The Spy Who Loved Him Page 13

  "You did well, Margarita. Very well."

  The praise went a long way to mitigating her lingering self-disgust over the way she'd ended up at the wrong end of Simon's gun.

  "What do you think the chances are that Caballero will find him?"

  She hesitated, hating to admit the truth. "Not good. As I learned only too well in the past week, the jungle swallows you whole. There were times I didn't think we'd ever find our way out."

  And God knew Simon was a master at escape and evasion. He'd eluded SPEAR for months.

  "If anyone can find him, Carlos can," she said, absolute certainty mixed with a quiet pride.

  Jonah signed off a moment later. She found Marcus watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

  "If I was a betting man, I'd say you and Carlos got pretty close while you were dodging bullets and hacking your way through vines."

  "We did," she admitted slowly. "Very close. The jungle has a way of stripping things down to the basics."

  Keen blue eyes sharpened. "Do I hear a but in there?"

  "No."

  "Try again, babe. This is Marcus you're talking to, remember? The guy who booted you in the butt to get you through the tangle of barbed wire in the first obstacle course we ran." A sun-bleached blond brow cocked. "Having doubts about our friend Carlos?"

  Margarita didn't answer. What she felt for Carlos was her business. The problem was, she was damned if she could figure out what to do about the way she felt.

  Catching the inside of her lower lip between her teeth, she looked past Marcus to the sliding glass doors that gave onto her tiny balcony. The spectacular view of a blazing red sun hanging low over a sea of molten gold filled her vision, but her mind saw only a dark, primeval rain forest. A bed of ferns. A bronzed warrior.

  When Carlos emerged from the jungle, would he revert to the man she'd known before? The suave, calmly confident politician whose conservative views of marriage clashed in every way with hers? Could she still love him so desperately if he did?

  She got the answer to at least one of those questions the very next night.

  Chapter 12

  Marcus was in Margarita's kitchen, pouring himself another cup of coffee, when he caught the sound of a small thud in the hall outside the front door.

  He almost missed it. What passed for evening rush-hour traffic in Madrileño's capital drifted through the sliding glass doors, left open to the balmy January night. A newscaster pitched the latest headlines on the TV. The shower in Margarita's bedroom had just kicked on and drummed a steady beat against the tiles.

  If he hadn't been on his fourth cup of coffee since dinner and so jagged after a frustrating twenty-four hours spent waiting for word from the field, Marcus might have shrugged the sound off.

  The fact they hadn't received any report suggested Simon was still unaccounted for, and Marcus wasn't about to dismiss any noise, however slight, outside Margarita's door. He wouldn't put it past the bastard to slip back into San Rico and pick up where he'd left off in that cave.

  His gut still tightened whenever he thought of Margarita's flat, unemotional account of her hours with Simon. Marcus had dragged out every detail, from the bonds that had made the bruises still visible on her wrists to the brutal backhanded slap and promise to make her beg long and hard before he gave her so much as a sip of water.

  If—when—Marcus got his hands on him, he'd personally insure that scar-faced piece of slime did some serious begging himself.

  With a fierce hope that it was, in fact, Simon who'd made that noise in the hall, he slid the carafe onto the coffeemaker and reached down to draw a lethal little snub-nosed Smith & Wesson from his boot.

  The sound of another thump brought Marcus flat against the wall beside the front door. Trusting the instincts that had kept him alive during his years in the field, he decided to take advantage of the element of surprise. A single wrench threw the door back on its hinges. Before it hit the wall, Marcus had the .38 leveled on the figure in the hall.

  Narrowed black eyes locked with blue. For several seconds, neither man moved.

  "Christ, Caballero!" Cocking his wrist, Marcus tipped the barrel of the .38 upward and thumbed down the hammer. "Arriving unannounced like that is a sure way to get yourself killed."

  The face stubbled with two days' growth might have been cut from granite. "I wasn't aware I had to announce myself to you, Waters."

