“Chase, please...” Was she actually begging? She didn’t recognize her own voice.
“Jesus God.”Another kiss, this one deep and endless. His hands circled her waist, slid down over the T-shirt to cup her bottom, and he drew her against his erection, thick and hard and pulsing.
A growl came from his throat, and for a moment the kiss went deeper, wilder, hotter. Then he groaned as if he were in pain, and the kiss came to an end. Chase’s hands tightened around her waist as he set her away.
“We can’t do this, Harper.” Troubled dark eyes bored into her. “Your family and mine. It would be a disaster.”
She barely heard him. Her body was on fire, her breasts tingling, her heart speeding out of control. She had never felt anything like it. “Do you want me, Chase?”
He moved even farther away. She could still recall the imprint of the hard ridge at the front of his jeans.
“Any man would want you, angel. Me more than most. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you getting hurt, and the way things are, sooner or later that’s what would happen.”
Color washed into her face. She was making a fool of herself. She had never thrown herself at a man before. She wouldn’t do it again.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’re here for Michael. That’s all that matters.”
There was something in his eyes. She had seen it before, still didn’t understand what it meant.
He took a step toward her, stopped himself. “If I touch you again, I won’t be able to stop. Go to bed, Harper. Get some sleep. Things will look different in the morning.”
She swallowed. “It’s just the stress,” she said, perhaps the biggest lie she had ever told. “I hope you’ll forget this happened.”
A corner of his sexy mouth edged up. “That, angel, is a promise I can’t make. Now, get some sleep. Dawn is going to come early.”
Turning, she went back to her room, quietly closed the door and leaned against it. Chase wouldn’t forget what had happened? He wouldn’t forget their burning kiss or the feel of her breast in his hand?
One thing Harper knew—she would never forget it. And as foolish as it was, she wanted it to happen again.
Chapter Sixteen
Scattered campfires blazed in the darkness at the crest of the mountain. Tents dotted a flat plateau circled by the heavy jungle rain forest controlled by Los Proscritos, a force of rebel soldiers numbering somewhere near fifty.
Michael sat next to Pia in front of the canvas tent they had been assigned for sleeping. Both of them were damp and cold after the day’s long march, but at least their hands were now bound in front of them instead of behind their backs.
So far the men had left Pia unmolested, though the heat in the soldiers’ eyes was easy enough to read. They believed she belonged to him, that she was his woman. And from the moment the men had taken her from his bed in the middle of the night, Michael had thought of her exactly that way. She was his to protect, his to keep safe no matter what.
Michael prayed the men had contacted his father, that his father had agreed to pay whatever ransom the kidnappers wanted, but there was no way to know. Asking might only make things worse.
The sound of approaching footsteps snared his attention. Michael looked up to see a tall, black-haired, broad-shouldered man in a dark green uniform piped in red and dripping with medals. The commandant of the camp, Benito Velasquez.
“Senor Winston,” the commandant addressed him in passable English. “You have endured a great deal since your capture. I admit I am surprised. An educated man of your social stature... I had expected you to break long before now. Perhaps somewhere in your lineage, you have the blood of a soldier, no?”
Michael didn’t answer. Knox Winston had never served in the military, nor Michael’s grandfather, who was reputed to have been a con artist of some renown, nor had anyone he knew of on his mother’s side of the family.
The commandant pulled a folding knife from his uniform pocket, and Michael stiffened. “Hold out your hands.”
He hesitated a moment, then did as he was told and was relieved when the commandant sliced through the plastic ties that bound his wrists. He stifled a groan as feeling rushed back into his fingers.
The commandant cut through Pia’s bonds and she rubbed her wrists, the red marks around them making Michael want to smash a fist into the commandant’s long, angular face. He wore his thick black hair slicked back with some kind of shiny pomade, and a coarse black mustache curled beneath a sharp, pointed nose.
“Tomorrow,” Velasquez said, “if you continue to follow orders and keep your woman in line, I will allow you to move freely around the camp.”
A moment of relief filtered through him. He glanced over at Pia, read the same emotion in her beautiful brown eyes.
“You will have a measure of freedom,” the commandant continued. “But as you can see, the camp is extremely well guarded. Should either of you disobey my orders, the punishment will be severe. If you try to escape, you will be shot. Do you understand?”
He understood perfectly. Still, if he got the chance, he would find a way to get them away from the camp. “I understand.”
