldn’t be self-sufficient as he was here. Of course, it was only his affliction that made him avoid people. If he could find a cure, he could live a normal life.

He shook off the icy water droplets and slipped his jeans over his legs. He didn’t need the amenities. He lived in paradise as it was. Why be dissatisfied with what he already had? Because of Sylvia. He wished to please her and knew that the simplicity of his homestead would never do that. But she was no one to him, just a means to an end. She didn’t figure into his future, so why even consider alternatives? But when he thought of the future, Heath thought of little more than the next sculpture he would work on or the next animal he would try to trap. He focused on the here and now, because to contemplate the future would make him go insane. He had no future, no past, only the present. Funny how the Zen sentiment didn’t bring him as much peace now as it had in the past. Instead, he felt discontent, like he was missing something. Sylvia’s fault. She offered him something he hadn’t had access to in a very long time—sex and companionship—but then she tortured him with the reminder that it was temporary. It was too good. Temporary could never be long enough. Heath stared at the cottage, which glistened like a jewel box in the bright sunlight. Tiny insects whizzed to and fro, also sparkling in the light. Birds chirped. A gentle breeze tickled his nostrils with the scent of fresh flowers. This was the answer to his discontent. When he stood still, with his feet planted apart, he could feel the earth turning and he had a sense of total belonging. It was as if his breath went right through him to the earth, and the earth returned it to him breath through the green leaves and stalks that surrounded him. “What are you doing?” Sylvia’s voice jarred him back to reality, or at least the reality of the moment. “You’ve been standing there for a good ten minutes.” Heath shrugged. “Just breathing.” * What a strange answer. Sylvia scrunched up her nose. When she breathed deeply here in the jungle, she always seemed to suck a few gnats into her nostrils. And the smells ranged from manure to stagnant water to rotting fruit and vegetation. Give her a lungful of exhaust fumes any day. And the noises were about to drive her batty. Even sitting in the cottage alone, she was surrounded by a cacophony of sounds; birds squawking, insects buzzing, and tons of chirping that belonged to things she couldn’t identify. She was guessing monkeys or grasshoppers or something, but she wasn’t all that up on jungle wild life. Then there was Priest’s neighing, the shower running, and the clicking sound the tin roof made as it expanded in the heat. The heat was what had finally driven her out of the building to look for Heath. The glass-bottle-bottom windows seemed to magnify the sun’s heat a thousand times. The mugginess had her shirt sticking to her and sweat raining down from her underarms. Heath approached. His expression changed from slightly disgruntled—probably because she’d interrupted his meditation—to happy-as-a-stockbroker-at-opening-bell. “Would you like to ride with me to check my traps?” “Does that mean dead animals?” “Some of the traps catch them alive, but then I will have to kill them to bring them back here. They are food, not pets.” “Can’t we order pizza?”

Heath looked thoughtful. “My farmer friend may have some canned goods and cheese. If we visited him today, perhaps we could make something like a pizza tonight.” They both took a seat on the edge of the porch, the weathered planks creaking with their weight. “I didn’t think you had any friends.” “Well, maybe not friends the way you think of them.” He paused. “An acquaintance.” “Ah, that makes sense.” “I trade with him.” “What do you trade?” He paused again, and his cheeks pinkened a bit. Sylvia couldn’t imagine what he traded that could be embarrassing. “I trade carvings, sculptures.” “Really?” That seemed tame enough, certainly nothing to blush about. “Yes.” “And what does the farmer do with them?” This conversation was like pulling teeth. “Felipe.” “Huh?” “His name is Felipe.” “Okay.” Heath was idly stroking Sylvia’s thigh, which was beginning to distract her from the conversation. Perhaps that was his intention. “What does he do with the sculptures?” “He sells them at the market.” “Interesting. Why don’t you sell them yourself?” “I don’t need to go to the market. Felipe sells vegetables and fruits and other items from the rainforest that tourists consider exotic.” “And you just avoid the market?” He didn’t reply. “So, what sort of sculptures do you make?” He had angled his body more towards hers, giving his hands further access to play their little games. Sylvia thought about swatting them away, since she knew he was doing it as a way to avoid talking about himself, but his fingers were tracing delicious circles around her areolas and she didn’t want him to stop. She really needed to examine her uncharacteristic reactions to Heath, but not right now. She was having enough problems staying focused on the conversation. “You haven’t answered my question.” His eyes had grown smoky. “Hmm?” “What sort of sculptures do you make?” “You know, things the tourists will like. Mayan pyramids, the Aztec calendar, exotic birds and plants, things that will make them think of Mexico when they return to suburbia.” “Do you enjoy it?” “Hmm?” His hands cupped each of her breasts as if they were fascinating science experiments. “Do you like carving?”

“I like creating.” A deep sadness flashed across his face. Before Sylvia could question it, he lowered his head to suckle a nipple through the soft fabric of her shirt, hiding his expression from her view.

CHAPTER SIX Though the hard porch was less than comfortable, Sylvia ignored it and inhaled sharply as tingly, happy sensations rocketed through her body. Heath concentrated on sucking as if there was no tomorrow, as if her nipple was his only source of sustenance. She had never felt anything so encompassing. She moaned. She wanted his lips against her skin, but she loved the eroticism of being fully clothed. She reveled in the damp feeling between her thighs and the wetness at her breast, as he deserted one mound and went for the other allowing a gentle breeze to chill it. “Will you let me see your sculptures?” “What?” His mouth moved past her shirt to her neck, sprinkling her sensitive skin with tiny kisses. She laughed. “Pay attention to the conversation. Will you let me see your sculptures?” “No.” “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Sylvia pushed him to arm’s distance, now feeling embarrassed by the wet circles on her shirt. “No, as I said.” “Why not?” “They’re private.” “And I’m just an acquaintance?” Heath’s eyes narrowed. “We have a business deal, so we’re business partners.” “Business partners?” Her voice rose an octave, sounding shrill to her ears. “Like I’m a prostitute?” Heath cocked his head, obviously thinking that there was no right answer to this one. “You agreed to this.” “Only because I’m stranded in a foreign country in a jungle after someone stole my money and took off with my only means of transportation.” “You like this.” “You asshole! I don’t like this!” She jumped to her feet, standing on the porch. She towered over Heath, who looked annoyingly perplexed at her reaction. “But you have orgasms and you moan. Sex is pleasurable.” Tears filled Sylvia’s eyes. She couldn’t stop them. Embarrassment and shame burned in her stomach. She gagged and felt like she would puke as memories crashed in of all he’d done to her. Yes, she had enjoyed a lot of it. That was the most shameful part. How could he throw it in her face that she was nothing to him, just someone servicing his needs? But then, how could she expect anything different from Tarzan of the Jungle? She couldn’t. Lies. She was hoping for lies. He’d said to think of this as a moment out of time, and for this moment out of time, she’d wanted to pretend that they meant something to each other. She needed something to make this all okay in her mind, and he wouldn’t even give her that. “I want to leave. Take me to town. Now!” *

“No.” The word was out of Heath’s mouth before he’d even had a moment to register the pain that was clear on Sylvia’s face. He couldn’t admit all his needs and fears to her as he wished to, because if he explained how important she was to him, she’d realize that he’d have a very hard time letting her go when they reached the deadline for their agreement. She might think it better to fend for herself than to risk another two days, knowing he might renege in the end. “You’re a pervert and a monster.” He sighed. “Maybe.” “I’m leaving anyway.” Heath glared at the ground, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He would not hyperventilate in front of her. She couldn’t know that her leaving would matter to him either way. “Whatever you need to do.” Why couldn’t he offer her more of the truth? Pride, he supposed. He’d be less of a man, and he’d already been emasculated by his phobia. He couldn’t stand losing one more inch of control. And that’s what this arrangement with Sylvia meant to him— control. If he gave in to any of her demands, even showing her his sculptures, that would hand the reins to her. He refused, and he refused to explain. “I need to leave.” She couldn’t mean that. “So, your word is not your bond?” “Out here with a monster like you it isn’t!” “I can’t trust you to keep your end of the bargain?” “You’ve already gotten a taste of my end of the bargain, and what have I gotten from you to show that I can trust you? Nothing. I’m the one who needs to worry about trust, not you.” Heath rose and his body overshadowed Sylvia’s. He looked down at her and gripped her shoulders with his large hands. “Let go of me.” “No.” He maintained his strong grasp. “You like that word.” “Yes, I do.” She struggled. “Let go of me. I’m leaving.” “You’re sticking to our bargain.” “I’m not.” Heath pulled her closer to him, until a sliver of air separated their bodies. “I need to check the traps. I don’t have time to chase you through the jungle.” “You don’t have to chase me. I don’t want you following me this time.” She pushed against him, but he held her in place. “It’s just as far to town in the opposite direction. You still don’t have any food or water.” “I don’t care. I’m leaving. I’d rather die in the jungle than be raped by you.” He winced. “It’s not rape.” He took a deep breath. Maybe he should back down. God, he was doing this all wrong. “You agreed to our bargain, and you’ve liked everything that has happened to you.” “Not everything.” Heath remembered the part she hadn’t liked, sucking his cock, which had felt like heaven to him. She tried to jerk free of him again, so he tightened his grip.

“You’re hurting me.” “I don’t think so.” “You are, you bastard.” He kissed her, hard, invasive. Sylvia sputtered and tried to turn her head, but his fingers cupped her chin and held her steady. She couldn’t leave him. He’d make her understand. He kissed her and licked and probed, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. His other hand lowered to grip her butt, and he ground his hard cock against her belly. It felt good. He was starving, and she was his food. It felt so damn good. * Sylvia tried not to respond as his fingers explored her crack through her pants. His tongue licked each tooth, and then thrust hard as if he was fucking her mouth. He pulled her tongue into his mouth, and his teeth tapped it. It almost hurt to be so captured. Her hands pounded his chest, but he didn’t loosen his arms, which were like a vise around her. One of his hands slid higher, past her ribs and across the back of her head, rocking it back so he had better access to her mouth. He pulled at her hair, pillaged her mouth. And she responded to him, dammit. She was totally turned on by his demanding possession. But she was a modern, independent woman—a New Yorker. She didn’t need some Cro-Magnon man to order her around, especially when he thought of her as nothing more than a whore. She fought again and pushed harder. How far should she go to get free? And then what? She wasn’t really free as long as she remained in the jungle. Heath had unsnapped her pants and reached his hand inside, so he knew she was wet for him. One of his fingers parted her lips and roved around her clit. Then it moved lower, fucking her hole as his palm pressed against her clit. She bucked against him, wanting more. But she didn’t want more! She wanted him to stop, dammit. This was shameful, letting him control her this way. Wasn’t it? He bunched her shirt and started pulling it up. She clamped her arms down. She could say ‘stop’, or she could knee him in the groin. The former she knew he would never listen to, and the latter would definitely be more satisfying. She brought her knee up hard, as she’d learned in her self-defense class at NYU. He was clearly too preoccupied with her shirt to see it coming, and received the full force of her blow. He went down with a curse and a thud. Sylvia backed away, breathing hard and leaned over, hands on her thighs. Heath rolled on the porch, clutching his groin and swearing. Sylvia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the image. She should feel relief at stopping his ravishment; instead, she felt puzzled and maybe even slightly disappointed. It was all too confusing to think about. Before Heath could recover, she bolted into the back door of the cottage, grabbed her IDs, and lunged out the front door heading towards the path. She couldn’t stay here now. She knew that much, at least. She wasn’t safe, her body or her emotions. She’d just go the other direction this time and hope to have better luck. ****

It took Heath entirely too long to recover from Sylvia’s attack. Part of it was the pain, but mostly it was the shock and the disappointment, as demonstrated by his still raging hard-on. He didn’t even want to register what he’d been trying to do to Sylvia, or how far it had gone. He should have stopped when she’d continued to resist. He knew it was her intellect and shame that resisted. Her body wanted him, but that didn’t matter. A woman had to be willing, completely willing, and he’d gone too far. Again. She hadn’t willingly gone down on him. He couldn’t seem to act remotely civilized when it came to having Sylvia, claiming her. It was the jungle. He’d lost all of his social skills and his last shred of human decency. But that was why he needed Sylvia—or so he told himself. When he’d heard the front door slam, he knew there was trouble. She wasn’t going to stay. She was going to leave, thinking him a monster and a rapist. She had to stay. With a growl, Heath leapt to his feet and sprinted around the cottage in time to see Sylvia disappear into a thicket. He didn’t slow. Twigs snapped under his feet. He shoved branches and vines out of the way. When he heard her yelp, he guessed that either a branch had slapped her or that she’d stepped on something sharp. He had to get to her and make sure she was safe. He was not expecting the sight that greeted him when he broke through the brush. The snake wasn’t a large one, but it was deadly and stopped Sylvia in her tracks, greeting her from an eye-level perch in a tree. Heath believed the locals referred to this snake as cantil verde or oropel, but he knew from his survival books that it was an eyelash viper, notable for the spiny scales over its eyes. These, and its variations in color, helped it blend with the vegetation around it. Many plantation workers had died or had limbs amputated because they’d brushed against one and been bitten before they’d even known it was there. “Sylvia, I’m right behind you. Don’t move.” Her only response was a quick inhalation of breath. Did he dare take the time to retrieve his machete from the house? He scanned his surroundings, searching for a weapon. He really didn’t need to kill it, only get it out of striking distance of Sylvia. If he used a branch, he might be able to fling it away. Unless it somehow slid down the branch towards his arm. He’d have to risk it. He’d rather die then see Sylvia hurt, especially knowing that they were a day’s ride minimum from the nearest clinic. “Sylvia, I’m going to use a branch to get it away from you, but I don’t want you to wait to see where it goes. As soon as I strike it, you run back to the clearing, okay? It might not go where I intend it to, so you need to use the distraction to get away.” Her “okay” was a mere whisper. He noticed she was breathing as lightly as possible, which was good considering he’d nearly hyperventilated the first time he’d run into a plato negro, or bushmaster, on his first day in the jungle. Heath chose a long fallen branch that had a fork on the end. He hefted it slowly hoping to avoid drawing the snake’s attention before the last moment. Then he lunged, spearing the snake from its perch and flinging the branch like a javelin into the brush. The snake hissed, probably pissed as hell, but Heath didn’t plan to stick around to see where it landed. He dashed after Sylvia, and neither of them stopped running until they’d reached the wood planks of the front porch. Sylvia’s eyes were wild as she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. She checked every corner of the porch then went inside and scanned the rafters. She lifted the

