Eva was actually pretty proud of herself. She wasn’t screaming her lungs out. Wasn’t running for her life. Wasn’t throwing up or passing out.
Then again, she wasn’t doing any of those things because she was utterly and completely paralyzed with fear.
Her gaze locked with the hypnotic, catlike pupils of the deadly snake eyeing her down. The bushmaster—she recognized the species from the survival course she’d taken before joining the relief foundation five years ago. With its brownish-pink coloring and black diamond-shaped markings along its back, the deep pits on either side of its face and a terrifyingly long body, the snake was undeniably beautiful, in a predatory kind of way. The shape of the head gave its deadliness away—slightly triangular, a clear warning that this species was poisonous.
Her heartbeat accelerated, thudding out a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was tempted to drop the canteen and clothes she was holding and run like hell, but she knew pit vipers were deceptively fast. And their bites were fatal. One wrong move and she’d be full of snake venom.
“Stay still, sweetheart.”
Tate’s voice was low, barely a whisper.
She opened the corner of her mouth a crack. “Should I try to grab it and whip it away?” she whispered back.
“God, no.” She heard a soft rustling, and then, “I mean it, Eva. Don’t move a goddamn muscle. If I miss...”
“Miss what? What are you—”
Something hissed right by her ear, slicing the air with a high-pitched whistling sound and ruffling the loose strands of hair at the side of her face.
A second later she heard a sharp smack and the viper was gone.
Shock, relief and adrenaline streamed through her blood, bringing a rush of light-headedness. Gaping, she stared at the wooden handle of the knife that had pinned the bushmaster to the tree—by its head. The snake was still alive, body undulating wildly and fangs exposed as it thrashed around, but the blade of Tate’s knife made it impossible for it to escape.
“Go wash up.” Tate came up beside her with another knife in his hand.
Her pulse continued to shriek in her ears. “Wh-what?”
“Wash up. I’ll take care of this.”
She felt dazed, unable to do more than just gawk at him. After a beat, he made a frustrated sound and forcibly moved her away from the tree. He cupped her chin with one strong hand, his thumb sweeping over the edge of her jaw. “Go to the stream and get cleaned up, Eva.”
His rough command snapped her out of her fear-induced trance and suddenly she became aware of Tate’s hand on her face. Her pulse raced, and this time it had nothing to do with fear or lingering adrenaline and everything to do with the sexy man standing so close to her. With his square jaw covered with dark stubble and his green eyes glittering with fortitude, he made a seriously imposing picture.
She sucked in a breath, only to inhale the spicy, masculine scent of Tate. Wow. Even after trekking through the jungle all day, the man smelled great.
Uh, deadly poisonous snake pinned to a tree?
The reminder nearly made her laugh. “Okay. Um. I’ll be right back,” she said, while the pit viper continued to thrash on the moss-covered tree bark.
Avoiding Tate’s eyes, she stumbled through the trees toward the small freshwater pool ten yards away, where she stripped off her sweat-soaked tee and kicked off her boots. She quickly splashed water on her face, then washed her hands, feet and underarms before slipping into a loose long-sleeved shirt and fresh socks. She went to the loo with a tissue gratefully on hand, then filled up her canteen and dropped an iodine tablet inside to purify the water.
By the time she returned to the clearing, she felt calm and relaxed, her near-death experience with that pit viper nothing but an unpleasant memory. She glanced at the tree. No snake. Then she glanced warily at Tate, who was lying in the hammock with his arms propped behind his head.
“What’d you do to the snake?” she asked, as she shoved her things into her pack.
“Cut his head off and gave him a nice burial.”
She blanched. So that was why he’d sent her away. He hadn’t wanted her to see him brutally decapitate that poor fellow.
Tate gazed up at the green canopy high above their heads. Barely any light got through the trees, and everything around them was bathed in shadows now.
“No fire?” she said.
“No point. We’ll be on the move again in a few hours.” His voice became husky. “Better come up. It’ll be pitch-black soon.”