  He speared a glance into Margarita's airy living room, then brought his hooded gaze to Marcus.

  "Playing watchdog?"

  No fool, the agent sensed the quicksand underlying the soft question. One false step, and the bog would suck him in. Well, he'd never been one to tiptoe around anything.

  "Yes. Until we heard from you, I wasn't letting Margarita out of my sight."

  Approval took some of the fierceness from the hawklike stare. "I was counting on that."

  Hefting his gear, Carlos strode into the airy living room. A single glance at the high-powered rifle and bulky backpack slung over his shoulders told Marcus the source of the thumps he'd heard. He followed, slamming the door behind him.

  "Simon?" he asked urgently.

  Carlos shook his head.

  "Dammit!"

  The ice came into the black eyes. "You're not any happier about it than I am."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean that as a slam against you personally. SPEAR's been trying to collar that son of a bitch for several months now. Even with all the resources at our disposal, we haven't been able to nail him. We don't know where or how he learned his survival tactics, but he sure as hell learned them well."

  Carlos thawed enough to unsling his rifle and prop it beside Margarita's colorful jungle-print sofa. The heavy pack followed.

  "I thought we had him late yesterday afternoon," he said in a voice laced with frustration. "We followed his trail down a steep gorge. Night dropped while we were still only halfway down. The damned path was so narrow, we had to inch the rest of the way with our back to the walls."

  Not a fun exercise, Marcus imagined, even with night-vision goggles.

  "By the time we reached the bottom, the tracks disappeared. My guess is he took to the river and floated downstream during the night. We conducted an air search for forty miles along the river, but the canopy was so dense it was difficult enough to maintain radio contact while zigzagging through the trees, much less spot anyone moving beneath."

  "So that's why we didn't hear from you. Margarita said the jungle could swallow someone up whole."

  "Speaking of Margarita…"

  He angled his head, cocking a brow at the sound of the shower drumming against the tiles of the bath. When he brought his gaze to Marcus, the agent felt the sand shift under his feet again. In the blink of an eye, they'd moved from the professional to the personal, and neither man pretended otherwise. Still, he wasn't prepared for what came next.

  "How long have you been in love with her?"

  After his initial surprise, Marcus felt a wry grin tug at his mouth. So much for his debonair, lighthearted approach. Margarita still didn't have a clue that he'd fallen for her, and hard. Caballero, apparently, had picked up on it immediately.

  He didn't see any point denying the obvious. "I think I lost it the first time she narrowed those gorgeous violet eyes and crunched down on the rice beetle I insisted she had to eat. We went through survival training together," he added by way of explaining his menu choice.

  Carlos nodded. "I guessed as much. Otherwise she would have told me about you."

  The idea that Margarita shared everything with him except her association with SPEAR stung. In all the time Marcus had worked with her, she certainly hadn't told him anything about the Deputy Minister of Defense. Curiosity had him countering swiftly.

  "How long have you wanted her?"

  "A lot longer than she's wanted me," Carlos replied with a shrug.

  Marcus had just congratulated himself on still being in the running when his rival shattered his hopes of ever maki
ng it to the finish line.

  "My ego had taken quite a beating…until the past few days."

  Marcus most definitely didn't need to hear that. Yet he didn't blind himself to the truth. There was a reason he buried his feelings for Margarita in the playful banter they tossed back and forth. She didn't see him as anything but a friend. She never had.

  He was damned if he'd admit as much to this hard-edged Madrileñan, though.

  Nor did he feel the least compelled to hint that Margarita was having second thoughts about whatever happened between her and Caballero in the jungle. This cowboy would discover that for himself soon enough. Folding his arms, he waited for the next round in what was turning into a definite skirmish. It wasn't long in coming.

  Making himself at home, Caballero strolled into the kitchen and helped himself to coffee. He downed a healthy chug, then regarded Marcus steadily over the curling steam.

  "I haven't forgotten that I owe you."

