Nick had borrowed a straight razor from Brent.
As soon as he entered the cabin, he removed his shirt and soaped his jaw. The routine of shaving, plus the challenge of an unfamiliar tool, calmed his nerves. He wicked the blade over the sharp contours of his face, his mind blank. The task required a steady hand and total concentration.
When he was finished, he wiped away the excess soap and studied himself. Ricardo Diaz’s eyes stared back at him, alight with idealism. The resemblance hadn’t bothered Nick in Vegas, when he’d been brimming with triumph. Now it did.
He gripped the edges of the sink, his head low. Nick’s father had been a political zealot, full of reckless fervor, willing to die for a cause. He’d died fighting—and he’d taken Nick’s mother with him. It was an unforgiveable offense, but Nick hadn’t assigned any blame when he’d learned of the tragedy. He’d mourned his parents in a detached, dutiful way. Then he’d shut the door on his heart.
He refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. It was one of the reasons he’d stayed single. If he never fell in love and had a family, he couldn’t repeat the same mistakes. He wouldn’t endanger or abandon anyone.
Nick strove to be calm and calculated, not driven by emotion. He’d failed at this spectacularly. His need for revenge had brought him here. He’d dragged Avery along with him, heedless of the consequences. He was hot-blooded and obsessive, just like his father.
He wanted to smash the mirror in denial, but the truth stared him in the face. He was no better than Ricardo Diaz. His father had been a jealous man, prone to bouts of machismo. Nick couldn’t deny that the trait had been passed down to him. He’d practically been spoon-fed it from birth. It still lived inside him, straining like a beast on a chain.
Avery entered the cabin, and the beast quickened.
She studied him with nervous eyes. “You shaved.”
He nodded curtly. “How did it go with Jonah?”
“Fine.”
“Did you have to get on your knees?”
She flinched at the low blow. “What’s your problem, Nick? Are you mad that I said you were impotent?”
He choked out a laugh. They both knew it wasn’t true, and he didn’t give a damn what Jonah thought of him. The impotency excuse had been a stroke of genius, one that played perfectly with Jonah. She had him wrapped around her finger. “My problem isn’t what you said. It’s what he did after I left.”
“He didn’t do anything.”
“He didn’t comfort you? Tell you he could be my stand-in dick?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, flushing. “You wanted him to want me, remember? You counted on it. You paraded me around naked in front of him.”
“I didn’t parade you around,” he said, teeth clenched. “I tried to shield you.”
“You didn’t try very hard.”
“That’s not true.”
She made a skeptical noise. “The bottom line is that Jonah is doing exactly what you expected him to do. You orchestrated this. Why are you balking?”
“I’m not balking,” he said, nonsensically. He closed the distance between them, until his body was inches from hers. “I just can’t stand the thought of him touching you. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”
Her gaze darkened with sensual interest. She lifted her hand to his face, exploring the newly smooth angles. He tensed at the contact, his jaw clenched with longing. Her fingertips left a sizzling path on his skin. Every nerve ending stood at full attention, vibrating for more. Heat pooled to his groin.
She stood on tiptoe, her lips brushing his ear. “Why don’t you touch me, then?”
The beast broke free, roaring.
He clutched a handful of her hair and tilted her head back. She didn’t blink or pull away. He studied her for a taut moment, mapping the places he wanted to kiss. Her mouth, her neck, her chin. The tender spot beneath her left ear. The pulse point in her throat.
He imagined pinning her arms above her head and kissing her from wrists to elbows. Then from elbows to mouth, and mouth to breasts. Breasts to belly, and beyond. The fantasy was so powerful he doubted reality could match it, but he dipped his head nonetheless. The first kiss made him groan. Her mouth was hot, wet, receptive. She tasted like the peach tea they’d served before Jonah’s sermon.
God.
Nick followed his fantasy without conscious thought. After plundering her mouth with his tongue and backing her up against the wall, he kissed all the places he’d imagined. Her silky throat, the tender undersides of her arms. She didn’t object to him holding her wrists high above her head. She moaned and begged for more.
He gave it to her. He tugged her blouse over her head and unfastened her skirt. Standing in her underwear, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He lifted her onto the counter by the sink. Then they were kissing again, his hands roaming her curves. Her bodice fell away, exposing her breasts. For a few seconds, he just looked at her, his heart pounding like a jackhammer inside his chest. She was beautifully shaped, with creamy skin and taut nipples. He cupped her breasts reverently, rolling the tips between his fingers. Her head fell back and she clutched his hair, moaning. He wanted to spend days with his mouth on her nipples. He laved them with unselfconscious enjoyment, excited by her eager response.
“Please,” she said, panting. “More.”
Jesus. She sounded ready to come.
He yanked off her bloomers, or whatever they were, and shoved his hand between her parted thighs. She was deliciously wet. He plunged two fingers into her slick heat. She sobbed in ecstasy, her breasts heaving.
Nick was a big believer in foreplay. He cared about being a good lover with any woman, but he loved Avery. He’d planned on taking his time with her. He’d fantasized about falling to his knees and feasting on her right here at the kitchen sink. His mouth watered and his erection throbbed at the thought.
He didn’t quite get there, because her hand found him first. She released the buttons on his fly and reached into his long johns. He released a hiss of breath as her fingers wrapped around him. He watched her face as she stroked him. She bit her lower lip, eyes half-lidded. Her breasts jiggled from the motion.
His knees almost buckled. “Stop,” he rasped. “I’m going to—”
She did stop, but only to place the tip of him against the center of her. She guided him toward heaven, and that was all she wrote. His hips thrust forward on instinct, until he was fully seated inside her.