She knew he was right; it got dark scary-fast in the jungle.
She scampered over, then hesitated as she stared at the big body sprawled in the netting of the hammock.
With a knowing, slightly mocking smile, he shifted and held out his arm.
There was a lot of swaying and rustling as she climbed in next to him. The swinging motion had her falling against Tate’s broad chest, and his arm quickly came out to steady her. His strong grip and warm touch caused her heart to do an annoying somersault.
It took a few moments to find a comfortable position—she ended up sandwiched next to Tate, her cheek pressed against one of his defined pecs, while his arm wrapped tightly around her.
By the time they were settled, darkness had completely fallen. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her, and as Tate covered them with a thermal blanket, she was grateful to be above the treacherous ground and sheltered in Tate’s arms.
After a moment’s reluctance, she draped her arm over his chest and snuggled closer, taking advantage of his body heat and the comfort of his body. When her fingers brushed over something cold and hard, she lifted her head with a frown. “Are you holding your gun?”
“Yes. I never sleep without one.”
His revelation was disconcerting, but oddly comforting at the same time.
“By the way, you did good today,” he added.
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “How so?”
“You kept up with my pace, you didn’t complain, you wolfed down that MRE like it was a juicy steak.”
She smiled in the darkness. “Eating it quickly was the only way not to focus on how bad it tasted.”
“Regardless, you impressed me today. You didn’t strike me as a fan of the outdoors.”
The answering rush of warmth that rippled through her was unwelcome. She shouldn’t care what this man thought of her. Yet...she did. For some reason, his approval and respect meant a lot.
“I love the outdoors,” she confessed. “So do my parents. When I was growing up, we rented this cabin in Vermont every summer, right in the middle of nowhere, and we’d spend all day fishing and hiking and swimming. And Dad would take a few weeks off work every year so the two of us could go on an adventure together. An African safari, fishing trips, mountain climbing—pretty much whatever kept us outside.” Her voice cracked. “When I was pregnant, Dad used to talk about all the adventures he wanted to have with his grandson....”
She trailed off, the lump in her throat making it difficult to continue. Lord, she missed her parents. She called or emailed them whenever she thought it was safe, but she hadn’t seen them since Rafe was just a baby.
“What do your parents do?” Tate asked.
“Dad’s a lawyer, he mostly does tax and estate stuff. Mom was an event planner, but she does volunteer work now, planning charity benefits, running committees, that sort of thing.” She smiled in the darkness. “Neither of them was happy when I decided to help out with the San Marquez relief efforts after college. I’m an only child, so they’ve always been a tad overprotective.”
“Must be nice,” he murmured. “Having someone worry about you.”
Eva saw right through the flippant response. The sad, haunted note in his voice told her he was thinking about his own upbringing.
After a beat of hesitation, she said, “You told me about your father, but what about your mom? Why wasn’t she around to stop your dad from...from hurting you?”
Now his voice dripped with bitterness. “My mother left when I was seven, but by then, we were all happy to see her go. She had a raging heroin problem, OD’d twice right in front of me and survived both times. I’m sure she’s dead by now.”
Each word was spoken in a flat monotone, and Eva’s heart ached. She suddenly remembered a detail from the background search she’d conducted on him, but wasn’t sure if she ought to bring it up. Tate hadn’t volunteered that piece of information, after all.
Then again, he hadn’t volunteered any information since she’d met him.
“Your basic file, the one I was able to access, mentioned you had a younger brother,” she said carefully.
She immediately felt him stiffen.
When he didn’t respond, she raised herself up again and studied his face. She couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, but the tight line of his mouth revealed a lot. “The file said he died.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Did it say how he died?”
“In the line of duty.”
The low, cheerless laugh that slipped from his throat sent a cold shiver up her spine. “That’s not true, is it?” she said.
“No, it’s true. Technically.”
“So he did die in the line of duty?”
“He was murdered.” Three words, popping out in harsh bursts like bullets from a pistol.