blanket off the bed and checked under the cot, the table and the chair. She started to lift the cover of the trunk with Heath’s sculptures, but he stopped her. “I’ll do it.” He scavenged around in both trunks, more to make her feel safe than because he expected to find anything. The cottage, for all its rickety appearance, was amazingly sound. He’d only found a handful of spiders and a few mosquitoes inside in all these years. He had found snakes under the porch and near the water spigot before, but usually the non-venomous variety. Sylvia didn’t need to know that. Sylvia curled up on the cot with her back against the wall and wrapped the blanket tightly around her. “Perhaps we should discuss jungle safety,” Heath began. “I hate you. I wish I’d never met you. I would have been better off staying on that road for however long it took.” So, his heroism hadn’t impressed her. Oh, well. “Sylvia, I’m sorry for what I did. I know you don’t care and probably don’t believe me, but I am. I never meant it to go so far.” He stared at the multicolored reflections on the floor. His voice lowered. “I’ve been down here a … long time, and I’ve been … alone a long time. That’s the only excuse I can make … for all of this.” * Sylvia’s back, stiff against the knotty wall, ached. She was in shock, both from the sight of that Vulcan snake appearing out of nowhere on that tree branch, and from Heath’s words now. Was he admitting that he was wrong for keeping her here? And even if he admitted that he was wrong, did it mean he would change his mind and take her to town? “You’re saying you’re wrong?” Her voice croaked, since her throat and mouth were dried up from fear. He didn’t look up. “Yes, I was wrong.” “About everything?” Now he looked up. His eyes focused on hers, sending shivers along her spine. “About everything … except what I need to do to survive.” His eyes had grown cold and feral, reminding her of a wolf or coyote. Or a cabby intent on her purse. “What do you mean, what you need to do to survive?” Perhaps she shouldn’t ask, because she knew he wasn’t referring to food or shelter. He stalked over to the tiny bed and sat. He leaned in, invading her space and making it impossible for her to miss the hunger in his eyes. “I need you to survive.” “No, you don’t! I’m not food or water or shelter.” “You are all of those things.” “I’m not. You’ve survived all this time without me. You don’t need me now.” The scary part of this conversation was the implication that he might continue to need her, that he might not let her go. “I need you now. I need you right now, and you swore you’d obey me.” Sylvia wanted to scream. She forced a level tone to her voice. “Are you still going to take me to town? Are you going to honor our deal in the end?” She hated him. She truly hated him. “Yes.”

She still had the blanket tugged up to her neck, flimsy protection from this predator. She realized there were things she needed to do to survive, too. Survival was uppermost in her mind when she whispered, “What do you want me to do then?” * God, she sounded so bendable, almost breakable. Why did that turn him on so much? He slid his hand up her thigh. Possession. “Are you willing this time?” he asked gruffly. “We made a deal.” “But are you willing to stick to that deal?” “Yes.” Her voice was so soft that he watched her lips for translation. They formed the word “yes” with a little pout, a little extension that made him want to nibble. “I want to be rough, but I don’t want to hurt you. Are you willing to let me take you?” “Yes.” “Even tie you up?” “Yes.” The catch in her voice was now even harder to translate, but the perk of her nipples through her shirt made it clear. She was willing. Her eyes grew opaque, sultry. “Yes,” she said again. This time it was an admission of want, as well as permission, for all that he asked to do to her. “Give me the blanket.” He waited until she handed it to him. Then he folded it neatly and tucked it under the cot. “Take off your shirt.” * Sylvia shivered as she lifted the shirt over her head. It was hot, almost stifling in the cottage from the afternoon heat, but the chill in her body came from Heath’s cool commands. Her mouth was still dry from the terror of the snake and from the fear that had engulfed her earlier when Heath had tried to take her. That fear was harder to explain. Had she been afraid of being raped? No, not really. She’d been afraid of being shamed, of liking the force with which he wanted to take her. She remained ashamed on one level, like if she thought about her friends finding out. Why did Heath so easily cut through her urban façade? Did the jungle do this to her, or did this animal lust lurk inside of her even in the elevators and conference rooms of her life back home? “Lay down.” The quiet command in his voice shot through her, sensitizing all of her nerve endings. She clenched her thighs together in reaction to the sensation pouring out. She leaned sideways until she relaxed, lying supine against the cot. Would he touch her? When would he touch her? “Reach your arms over your head.” As she lifted her arms, her breasts moved; her nipples ached, throbbing steel tips on her jutting breasts. Still, he didn’t touch her, but she longed for him to. Instead, he left the cot and searched through one of the trunks. He pulled out a length of braided rope. It reminded her of part of a rag rug, multi-colored cotton fabric, non-abrasive. Heath wrapped her wrists in the rope, and then tied the rope to the legs of the cot. Sylvia tried to calm her rapid heart and quickened breathing. She wished she could stop the wetness leaking between her legs. She was excited and terrified and eager and, oh, so turned on. She’d nearly orgasmed when Heath’s fingers brushed her stomach to unzip her pants.

His eyes focused on that task, never meeting hers. It was unnerving observing his intense concentration, but she liked it. It seemed less personal somehow, like he was doing this to her instead of with her, like she was an object that he used. She couldn’t explain for a moment why this turned her on, and she would never admit it to anyone. Of course, Heath didn’t need her to admit anything. He had the evidence on his fingertips as he lowered her pants and panties down her thighs. “Spread your legs.” She obeyed and was wide open as he repeated the process with the ropes, looping them around her ankles this time before anchoring them to the cot’s legs. He was on his knees at the end of the cot, concentrating on each knot, and all Sylvia could imagine was his tongue dipping between her thighs, licking her arousal away. The image was so strong that she clenched her thighs again, the motion only somewhat hindered by her bound position. She could imagine the texture of his tongue against her clit as if it were really there, an unbelievably vivid daydream. When he stood, he shocked her by jerking the cot away from the wall. Then he stripped. When he was naked, he straddled the cot, feet firmly planted on either side. His hard cock bobbed inches from her face, and she knew what he was going to do, the thing she liked least. “Open your mouth.” She wasn’t in a position to say no this time, so she complied. He squatted lower. “Lick me.” She did. Her tongue swirled from his balls to the head of his cock. He kept his hands on his hips, his eyes grew opaque, and his lips opened slightly. The more she flattened and moved her tongue, the more intense his expression became. Finally, she opened her mouth wide and sucked his balls in completely. He moaned, but let her continue her ministrations. She sucked and licked simultaneously. Then, as he moved, she licked up his shaft until she could suck his cock head into her mouth. He thrust in, slowly, toward the back of her throat. She had to fight the gag response; but this time she was so turned on, she didn’t want to stop. She thought she might choke in this position if he came in her mouth, but she loved the control she held over him. This big man had tied her up and was ordering her to do this to him, yet she controlled his pleasure. He was even more her slave, at this point than she was his. Her lips curved into a smile.

CHAPTER SEVEN Heath looked down at Sylvia’s face and watched his cock slide in and out of her mouth. God in heaven. That supple mouth. That smiling mouth. She was smiling. The woman knew what effect she was having on him. He had bound her to the cot, but he was the one who was about to lose control, and she knew it. Dammit. Coming in her mouth a second time would be blissful, but now she wanted it, expected it. Heath mustered his waning control and slid away. She sucked harder, nearly killing him. Finally, he was free, but her plump lips and slightly opened mouth beckoned. Oh, God! Fuck her. Lick her. He moved until he reached the end of the cot, and then crouched between Sylvia’s legs. He slid his hands up her legs, his thumbs trailing inside her thighs. He balanced, keeping his hands on either side of her waist, so he could dip his face into her pussy and smell her sweet sex. Her feminine musk made his cock so hard it was painful, begging for him to plunge inside of her and end its suffering. First, he had to taste her. He used his thumbs to gently spread her labia apart. The soft fur of her mound tickled his chin. He kissed her stiff clit, and savored the sound of her gasp. Just that faint touch had sent out a wave of moisture from between her legs. He stroked the outer lips of her sex with his thumbs, and then spread them still further apart. Extending his tongue, he licked all around her clit, everywhere but against the bundle of nerves, because he knew that’s where she wanted him most. He used his hands to coax her thighs wider and her butt higher, then he licked the outer walls of her vagina. Her labia, so engorged with blood, had to be achingly sensitive at this point, and he reveled in that knowledge while tasting her juices. With his tongue, he delved deeper, thrusting inside her, then going higher, all the way to the tip of her clit before he moved back down the sides again. He sucked the sensitive flap of skin into his mouth, using his lips to confine it and the tip of his tongue to tease it. The suction from his mouth fluctuated, gentle then strong, hard and soft, creating a pulsating sensation. His cock was hard as concrete both from the scent of Sylvia’s arousal and from the memory of her lips sucking him the same way. Automatically, he thrust against the cot, and then moved to straddle her leg. This time, he thrust against her bare skin, and pre-cum soaked her leg as he continued to suck her clit. She moaned continuously, a long keening cry. Sylvia bucked against her restraints, and then shouted, “Fuck me!” Heath groaned his relief. About time, or he would’ve come right there on her leg. He pulled his body parallel with hers, and her eyes closed while her mouth opened. Plunging his tongue into her mouth and kissing her deeply, he dragged his fingers through the cloud of fine hair that splayed across the rough linen blanket covering the cot. * Sylvia spread her knees and lifted herself up, sighing when Heath’s strong thighs settled between hers. She loved the feel of his callused fingers threading through her hair. His tongue stabbed into her mouth so fiercely she felt possessed, completely owned by

this man. When he thrust into her with his shaft, her hot, wet body responded by clenching him tight, squeezing him. She met his thrusts eagerly, unable to control her automatic response. Not wanting to even if she could. She tugged at her bonds, but only because the urge to touch him was so strong. She wanted to rake her nails down his chiseled back and grip his buttocks to deepen his thrusts. “Harder!” she demanded, since her hands couldn’t do the work. “Deeper!” She swallowed his guttural response as his cock pounded her body. His hands moved from her hair to her wrists, gripping her tightly as he fucked her with hard, fast, fluid movements, until finally he came with a roar. Luscious, warm heat flowed into her, and she responded with a climax of her own, coming violently, bucking against Heath’s hard body. Sanity returned slowly, unsettling Sylvia as she became conscious of the rope still binding her wrists. It chafed against her burning skin. Her arms ached from being extended in such an odd position for so long. Her sex, which had longed for Heath’s mouth only moments ago, now dreaded the idea of him touching her. Plus, he was damn heavy lying here on top of her. “Get off!” He grunted. She couldn’t breathe and her right foot had that tingling sensation that preceded sleep. “Get off, Heath, and untie me!” Heath opened his eyes, lifted his head, and gave her a great, big satiated smile. For a moment, Sylvia felt the urge to smile back, then her logic returned and all she wanted to do was slap the idiotic smile off his face. She really didn’t understand her volleying emotions. How could she be so turned on, such a cut-loose wanton one moment, then ready to die of embarrassment the next? If anyone back home found out what she’d done here, she’d have to move to China. Of course, they wouldn’t find out, because she would never admit this to another soul. But it really irked her that her own emotions betrayed her. If she couldn’t trust herself, who could she trust? “Untie me,” she ordered, this time with the threat of murder in her eyes if he didn’t obey. The damn man chuckled. “You’re really cute when you’re ordering me around.” “Well, maybe I should tie you up next.” Heath cocked his head, apparently considering the idea. “No, I like it this way.” “Because you’re a sadistic control freak.” Heath knelt near the head of the cot and fingered the knots, which had grown tighter during sex. He didn’t contradict what she’d said or try to defend himself. Maybe he knew there was nothing he could say in his defense. If only he had a defense, so Sylvia could justify her confused feelings for him. Sylvia flexed her feet and fingers, trying to keep the circulation flowing as she awaited her freedom. “So, what’s next, Master?” She dripped as much sarcasm as she could muster into the title. “I love it when you call me that.” His rich voice flowed into her ear, making her shiver as he worked on freeing her second wrist. She couldn’t tell if he was serious. Scary thought. Sylvia clamped her lips tight.