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "You got to my men just in time. You took the bullet meant for me. I owe you." He took another long swallow before issuing a friendly but unmistakable warning. "Just don't make the mistake of thinking my debt to you in any way involves the woman in that shower."

  * * *

  Unaware of the minor testosterone war being waged in her living room, Margarita squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her face to the lukewarm water.

  The headache lurking at the base of her skull still throbbed. Nor had she been able to soak away her tension. Even after draining the hot water tank and pickling herself to a prune, she couldn't seem to loosen the blasted knot between her shoulder blades.

  Sighing, she slouched against the tiles. She hadn't grabbed much more than an hour or two of sleep since she and Marcus returned to civilization. The grueling debrief had eaten up yesterday afternoon. They'd spent most of the last night and all of today pacing, waiting for the communications link to intercept and spit out radio transmissions, hoping for news of Carlos. The last transmission had come just before midnight, when he and Miguel and his men were inching their way to the bottom of a gorge.

  Oh, God! What if Simon picked them off one by one while they were strung out on the narrow path? What if he'd laid an ambush for them at the bottom? The panic she'd held at bay all day twisted her stomach. She should have insisted on going with Carlos. She should have…

  The glass shower door clicked open.

  Margarita's lids flew up.

  Water sprayed into her eyes. Not enough to blind her, just blur the face of the man who joined her in the stall. She didn't need to see his features for her heart to take a sudden, joyous leap. She'd recognize those muscled shoulders and broad chest blindfolded. Before he'd wedged himself fully into the stall, she threw herself forward.

  "Carlos!"

  His shoulders hit the glass shower door and bounced it open. Heedless of the water that ricocheted off their bodies and onto the Berber carpet, Margarita smothered him in kisses. When she finally came up for air, water beaded her lashes and his beard had scraped a raw patch on her chin. She disregarded both to ask the question he so obviously expected.

  "You didn't find him?"

  "No. We lost him at the bottom of a river gorge. I'm sorry."

  She disguised her biting disappointment by raking back the black hair plastered to his forehead. Short and curling just a little with the wet, it slid through her fingers like cream.

  "You don't have to apologize for anything," she said fiercely. "Simon's been leading SPEAR on a wild-goose chase for months."

  "So Waters reminded me."

  "Waters." Her hand stilled. "Oh. Right. Marcus."

  She'd forgotten the agent in the other room. Fumbling for a way to explain his presence in her condo that didn't sound as though she had to explain anything, she chose her words carefully.

  "The docs wanted to keep him in the hospital for a night or two, but we needed a secure place to debrief, so we, ah, decided he'd stay here."

  "Good thinking."

  She blinked away the beaded water, surprised at his complacence. She might even have commented on it if his hands hadn't slipped down to cup her wet buttocks at that precise moment. Contorting his tall frame, he nuzzled the neck just under her left ear.

  "Since you've finished your debrief," he murmured against her skin, "we reopened discussions and decided he'd be more comfortable at my place."

  "What?"

  She tried to pull back. Carlos wasn't having any of it. His fingers curved under her rear, anchoring her.

  "I gave him my keys."

  "But…"

  "He's already packed up his gear and left."

  She was still digesting that abrupt turn of events when Carlos flexed his arms. In a smooth play of muscle and tendon, he drew her up, inch by tantalizing inch, until she hooked her arms around his neck and her legs around his lean flanks.

  By the time her mouth reached his again, Margarita had forgotten Marcus, forgotten her headache, forgotten everything but Carlos. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Eager fingers raked through his hair, held his head at just the right angle for her kiss.

  Her slippery eagerness almost unseated her. Bending a knee, he cradled her bottom on his thigh. The movement freed one of his hands to slide over her hip, curve up her waist. Tender rough with calluses, it made its way to her nape and tipped her head back.

  "I missed you."

  She smiled through the pulsing water. "I missed you, too."