Eva’s breath caught. “Oh. How did—” Something suddenly clicked. “Hector. Hector killed your brother, didn’t he, Tate?”
He didn’t respond.
“That’s why you’re so set on killing him,” she said slowly. “I knew your reasons for wanting Hector dead had to have been personal, but I wasn’t able to find any connection between the two of you. I’m right, aren’t I? He’s responsible for murdering your brother.”
“If you say so.” His evasive tone gave nothing away, and yet told her everything.
“The American government was providing assistance to San Marquez in dealing with the ULF. Your unit was sent here, wasn’t it? That’s how you encountered Hector. It all makes sense now.” She furrowed her brows. “Except for one thing—why are you in hiding now? What happened after you left the military? Or maybe I should be asking, what happened to make you leave the military?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”
Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and she was able to make out the amused glimmer in his mossy-green gaze. “Anyone tell you that you don’t provide a lot of answers?”
“I’m not in the habit of confiding in strangers.”
“I don’t think you confide in anyone, strangers or friends.”
“True,” he said, relenting.
A smile tickled her lips. “Well, I don’t see the harm in telling me, considering you already think I’m here to lure you out of hiding.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who says I think that?”
“Oh, come on, of course you do. That’s why you don’t trust me. A part of you suspects I’m an agent sent by the government to bring you in. Which is kind of absurd, because if I was supposed to arrest or kill you, wouldn’t I have done it by now? And why would I bring my three-year-old son along on the assignment? Face it, Tate, your theory doesn’t hold up. You have no reason to doubt me.”
Liar.
All right, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d kept a very huge detail from him when she’d solicited his help, but she refused to dwell on the lie she’d told. Besides, the fact that Hector was the father of her son had nothing to do with this mission. She and Tate both wanted Hector dead, and they each had their own reasons for it. So what if she’d given Tate a fake motive by claiming Hector had killed Rafe’s father? As long as their endgames aligned, wasn’t that all that mattered?
She’d never been a fan of the “ends justifies the means” mentality, but right now she was its biggest advocate. And no matter how guilty she felt about lying to the man who’d agreed to help her, she hadn’t been able to take the risk that he’d turn her down, which he might’ve done if he’d known the truth.
Now, after realizing that Hector had killed Tate’s brother, she was even more certain of her decision to tell that little white lie. She’d been romantically involved with the man who’d murdered Tate’s brother. She’d given birth to that man’s son, for Pete’s sake.
Tate would probably kill her if he found out.
“You raise a good point.” His grudging voice drew her from her thoughts.
“So you don’t think I’m a government agent anymore?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shrugged, and the hammock swung a little. “But if you are government, my reasons for hiding out wouldn’t be a surprise, so I guess there really ain’t much harm in telling you.”
With a pleased grin, she lay back down and settled her cheek against his chest, but when Tate didn’t speak immediately, she didn’t push him.
She listened to the racket of the jungle instead. Even at night, the noise levels didn’t abate by much. The clicking of insects as they scuttled along the jungle floor, the harmonic buzzing of cicadas, the drone of insect wings, the croaks and bellows of nearby amphibians. It was kind of peaceful, as long as she didn’t focus too much on the bug noises, which reminded her that she was surrounded by, well, bugs.
“People want me dead.”
His raspy confession brought a mock gasp to her lips. “No, really? Here I thought you were hiding out in Mexico for the fun of it.”
“You know, your sarcasm doesn’t make me want to confide in you.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
He let out a strangled laugh. “Anyway, for some reason I haven’t been able to determine, my own government wants to kill me.”
Her brows knitted in confusion. “You really have no clue why?”
“None. All I know is that it’s related to the last op my unit was involved in.”
“Which was?”
He hesitated for a long moment, then cursed under his breath. “Hell, no point in worrying about security clearance anymore, huh?” he said in a wry voice. “We went in to rescue a hostage. Richard Harrison, an American doctor who was doing research at a small medical clinic in the mountains. The ULF ambushed the village and kept the doc captive. They tried to negotiate with the U.S.—they’d release the doc if we called off the alliance between our governments.”