He repositioned himself to work on her ankles. “You know, if I were really a sadist or a rapist, I would have taken over from the moment I had you in my grasp. There would have been no deal. I could’ve just fucked you on the ground and beat you, tied you up and refused you food. There are some men around here who would have no problem treating you that way. They wouldn’t bother with talking and they’d probably take turns and most likely they’d kill you when they were through.” Sylvia sat up and leaned forward, breathing shallowly. She felt physically ill. “It’s not a defense for me. I’m not saying, ‘Hey, I’m better than them, you should be happy’. I’m just thinking maybe you should be aware of what’s out there.” He loosened the last knot and sighed. “And maybe you need to face up to your role in this. I know it’s easier to blame me and say I’m doing this to you, but the fact is, you’re enjoying it, and I think you’d be more true to yourself if you admitted it.” Sylvia pulled back her feet and turned away, facing the wall. Holding her knees tight to her body and tucking her head low, she scrunched in on herself once again. He lied. Nothing he said was true. She did not want this. She was a good girl, a modern woman. She didn’t want to be ordered around by some man. But even anticipating the next thing he would order her to do, sent a quiver through her body. Luckily, that quiver quickly turned in to an insistent growl in her belly that made her realize how hungry she was. No more time for introspection. Food was the priority. “Might we have lunch now?” she asked, turning to find him watching her with a wary expression. “Sure. Then we’ll go check my traps, okay?” “Whatever you say … Master.” Heath noticed that there was less sarcasm when she used the title this time. He slipped his jeans back on, refusing to acknowledge the surge of interest in his quickly covered penis. God, everything she did turned him on. Even as sex-starved as he was, he knew they both needed to eat to keep their energy up. Maybe time would allow some of the truth of his words to seep into her brain. She did enjoy it, the sex, the game of master and servant, but part of her enjoyment seemed to be the denial of responsibility. As much as he craved control, she craved the lack of it. She wanted to let loose and do the kinds of kinky things that society wouldn’t approve of. But every time she allowed herself to think of home and how she was supposed to be, she reverted back to denial. It was painful to watch. Her conflicting emotions flitted across her face in blushes and grimaces. What does my face look like? He hadn’t seen a mirror in eons, so he had no idea what secrets his facial expressions gave away. Probably very little since there’d been no one he’d needed to express things to in a long, long time. Heath arranged the food and gestured for Sylvia to help herself. She dressed first, and they ate in silence. It was pleasant having a companion, someone to share the silence with. If only she wouldn’t be so obstinate about everything. The silence continued as Heath saddled Priest and helped Sylvia settle herself on the saddle in front of him. She tensed as his arms went around her, probably remembering their other erotic ride. Heath was a bit like a little boy on Christmas Eve. He wanted to rush through the chore of checking the traps so he could get Sylvia back to the hut and ravish her again.

As his muscles heated from swinging the machete to clear the branches from their path, his cock hardened at the memories of Sylvia bound to the cot. She shifted in front of him, as if she’d guessed he was thinking about sex again, but he didn’t care. What did it matter if she knew? The first three traps were empty. The fourth contained a large green iguana that would make a good meal. Checking all the traps took over an hour, and they covered quite a bit of ground in a circumference around his small plot of land. He hoped this would give Sylvia a better idea that he wasn’t lying when he said there were no nearby towns. He’d purposely chosen this location to make his home, so that he would be far from people. Safe. And she’d stumbled into it. A woman. A beautiful woman. A thought occurred to him suddenly. “You’re not married, are you?” “Would you let me go if I said I was? What if I said that I had three kids and a dog waiting for me at home?” “No, and I wouldn’t believe you. You would have told me right away if that was the case.” “My pen pal still has no idea what happened to me, and my family will be missing me if I don’t return to the States on the expected flight. They’ll call the State Department, I’m sure.” “I won’t keep you that long. I promised, remember? You agreed to trust me, right?” Sylvia sighed. “Sorry. I have trust issues. It’s this whole trapped in the jungle with a strange man thing.” Heath leaned his chin against Sylvia’s shoulder as he enjoyed the gentle sway of Priest’s gait. “No, I think you had trust issues even before this.” She didn’t reply. “Come on. Consider me your father confessor. Your confidant. Tell me all your problems.” “You’ll use them against me.” “How? Why? I’ve got you where I want you. I’ve nothing to gain except a chance to get to know you better.” * Sylvia was feeling way too comfortable with her bottom cradled between the rim of the saddle and Heath’s stiff manhood. His warm chest heated her back. His chin on her shoulder felt friendly and companionable. The shadows around them grew longer, blocking out more and more of the sun’s heat. The hum and fragrance of the living world around them filled her senses making her feel drowsy. That had to be the reason she opened up to Heath. “My life’s pretty boring really.” Sylvia felt the gentle pressure of Heath’s nod against her shoulder, and continued, “I was born and raised in Albany, New York. Then about halfway through middle school, Dad got a job in Manhattan. My parents bought a tiny house in Astoria, and I was shipped off to Catholic school.” “Are you Catholic?” “No. Methodist, if anything. My parents just didn’t want me going to public school. Too dangerous, they thought. Of course, at the time I thought they should’ve just let me live with Grandma Ruth in Albany if they were so concerned about my safety.” “What does your dad do?”

“He’s an accountant for a big law firm. Really boring, and I never thought my dad had any kind of excitement in his life ‘til I found out he’d cheated on Mom.” “Hence, the trust issue.” Sylvia shook her head. “It felt like betrayal at the time, but I’m over that.” “Really?” He sounded doubtful. “Yeah. The part I’m not over is that Mom forgave him. I didn’t get it then, and I still don’t get it now.” “She loved him.” “But he didn’t love her, at least not enough. That’s a deal breaker, as Dr. Phil would say.” “Who’s Dr. Phil?” Sylvia chuckled. “TV reference. Never mind.” “Okay, but I think that’s a simplistic way to view things. Your mom had a lot invested in the marriage. A lot of time and effort. Do you have any siblings?” “A younger sister, but she didn’t come along ‘til after this.” “Nine months after?” Sylvia paused. She hadn’t really thought about the timing before, since she’d been fairly young and unworldly then. “You know, I don’t remember the dates exactly, but you’re probably right. So, they had make-up sex. Ew!” Just the thought of her parents doing anything sexual together—yuck! Her own age and experience didn’t apply when it came to her parents. They were her parents always. She leaned back and smiled slightly, realizing weariness had her letting down her guard a bit. * Heath hacked off a low-hanging branch. He remembered some of the nasty fights his parents had. They’d always ended with him being shipped off to his grandmother’s for the evening. Once he became a teenager, he’d realized the purpose. They wanted to have make-up sex and regain their closeness and solidarity once again. They’d been the most happily married couple he’d known right up until they’d died. He waited for the blast of pain that usually accompanied any thought of his parents’ death, but this time he felt only the slightest twinge. His sadness was tempered by understanding, and maybe, tempered a bit more by the closeness of Sylvia. Her hair brushed his cheek, and her arms were secure within his own. “So, tell me more,” he said. “Tell me what you were like as a teenager.” Sylvia chuckled. “A goody-two-shoes.” “Really? I don’t believe it.” “Oh, yeah. In college, too. My parents wouldn’t let me date ‘til I was sixteen. Then they enforced a strict eleven o’clock curfew, which scared most of the boys off. And I’d go no farther than second base, even at the drive-in. I went to parties and plays and clubs, but always with a few friends in tow, even if I was supposedly on a date.” “What were you afraid of?” “I don’t think it was fear so much as an overly developed romantic streak. I wanted to be loved, and none of those high school boys met my definition of a hero.” Now it was Heath’s turn to chuckle. He gave Priest’s belly a nudge with his heels to get him to cross a shallow stream. “What about college?” “Well, in college I found a hero, or so I thought. So clichéd. I fell in love with my British Lit professor. He had this terrific accent and made me think of Hugh Grant.”

“Ah. But he broke your heart?” “Of course. He had new freshmen to fawn over him each term, he certainly didn’t need me. Besides, he was confused.” “Confused?” “Very confused. He was married with two little girls, but that didn’t stop him from experimenting on his students.” “Typical.” “But he experimented on his male students, too.” “Oh.” That threw Heath for a bit of a loop. Even during his forced abstinence at the monastery, he’d never considered that one. “The year I graduated, he left his wife and kids and moved to San Francisco with a young man from my graduating class.” The jewel-like glass of the cottage windows came into view through the foliage. “So, was it just a disillusioned crush on your part or more than that?” The back of Sylvia’s neck reddened. “More than that,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone that didn’t quite mask her true feelings. “He took my virginity.” Heath kissed her rosy skin and hugged her, hoping to make her feel better. He wanted to assure her that he would never cheat on her that way, but it wouldn’t make any sense for him to say that. Their relationship didn’t have any future beyond the next two days. “You want me to drop you at the porch?” “No, that’s okay. Maybe I can help you with Priest.” Heath showed Sylvia how to curry and feed Priest. Their bodies occasionally brushed together as they moved around the small area. Sometimes, Heath’s big hands would encompass her small ones as he showed her how to stroke the hard plastic comb across the horse’s back. When Sylvia bent down to scoop feed from the large bag in the corner into the trough, Heath came up behind her and pressed against her, nuzzling her neck. Pleasant tingles traveled through her body. They held hands as they walked up the path to the cottage. Heath’s palms were warm and callused, but it seemed almost romantic to be next to him, connected to him, hand to hand. Heath tied the day’s bounty to a rafter on the porch and said he’d deal with that later. Once inside, they ate their typical fare of fruit, bread and cheese, and Heath unearthed a dusty bottle of wine from under a floorboard. It was dated 1980 and from the Napa Valley in California. He served the wine in hollowed-out coconut shells. Sylvia sipped slowly, savoring each drop. She could feel the passing of time here in the jungle, away from the forced hustle and bustle of New York, away from traffic noise and TV chatter. She watched the nuances of light as it drifted across the floor, until it was gone completely, and Heath lit the lantern. The flame flickered and danced, casting shadows on the planes of his face and the contours of the muscles in his arms and his bare chest. He observed her as intimately as she watched him. It seemed to be part of their foreplay, drinking in each other’s essences, learning every expression, every light in the eye, every curve of the lip. After staring at Heath so long, observing the light playing and changing in his eyes, Sylvia easily imagined kissing him. He would taste smoky from the candle and sweet from the dripping juice of the papaya. He would smell musky from brushing Priest and polishing the leather saddle. His skin would be both smooth and rough, and hard and pliant.

She imagined kneeling between his legs in the yellow, flickering light, and sucking his velvety penis into her mouth. Her arms would wrap around his waist, fingers finding the edges of his jeans. She would hastily push them to his ankles, brushing her nipples and belly across him in the process. The more Sylvia watched Heath without moving, resisting giving into the desire that had to be obvious on her face; the more the air between them seemed to hum with sexual energy. She could taste it on her tongue, wanting. Desire. The more she imagined lapping her tongue around his cock and across the rippling abs of his stomach, the more soaked her panties grew, the more shallow her breathing became. Her tongue involuntarily slipped out of her mouth and slid across her upper lip, slowly. Then even more slowly. Heath’s eyes followed. Sylvia lifted her center finger and traced her bottom lip, tugging it into a pout. Her finger roamed left to right, then circled and traced her top lip, following the path her tongue had just taken. Heath’s eyes never left her mouth. He leaned forward, the bulge in his pants obvious to her, though she sat halfway across the room. Sylvia gently nudged her mouth open with her finger, and then entered, slower still, millimeter by millimeter. She sealed her lips around the digit, taking it into the wet depths of her mouth. She sucked and released and drew the finger in and out of her tight lips. In and out. Heath unzipped his pants and eased his swollen cock free. He seemed mesmerized by the movement of Sylvia’s finger, so she didn’t stop. She smiled slightly as his thumb and fingers feathered lightly down his dick. He obviously knew how to pleasure himself, so she watched him carefully, wanting to learn how he liked it. Light strokes. A slight squeeze at the top. A slow slide back down to the base. Gently cupping the balls, and then sliding back up. Without compunction, Sylvia took the wet, well-pleasured finger from her mouth and lifted her shirt slowly higher, exposing more and more skin to the sultry air. Her breasts popped free; the nipples jutted forth. Hard, erect pebbles. She slid her glistening finger around her left nipple, all around the outer rim of her areola, until the hard bud chilled in the air. She pinched the nipple, and pleasure cascaded from the tip to her stomach to her loins. Then she moved to the other nipple, which tightened and peaked. Her thighs flexed without her conscious command, her vagina clenched, and warm liquid gushed from her body. “Oh,” she murmured. She could not remember having been this turned on before. Ever. And she couldn’t pull her gaze from Heath’s face as he masturbated before her. It was exquisite, the torture and longing on his face, the intensity as he moved closer to orgasm. His hand stroked up and down his thick, long cock. He groaned as his thumb flitted across the head, and Sylvia imagined how the callused pad of his thumb must feel against the sensitive skin on the tip of his penis. She watched as, finally, the culmination—the awesome slack-jawed relief—spread across his face when he climaxed. Cum spewed from his body onto the hand still stroking the penis, onto his thighs and the floor. Sylvia wanted to feel that relief, as well. Rushing blood thundered between her ears as her heart beat frantically. She rubbed her breasts and pinched and squeezed, sighs escaping her lips, while Heath watched through slitted eyelids. Her sex pulsed, but her thighs were hindered by the thick fabric of her jeans, keeping her from knowing real

pleasure. Sylvia couldn’t stand it. She wanted Heath to touch her, to taste her, to take her … but she felt like the rules of this particular game dictated that they not touch each other. She stroked her hands up her rib cage and cupped the bottom of her breasts, pushing them upward. She bent her head low and pushed first one, then the other, high enough for her lips to reach. Heath had moved, crouching down before her. Still not touching, but watching her intensely, watching her lips suckle her own breasts. The jolts and trills running through her body, as her teeth nibbled her nipples, were intense enough to make her come, but her jeans constrained her. * Heath knew Sylvia needed something else to find her release. God, seeing her suck herself, touch herself, it was unbelievably erotic. He’d never seen any woman do this, and he couldn’t believe guilt-ridden, self-conscious Sylvia was doing it now. It was like she was completely here, in the moment, wrapped in the sensations she was giving herself, trying to give herself more. She was a goddess. Reaching out his arms, Heath unsnapped her pants and helped her stand. He hadn’t wanted to break the rules they seemed to have created and touch her, but he knew she needed freedom from her pants to attain her final release. Once she was standing, still sucking her swollen nipple into her mouth, he unzipped her pants. He slid them down her thighs, down her long legs until they pooled at her feet. He kneeled before her then, his nose just an inch from her mound. Thick juices glistened on each curl of pubic hair. Her distended clit peeked through, longing to be loved, longing to be tasted, licked, sucked. Ravaged. The smell of her heated sex nearly overwhelmed him. He sucked in a breath to control himself, before helping her sit back down onto the trunk. With his hands, he spread her thighs wide. He ran his callused fingers along baby pale skin. Then he leaned in between her knees and lapped the juices he found there. Make it slow, he thought, as he drew his tongue along Sylvia’s feminine folds. As his tongue moved, the juices dripped to his chin. Pleasuring Sylvia was just as completely erotic as ordering her to go down on him. He claimed her with his mouth, loving the flavors that flowed over his tongue. Sylvia’s fingers drifted down her stomach and past her sodden curls. She seemed to find just the right spot then, as she tipped her head back and moaned. Heath drew away and watched her fingers work for several long seconds before again concentrating on the sensitive lips of her vagina. Her inner thighs squeezed against his cheeks and were faintly red from the stubble on his chin. Heath reached for her breasts, and traced where moments earlier her lips had sucked. Sylvia’s moans crescendoed, her finger worked furiously, and a gush of salty, sweet liquid covered Heath’s tongue. Her thighs squeezed spasmodically. Her finger slowed its stroking. Her breathing slowed. Sylvia returned to earth. **** Heath hummed contentedly into the dark around him. Sylvia slept soundly on the cot. They’d made love and ate dinner and made love again before falling asleep in each other’s arms on the cotton sheets. But Heath’s restless dreams had caused him to wake, so now he lit a small candle and fumbled in the trunk for his carving set. He found the

