Carrie cocked her head to one side, a ghost of a smile playing about her rosy lips. It made him realize he'd never seen her without makeup or lipstick, without her feminine armor.
“I guess he did you a favor, didn't he? You didn't ever count on him, so when the time came to count on yourself, later, you knew you could do it.”
That perspective had never occurred to him. “True, very true.” Another thought occurred right on the heels of the paradigm shift though. A dark thought to balance the lighter one. “That one decision may be why we're here, however,” he added with a snap of anger for Niko's continued treachery. “My brother hated me for leaving, putting myself not only out of his reach, but out of Father's reach as well. For four years, I didn't go home. Not for holidays or for summer. I took jobs in construction, in manufacturing, in management as I got to be older. You can get those jobs with a student visa, though once I took internships in management positions, I began to think about applying for citizenship.”
“Bet that pissed your dad off,” she said as she wrapped the sandwiches more tightly in their wax paper.
“Yes. It did.” An understatement if there ever was one. Dav winced at the memory of the rage that had sizzled through the transatlantic call forbidding him to apply for American citizenship. The fact that his father had been so against it made it all the sweeter when he received it.
Carrie watched him, speculation in her eyes. She was about to ask more, he could sense it, but he decided it was time to talk about something else. Those memories were raw, and dangerous. The anger at his family, never far from the surface, threatened to overwhelm him given their present situation.
“Here, let's figure out what to keep for later,” he said, brushing her fingers as he reached for the bundle of eggs. “These will keep, as will the crackers and this.” He hefted the Nutella. “The sandwiches”âhe pointed at the bundles she'd made of the sandwichesâ“we should eat today.”
“Good idea. What aboutâ”
“Shhh,” Dav said suddenly, catching her arm, straining to hear a repeat of the sound that had caught his attention. “They're leaving. I was not sure they were serious about that.”
Fear leaped into her eyes. “Oh, God. Do you think they'll come back?”
“I don't know.” He said it as calmly as he could. “Carrie-mou, we're in a terrible position,” he admitted, using the endearment because he felt he could, because he knew that they were in so very much danger it didn't matter. Besides, had he not already decided that this woman was who and what he wanted?
He sat still as stone, straining to hear any movement, any sound. The bird noises resumed as did the hum of insects buzzing in the warming sun above them. Underground, shaded, it was still fairly cool, but still warmer than most April mornings in San Francisco. “I have no idea if they'll come back.”
He stood, stretched again, trying to ignore the way she was watching him, the way her gaze roamed over his chest. It made him feel primitive, powerful. It made him want to...
He caught the thought before it hatched, stuffing it into the back of his mind. Women always complained that men thought with their libido. Unfortunately, they were far too often right. Time for a change of subject.
What had Gates told him about being held captive? Keep moving. Stay limber. Be ready to run if you get a chance.
Looking around the cell, Dav realized the outlook was bleak and getting bleaker, but he couldn't tell Carrie that. Nor could he think it himself. He had to act as if there were something they could do, some way to effect an escape or to ensure rescue.
“We need to explore this place,” he said briskly, assessing the space with a renewed sense of purpose. He forced all the dark thoughts away; he would not let Carrie see his fear. “We should see if we can reach the lock up there. Perhaps, if you stand on my shoulders?”
“On your shoulders?” Carrie echoed, standing now, and looking upward as well.
“Yes, we need to figure out what we're going to do if they don't come back,” Dav said, injecting a firm note into his tone. “We must do what we can to help ourselves.”
“God helps those who help themselves,” she muttered, walking to the center of the cell and staring at the grate. “So,” she said, with patently false brightness, “which is worse, if they do come back or if they don't?”
“We have no way to know,” Dav admitted, coming to her side. “Come now, Carrie-mou,” he soothed, reaching out to smooth down the fabric of her sweater, knowing it was a futile gesture in some ways, since there was nothing he could offer in the way of truly meaningful action. “The most important thing is to keep thinking for ourselves, to keep thinking and looking for options.”
“I know, I know. Think positive.”
He smiled, running a hand up and down her back, feeling the faint tremble in her body. He moved behind her, slipping his arms around her. For a moment she stiffened.
“Come,” he coaxed softly. “Let me hold you. It won't get us out of here, but we'll both feel better for it.”
She relaxed in his arms and for a long time they stood that way. He closed his eyes and let his cheek rest on her hair. He was fascinated by the silk of it, regretted that the heavy growth of his beard caught its fine strands.
“What was it you said earlier? While there's life, there's hope, eh? If we're taken out of this hole, we may have chances. We must stay active while they are gone so we can be ready to run, or fight. We need to plan.” He was already doing that in his own mind. “But for now,” he added, “I like standing here, holding you. I like it very much.”
He felt the hum of her agreement through her back. Slowly, she turned to face him, letting her hands slide round him, one pressing his back; the other, at his belt, clutched the leather as if a lifeline. He stroked her back again, let his fingers rest at her waist where the material rode up. He let the heat of her skin warm his hands.
It was irresistible to let the fingers of his other hand slide into her hair, remembering the kisses she'd pressed on his face when she was intoxicated with the drug.
As he stroked, she relaxed, melting into him with a pliancy that made his heart beat faster, made his body fire and respond. Here, finally, was Carrie, in his arms. They were alone at last, together, but there was no magic carpet, no fantastic meal or wine with which to ply her, no theater tickets or stunning gems with which to shower her.
Just the two of them. Alone. There was no past, no future. Nothing but the moment.