Eva wasn’t surprised—the ULF made no secret of the fact that they resented American interference in San Marquez’s affairs. “But rather than negotiate, the States sent your unit instead,” she guessed.
“We were ordered to extract the doc, but he was already dead when we got to the village. So were all the villagers.”
Her lips tightened. “Hector?”
“Yep.” He paused. “So we went home for debriefing, and a couple months later, nearly every man on my unit was dead, all from various bogus causes. When someone tried to blow my head off out on the street in broad daylight, I contacted Stone and Prescott and we got the hell out of Dodge.”
As he went silent, Eva chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to make sense of everything he’d told her. A monkey howled from somewhere in the tree tops, and its cry was answered by several matching wails.
“I don’t get it,” she finally said.
“Join the club.”
“You have no idea why they want you guys dead?” She chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “Did you see something you weren’t supposed to? Hear something?”
“I don’t have a goddamn clue, Eva. All I saw in that village was a hundred dead bodies, burned to a crisp.”
She flinched at the gruesome image he brought to mind. “Well, maybe—”
“Maybe it’s time we go to sleep,” he cut in, an edge to his voice.
She closed her mouth, then opened it to release a heavy sigh. “Fine.”
She probably shouldn’t push her luck, anyway. Tate had revealed more in the past five minutes than he had in the two days she’d known him. Might as well leave it at that and try again tomorrow.
Try again?
The puzzled voice in her head raised a good question. Why was she going out of her way to get to know Tate? Why did she care about his past or his motives or the reason he lived as if he had a target painted on his forehead?
All she needed to know about the man was that he was going to help her get rid of Hector.
Shifting, she tried to get comfortable again, but no matter where she put her head or arms or legs, she was still plastered against Tate like plastic wrap. His intoxicating scent, pure man, teased her senses, and the rock-hard chest beneath her palm was pretty much inviting her fingers to stroke it. Resisting the urge, she curled those fingers into a tight fist and slid her hand down to his belly so she wouldn’t have to feel those defined pecs rippling beneath her fingers. But his washboard abs were just as tempting, and her hand being so close to his waistband meant her forearm now rested directly on his groin.
Which boasted the unmistakable bulge of arousal.
Heat scorched her face at the same time Tate’s mocking voice broke the silence. “Are you finished feeling me up?”
“I wasn’t feeling you up. I was just trying to get comfy,” she sputtered.
“Uh-huh.”
“I was,” she insisted. Then she felt a spark of irritation. “And why am I the one defending myself? You’re the one lying here with a boner. Jeez, Tate.”
His husky laughter increased her annoyance. “Sweetheart, I’m a man. A man who’s lying in a hammock with a beautiful woman—what else did you expect would happen?”
Eva swallowed. “You think I’m beautiful?”
He paused before releasing a ragged breath. “Yes. I think you’re beautiful.” His tone became sardonic once more. “So now, unless those busy hands of yours plan on unzipping my pants, let’s get some damn sleep.”
Desire pulsed between her legs, hot and persistent. His words were a challenge if she’d ever heard one, and for a moment, she almost did exactly what he’d taunted her about—unzipped his cargo pants, slid her hand inside and discovered if he was as big and hard down there as he was everywhere else.
But she fought the impulse, bringing her hand up and tucking it against her own belly.
“Good-night it is,” he murmured wryly.
Gulping, Eva slammed her eyes shut and tried to pretend that she was alone. That she wasn’t sharing a hammock with this sexy, magnetic man. That he didn’t intrigue her. Didn’t excite her. Didn’t make her feel the first spark of attraction she’d felt in years.