block of mahogany wrapped in silk tucked in the farthest corner of the trunk. It was a virgin piece. He’d come across the fallen branch after an electrical storm during his stay at the monastery. He’d cut it into a square, and had been sure to keep it with him ever since. An odd thing to do, he knew. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a spiritual connection to the wood. He’d pulled it out many times with every intention of turning it into an Aztec ruin, or some other touristy thing, but he’d always returned it to its wrapping without placing one cut. Now, he felt compelled to carve it, and he knew just what image he would craft there. The flickering candle lit Sylvia’s face just enough for him to observe the curve of her lips, the indentations, the texture. Her lashes lay softly on her cheeks, and he could see each one. She slept on her side; one arm pillowed her head, while the other was spread flat under her breast. Heath memorized the length of her fingers, the luster of her plain fingernails, the fuzziness of the soft, pale hair on her arms. The shape formed in the wood as if by magic. A pile of wood chips fell from Heath’s knee to the floor. He was sure and confident in his carving, just as Sylvia had been in her lovemaking this evening. Lovemaking. Did she see it as lovemaking? He was beginning to. Scary. He grew more connected to her with each passing hour, and in the end he would have to let her go. “Are you going to let me see it?” Sylvia’s whispered voice startled him. He whisked the carving behind his back. “Not yet. It’s not finished.” “But you will let me see it?” He nodded. “When the time is right.”

CHAPTER EIGHT The farmer’s name was Felipe Bahia and his wife was Tortona. The couple had two sons and two daughters, all under the age of fifteen. They all regarded Heath cautiously, which Sylvia found odd if he’d been trading with the family as many years as he’d said. “Why are they looking at you that way?” she whispered as Heath helped her from Priest’s back. He cleared his throat and the tips of his ears flushed. “They have never seen me with a woman before, or any other person for that matter. I believe they were concerned I might be … ahem … gay.” “Why do you think that?” He blushed even brighter. “I overheard them one day before Tortona shooed them off.” Sylvia patted his arm. “Poor Heath.” “Somehow that doesn’t sound very sympathetic.” Sylvia grinned. She turned to greet the family. They stood outside on the front porch of the moderate-sized hacienda. The sound of the horse’s hooves had obviously alerted them to company’s arrival, and now they were lined up to greet them. These were the first group of people Sylvia had seen since she’d left the airport and the city boundaries in the back of the cab. The path to the hacienda had not followed the road at all. They’d had to travel north for three hours, crossing several streams and ravines. Heath’s machete had been constantly in motion. Sylvia could not imagine finding this place on her own. And even though the hacienda looked like a sturdy well-kept structure and the surrounding land was fertile with rows of corn and cane and other verdant crops, the surrounding area was the same as at Heath’s. Empty. Devoid of civilization. Sylvia could not understand the desire to live in so isolated an area. And just how much further was the market the farmer traded at? Did he have a car? Did he have a phone? Suddenly, Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest. A phone. She tore her eyes away from the family they were approaching and scanned the sky. No lines. None at all. Did that mean they, too, were without electricity? As she listened, she became aware of a hum that permeated the background. A generator. “Buenos Dias, Señor, Señora,” Heath greeted the family. He seemed a bit stiff and formal, not at all the man Sylvia was growing accustomed to. “Hola, Heath!” The youngest boy broke formation and dived off the porch, running full-tilt into Heath’s arms. Heath immediately swung him into the air with a laugh. “Hola, Diego!” He perched the boy on his shoulders, while Diego swung his feet and chattered in Spanish as fast as a roadrunner. Sylvia glanced from the happy scene to the rest of the family on the porch and noticed their widened eyes. Astonishment was written clearly on their faces. Did Diego not normally react to Heath this way? Or was it the other way around? Did Heath normally maintain a reserve? Was that why they were all standing stiff and formal to greet him?

Introductions were made. Sylvia was offered two kisses to the cheeks by each family member in turn. The eldest boy, Maricio, blushed when it was his turn, reminding Sylvia a bit of Heath. The two girls, Monica and Michaela, were darling in colorful loom-woven dresses and matching braids. Once inside, Tortona ushered the females into the large, steamy kitchen, so the men could do their bartering. Heath had packed a few of his carvings into his saddlebags before they’d left, finally showing them to Sylvia. Sylvia had the feeling that these were his commercial wares and not his true artwork, but she could tell from their quality that he was an artist, a master with his hands. Tortona stirred a molé sauce in an earthenware bowl over a wood stove while her daughters showed Sylvia how to press tortillas and place them on a flat cast-iron griddle. When they puffed just the right amount, the eldest girl wet her fingers and flipped them. The youngest girl concentrated on rolling the dough into perfect balls. None of them spoke more than a smattering of English and Sylvia lacked Spanish skills, so the time in the kitchen was mostly spent in companionable silence. Finally, Tortona gathered up enough English to ask a question, “You are Señor Heath’s woman?” Sylvia had no idea how to answer that. And, like a bolt, it struck her that this was her chance to get away from him, to break their deal a day early. Why hadn’t she thought of that immediately? What was the matter with her? The kitchen had been so homey and peaceful, the girls working in such harmony… These people were the closest thing that Heath had to a family. If she told them what he was doing to her, would they shun him? Who would he trade with then? And why the hell do you care, Sylvia? He’s a jerk. He’s using you for pleasure. But it was her pleasure, too, and strangely, she did care whether he was left in complete isolation after she was gone. Tortona seemed to think she hadn’t spoken the correct words, since Sylvia had remained silent for so long. “¿Como se dice mujer?” she asked her eldest daughter. The girl cocked her head. “Mujer es ‘woman,’ no?” She looked at Sylvia. One of the few words she knew in Spanish was yes. “Sí, I am Señor Heath’s woman.” The girl’s eyes widened and her gaze focused beyond Sylvia. Sylvia turned and saw Heath lounging against the casement that led to the dining area, his lean legs looking yummy in his well-worn jeans. His expression said perplexed, and no wonder. Why would she say she was his woman when they’d only known each other for two days, and why, oh why, was she not taking this opportunity to escape and get a ride back to town? Could it be that she didn’t want this erotic dream to end? Diego popped around the corner and started hugging Heath’s leg. Heath lifted him to his hip and rubbed noogies on his head. The boy screamed in delight. Tortona laughed and shook her head. Then she started pelting Heath with questions in the tone of a drill sergeant, just about all of which went over Sylvia’s head. Heath replied seriously at first, then with laughter and grins as the conversation went on. All spoke in Spanish, and Sylvia would have given anything to know what they were saying. * Heath came forward, knowing Sylvia’s eyes followed his movements like a cat eyeing a bird, and snagged one of the hot tortillas, despite Monica swatting his hand.

“Señora Bahia has invited us to stay here tonight if we don’t wish to make the trek back till daylight,” he said. “What do you think?” He still couldn’t believe what he’d heard when he’d stepped around the corner. Sylvia had told Tortona and the girls that she was his woman. His woman. The words flowed through his mind like melting chocolate. But wariness came next. Was she trying to throw him off guard? Felipe had an old Ford pick-up, as well as a larger work truck in his barn, and this hacienda was only about an hour’s drive from town. All Sylvia had to do was ask for a ride. Why hadn’t she? Was it possible she had feelings for him? Not likely. A more reasonable explanation was that she was enjoying her little erotic vacation, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Heath vowed he would hear her admit it before tomorrow ended. He hated to lose even one night of their sex play, which is what would happen if they stayed in this house tonight. He’d been shocked Tortona had offered the invitation. She never had before, but then he’d never been open to it before. He looked down at the giggling boy clutching his leg. Many times in the past, Diego had approached him and usually he’d cut him off with a gruff word or a stern look. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy, but he’d felt the nausea threatening. In fact, he usually met Felipe at a rendezvous point halfway or Felipe made the trip to his cottage, so Heath could avoid dealing with his phobia. But there’d been no nausea today. Strange. Maybe not. “What do you want to do?” Sylvia replied hesitantly. He tried to read her. What was going on in her head? “I mean, I don’t mind staying if you want to.” “Yes, let’s stay.” Damn. That’s not what he wanted, but that seemed to be what Sylvia wanted, and for some odd reason, he wanted to please her. He focused on Tortona, who was a short, well-groomed woman whose Mestizo heritage was clear in her face. Her daughters looked European, taking after their father. The whole family had dark hair and caramel skin made darker from working in the fields. In Spanish, he explained to the señora that they would be pleased to accept her hospitality for the night. **** Dinner was a festive affair with the children laughing and telling stories, most of which exceeded Sylvia’s knowledge of Spanish, so she just smiled and enjoyed the atmosphere. And she truly enjoyed the food. It was heavenly. For one thing, she and Heath had been eating mostly fresh fruit and cheese since she’d arrived, so having food that was actually cooked was a novelty. The tortillas were warm. The salsa was tangy with just the right amount of bite from the serrano peppers. And the enchiladas verdes with their green tomatilla sauce had to be the best things Sylvia had ever tasted, even though as a New Yorker, she was quite familiar with ethnic food. Heath seemed a bit uptight at the beginning of the meal, and Sylvia guessed that he wasn’t used to this much socializing in one day. But as Felipe poured the wine, followed by an after-dinner glass of tequila, Heath relaxed. It was gradual. First, he cracked a

smile. Then, he managed a small chuckle in response to one of the children’s jokes. Sylvia nearly fell on the floor when he managed a joke of his own. The children giggled and Felipe slapped his knees and laughed, so it must’ve been a good one. Heath leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I’ll translate later.” Sylvia nodded, snagging another sopapilla, warm, puffy and soaked with honey. Deep-fried sin. Later, Tortona led them to a guestroom off of the courtyard. The house was shaped like a U, with the courtyard in the center behind the main room. The bedrooms were situated on either side of it. Sylvia was shocked to see such a large building after spending so much time in Heath’s cottage. It gave her hope that there actually was civilization somewhere in this godforsaken country. Of course, intellectually she knew that there was. Mexico City was known for its smog and its huge population, but Mexico’s capital seemed a world away from this jungle paradise. “Tortona apologizes for the size of the bed,” Heath whispered, grinning, as the señora bustled about the room pulling out towels and folding back the bed cover. “Has she never been to your place?” “No way.” “Has Felipe?” “Once, and he stayed on the porch.” “You really are a hermit, aren’t you?” Heath propped his arm along her shoulders. “Until you. I mean, I haven’t spent the night away from the cottage since I moved in.” “No way. That’s been a few years, right?” “Six or seven … I think.” Their conversation was cut short when Tortona turned back to them, gestured, and said, “Buenos noches.” She left, pulling the door closed behind her, leaving Heath and Sylvia alone in the small, cozy bedroom. Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a bit embarrassed. What must Tortona be thinking? Did the kids know they were staying in one room? “You could’ve asked for two rooms.” Heath’s eyebrow rose. “Why would I do that?” “To be a gentleman.” Sylvia wanted to slap the smirk right off of his face. He hadn’t been a gentleman so far, why should she expect anything different now? Since the hacienda had a generator that meant they also had hot water. Inside the guest bathroom was a shower decorated with red and white tiles. There was also a chunk of sweet-smelling soap that seemed to be homemade. Lavender. “I claim the shower,” Sylvia declared delightedly. She turned the shower’s brass handles to adjust the water temperature, then stripped out of her clothes without even bothering to close the bathroom door. Where had her selfconsciousness gone? Out the window with the prospect of a hot shower. She was half-slathered with soap when Heath’s chest pressed against her back, and his arms wrapped around her. “Go away. I’m having a nice, relaxing shower. By myself. To get clean.” “The hot water might run out.” “What do you care about hot water? You don’t even have any!”