  He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but Margarita wiggled to find a comfortable spot on his thigh, and his jaw clamped shut. Instantly, his body hardened under her.

  Delighted with the reaction, she wiggled again. The skin stretched tight across his cheekbones.

  "Margarita…"

  Her attention divided between his ragged breathing and the rigid shaft that had sprung to life just under her bottom, she tipped her head.

  "We didn't use any protection in the jungle," he growled.

  "I know." Her eyes held his. "It worried me."

  * * *

  "It worried me, too. I don't want anything from you you're not ready to give."

  Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. She ached to tell him she was ready to give him anything and everything he asked, but his mouth tipped in a wicked grin, and the words got caught in her throat.

  "I'm better prepared this time…if I can let you go long enough to get to my pants."

  "I'll tell you what," she murmured, squirming off his thigh. "We'll get to them later. What I have in mind right now only requires you, me, that bar of soap and a little maneuvering room."

  With a grin to match his, she reached for the pale yellow oval. The French-milled soap had been a Christmas gift from her cousin. Somehow, she suspected Anna wouldn't particularly appreciate the use Margarita intended to put her gift to.

  The bar slid over Carlos's shoulders, leaving a foam of jasmine-scented bubbles in its wake. Slowly, Margarita worked her way down his chest, his ribs, his stomach. When her fingers encircled his jutting shaft, he drew in a sharp breath.

  Her own breath ragged, she soaped the satiny skin and bone-hard muscle. All too soon, play wasn't enough. She wanted to touch, to taste, to take every inch of him inside her. Her back to the tiles, she slid slowly down, tracing a path with her mouth and tongue.

  Legs spread, palms planted against the tiles, Carlos shielded her from the pelting water and fought to hang onto his control. With Margarita's hands and lips and tongue so busy and eager, it was only a matter of moments until he lost the fight.

  With a sound halfway between a groan and a grunt, he snagged her arms to pull her up and lost his balance in the process. Or maybe she dragged him down. Carlos didn't know which and didn't care. They tumbled out of the shower in a tangle of wet legs, slick arms and hungry mouths.

  Eventually, they made it to the bed.

  * * *

  The carpet would take days to dry, Margarita thought sleepily some ho
urs later. Sated and drowsy and lost in the joy of clean sheets and the man beside her, she felt herself sinking into blissful oblivion. She was almost there when Carlos brushed a tangle of hair from her cheek.

  "Rita."

  "Mmm?"

  "Last night, when we were inching our way along that damned gorge…"

  She lifted one eyelid. Blinked at the broad expanse of bronzed skin covered with squiggly black chest hair. Tipped her head. As sleepy and boneless as she felt at that moment, her heart thumped. God above, what a sight to open her eyes to!

  He loomed over her, head propped on one hand, face intent. Stubble darkened his cheeks. His hair glistened wet and glossy black. If she'd had so much as an ounce of energy left anywhere in her body, she would have lifted a hand to smooth the rumpled silk. All she could manage was a smile.

  "What about last night?"

  "All I could think about was taking Simon down so he could never hurt you again."

  Margarita couldn't argue with that, although she would have preferred to do the down-taking herself.

  "I'd give my life to keep you safe."

  The simple declaration moved her profoundly. "Carlos, I…"

  "Wait. Let me say this." A rueful smile lit his eyes. "I rehearsed this speech all the way back to San Rico."

  Fully awake, she stared at him.

  "I love you, Rita."

  Her mouth opened. Closed. She gulped out a shaky reply. "I…I love you, too."

  It wasn't quite the passionate response Carlos had hoped for, but it would do. For now.

  "I want you in my life," he told her. "Any way I can have you. As my wife. My lover. My friend. You set the parameters, as long as they include me."

  She shifted, angling her head to see him more clearly. He sensed what was coming before she framed the questions.

  "What about my work with SPEAR? And the Senate seat my uncle wants you to run for? I don't know if I can give up everything I am to become the perfect little politician's wife."