She didn’t want a man in her life, or her bed. Maybe someday, once she got the bitter taste of Hector out of her mouth, and only if she met someone worthy of her heart. Someone kind and gentle, someone she could trust with her son, someone who would love her son. Tate was neither kind nor gentle, and from the way he’d dismissed Rafe on sight, he would never be a part of her son’s life.
As those thoughts cemented themselves in her head, the little pulses of lust shooting up and down her body dissipated, much to her relief. With Tate’s steady heartbeat thudding against her ear, she fell into a soundless sleep.
* * *
He wanted Eva Dolce.
No, you don’t.
Ah, hell. He did. He really, really wanted her.
Dangerous thoughts, buddy.
As one conflicting thought after the other wreaked havoc on his brain, Tate tried to focus on chopping a path through the jungle. With all the voices throwing opinions around in his head, he was beginning to feel like a damn schizophrenic.
Not to mention that last night had done a real number on his groin—his entire lower body actually ached, though four hours in a hammock with a sexy woman plastered against him would do that to a man. He’d been lying with a hard-on the entire time, and it was a miracle he’d gotten any sleep at all.
When they’d woken up before dawn and set off, he’d hoped that the novelty of Eva would wear off on the second day of their journey, or that the attraction would taper to a level he might be able to tolerate, but that had been damn naïve thinking on his part.
As they walked at a brisk pace, he was painfully aware of Eva. The way she walked. The sound of her breathing. The squeaky little noise she made whenever a mosquito flew in her face.
Christ, he wanted her.
No, you don’t.
Stifling a sigh, he hacked at a particularly annoying vine that refused to get out of his way. The machete finally sliced the thick diameter and the vine hit the jungle floor at the same time a flash of lightning lit up the sky.
“Oh, crap,” Eva mumbled. “This is not gonna be fun.”
Her words proved to be prophetic. Within seconds, the patches of sky that were visible through the trees turned black, a boom of thunder cracked in the air, and the rain began to fall in earnest.
It happened so fast neither of them had time to do anything but exchange rueful grins.
That reaction alone upped his opinion of the woman. Rather than shriek about getting soaked, Eva seemed completely unruffled. In fact, as sheets of rain drenched her clothes and plastered her hair to her head, she started to laugh, the melodic sound mingling with the loud pattering of the rain.
As the thunder rolled and the treetops shook, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a cluster of enormous banyan trees. They ducked beneath the dangling moss-covered branches and rootlike shoots, which provided instant shelter from the downpour.
Tate leaned his rifle against the tree trunk, stuck his machete in the dirt and wiped the moisture from his face with the back of his hand.
“Next time we decide to kill a man, let’s do it during the dry season,” Eva remarked in a facetious tone.
He had to chuckle. “Agreed.”
She lifted her ponytail and wrung the water out of it, then shoved wet black strands off her forehead and tucked them behind her ears.
He couldn’t help but admire her beautiful features, perfectly symmetrical, flawless, a touch exotic thanks to her olive coloring and sparkling cobalt-blue eyes.
“You’re doing it again,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Staring at me. Every time we’ve taken a rest break today, you’ve been staring at me.”
“Have I?” His voice came out hoarse, seductive, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “Well, we already established that I think you’re beautiful. I guess I like looking at you.”
Surprise registered on her face. “I don’t understand you.”
“How so?”
“Since we met, you’ve made it clear you don’t trust me. And yet...”
Her cheeks grew pink, but he couldn’t be sure if it was due to embarrassment or the humidity thickening the air. “And yet what?” he pressed, his voice low.
“You act like you want to go to bed with me,” she murmured. “You would have done it last night, wouldn’t you? If I’d given you the green light?”
Arousal, hot, thick and relentless, traveled down his body and hardened his cock. “Yes,” he admitted.
“And that’s what I don’t get.”
Her naïveté both surprised and appealed to him. “Oh, I see. You think sex and trust go hand in hand.” When she nodded, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart, how wrong you are.”