“Then this is a luxury I can’t miss, can I?” As he soaped his own body by rubbing up against hers, Sylvia had to ask, “Are we going to run out of soap, too?” “Never know.” His hands joined his body in the soaping expedition. Sylvia’s nerve endings were sending zillions of pleasure messages to her brain, but she faked a yawn. “Gee, Heath, I think I’m too beat. Let’s take a night off.” He ignored her, and she felt his cock poking against her butt. “What if they hear us? They’re kids, you know. Very impressionable at those ages. We need to set an example.” Heath’s fingers spread the suds between her thighs. He obviously wanted her extra clean, since he took his time and worked the soap into every crevice. “They’re on the other side of the house,” he said after awhile. “How do you know?” “Felipe told me.” “Why would he tell you that?” “I asked.” Sylvia relaxed into the watery lovemaking, following Heath’s lead, and eventually moving to the bed. She could have said no while in this house—Heath dare not make a big scene and ruin his one business connection—but she didn’t want to say no. The truth was that she was beginning to think of it as lovemaking between two caring people rather than as sex with a stranger. She wanted to be surrounded by Heath’s arms and lips, covered by his kisses and hands. She wanted to sink into the ecstasy of his skilled touch, revel in it. Explode with it. Scary thoughts, but still nice ones. They took their time and, for once, it didn’t seem to be a game of master and servant. Sylvia took the lead often, straddling Heath’s supine body while tasting his chest and stomach, and he never ordered her to do even one thing. In the wee hours of the morning, they slept in each other’s arms. Sylvia dreamed of New York, but not of her job and the hustle and bustle. Instead, she dreamed of walking through Central Park hand-in-hand with Heath, smiling at the kids climbing on the bronze Alice in Wonderland statue and playing with the remote-control boats on the gleaming water. Warm sun soothed their faces. They shared ice cream and fed the pigeons. Sylvia had the sense that they’d spent the whole day together, and she felt peaceful and protected as long as this man held her hand. She awoke with a smile and discovered the sun really was shining on her face as it poured in through the space between the window curtains. A movement next to her had her looking the other way, directly into Heath’s smiling face. “Are you awake, Sleeping Beauty?” He sat on the edge of the bed fully dressed. “Felipe knocked on the door a while ago and mentioned breakfast.” His stomach growled to punctuate his point. Sylvia laughed. “Well, don’t feel you have to wait for me. I need a shower first, a nice hot one.” He grinned. “Alone. A ‘real’ shower where I wash myself. Every time I have one with you, I wind up dirtier than when I started.” “Sometimes it’s good to be messy.” Sylvia fingered her tangled hair. “I am not showing myself in public this way.”

Heath leaned down and kissed her. “I think you look beautiful.” The warmth spread through her. How nice to hear a man say that to her. Heath hopped off the bed, almost vibrating with energy. “I’ll meet you at the table then. You won’t take too long, right?” Her stomach growled her answer and they both laughed. The smell of eggs already permeated the small room. “I promise.” Sylvia shooed Heath away, so she could get ready quickly. **** Once Heath spied the heaping huevos rancheros, he had to force himself to behave civilly. He greeted Felipe, who was the only one at the table for the moment, before scooping an appropriate serving of the spicy eggs onto his plate, as well as, warm tortillas, squash blossoms and frijoles. Tortona wandered into the room long enough to serve him hot coffee and tomato juice. Felipe laughed at the speed with which Heath brought the fork to his mouth. In Spanish, he said, “My wife, she cooks well, eh?” When Heath nodded and continued eating, he went on, “I’ll send you home a stack of tortillas for tonight’s supper. Does your woman cook?” Heath paused. “I’m not sure.” “How can you not know this? This is a very important quality for a woman to have.” “Well, if she knows how to cook, she’s probably used to an electric stove and a microwave, not a potbelly stove and campfire.” He cocked his head in thought. “She’s a city girl. I bet she eats out a lot.” “What does she think of your home?” “Not much.” Heath took a swig of the tomato juice. Felipe leaned closer. “How did you meet her?” Heath grinned, scooping more eggs onto his plate. “Now that’s an odd tale to tell. I found her on the road, just walking.” * “Near your place?” Felipe couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. “I think aliens dropped her there.” The older man sat all the way back and didn’t hide his disbelief. He knew Heath to be a tad strange, but this was going too far. Heath swallowed a mouthful of eggs with a blank expression. Then finally he let loose a guffaw. Felipe blushed, realizing he’d been had, but then he realized something even more significant. This hermit who never wanted to visit his home and meet his family and who never went into town, this strange man who usually mumbled and rarely smiled, had played a joke on him. Felipe joined in with Heath’s laughter and the two men, feeding off of each other, laughed until tears poured from their eyes and their stomachs ached. And this was how Tortona and Sylvia found them. Tortona immediately walked over to their drinks and sniffed them. Then she shrugged at Sylvia, as if to say, “Men, who knows?” * The men were so far gone with their laughter that Sylvia didn’t even try to ask what was up. She sat down and started helping herself to the yummy food filling the table.

Tortona replenished the eggs and brought Sylvia coffee and juice before joining them at the table. In the meantime, the men calmed down and continued their conversation. Sylvia gathered it had something to do with her since she heard her name amongst the Spanish words, but other than that she had no idea what they were saying. Tortona made a couple of attempts at bilingual communication, but mostly they just shared the meal in companionable silence while the men talked. After the leisurely meal, the eldest boy brought Priest around front, and Heath and Sylvia said goodbye to everyone. It felt almost natural to be back on the horse with Heath’s arm around her waist. Strange. Scary. Was she falling for a total stranger, a man who was essentially her warden? No way. She was a street—savvy, city girl. She could not and would not stay in this back-hole place. It seemed unlikely that Heath would ever want to leave, although she still didn’t quite understand his reasons. That meant any fantasy about the two of them having a real relationship was just that—a fantasy.

CHAPTER NINE It was afternoon by the time they reached the cottage. Afternoon of the third day. Tomorrow Heath would have to honor his end of the bargain and take Sylvia to town. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fumbled with the buckle under Priest’s belly. How would he deal with being alone again? He undid the leather straps and opened his eyes so he could heft the saddle from the horse’s back to the railing that held it when not in use. He could refuse to honor their deal. That thought had passed through his mind many times during their ride home. Just refuse. Just keep her here. But then she would run away again. He knew it. Because then she would have no hope of him ever taking her to town. She would know that she was truly a prisoner, and he was truly her keeper. He didn’t want her to feel that way about him. He wanted her to stay with him because she liked him, because she enjoyed what they did together. He knew she enjoyed the sex. Last night at Felipe’s had been amazing. He hadn’t told her what to do; she hadn’t resisted, other than initially in the shower. It had felt real. But then maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. Or maybe she’d simply been more relaxed because they’d had warm, running water and a soft down-filled mattress. Sylvia had gone inside, claiming a headache, when they’d first returned to his home. What was that about? Or did she really have a headache? The sun had beat on them relentlessly during the ride back, the mosquitoes had attacked continuously, and the humidity made the air thick and nasty. Heath admitted to himself that he was feeling a bit paranoid, because tomorrow the world would come crashing down around him again. He ran the currycomb over Priest’s bristly hair and thought about yesterday at Felipe and Tortona’s home. Sylvia hadn’t asked Felipe to take her to town. She hadn’t exposed Heath’s true nature to his only friend. She could have. The kids knew more English than the parents. She could have gotten through to someone if she’d been determined enough. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t postponed the trip. They could have survived on the supplies he already had, and Felipe would’ve come by himself later in the week. So maybe it had been a test, although unconsciously made on his part, to see if Sylvia would betray him. And she hadn’t, so he wouldn’t betray her tomorrow. Tomorrow they would go to town, or as close as he could manage anyway, and say their goodbyes. And his life would return to normal. God. **** “Would you like something to eat?” Sylvia asked as Heath entered the cottage. She’d chopped some avocados, tomatoes and a single chili, and mixed them in a bowl as a makeshift filling for the tortillas. She’d also sliced up a pineapple.

“Looks great.” Heath placed the second bag of supplies that he’d brought in with him on one of the trunks and scavenged in it until he found the fresh bottle of tequila. It would be the perfect complement for their meal. “Do you like it straight or with lime?” “Lime, please.” Heath sliced open a lime and squeezed the juice into the glass before adding some tequila. He sloshed it around and handed it to Sylvia, who traded it for a taco. He drank his own straight from the bottle. Sylvia sipped hers and ate her taco without dropping any of the filling. Heath smiled, watching her lick her fingers clean. “So, what next, mon capitaine?” Sylvia asked after polishing off the last crumb of her tortilla. Though part of Heath’s body rebelled at the thought, he found himself saying, “Maybe we should talk.” “Your wish is my command.” Though Sylvia smiled as she spoke, her words felt like super-sharp barbs designed to pierce his protective skin. Heath sighed. “I’m not really a bossy ogre, you know.” “No? I don’t know.” “I used to be a nice guy before I came here.” “Really?” Again, she spoke with a smile, so he couldn’t tell what she really felt. “I was engaged to a great woman and I had loving parents. I was a good son.” He wanted her to understand. “It all changed when they died.” “When your parents died?” “When they all died. My fiancée was killed first, and my parents died two weeks later.” Sylvia gasped. “How did they die? Was it related?” “No, it wasn’t. It was just one of those freaks of karma, I guess. Lucy died in a convenience store robbery.” His voice caught. “I watched her die, shot to death by gang thugs, and I couldn’t help her.” The words came out in a rush. “And my parents died in a car wreck two weeks later.” “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Heath closed his eyes, wishing he had the power to explain his devastation, the paralysis he’d suffered in every part of his life. “I just couldn’t … do … anything. I couldn’t function.” “Grief affects everyone differently.” “That’s a platitude that just doesn’t do justice to how I became. I went nuts. Literally.” Sylvia struggled to make sense of what had happened to him. She wanted to empathize with what he’d been through, what he felt, but she doubted she could ever truly understand. Her parents were alive and well, living in Queens, and she saw them quite often. She had many friends, and she’d never seen anyone die. “How did you wind up here?” “That’s a long story.” “Well, we have time … don’t we?” Maybe he didn’t want to talk anymore. It had to be hard to dredge up a past like that. For that reason, she wouldn’t act as if she was a newspaper reporter and ask for all the gory details of his fiancée’s shooting and his parents’ accident

He smiled a little. The light coming through the bottle-bottom windows had dimmed considerably and shadows filled the corners of the cottage. “We have time.” He leaned across the table to light the oil lamp and poured them each another jigger of tequila. “But I’m just going to tell part of the story.” “Why?” “Because some of it’s just too embarrassing.” She could read the pain in his eyes. “I won’t laugh.” “You should.” The tequila had warmed her insides, relaxing her, but also making her more susceptible to emotions. Her throat tightened, thinking that tomorrow was but a few hours away. Sometimes she panicked, thinking he might not keep his promise. But then sometimes she panicked, realizing that he most certainly would, and she would never see him again. “How did I get here? I drove.” “All the way to southern Mexico?” “Yup. Didn’t get out of the car at all if I could help it. Ate at drive-through McDonalds in the States. Paid people in the street to bring me food in Mexico. It was quite an adventure.” “But why come here?” “I heard about this place … a monastery where the monk’s specialize in healing troubled souls.” “Did you find the place?” “Yes.” “Did they heal you?” “No. I was too tough a nut to crack, so they asked me to leave.” “How could they do that, if they knew you needed help?” “They thought I needed professional help, more than they were qualified to give.” “I thought monks would want you to trust in God for your healing.” “Obviously, I didn’t trust enough. Or at all. Actually I was pretty damn pissed off at God at the time. The monks knew they weren’t getting through. Sometimes I think they just didn’t want to be held responsible if something really bad happened to me. But most likely they cared and wanted me to get the help that would cure me.” “Cure you of what?” Heath looked away and scooped a lock of hair from his forehead behind his ear. “Lots of things.” He didn’t want to tell her. Why did that hurt so much? He jumped up, unlatched the trunk, and swung open the top. He fumbled around, digging past various supplies until he found what he was looking for. What emerged was something wrapped in cloth. Actually, several somethings, Sylvia realized as he folded back the fabric. He handed them to her as if he was handing over a newborn. Then she realized that’s what one of the objects was: a newborn. A carving of a newborn boy. It was beautiful, so beautiful that tears sprang to her eyes. She looked up to see tears sparkling in Heath’s eyes also. “Who is he?” Heath strode to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall, shoulders heaving. Sylvia didn’t know whether to go to him or to give him time to compose himself. Deciding to give him time, she looked at each of the objects, in turn. The boy

was the hardest to look at, knowing that if he brought Heath to tears it meant he was gone. Whether dead or just taken from his life, she couldn’t guess. He hadn’t mentioned him before. Along with the boy, there was a three-dimensional set of buildings, a complex of some sort, all carved out of one piece of wood. Fascinating. The other carving was easily recognizable as the Tower of Pisa. She wondered at its significance. Finally, Heath returned to squat next to her. He took the building into his hands. “I was an architect. This is an office complex I want to see built one day. I designed it.” He explained each separate building and floor and everything that would go into them. He knew every detail, from its use of solar and wind-power for electricity to its high-tech appliances and space-age security system. “I think it would be a wonderful place to live,” Sylvia said. “And the Tower of Pisa?” “Lucy and I planned to go to Italy for our honeymoon.” When he took the boy in his hands, Sylvia’s throat tightened, and her eyes misted. Heath looked so sad. “His name would’ve been Jeremy.” “Would’ve been?” “Lucy was pregnant when she died. We’d just gotten back from the ultrasound where they’d shown us in no uncertain terms that it was a boy.” He grinned at the memory, but his expression changed quickly. “We named him on the walk home just before we entered the store.” “Oh, Heath!” Sylvia flung her arms around him. He clutched her, pulling her to his lap on the floor, sobbing. Sylvia sobbed, too. She hadn’t known the woman he had loved so much. She hadn’t yet loved someone as much or had her own children, but she felt his pain and understood why it would echo through so many years. * Heath wasn’t sure how long he sat there, clinging to Sylvia, crying. It was like a dam had broken, tears bursting through the piles of sandbags meant to shore up his emotions so he could function everyday. It was crazy to cry this much; Sylvia would think he’d gone whacko all over again. But when he pulled back and looked at her face, it was glistening, too. Her eyes reflected his sadness. She understood. A calm descended. Sylvia watched patiently as he rewrapped each of his priceless memories. He put them away, this time closer to the top of the trunk, since he no longer had to hide them from her or himself. Then he offered his hand to help her from the floor. They walked hand in hand to the cot. Sylvia smoothed back his hair and cupped his face with gentle hands. She kissed him, soft, delicate kisses on his face. Gentle, soothing. Her fingers stroked his cheeks lightly and her lips feathered against his chin and his forehead and his neck. She kissed the area of chest reachable through the vee of his shirt, and then spread her fingers wide over his sleeves, relaxing his muscles, pushing away the sorrow. Her hands moved to his waist and pulled out the shirt, lifted it over his head. The kisses continued over the newly revealed skin. When she pushed him back to the bed and climbed on top of him, gentleness changed to urgency. His body jerked to life. He wanted Sylvia now. Right this moment. He wanted her impaled on him, riding him.

