“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Dr. Evans said, then his brown eyes cut to me. “Miss Jones.” He gave me a curt nod.
What was going on? I ran sweaty palms over my hair, slightly embarrassed by my appearance. Who was this man, and why did he know me?
“How did you find us?” Andrew asked.
“Yesterday, we received a phone call from Mr. Pines providing us with the coordinates of Augustine Pérez’s palace.” Dr. Evans looked at Brandon. “He also urged us to bring a medical expert.” He scrutinized Andrew and the rest of us. “And I can see why.”
With a low grunt, Andrew turned to Brandon. “How did you know who to call?”
“I know Richard’s phone passcode and found Dr. Evans in his contacts.” Brandon shrugged one shoulder. “When William disclosed the location, I made a call before Richard went after you two.”
A blond woman dressed in a black jumpsuit and carrying a red medical kit approached us.
“I’m Dr. Tiffany Yates,” she said, stopping beside me. “Can you tell me where you hurt?”
“Do you mind checking on my brother first?” I pointed at William, Brandon kneeling at his side, holding William’s hand, their foreheads pressed together. A swell of appreciation for Brandon’s thoughtfulness towards my brother expanded inside me. I had a good feeling about them. A feeling that William might finally have found The One.
I dropped back down on the ground, grinned, and took a deep breath. We were finally safe. And the treasure was too. As the tension drained out of me, a sudden regret that our escapade had ended crashed upon me. What next? How could I go back to my boring, ordinary life?
Turning my head, I caught Andrew regarding me tenderly, the corners of his lips turned up. The way he looked at me set off an explosion in my chest. I had nothing to worry about. We had closed the chapter on the Colombian adventure, butouradventure had just begun.
jou·is·sance | ZHo?oe'säns |
NOUN: Physical or intellectual pleasure; chips and salsa; jeans that make an ass look great; Outlander, Season 1 Episode 7; Andrew’s lips; sex; sex with Andrew; building a life with Andrew; Andrew.
ORIGIN: The Triton bar, Costa Rica, the moment I laid my eyes on Dr. Andrew Oliver Jones.
Later that day, wearing a white towel around his hips, Andrew came out of the bathroom, his face clean-shaven and his hair wet. Droplets of water clung to his chest and left a happy trail between his defined abs. Bruises and red marks covered his torso and arms, but he looked sexier than ever.
And now I was wet.
I was also loopy from a painkiller Dr. Yates had given me to help with my strained shoulder.
For the next couple of days, while we waited on Octavian to help replace our lost passports, the Four Seasons in Bogotá was our residence. Brandon and William were also staying in the same hotel. Richard and Brie? I had no idea where they’d gone, nor did I care. When I asked Andrew what would happen to them, he said they would lick their wounds and continue working for anyone hiring them to find artifacts to stock the black market or someone’s private collection. That was if Kolesnikov didn't turn them into fish food first for not getting him what he’d asked for.
Leaning my back against the headboard, I watched Andrew amble to the room service cart with the leftovers of our dinner. He plucked a green grape, popped it in his mouth, and then his hand went for a strawberry. His lips curved upward, and the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.
“You’re staring.” Andrew caught my gaze in the mirror.
“Yes, I am.” I loosened my robe at my waist. I was sleep-deprived, and my right arm was in a sling—not super sexy—but I was up for a quickie. “I wouldn’t mind if you gave me some of your tender loving.”
Andrew sat on the edge of the bed next to me, and excitement buzzed all over me. He bit the tip of the strawberry and brought the berry to my lips. I opened my mouth but he gently brushed it over my lips instead. His beautiful eyes held mine while his fingers nudged my robe open, exposing my left breast. He rubbed the strawberry over my nipple, hardening it. Then he leaned in and drew my nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it until it was swollen, then he bit it, arousing me to the point of madness.
A cold droplet let go of his hair and dripped on my breast. He brought his face to mine. His hand cradled the back of my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair.
“I love you, Adriana Jones,” he said, his lips brushing mine.
“I love you, Andrew Jones.” I nudged his nose with mine, smiling.
Andrew’s eyes searched mine, a question burning in them. “I need to ask you something.”
My heart stuttered, and a warm sensation flooded me. He wasn’t about to ask me what I thought he was going to ask me, was he? Too soon. What would I say? Oh my god, should we pick late spring or early fall next year? England, for sure. It had spectacular venues. I always wanted to get married at a palace.
“Yes, I will,” I whispered.
Andrew’s eyebrow went up. “I didn’t ask you a question yet.”
“Oh.” I breathed. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