Damn. Damn.
He managed to stay still, giving her a few seconds to adjust, and him a moment to think. “I’m not wearing a condom,” he ground out.
“It’s the wrong time of month.”
Famous last words, but he wasn’t arguing. He was almost weeping with joy at the bare-skin contact. She wrapped her legs around him, driving him deeper. He couldn’t hold back a strangled groan, because she surrounded him with sultry perfection. He withdrew and plunged in again, and again, and again.
It wasn’t his best performance. It was a fast-and-furious coupling at the kitchen sink, with his pants around his ankles.
He knew he wouldn’t last. Her hot body undid him. Her nipples were damp from his mouth, brushing his chest with every thrust. Her lips parted, making breathy little sounds. It was all he could do to remember to get her off first. He slipped his hand between them and stimulated her with as much finesse as he could muster.
It was just enough, apparently. She bit down on his arm to muffle her cry as she shuddered with a climax that felt earth-shattering, at least to him. He withdrew seconds before he spent against her stomach. Then his knees did buckle, and he slumped against her so hard the back of her head bumped into the cabinets.
When he’d recovered enough to speak, he choked out an apology.
She laughed softly. “I’m fine.”
They were already at the sink, so he washed his seed from her belly with cool water. After fastening his pants, he carried her to the bedroom. Once there, he made up for the frantic first round with a second, more leisurely session. He spent the time between her legs he’d dreamed of, and she wasn’t shy about expressing her enjoyment. She also wasn’t shy about returning the favor. She sucked and stroked him with the same fervor he’d shown her. Even after two orgasms, they were both insatiable. The third round was a blur of erotic positions and Spanish gutter talk that drove her crazy. He didn’t come again, but she did. Then she curled up beside him, damp with perspiration, and fell asleep.
It was the best night of his life. The best sex of his life, by far, but that was only half of the equation. The other half was emotion. This wasn’t a fling, or a fluke, or a side effect of playing a married couple on a dangerous assignment.
He was in love with her. Which made it that much more difficult to take the next step.
He had to leave her. He couldn’t stay here in bed with her, no matter how tempting. The beast inside him was quiet now, drowsy and satiated, but he could not rest. There was work to be done. He hoped he’d worn her out thoroughly, because he wanted to slip away without waking her. It was imperative that she not follow him.
He needed to communicate with his team as soon as possible. The modified watch wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t recording audio, despite what he’d let Avery believe. The drone was his backup system. He’d used it to signal for a drop, and there was no margin for error. The drone would deliver a package to the far field at midnight. Nick had to pick up the package, evaluate the contents and come back.
Easy.
Except that he’d been spotted by Brother Sage last night, in addition to getting caught by Avery, and that damned Nadine had lied about Nick being her lover. Nick didn’t know if Jonah believed the impotence bit, or the story about him checking the water pump. He assumed the guards would be on high alert, regardless. He would proceed with caution.
He rose from the bed in silence, his muscles aching from overuse. He was tired, and her naked form beckoned. He stood and stared at her for a long moment. He memorized every line and curve. She reminded him of a blush rose, pale and petal-soft. Maybe being in love was turning him into a poet. Another trait passed down from his father.
It probably wasn’t fair to blame his father for his mother’s death, but Nick couldn’t change how he felt. He believed a man should protect his wife at any cost. He should never knowingly put her in danger. His father had failed on both counts.
So had Nick.
The comparison to Nick’s current situation made his gut clench. Smothering a curse, he covered Avery with a sheet and got dressed in the dark. He’d left his boots outside the door, because they smelled like goat dung, and it made for a quieter getaway.
There was no one outside. No guards milling about. No Brother Sage, searching for the man who’d cuckolded him. Nick was angry with Brent and Nadine for putting him in a bad spot, but he was angrier with himself for getting seen, and for not seeing this twist coming. The young lovers were stupidly indiscreet. Brent had disregarded Nick’s advice, like any horny teenager. It was only natural for Nadine to lie about his identity. She was protecting Brent from exile. Why not point the finger at the new guy?
Using considerably more stealth than the night before, Nick skulked toward the fields. Whenever he heard a noise, he dropped to his belly like a lizard, listening and waiting. It took him thirty minutes to traverse a half mile. It took another thirty to find the package among the tangled weeds at the edge of the fields. He tore it open. There was a cell phone inside. He probably couldn’t use it to make a call, due to the remote location. There were three text messages available to view.
The first was from McDonald:
You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Diaz.
The second, longer message indicated that several grave sites had been found in the area via a drone with LIDAR technology, which was some kind of laser scanner that identified objects underground. Nick didn’t know how that worked, but he could read a map with X marks. There was a printed copy inside the package. A third message ordered him to delete after reading.
He followed that instruction and contemplated his next move. He could hide the phone and return to Avery. Or he could grab a shovel and do some in-depth investigating.
An unmarked grave was a strong indicator of foul play under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, these circumstances weren’t normal. The members of The Haven didn’t follow interment codes or file death reports. A few strange burials, in a commune full of unconventional beliefs, might not be enough to justify a search warrant. And if there was no evidence of trauma or unlawful death in those graves? They’d be back at square one.
Nick had to make sure.
He went to the equipment shed for a shovel. While he was there, he grabbed a pruning hook he’d had his eye on. He’d considered carrying the straight razor, but it was a poor weapon for self-defense. The pruning hook could gouge and puncture. It was small, sharp and curved like a scythe. He tucked it into his boot and headed out.