Wait. She’s in charge. Heath took a deep breath and focused on each minute sensation Sylvia created as her fingers roamed his skin, as she unsnapped his pants and pulled them down his legs. She exhaled warm breath against his shins and thighs, causing a tidal wave of goosebumps on his body. Once he was naked, she perched on his stomach fully clothed and put her hand to her chin. “Hmm… Should we try tying you up for a change?” She watched for his reaction. The idea excited and appalled him simultaneously. She laughed. “Or would that be too easy? A spanking perhaps? Tit for tat?” That brought a look of genuine horror to his face. And he blushed, because he realized he’d done it to her, so why should it horrify him? Again, she shook her head. “Roll over.” Now this did shock him, because he’d expected her to use her chance for revenge. She still could. His butt was now easily accessible, but that didn’t seem to be her plan. Her fingers started roaming his body once again, lighter this time, torturously light. “That tickles. Stop. That tickles. I’m serious.” She didn’t stop. “Don’t move.” Her voice came from just behind his ear, but her hands moved across the small of his back and grazed his rib cage. He jumped. “Don’t move or I will tie you up … and spank you.” He knew he deserved this. He didn’t have to let her be in control, though. He was stronger, and the deal was for her to obey him. As her fingers smoothed along his ass and petted his balls before resuming their path of light touches to the back of his knees, Heath’s penis hardened to steel against the sheet. Now, wet licks tortured the back of his knee. He jerked, and she swatted his butt in protest. “Hold still,” she ordered, and the tone of her voice had him ready to come right then. More touches, more licks, all tickling him until he wanted to scream. He wanted to resist, but he wanted to obey. She was in charge. She controlled him. And every now and then, she’d appease his desire with a quick stroke along the back of his penis or balls, or the crease in his ass. She nibbled his shoulder blades and nipped at his ears. She tickled his neck, then sucked it hard enough to leave a mark. All the while, the rest of her body never touched his. She was fully clothed, and he didn’t even know if she was turned on. She had to be to keep this up, didn’t she? God, he wanted to turn over and peek at her nipples. Were they stiff like his dick? When he attempted to turn his head, she whacked his butt again. Then she began kneading his shoulders and his lower back, deep and slow, easing away his tension like an expert masseuse. Heaven. Just as he started to feel sleepy and lose his hard-on, she transferred the kneading to his butt and his balls. Her hand moved between his legs, teasing him, and her tongue followed. But she wouldn’t let him turn over. She licked wherever she could reach, but she needed to reach more. God, he needed to fuck her mouth. “Suck me, please.” “Uh uh, no talking.” She whacked his butt again, so Heath just groaned and gave in to the intense sensations, the intense longing. She even sucked his toes one by one. He was going to die.

Please, please fuck me! But he couldn’t say it aloud. He could only hope she was as wet and turned on as he was, and that soon she wouldn’t be able to stand it anymore either. She stopped touching him altogether. Another whack ensued. “I didn’t do anything.” “You were thinking about looking, and I told you not to look.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Ah, now that’s what I like to hear.” * Sylvia stripped as quietly as she could. She wanted to keep Heath guessing, to prolong his agony as long as possible. Meanwhile, she was suffering her own agony. She was hyper turned-on. Her nipples throbbed painfully. Her panties were soaked so thoroughly, it was as if she’d waded through a river. When he’d demanded she suck him, she’d wanted to give in, but the anticipation made it even better. Even the air floating across her skin sent her into raptures. She stood there for a moment, completely naked in the flickering light from the oil lamp. She took stock of her body. Without touching herself, she evaluated the tingling in her breasts and in her pussy, the unconscious clenching of her thigh muscles, the deep breathing, the wetness pouring from her. The taste of Heath lingered on her tongue. Sylvia leaned close to his ear. Her hand rested on his shoulder. “Roll over,” she whispered. * Tingles rushed along Heath’s spine. Finally. But he couldn’t appear too eager. She might spook and change her mind. He rolled over slowly, careful of his hard cock, which sprang up the second it was away from the cot. Heath willed Sylvia to touch him there. He longed for the stroke of her fingers, but she leaned away from him, crouching, appearing content to observe. Heath rose up on an elbow. Did she want him flat on his back or sitting upright? He would do anything she commanded at this point, scary as that may be. “Heath?” “Hmm?” He couldn’t resist a grin. This was such a good time. As if reading his mind and not liking what she found there, Sylvia said, “So, your time is up tonight. Tomorrow you’re taking me to town, right?” Well, that was like a bucket of cold water. He hated to admit the truth. How could the time have passed so quickly? And what would he do after tomorrow? His dick was decidedly less perky at the thought. He sat up straight. “I gave you my word. Why bring it up now?” Sylvia moved from a crouch to sitting Indian-style on the floor. “I don’t know. I was really into everything, then all the sudden I can’t stop thinking that this is it. Why would that bother me? Why am I not ecstatic about this?” “Because you enjoy this.” He gestured to the cot. “It’s normal to enjoy good sex.” “Is that all this has been to you? Good sex?” Heath realized he may have erred in his word choice. “It’s good sex, yes, but if you think none of my emotions are involved, you’re wrong. They are.” Sylvia perched her arms across her knees. Heath could still see an intriguing patch of her sex. He longed to touch her there.

“Which emotions?” she said. “Why do you want to know? Do you think labeling this will justify what you’ve done? Make it okay in your moral world?” He sounded sharper than he’d intended. Her scowl was ugly. “That’s just a nasty thing to say.” “Is it nasty ‘cause I’m forcing you to look at the truth?” “It’s just nasty. It belittles anything I may be feeling. It basically says anything I’m feeling is false, that it’s just unconscious justification on my part.” “Is it?” “Well, Mr. Freud, how the hell would I know if it’s unconscious?” She had a point. And were Heath’s arguments really the reverse, his attempt to deny his own deep emotions? Because his emotions were running deep. He could easily identify the fear, but it was harder to label what he was afraid of. Was he afraid of Sylvia leaving because he would be alone and, therefore, lonely again? Because he’d be incredibly horny with no one nearby to satisfy his desires? Because he’d be left to face himself and his pitiful existence? Or was it more complicated than that? And this is what he suspected was the truth— that he would genuinely miss Sylvia, because she was bubbly and brave and sexy and kind. Or worse, much worse—was he in love with her? People didn’t fall in love in four days, did they? Sylvia was probably pondering the same question, and he was putting her down for it. He sighed and scooted to the floor, so that his knees touched hers. He stroked her forearms with the tips of his fingers and brushed her hair from her face, so he could see her eyes. “Sylvia, honestly … I think maybe I’m feeling a lot more than I’m admitting here.” “Really?” “Really.” “What would you call that feeling?” He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “Does it have to be called anything?” She leaned away from his touch. “Be brave, dammit, He-Man of the Jungle.” He laughed. “All right, Sylvia, I’d call it love.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “That’s what I’d call it, too. But that’s not possible in this short of time, is it? Maybe it’s like you said, justification for our behavior.” “And maybe it’s really love.” And if it was love, would that make her stay? No, even that wouldn’t be enough to make a city girl stay in the jungle.

CHAPTER TEN “Do you want to go back to our game?” Sylvia asked after they’d sat together, each deep in thought for several minutes. Instead of answering, Heath took Sylvia’s face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss was long and gentle, and left both of them wanting more. Heath opened his legs and arms to pull Sylvia into the cocoon of his body. They kissed again. Nothing more. Just kissed. Eventually, they lay down on the cot and kissed some more. Hot, sweet, fervent kisses. Some lingered, some were over with quickly. Some consisted of dueling tongues and some just momentary touches of the lips. Heath’s lips brushed Sylvia’s cheeks and her eyelids, but he always came back to her mouth. Time meant nothing, but being together, touching, meant everything. The kisses triggered an aching in Sylvia’s body. She scooted closer to Heath, which lead to entwining legs and soft touches and moans. They explored with hands and mouths and bodies. Everything after that was sensitive lovemaking. No rushing, no grabbing, no master and servant, just lazy strokes in and out, a thoughtful coming together of two bodies and souls. It went on and on throughout the night. There were many climaxes, but not the firecracker explosions of their previous sex sessions. These were soft, the aftershocks drawn out so long that they blended with the return of arousal until Sylvia couldn’t tell one apart from the other. The only coherent thought she had, over and over, was that she wanted this night to never end. **** Though he barely remembered sleeping the night before, Heath awoke when the first rays of dawn pierced the bottle-bottom windows. His body ached a bit, especially his thighs and biceps, from thrusting in and out of Sylvia’s warm vagina, but he felt so good, so relaxed, that the subtle pain didn’t matter. What did matter was that today he would saddle Priest, and he and Sylvia would ride the horse to the modern world. Heath eased himself from the cot. Sylvia still slept soundly, her arms and legs wrapped around the single blanket. Her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, and her lips pouted. He wondered what was going on in that subconscious of hers, but he probably didn’t want to know. She was likely dreaming of New York, of her apartment, and her real life. Dammit! He quelled the urge to stomp out of the building, which would only serve to wake Sylvia and bring her departure, the time of change, on sooner. Nude, he left the cottage. On the porch, he opened the door to the wood stove and loaded it with kindling and paper. His hands shook as he tried to strike the match. It wouldn’t light. “Shit!” In disgust, he threw the match behind him. He wanted to heat water so Sylvia could have coffee and wash if she desired, before they began their journey. The next match sparked, then fizzled. Heath cursed again. What was wrong with everything this morning? He flung the second match over his shoulder, and tried again. Finally, one

caught. He slammed the stove door and leaped off the porch, stalking to the outdoor shower, wishing the whole fucking place would catch fire. His stinking, rotten prison. The icy spray of the shower blasted his shoulders, and he lost his breath. Yeesh! Had spending one night at Felipe’s spoiled him? Or worse, were Sylvia’s preferences rubbing off on him? Damn. What was he going to do alone again? The same as you’ve always done, you ass. Resolutely, he stepped out from under the water and back into the hot sunlight to dry. He shook his head, spraying water from his hair like a dog. Stomping—this time he didn’t resist the urge—to the barn, he raked his fingers across his head in lieu of a comb. He imagined he probably looked a lot like Tarzan, hanks of hair sticking out in all directions, his body nude and grunts resounding from his lips. Man, it was amazing he even walked on two legs. All his instincts told him to grab Sylvia by the hair, carry her to his cave, and rut with her until she acknowledged him as her lord and master. What a crazy thing to think. He needed to get his head back on straight before Sylvia woke up. She didn’t need to deal with his Neanderthal act. It was his frustration, not hers. Inside the gloom of the barn, Heath found a pitchfork so he could muck out Priest’s stall. He scooped some feed into his trough and listened to the horse’s happy snorts as he gobbled it down. “I hope you had a good rest,” he told the animal, “‘cause we’ve got a long trek today.” The horse neighed in response to Heath’s voice. “Yeah, I’m going to miss her, too, but don’t you dare tell her, got it?” He didn’t want Sylvia staying out of guilt or pity, and honestly, why would she? He was a blip on her radar. Nothing more, no matter what she said. A woman like her in love with him? That was bullshit, just like this damn barn and the damn cottage and his damn phobia. He buffed the saddle until the leather squeaked and gleamed, as if he was getting ready for the Preakness race. Fuck. He wasn’t any calmer yet. Priest butted his shoulder with his nose. Heath ignored him. Then the animal squealed, something he’d never heard him do before. The sound was so loud and shrill that he lost his breath as his heart skipped a beat. “What the hell…?” An acrid scent filled his nostrils. Smoke. Fire! He ran to the barn door. The porch was on fire as if his earlier wish had come true. He blinked twice. It couldn’t be. But the woodpile, the floor boards and the stove all roared with flames. Heath whirled around for a bucket, and let Priest from his stall in case he couldn’t get the blaze under control. Then he thought of Sylvia. And his heart stopped again. Shit! “Sylvia!” He yelled her name, over and over, as he ran to the cabin. He had the bucket in his hand, but it was useless without water, so he dropped it. The support pillars and beams that held the porch roof had caught now. “Sylvia!” He didn’t see any movement through the open door beyond. What if the smoke and carbon monoxide had knocked her out? The flames were too high. He’d have to go around front.

