"You want that, too, don't you?"
He resumed caressing her arms—breathing, too. "She's my kid. Of course I want you both near me."
"Where do you live now?" How strange not to even know something so basic about his daily life. Asking felt like the early days of dating all over again.
"I'm stationed at Charleston Air Force Base in South Carolina. Lucia will have beaches there, as well."
"What do you do in Charleston?"
"I'm flying again, C-l 7s now."
"You started in the C-141 before you took the assistant air attache job at the embassy, right?"
"Good memory."
"I remember everything we said to each other."
"We're not going to be able to pick up where we left off."
So much could have changed over the years. He'd thought she was dead, which would have left him free to date other women. Sleep with other women. Oh, she did not like this jealousy clawing inside her.
Dios Mio, what if— "You didn't marry someone else while I was dead, did you?"
His chest shook with another surprised snort. "God no."
Not much of a testimony for positive feelings about marriage. Still she would think of that later because right now she was too busy wallowing in relief that he hadn't committed to someone else. "I'm glad. That would have made things very complicated."
"We're both different people now." His stroking hand slowed, cupping her arm and snuggling her closer against him. "So I guess that means we're starting from scratch."
Hmm. Such a wonderful pillow. "Starting from scratch, but with a brother and child and history."
As well as an intimate knowledge of what made the other scream with pleasure.
She wriggled to get comfortable again, leaves rustling under her, although her current itch remaining from their kiss couldn't be eased by shifting around. Lucas's grunt stilled her. She hadn't elbowed him or hurt his arm, had she? She forced herself to relax, which melded her back against his chest, her bottom nestled between his legs — Her wonderful pillow was also wonderfully hot and turned-on.
Heaven help them, it was going to be a long night.
Chapter 7
After another night spent in the Jeep, Ramon emptied a gas can into the tank. Only four more left.
If he didn't find Sarafina and Lucia before sundown, he would be on foot with this strangely silent woman in tow instead of tied to the front seat.
Damnation, he'd expected to overtake them on the first day. But the bridge had blown, a tire went flat and then their tracks disappeared. His instincts told him he was on their trail. After all, it made sense that they would follow the river into town, a shorter route. He considered taking off after them on foot since the road wound far longer, but the risks of abandoning the Jeep far outweighed the benefits.
If he followed the road, eventually their paths would merge. Worst-case scenario, he would come out ahead of them and wait in town.
He untied Nola's wrists from the armrest. "Fill the canteens and then you can take a minute alone in the trees."
Nodding, she obeyed. She always did, silently obedient, as if cowed into submission.
Or biding her time.
Either way, she was helpful as hell, which left his hands free to keep the gun raised and his eyes alert. Her silence was eerie, but Padilla was a sick bastard. He thought about his dead family and swallowed down the need to howl out his grief and blaze through the jungle.
Later, he would have time to mourn them as they deserved. Now was for the living.
Checking the oil, his gun always close at hand, Ramon struggled with images of what could be happening to Lucia or Sarafina. She'd once raged at him for keeping her secluded. Why couldn't she have understood he was only protecting her from twisted evil in the world, from bastards such as Padilla?