She frowned. “So you’re saying you don’t need to trust me in order to sleep with me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Eva fell silent, her gaze shifting from his face to the opening in the branches. She watched the rain hammer the vines and shrubs and decaying matter littering the jungle floor, looking perturbed as her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said, her voice soft and distressed. “I can’t sleep with a man I don’t trust.”
He took a step toward to her, bringing a wary glint to her eyes. “So if I gave you the green light, you would turn me away?”
Her breath hitched.
He moved even closer. Only a foot separated them. Her long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, so he had a clear view of the tight white tank top she wore beneath it. White wasn’t a color you wanted to wear in the rain—in Eva’s case, the wet fabric had become transparent, revealing her flesh-colored bra and the unmistakable puckering of her nipples.
“You’re turned on,” he said silkily, making no attempt to hide the focus of his gaze.
“I’m cold. From the rain.”
“The rain is as hot as the air, sweetheart.” Tate brought his hand to her cheek, enjoying the spark of heat that flared in her eyes.
His hand took on a life of its own. Even if he’d tried, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from stroking Eva’s smooth skin, from dragging his fingers to her mouth and tracing the seam of her lush lips. He didn’t trust her, but damn, how he wanted her.
When he eliminated the final inches of distance between them and gripped her slender waist, her blue eyes widened.
“Tate.” Her voice was throaty, lined with apprehension and...need.
It was that needy pitch that snapped the last thread of his control.
With a desperate growl, he took possession of her mouth and kissed her.
Christ, she tasted so damn good, and her body, lush and supple, felt like sheer heaven pressed against his. Curling one hand over her hip, he raked the other one up her body, grazing the side of one firm breast before traveling higher to cradle the back of her head.
He came up for air and searched her gaze, satisfied by the glaze of passion he glimpsed. Then he slanted his mouth over hers again and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue inside without waiting for permission.
Eva’s moan tickled his lips and quickened his pulse. Her hands clung to his shoulders, her blunt, unpolished fingernails digging into the fabric of his T-shirt and stinging his skin. When their tongues met, shock waves pounded into him, scorched his nerve endings and made him groan in desperation. Shoving his hands underneath her tank top, he stroked her flat belly, then moved higher to cup her breasts over her bra.
“Tate.” His name left her lips, half a whimper, half a moan.
He couldn’t remember ever being this hard. Ever wanting a woman this badly. Mindless with lust, he slid his hands out from under her shirt, brought them to her ass and hauled her up against him.
“Oh, God,” she choked out when her core came in contact with his unmistakable erection.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, hands clinging to his neck as Tate backed her into the trunk of the tree. Driving the kiss deeper, he rubbed his lower body into hers, thrusting his hips in time to the thrusts of his tongue in her mouth.
Screw it. Keeping his hands off this woman clearly wasn’t gonna be an option. He craved her on a dark, primal level he couldn’t explain, and nothing short of dying could stop him from claiming her.
No sooner had the last thought entered his head than his instincts began to hum.
Tate froze. His mouth lifted, hovering over Eva’s lips.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured. “Why did you—”
He pressed his index finger to her lips to silence her.
Cocking his head, he willed his heartbeat to steady, letting pure instinct take over. The rain had stopped—he’d been so consumed with lust he hadn’t even noticed—but the abrupt silence wasn’t the reason for his raised hackles.
Very slowly, he set Eva on her feet and peered through the tangled roots that surrounded them like a canopy. He didn’t see anything out of sorts, but his ears compensated for what his eyes couldn’t perceive.
He heard the same familiar noises that gave life to the jungle—monkeys and birds and insects, clicks and wails and hoots and squawks. Branches snapping and leaves rustling and wind blowing.
And footsteps.
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed out, his arm snapping out to grab his rifle.
“What’s going on?” Eva demanded.
“We’ve got company.” With a grim look, he propped the rifle up on his shoulder. “Get down on the ground and stay here. Don’t come out unless I tell you.”
“Tate—”
Locked and loaded, he slid out and into the open—just as six armed men burst out of the brush.
They took one look at Tate and started shooting.