Carpe diem. Seize the day. The ancient adage floated into his mind.
Pulling away a bit, he let the hand he had in her hair slip round to caress her jaw, tilt her face toward his. Her natural compliance encouraged him and he gazed into her gorgeous blue eyes, seeing the desire kindling there.
“Carrie.” He whispered her name, saw her lips curve upward in acquiescence. Kissing her was like sipping hot coffee on a cold morning, like the finest brandy at the end of a delicious meal. It made him want. It satisfied him, then drove him higher, fed his hunger in the most fundamental way.
She shifted slightly, changing the angle of the kiss, drawing him in, drawing him deeper to her. Her hands were active now, digging into the heavy muscles of his back, sliding lower to cup his backside and pull him forward. He felt more than heard her reaction to the pounding erection she inspired.
“Mmmmm,” she moaned, pulling him away from the light, toward the wall. He followed as best he could, never breaking the connection of their mouths, the impassioned race of his hands. “Come here, please,” she implored, turning him to brace his back on the wall. “No one can look in, or see us here. The angles,” she explained obliquely. He took her word for it, so distracted by her luscious kisses that he really didn't care if anyone saw them. He found her full breasts with his hands, caressed them, then hesitated, wanting to see her reaction.
“Ohhhh, yes,” she moaned, as she clamped his hands there, and arched her hips into his. She'd pulled her mouth away long enough to express her enjoyment, but she was quickly back, a hot, powerful woman, matching him kiss for kiss, caress for caress. When she slid a hand between them to grip him, he nearly exploded. Red passion hazed his vision and he envisioned lifting her up, tearing off her clothes and impaling her, pounding into her until neither of them could take any more.
The thought was almost father to the deed. He lifted her easily, felt her wrap her legs around him. She was tugging at his shirt, unbuttoning it, pulling it open to run her hands through the thick hair on his chest.
Now it was his turn to moan. Her slender fingers were an erotic dance on his fiery skin. He shed his jacket, letting the shock of cooler air add to the passionate play. With her body braced on his hips, her neck was open to him, and he ran hot kisses up the delicate line of her throat.
Her guttural cries were like a match to a fire. He tugged her shirt free and felt himself harden even more at the sight of her lacy bra, and the magnificent breasts it constrained. He let himself feast on them, trying to be mindful of his beard. Her skin was so beautiful he hated to mark it in any way.
“Let me, let me...” she said, pulling away to unfasten the garment, let it drop.
Dav was undoing her skirt, with her hands mirroring the action on his belt, when he froze.
“Wait,” he panted, desperate to have her, desperate to complete what they'd started. But if that sound were rescue, or their captors' return, he wouldn't leave her vulnerable to them, nearly naked in his arms. He gripped her close, his ears catching the sounds beyond their cell, beyond their passion. “Shhhhh.”
“God, don't stop,” she growled, shuddering in his arms.
“Do you hear that?” he insisted. As the words left his mouth, the roar of a plane or truck reverberated in the sudden stillness above them. Whatever the vehicle was, it was close. Passion quenched by necessity, they sped to right their clothing, both straining to hear. Dav still wanted her desperately. The press of survival, of danger, made that desire an even sharper need. Though he'd long ago learned to control his body and his mind, this time, both were reluctant.
The light had dimmed only slightly, but the shadow that passed over the grate was fast. A plane.
“A flare gun would be nice,” Dav muttered.
“If it's someone friendly,” Carrie shot back. “If we're in Central America, there could be a lot of unfriendly people.” She struggled back into her shirt and fastened her skirt, tucking the sweater in as it had been before they'd started at each other. They were both peering up through the grate, straining to see if anything was happening.
Distant voices rang out, shouts and laughter, but they came no closer to where they waited crouched in tense silence. The sound of an engine neared, then died away, along with the voices.
“Do you think... ?” Carrie began in a whisper.
“Wait,” Dav cautioned.
No sound reached their straining ears. Nothing moved above them, and nothing marred the clear silence of the afternoon, not bird calls or the wind, or the sound of trucks or planes. For at least fifteen minutes they hunkered down, elbow to elbow, out of sight of anyone who might look in, stretching every sense to hear anything that might connote rescueâor more enemies.
“Do you hear anything?” Dav whispered.
“No, and I have to stand up. I'm getting a cramp in my thigh,” she said irreverently.
Thinking about her thighs was probably not the best thing, but he couldn't help it. It was true that a man's thinking started first with his body's needs, he decided ruefully.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, taking her elbow. He held on when she'd risen, turning her to face him. “Carrie, about our earlier interlude,” he began.
She smiled. “Now you're getting formal with your English again. An interlude? What a lovely thing to call it. I would have said, âAbout when you nearly jumped me, earlier, '” she said, her voice holding a strange pain.
“Well, since it was mutual and something I've longed forâ” he said, stroking her cheek, watching her blue eyes change and darken. He hoped he wasn't exposing himself too much, but he couldn't bear that she might regret the whole situation. “Nothing could have pleased me more. I was sorry to have it interrupted.”
At first, she ducked her head, then met his gaze. “Me too.” She looked up again, then around the cell, and sighed. “This sucks.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, following her assessing route. “Shall we try the idea of you standing on my shoulders to reach the grate?”
“No time like the present, I guess.” She nodded, sighing. “You've got your jacket off already, so that's one thing. Let me take my shoes back off.”
“I have no idea how to get you to my shoulders,” Dav admitted. “Not something I've ever needed to do in my life, I confess, but I know it can be done. Do you have any experience with that sort of thing?”