He cursed himself. How could he have been so careless with the matches and the stove? How could he have wished, even for a moment, for his home to be destroyed? And with Sylvia in it! The dinky cabin now seemed as long as a football field. His feet moved, and his lungs heaved. He pictured himself in a slow motion, instant replay sequence. One they showed over and over as the commentators critiqued every nanosecond of it. Finally, he reached the front porch. The inside latch was still hooked so he had to kick the damn door and he didn’t hear Sylvia at all. Christ. The wood split and he was inside, but it was like walking into a gray fog. The open doors at each end of the cabin acted like a chimney. Sylvia lay motionless on the cot. He hurried to the cot and put his finger under her nose. Breath. She was breathing. He hefted her over his shoulder and hauled her outside, laying her on the grass several feet from the cabin. Once more, he checked her nose—yes, breathing. Thank God. He looked back at the cottage and saw flames leaping from the roof to the surrounding trees. He didn’t fear a forest fire, since this was a rainforest and most of the vegetation was extremely damp. His belongings and Sylvia’s IDs were still inside, though. She needed those to get out of the country, to get home. And she needed to get home, far away from a lunatic like him. “Heath?” Sylvia’s bewildered voice came to him, but he’d already made his decision. He had to get her IDs and his baby. He couldn’t stand the thought of his carvings going up in flames. * Sylvia couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She was on the damp ground, dew soaking her butt. She was naked and Heath, also naked, was running into the cottage. The burning cottage, she realized as her breath caught. Smoke billowed out the door. Heath bent himself in half to go in under the smoke. What was he doing? Why was he going back in there? What had happened? Priest appeared and nuzzled her neck. She pushed herself to her feet, and patted the horse’s snout with rapid strokes. She wanted to yell Heath’s name, but her throat was all scratchy. Worse, when she tried to speak, it felt like it was on fire. She must have inhaled a lot of smoke before Heath had pulled her out. That was why she’d never woken up. Come on, fool. Get out of there. There’s nothing in there worth dying for. Finally, Heath appeared with a bundle under each arm. His face was covered in soot, and he was coughing violently. Sylvia grabbed his arm and helped him sit down. “You fool!” she rasped. “You shouldn’t have gone back in.” He plopped backwards, bare and spread-eagle on the ground. Sylvia touched a hand to his chest, feeling it heaving. His eyes were watery and red. She pulled apart the bundles and found her driver’s license and birth certificate, clothes, and his carvings, the ones that meant so much to him. “I’m glad you saved these, but it was still a damn stupid thing to do.” Heath nodded, still unable to speak. “Are you okay? Let’s go around to the pump. Do you think we can stop it?” He shook his head. His grave expression said it all. “Still, I’d feel better closer to the water.” She helped him to his feet. She was worried he might be burned somewhere, so she wanted to douse him with the ice water that ran out of the pump. Once she had him

standing, she checked him out all over and didn’t see any burns. He must’ve mainly had smoke to deal with when he’d returned to the building, but now she could see the flames dancing along the doorframe. It was gone. His entire home was gone. First his fiancée and child. Then his parents. And now this. God, how could he bear it all? * Heath wiped his brow and stared as his whole damn life went up in flames. He reached down and picked up his baby boy, gripping the wood tight until his knuckles turned white. Everything was gone. Again. He’d lost everything again. Warm arms slipped around his stomach and comforting, supple breasts rubbed against his back. Sylvia pressed herself behind him and hugged him. Her lashes tickled his skin and the wetness he felt must be coming from her cheeks, making him ashamed. He hadn’t lost everything. He hadn’t lost her, and he could have. Sylvia didn’t let go of him as they made their way around the house, Priest following close behind. They had to take a wider path to avoid sizzling, snapping branches that fizzled the minute they fell and hit the damp ground. The pole barn was safe, so Heath gave her the canteen to fill up while he saddled Priest and loaded up what belongings he had in the barn. Once they had the horse loaded, they stood arm in arm and watched the burning. Heath wanted to be sure it wouldn’t spread, and it didn’t. All that remained as they climbed atop Priest was a charred shell. “What do you think caused it?” she asked. “I did.” “What?” Sylvia looked at him, clearly shocked. “I left the stove door open, I think.” He punched his leg. “I’m such a loser. I almost killed you!” “Oh, Heath. It was an accident.” She started crying. “I’m so sorry. You lost your home.” He patted her thigh. “I can rebuild. I had nothing when I came here. I can start over.” His heart clenched, though, because he would be starting over alone. The trek through the rainforest was slow going. Even paths they had followed just the day before were overgrown. Heath whacked the vegetation with his machete. They rode in a heavy silence, each lost in their own torturous thoughts. Sylvia’s hands rested lightly on his thighs. Every now and then, she would pat Priest’s mane and call him a good boy. They would need to ride straight through if they hoped to reach town by sundown. Heath set Priest at a canter when they reached the road, but since there were two people on his back, he slowed him to a trot frequently, not wanting to wear him out. Finally, the horse’s rhythm and the panorama of nature around them soothed their minds. They stopped near a stream for a lunch of tortillas and fruit pulled from the saddlebag. The horse drank, and Heath refreshed the canteen. Sunlight trickled through the leaves creating warm spots on the rocks and grass. Sylvia rested on a boulder, eyes closed, face turned to the sun, so that her cheeks glowed. She looked beautiful to Heath, a goddess. Her lips curved up in a slight smile and she looked peaceful, not anxious or in a rush, just peaceful. Heath repressed a sigh as he bit into a mango, eating half, then sharing some with Priest. Sylvia also didn’t look sad or wistful, and that hurt. She wouldn’t miss him. She would probably have fond memories of their time together, but she wouldn’t long for him the way he would for her.

“Time to go.” Heath knew his voice sounded sharper than the situation warranted. Sylvia’s eyes opened. She cocked her head and looked at him. “Okay.” * What’s up with him? Sylvia wondered, hating that her momentary peace had evaporated. The anxiety crashed back into her chest. More than anxiety. Sadness. Pain. It hurt to see Heath looking at her with such coldness. He’d miss her most likely, but not for the right reasons. He’d miss the sex and the warm body in his bed, and he’d probably miss having someone to order around. But her as a person? No, he wouldn’t miss her. She was nothing to him. He seemed to regret his tone, though. He touched her face. “Is your throat better?” “Yes, the fruit and water helped.” “Good.” But then he turned away abruptly and remounted. His hand clasped hers to pull her atop the horse, but he looked straight ahead, not at her. Geez. Why did that stab her so much? Maybe it was that Stockholm Syndrome, where the captive became sympathetic to the captor. Not love. Nothing close to love. Still, she shivered when Heath put his arms around her to reach the reins. He clicked his tongue near her ear and Priest began to walk, finding his footing among the gullies and branches until they reached the roadway. Another click and a flick of the reins by Heath brought Priest to a canter. Sylvia loved the feeling of wind on her face and the rhythm of the powerful horse beneath her. Heath’s thighs cushioning her bottom felt so right. His chest warming her back felt right, too. A car sped by, startling the horse into jerking to a stop. Sylvia patted his mane, leaning forward. “It’s all right, sweetie. Just a car. No biggie.” But she didn’t believe her own words. It was the first car she’d seen in days. The noise of the engine and the smell of the exhaust shocked her senses and seemed foreign and out of place. It meant they were close to town, close to saying goodbye forever. * The car disappeared around the bend, leaving a puff of black exhaust that quickly dissipated, sucked in by the jungle vegetation. Heath’s shoulders tightened so that he sat ramrod straight. His hands clenched the reins, turning his knuckles white. His heart raced, and he waged a mental battle to keep from hyperventilating. It was just a car. Just a damn car. He hadn’t even glimpsed the driver inside. Just an old rusted Datsun. It couldn’t hurt him. It held no power over him. Relax. Sylvia straightened, leaning back against his heaving chest. “Heath, is something wrong?” “I’m fine,” he barked, flicking the reins. He had to get this show on the road. Give her back to civilization, then go rebuild his home. As if reading his thoughts, Sylvia said, “I’m sure Felipe will help you rebuild your cottage.” “I’m sure he will.” “I’m really sorry about it. Once I get my money replaced, I can give you some to tide you over.” “Keep your money.” He kicked Priest’s ribs a bit more sharply than he’d meant to, prompting the horse to gallop. Good. The end of this conversation.

A pick-up truck rambled up the road towards them this time. That was soon followed by an old Mercedes. Up ahead on the right, a lean-to held vegetable bins and an old lady with brown, leathery skin. Streets branched off of the main road. Kids on bikes appeared, causing Heath to slow the horse for safety. Houses dotted the landscape, as did parked cars. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to turn around. He would turn around. He would drop her off here. His breath came in gasps. Stars danced in front of his eyes. His head floated; his stomach sloshed and rebelled. Maybe he would pass out and fall off the horse, take Sylvia with him. It wasn’t safe. Why did he come here? He had to get out of here. Abruptly, he yanked on the left rein and turned Priest around. The horse galloped. Horns honked. Heath could not catch his breath. He needed to get off this road. Too much traffic. Overwhelming noise. Sylvia shouted at him, but he couldn’t understand her words. He jerked the reins, and Priest crashed through the brush heading toward a copse of trees. Green leaves surrounded them. He still couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. Priest stopped at the bank of a river, awaiting direction. Heath slid over the horse’s rump and plummeted to the ground, his legs too weak to stand. He fell back, hitting his head on stones and sticks. The pain helped bring him a little closer to reality, but he still couldn’t breath and flecks of light filled his retinas. “Heath! What’s the matter?” Sylvia’s face obliterated the dancing lights. Her gentle hands caressed his cheeks. “Heath, are you okay?” She pressed his chest as if trying to calm his breathing. The warmth seeped through his shirt. Her thumb traced his lips and cheekbones and eyelids. Her voice cooed to him, soothing just as she’d done to the spooked horse. She kept asking if he was “all right” and “what was wrong?” and “did he need a doctor?” The more her hands touched him, the calmer he felt. His vision cleared. His heart slowed. Her sweet lips appeared above him filling his vision. He had to taste her. She was the milk of life. She could save him. If he tasted her lips, he could survive. He pulled her to him. Her body weighted him down into the earth, grounding him. Her lips pressed against his, smooth, soft, radiant. Her nose touched his. Her hands wound through his hair as his touched her cheeks. Eyes open, she looked at him, and he at her. They kissed. But gentle was not enough, not after what he’d just been through, not after the soulwrenching panic. He needed her sustenance. He opened his mouth and pierced her with his tongue. She acquiesced, opening her mouth wide, taking him in, joining his tongue in a dance. He tasted her juices, her teeth. The inside of her cheeks. His hand cupped the back of her head fiercely, fingers wove through her hair, tying her to him. His cock ached. With his other hand, he clenched her ass and ground her hips against him. She spread her legs until she straddled him, her mound pressed against him. The kiss deepened, turned hotter, blazed. He bucked against her. Only she could ease the ache. The friction brought him pleasure, brought her pleasure, as she moaned against his lips. Then she kissed his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He closed his eyes. She nibbled his ear lobe and licked along his hairline. He couldn’t repress the shiver of reaction, which seemed to excite her more. Her lips touched his ear and she murmured, “Fuck me.” Then again, “Fuck me. God, fuck me, Heath. Get inside me. I need you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN Sylvia’s words caused tiny bursts in his body as they rolled on the grassy earth groping each other. Heath’s hands grappled with the snap and zipper of his pants, until his shaft sprang free. She stood over him, pushing her pants down her legs and off. She squatted. He gripped her , quivering buttocks, lowering her onto his stiff rod. God. Sweet wetness seeped from her hole and covered the head of his cock. Her vagina contracted around him with each centimeter’s movement. She encased him completely. She spread her legs as wide as they would go and pushed her body downward until he could feel the head of his penis pushing against her cervix. He was ready to burst as she squeezed her sex and lifted, squeezed and lowered, lifted, lowered. Fucking him magically. Fucking him into another realm. The world around them fell away. Only Sylvia existed, riding him like a rodeo bronco. She controlled his pleasure and she gave him everything. He palmed her bouncing breasts. Her tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated on her movement. Her butt contracted in his hands each time she lowered her body, sheathing him deep into her sopping pussy. She welcomed him, sending the memory of his panic attack way back into the recesses of his mind. It was meaningless. He was okay. He was safe as long as he was buried inside Sylvia. His orgasm built, and he had no hope of stopping himself. His cum shot into her, coating her inner walls. He spasmed. His fingernails dug into her hips. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t control his body, especially when she followed him into bliss. Her orgasm rang through her body, and he could feel each and every contraction of her inner walls tightening on his cock, squeezing more fluid from him. She touched the hood of her clit with one finger, jerking more with each subtle movement as Heath watched. He felt the echoes of her pleasure in his body. “Oh, wow,” she uttered, lowering her chest to touch his. He smoothed his hands from her ass upward to the small of her back, cradling her against him. “I love you, Sylvia.” I need you. “I love you, too.” She laid her cheek against his chest, and in a moment, he felt wetness there. He brushed his finger across her cheek. She was crying. He didn’t have to ask her why. He understood. **** “So, what was the drama about?” Sylvia, re-clothed, stood patting Priest’s withers. She concentrated on the horse, but she was hyper-aware of Heath standing at the edge of the water. “What drama?” His voice was almost too low to hear over the eddying water. “The whole turning-around, falling-off-the-horse bit.” “Nothing.” Sylvia turned away from the horse to find Heath still standing with his head bent, staring at the stream. She decided some tough love was in order, so she walked to his side

and punched him in the arm. She knew his weird reaction had something to do with the story he’d told her earlier. “Spit it out.” “Ouch.” He rubbed his arm. “You’ve got a mean left hook.” She growled in response. * Heath took that to mean she wasn’t taking no for an answer. He sighed and tugged on her arm, drawing her to a patch of grass heated by the sunshine. They sat down. How to begin? Well, he’d told her most of it already. “I have agoraphobia.” “I thought that meant you couldn’t leave your house.” “Some people end up unable to leave their house, but that’s not everyone.” He paused. “The last shrink I spoke to said I probably have some other disorders mixed in, such as social anxiety disorder and panic disorder. He explained that agoraphobia kind of self-feeds. I had these panic attacks. Then I became afraid of having those attacks, so I avoided going anywhere that could bring one on, until pretty soon I was trapped in my house. My car felt safe for some reason. It was probably just its familiarity, but if I drove it to a store or restaurant, I couldn’t get out. The monastery felt safe at first, but then the attacks returned. But town, civilization, that’s the worst.” He grimaced as he recalled the last time he’d been in town, how he’d thrown up in front of everyone. “What is it? What are you remembering?” He shook his head. “Last time I was here, in this town … I threw up in front of everyone.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. Just let me die from embarrassment right now. “You’ve probably made that a bigger thing in your mind than it was. They probably thought you were drunk or had Montezuma’s Revenge from drinking the water.” Heath glanced at Sylvia’s concerned face. She didn’t look horrified or even pitying, just matter-of-fact and caring. “I can’t go through that again. You’re close enough. I’ve honored our bargain.” His stomach clenched at the thought of saying goodbye here and now. She punched him again. Harder. “Look at me, Heath.” He glared at her. “Good boy.” She gripped his shoulder. “Now, it’s time you get over yourself. You were fine at Felipe’s. You’ve been fine with me. I totally understand what brought this on in the first place. You went through a lot of trauma and grief, but there’s no way I’m walking into town alone without any money. I might run into that cabby again. You’re going to escort me into town, and stay with me until I get my travelers’ checks replaced and Maria comes to get me. You got it?” “I can’t.” “Don’t be a baby. Yes, you can, and I don’t care if you puke your guts out the whole time. In fact, that’s a good way to keep potential muggers and rapists away from us. We’ll tell them you have a contagious disease. It will be fun.” She couldn’t be serious. Fun? That wasn’t at all how he thought of mind-numbing panic, heart seizures and projectile vomiting. “I mean it, Heath. You need to honor your end of the bargain and take me to town, all the way to town.”

