Just as I start automatically refortify the walls, I pull myself back. It isn’t fair to continually put obstacles in his way just because I’m feeling unsure. He’s trying to reassure me, and I should try to accept his gesture in the same spirit, until he does something to betray me. Still, it’s scary as hell—a little exhilarating, too, honestly—but very, very scary.
“That’s the dragon’s eye.” The guide’s words pulls my focus back to the tour. He points to the light coming through a particular gap above us.
I look up. Little bits of wet dirt crumbles from the stones soaring over us. I put up a hand to keep the dust and soil from getting into my eyes, then snap a shot of the dragon’s eye. Unlike the bear, this one is obvious, the pupil glowing in a glorious orange fireball. It looks amazing.
“An adorable little dragon.” Noah grins at me.
“Adorable? How? Where?”Am I missing something?
He puts an arm around me. “Right here.”
I laugh. “Oh, okay. Adorable, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm. Fierce, too. And sexy.”
“If I’m a dragon, what are you? A bear?”
“Of course not, silly. I’m the treasure.”
“You want me to sprawl on you?” I say, as images of old drawings of dragons coiled around a pile of gold and gemstones fleet over my mind.
“Totally.” He lowers his voice. “Thighs on either side of my head…your pussy on my face.”
I look around to make sure nobody in our tour group is paying attention. “Noah,” I chide, although the laughter in my tone undermines my intent.
His clever fingers stroke my side. “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.”
My cheeks heat. From the way he can bring me to one mind-destroying climax after another, I’m sure sitting on his face would be more than worth my while. Wetness pools between my legs, which is a little shocking. I’ve always enjoyed sex, but with Noah, my body craves it. There’s something about him that puts me in a constant hum of excitement.
From the wicked gleam in his eye, he knows it, too. His fingers slip lower. More bits of wet dirt fall from the opening of the canyon. Some non-dirt moisture comes through, feeling like a sprinkle. A moment or two later, there is a trickle of water flowing toward us along the canyon floor.
Our guide looks up, squinting, then at the ground. He turns to the group. “Flash flood! All right, people, back to the bus!”
The people in our group start to mill around. A few of them glance upward, searching for some sign of torrential rain or water pouring in. Several more drops fall—more liquid than dirt this time, but they don’t seem threatening.
“Look,” Noah says, nodding at the ground.
Small currents of water are now slithering along the brown soil like snakes. I look up at him. “Uh-oh.”
“Like the man said. Time to go.”
People turn and start to run. A few scream, and a woman in strappy heels complains in Italian. I shake my head. Who wears high heels to walk in a desert? The tour site and pamphlet specifically asked everyone to wear sturdy and comfortable shoes.
Noah takes my hand and escorts me at a steady pace. Around us, the crowd is hopping and running over the puddles and streams of water that are becoming increasingly wide. He shields me from a trio of guys in their early twenties who rush out cursing, bumping into others on the way. Other tour groups are also darting toward the field where the buses are.
Maybe they’re panicked or scared. But I’m surprisingly calm. The warmth of Noah’s hand on mine is reassuring—somehow, I feel like we’re going to be fine no matter what. The little currents are now much wider and deeper, water flowing faster and creating small ponds and eddies in places. The rapid pace of water pouring down from the rocks above us should inspire fear, especially after the guide said that people have died. But knowing that Noah is with me leaves no room for alarm, just the exhilaration of experiencing something unexpected.
I know he’s going to keep me safe.
By the time we’re halfway back to the entrance of the canyon, brown-orange waterfalls that didn’t exist when we entered are pouring over us. Piercing screams and shouts are everywhere. I pull my shoulders together as cool water and dirt run down my back; Noah wraps an arm around me, not caring that he’s getting caught in the deluge as well. I press closer, seeking his warmth through our clammy and gritty clothes as we walk rapidly toward the mini-bus with its sturdy tires.
The guide boards last, does a quick headcount and gets behind the wheel. The rain beats on the roof of the bus in a deafening staccato. I look up, then at Noah. He grins. “Ever been in a situation like this?”
I shake my head, then smile as he puts an arm around me.
Somebody sitting in front says something, but the words are lost in the general chaos. Everyone gets tossed around as the guide throws the bus into gear and then does an amazing job of maneuvering the sliding, skidding, jouncing bus over what was dry desert ground less than an hour ago but is now an expanse of mud and gravel that can barely be seen through the rain-spattered windshield. I sigh and move closer to Noah. Despite the crowd and the racket, somehow it feels like we’re alone sharing a secret adventure together.
The bus tosses us up and down, left and right as though we’re on a roller coaster without a safety bar. Laughing, I tighten my hand on Noah, who squeezes it back. He’s so warm, and I can smell the musky scent of him over the dirt and rain. The driver leans left and right as he wrestles the heaving bus over the terrain like a ship in a stormy sea. But instead of being terrifying, it’s fun—probably from being such a change from my regular life. Or maybe it’s being with Noah.