Heath sprang to his feet and paced. Could he do this? After all these years? For Sylvia? Yes, for her, he could do anything. Maybe. He turned to her with a lopsided grin on his face and reached out his hand. “Okay. If you can handle the embarrassment of having a loony like me with you, then I can handle the panic attacks.” “Perfect.” This time Sylvia rode backwards, facing Heath on the horse. She caressed his face and kissed his neck and chest, but mainly she kept her hands busy the whole time, teasing him by massaging the tip of his penis, which poked over the top of his jeans, distracting him. She didn’t seem to care how crazy they looked entering town on horseback. Whenever Heath started to hyperventilate, she kissed him and brought his focus back to her. They found a motel and settled into a room with the small amount of money Heath had. From there, Sylvia was able to call her pen pal Maria, who was ecstatic—Heath could hear her repeated shrieks through the earpiece from clear across the room. Maria would arrive in the morning to take Sylvia home with her. Next, Sylvia called the bank about her stolen checks. She would be able to pick them up in the morning, also. After hanging up the phone, she came to Heath. “Do you need some money to rebuild? I don’t have too much, but down here a hundred dollars goes a long way.” “I’m fine. I’ve got everything I need out there in the jungle, and Felipe can help me with the rest.” He just wanted to hold her. He didn’t want to think about goodbye. Oddly, that night they didn’t make love. They didn’t really sleep, either. They each dozed on and off, comfortable in the other’s arms. Heath still felt panic, but not a phobic panic, just a “what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-do?” panic. He knew he would manage. He was pretty certain he was as healed as he ever would be, but the thought of losing Sylvia put a new hole in his heart. **** Morning came too soon. Sylvia shielded her eyes against the rays of the sun shooting through the motel window around the dingy orange curtains. She’d showered and dressed mechanically, sad that Heath hadn’t offered to shower with her. He’d seemed distant. She understood, though, because she felt the same way. It was time to say goodbye, and it hurt, soul-ripping hurt. In the end, Sylvia sat on the edge of the plastic chair staring into space, and Heath paced the far end of the room. Finally, he approached with a wrapped bundle in his hands. “I have something for you.” “What is it?” She guessed it was one of his carvings, but which one? He handed her the bundle of cloth and looked away as she unwrapped it. The singed cloth left gray soot on her fingers. Inside a familiar face stared back at her. Her own. “Oh, Heath, it’s wonderful!” The knock on the door startled both of them. Sylvia had to stop herself from knocking over her chair, and Heath’s eyes went wide like a deer caught in the headlights. When Sylvia opened the door and saw her friend Maria, the woman she’d only met through photos and emails. Joy and excitement distracted her from the pain of letting Heath go. *

Heath watched the women hug and chatter, and felt like a discarded old shoe. At least, he’d not thrown up. In fact, he felt none of the old panic. Sylvia had cured him, of that at least, and now it was time to go home. He gathered his few belongings. He’d retrieve Priest from the stable and go hunt up Felipe. Maybe he could stay at the farmer’s home until he got the cottage rebuilt. “Heath, this is Maria. Maria, this is my savior, Heath.” Maria was a nice-looking Mexican woman in her mid-twenties with creamy coffee skin, long black hair and wide brown eyes. “Nice to meet you,” she said. There was a gleam in her eyes that Heath recognized as a woman admiring a man, but he only responded with a curt, “Goodbye,” before stalking down the sidewalk. Sylvia rushed after him and grabbed his arm, leaving her friend gaping at them in front of the open motel door. “Is that it?” she asked, her voice high-pitched, almost a shriek. “Yes, that’s it.” He shook his arm free. “You’re saved. It’s over.” “You could have breakfast with us. I’m sure Maria would love to see your carvings.” “They’re just for tourists.” Sylvia lowered her voice. “I’ll cherish mine forever. It’s beautiful, Heath.” He steeled his heart. “Go back to your life. It’s time I get on with mine.” She looked stung, but it was better this way, like cauterizing a wound. She straightened, lifted her chin, and pulled back her shoulders. Good little soldier. “My plane leaves Wednesday at three.” “Why do I care?” And he didn’t care. Didn’t give a damn. At least, he shouldn’t. “You don’t.” She whipped around to return to Maria, but not before he saw the silver streams glistening on her cheeks. Shit. She cried too much, anyway. Who needed a woman crying all the damn time? Better this way, Heath reminded himself over and over as he went to retrieve Priest, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder one last time. Much, much better. **** Maria disliked her friend’s sadness. It clung to her. She’d been moping for the few days they’d been together. It hadn’t taken a genius to see that a lot had gone on between the mysterious Heath and poor Sylvia since the mugging. Sylvia wouldn’t talk about it and Maria felt awkward prying, despite their years of letter-writing. She was disappointed that one nasty cabby had spoiled the long-awaited meeting with her pen pal. If Maria knew who he was, she’d gladly wring his neck. Sylvia had graciously invited her to New York some time in the future. She would take her up on that. By then this trauma would be behind her, and they could have a fun visit together. Meanwhile, Maria wondered if she should interfere. Sylvia and Heath obviously felt something strong for each other, which was crazy in this short amount of time. No, a relationship built in a few days was one better forgotten. She would not interfere. She just hoped her friend’s spirits would rise once she was home in New York. ****

Felipe watched Heath show the children how to peel the bark from a log. His whole family was helping Heath rebuild the cottage, but Felipe secretly believed it was a wasted effort. Soon, his friend would be leaving them for good. About time, too. The man belonged back in the States. He belonged with Sylvia. The two of them together had been magic. She’d healed a man’s broken spirit, but that man was too damn stubborn to go after her. Foolish pride. Eventually, Heath’s pride would falter, but if Felipe didn’t talk some sense into the boy now, it might be too late. Felipe approached and sent the kids scattering after twigs for a fire. Heath looked up, sweat dripping down his face. Felipe picked up the conversation where he’d left off that morning when Heath had stomped away from him. “I have the money for the plane ticket.” “I don’t need a plane ticket.” “I would take this land in exchange. It would not be charity.” “I don’t need a plane ticket.” “It’s good land. I would take the horse, too.” “You’re not listening, old man.” Heath wiped the sweat from his brow and glared at him. “Who you calling old, geezer? At least I have children to keep me young and a wife to take care of me.” “I don’t need a wife.” “You need a future.” “I have a future.” He gestured to the planks that constituted their rebuilding efforts so far. “A real future. This is not who you are.” Heath opened the canteen and took a swig. He slowly screwed the cap back on before answering. “I’m not the man I was, even before I came here.” “So, be a different man, the man you were meant to be. With her.” “I don’t need her.” “Now, you’re just lying to yourself.” Felipe tilted back his hat and stared his stubborn friend down. “You’re an obstinate dog.” “As are you, my friend. Now stop wasting our time on this stupid cottage. Give me the horse and take the money.” Heath slammed the ax into the ground and shook his head. “What if she doesn’t want me? What if I can see it in her eyes?” “That’s just fear, boy. Maybe you and Sylvia won’t work out in the long run. There are no guarantees, but you’ll never know if you stay hidden down here. It’s time for you to return to your real life.” He reached out his hand. Heath stood and took his weathered hand in a firm grip. “Are you sure you can spare the money?” “No problemo. Now say goodbye to everyone and get out of here. Don’t forget to write. The kids will like having an American pen pal.” Heath sighed, acknowledging defeat as Diego ran to him and wrapped his arms around his legs. He bent over and hugged the boy hard. Felipe was right. It was time to go.

**** The plane was overbooked, but Maria had made sure that Sylvia got to the airport early, so she was on it. Apparently, some deals were being struck at the ticket counter to push passengers to another flight. Sylvia could care less. She leaned her head against the shade-covered window and closed her eyes to the chaos around her. The chaos consisted of squawking mothers and children, businessmen with laptops, harried stewardesses and slamming luggage compartment doors. Sylvia thought about asking for a pillow, but she knew she had little hope of getting anyone’s attention until they were in the air. Heath hadn’t been at the airport to see her off, but the ache in her chest was just heartburn from eating a rushed lunch with Maria’s family. She’d hated having to brave a taxicab, flashing back to her first ride from the airport, but Maria had been with her this time. She’d told Sylvia she had a loaded cell phone in her purse, and she knew how to use it. This she’d said in a Dirty Harry voice. Sylvia had chided her about watching too many American movies. She’d enjoyed her time with Maria, and she hoped her friend would take her up on her offer to visit the States. By then the pain of losing Heath would be gone—had to be gone—so that they could really have a good time together. She was getting a crick in her neck from leaning against the window, so she straightened her head and opened her eyes. And gasped. Someone who, from this distance, looked like Heath, was in the aisle stowing a lumpy canvas bag in the overhead. She blinked again as his features slowly came into focus. It was a mirage, right? The man closed the overhead then glanced around, looking for someone. Looking for her, Sylvia realized with a gasp. It was Heath, and he held a ticket in his hand. How could that be? How could Heath be standing in the middle of this crowd of people with kids jumping up and down in the seats and men barking orders and stewardesses pushing past him? He wouldn’t have been able to deal. He’d be hyperventilating. So, no matter how much it looked like him, it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Then he looked right at her, quizzically at first. Recognition dawned and a slow grin lit his face. He skirted his way down the aisle to her. A bored teen-aged girl with headphones bee-bopped in the center seat next to Sylvia. Heath drew close, still smiling. He tapped the girl’s shoulder until she removed her headphones. Tinny music filled the air. “Excuse me, but would you like a window seat?” Heath asked. “You got one?” the girl asked in a bored-with-the-world voice. “Yes.” “Fuckin’ yeah.” She stood up and Heath directed the girl to his ticketed seat, not really acknowledging Sylvia the whole time. It felt weird. When he finally sat down next to her, Sylvia couldn’t stop staring. Was he really here? He turned, a wide grin on his face, and kissed her. “I’ve missed you.” Sylvia shook her head incredulously. “I-I’ve missed you, too.” “I love you.” Sylvia laughed, still unable to believe this was real. That he was really here. With her. “I love you, too.” She felt giddy, joyous. “I can’t believe you’re here. And not puking.”

“You cured me.” “I did?” “Yup. The prescription of lots of sex worked.” A woman’s face appeared over the seat back. “Shh…” She held her finger to her lips. “I have children here.” Sylvia and Heath both laughed. She sobered then, to ask, “You’re cured?” “I’m cured.” Heath kissed her cheek, and took her hand in his and squeezed. “That’s not to say I won’t still have problems. I plan to see a shrink in the States.” His face grew serious. “And that’s not to say that you and I have to make a forever commitment. You’re not obligated…” “Oh, shut up.” Sylvia pulled him to her for some long-awaited kissing. When they pulled apart, both slightly breathless, she said, “I want commitment. I love you, Heath. Life has no guarantees, but I can definitely see a forever with you.” “Really?” “Really.” “I have no job. I’m flat broke, and I might have trouble re-entering the job market after all this time.” “You can sell your carvings on Ebay.” He frowned. “Ebay?” “Online.” His frown deepened. “Online?” Sylvia laughed and kissed him again, quickly this time. “Oh, God, Heath, you’ve got some major catching up to do.” As the seatbelt sign flashed and everyone finally settled into their seats around them, she leaned against Heath’s shoulder. Contentment filled her and her smile was automatic, as was the happiness that filled her heart. Home at last. The End About the Author: Shara began her writing life at the age of five, creating those little “About Me” books with the balloon on the back. She finally managed publication in high school, writing and editing the Entertainment Page in the school paper, and she toyed with the idea of being a rich and famous author. Of course, there was a large period of time during which she planned to be an astronaut or rock star, whichever came first. But since neither of those careers panned out, she went to college in New York City to study film. A fellow writer, who shall remain nameless, implored Shara to “come to the Dark Side”—referring to writing romantica—so she did, and now she may never go back. She's having too much fun writing the sexy, sinful stuff she loves to read. In fact, she's pretty good at it, and the research is fantastic. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter! Research, as in background for creating her authentic characters and settings. For example, Shara recently participated in her local Citizens' Police Academy, and had a blast shooting things, meeting sexy SWAT guys,

and riding around in cop cars during high-speed chases. All in the name of research for her books, of course. Shara lives in Richmond, Virginia—the setting for Enlightened Love—with her husband, son, and ancient cocker spaniel. When she's not writing, she's killing chile plants, setting fires in her oven, and avoiding housework at all costs. Visit her on the web at www.sharalanel.com, and she loves to hear from her readers at [email protected]

Meet LSB authors at http://lsbooks.net We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books http://lsbooks.com for other exciting literary erotica romances. Weekend Games—Chris Tanglen Destiny's Magick—Rae Morgan Love Lessons—Vanessa Hart Portal—Sydney Morgann Bittersweet—Louisa Trent Business or Pleasure…or Both?—Rae Morgan and Jasmine Haynes And many, many more!!