Rogue Protector, page 5
The air holds a chill, even though it’s well over sixty today, and I wrap my arms around myself tightly as I pick my way down towards the river. Autumn in this part of Mexico is unpredictable. One day can be beautifully sunny with ninety percent humidity, and the next, fifty degrees with rain that feels like it’s driving into your skull.
The river, only a trickle in June, flows swiftly, and I lower myself down to a large, flat rock I discovered our second day here. It’s big enough to stretch out on—even do a few sun salutations—and it’s high enough above the river that even now, after several days of rain, I won’t get wet.
Crossing my legs and leaning back, I stare out over the lush landscape. Despite how awful this weather is for my asthma, the air is so fresh this high up in the mountains, and there’s a purity to the flora and fauna that’s been lost in so many of the world’s industrialized areas.
Places like Chiapas are why I decided to study endangered species in the first place. Sitting here, listening to birdsong so loud, it almost drowns out the rushing water, I feel like my life has meaning. Like I’m making a difference.
I just hope whatever we find tomorrow doesn’t shatter that illusion completely.
Chapter Seven
Austin
Pushing myself to my physical limits helps drive my demons deep inside where they can’t hurt me—or more importantly, damage others. And if I’m going to have dinner with Mikayla tonight, those demons need to be well hidden.
Kissing her rocked me down to my toes, and I was so hard when I returned to my room, I couldn’t sit down for fifteen minutes. Now, after hiking seven miles to the ruins of an old temple, then climbing the hundred and twenty steps to the top—and back down, twice—my body feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry in the sun.
I know how to recover, though. Electrolytes, beer, and an hour’s nap, and I’ll be able to push myself all night if I have to. And fuck, do I hope I have to. I’d love to take Mikayla into town for a proper date. I might never see her again after this week, and I have no business starting anything serious with her given my current mental state, but I don’t do things halfway.
Within minutes of stretching out on the bed, I’m asleep, but peace? That’s harder to come by. In my nightmares, Gil finds me, and his taunts, his blade, his betrayal…they’re still just as fresh as they were five years ago.
“The United States government wants me dead,” he says as he drags the knife across my chest. I hang from an exposed ceiling beam, my wrists secured with a thick zip tie. Blood drips down my abs, soaking into my pants. My hands went numb hours ago. “I knew they’d send you.”
Another cut, but I don’t let myself react. Pain can be controlled. To a point. The ribs he broke when he captured me are much more concerning at the moment. Each breath is harder than the last.
“What…do you think…torturing me…will get you?” I force out through clenched teeth. “You’re a traitor, Gil. You’ll be lucky…to live…another day.”
“Oh, I think I’ll last longer than that. My father owns this country.” Gil laughs and waves the knife in front of my face. “You’ll never defeat the Loma Collectivo, Austin. When they send Trevor—and they will—I’ll make him watch as I gut you.”
I jerk awake, my hand automatically moving to the thick scar just below my ribcage. I never told Trevor, but an hour before he showed up in Venezuela to rescue me, Gil had stopped playing around and his blade had come within half an inch of piercing my liver.
Sometimes, I forget. The pain. The fear I’m not supposed to admit to anyone. The failure.
Giving up on sleep, I shower, wrap myself in a towel, and stand in front of my rucksack for way too long, trying to figure out what the hell to wear on the first date I’ve had in three years. Assuming Mik shows. For all I know, I could have scared her off.
Dr. Mikayla Salim is full of contradictions. Last night, there were moments she was bold, outgoing, funny as hell, and others, like after she touched me at the end of the evening, she almost disappeared inside a shy, demure shell. I want to know more about her. Everything about her.
Ten minutes later, three shirts laid out on my bed, I’m only half dressed when someone knocks. Shit. In my rush to see her, I don’t even grab one of the shirts before I fling the door open.
Mikayla takes a quick step back. “Oh, crap on a cracker. I’m…um…” Her gaze locks onto my chest, and her cheeks flush a dark crimson. “I can come back. When you’re not all…” she waves her hand up and down, “muscles.”
“Not all muscles? You do realize they don’t go away when I get dressed, right?” My laugh feels good. Normal. But Mikayla covers her face with her hands and groans.
“I know how muscles work,” she says, her voice muffled as she retreats. “I’ll, um, be…in my room.”
“Mikayla.” The single word stops her in her tracks, and I snag the closest shirt from the bed and shrug into it as she drops her hands and risks a second glance at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. Or make you uncomfortable. I just need to button up and grab a couple of things. Come on in.”
“I can wait in the hall.” She lowers her gaze, shoulders hunched, feet cemented to the floor.
I want her in my space. Leaving her scent in my room. But she’s definitely not budging from that spot, so I give her a quick nod, then head for the dresser. The hotel’s old enough the doors don’t shut automatically, so I can see her start to relax slightly as I fasten the last button. “Are you up for a little adventure?”
“Adventure?” Her eyes narrow. “I thought this was just…dinner.”
Sliding my wallet into a zippered pocket inside my jacket, I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It can be. But I spent some time wandering the town a couple of days ago, and I thought if you weren’t too tired…maybe we could find a little outdoor cantina, watch the tourists go by?”
Relief softens her features. “I’d like that. I’ve only been into San Cristóbal de las Casas once, and that was to pick up a prescription refill. I need to get a jacket, though. Be right back.”
While she’s gone, I slide a folding knife into a sheath on my belt. It sits at the small of my back, easily accessible, but almost completely hidden by my blue linen shirt. This is a safe town, but I’ve been in too many safe towns that suddenly weren’t, and even though we’ve spent all of four hours together, I already know. Mikayla is definitely someone I want to protect. Even if only for this one night.
My phone, hotel key, and passport go in another secured pocket, and I meet Mikayla at her door when she emerges with a small cross-body bag at her hip, barely visible under her windbreaker.
“Are we walking?” she asks.
“Unless you’d rather not.” The small elevator doors close, and fuck. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her, but after what just happened, I shove my hands into my pockets. “We can call a cab.”
“No. It stopped raining on our way back to the hotel. As long as I don’t have to run anywhere…” She offers me a sheepish smile. “The humidity isn’t great for my lungs, but I hate being trapped inside all day.”
“Then we’ll walk. At a leisurely pace.”
She’s right about the weather. The air smells like passion fruit and wood smoke, and a gentle breeze ruffles Mikayla’s hair. She peers up at me when we stop at the corner, confusion in the set of her brow, but then quickly looks away as we start walking again. I’m about to ask her if she’s all right when she curls her hand around my left wrist and holds on.
The contact makes me think I didn’t totally fuck up back at the hotel, and I quickly adjust so I can link our fingers. “Wasn’t sure you wanted—“
“I was raised…by very conservative parents,” she says, the words tumbling out like she’s about to lose her nerve. “And it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone. Seeing you earlier threw me a little.”
“Hey.” I stop and, with my free hand, nudge her chin up slightly so she can see my eyes. “You don’t have to explain, Mik. We’re not getting married. Not getting naked. Yet, anyway.” Her lips form a little o, and I cup the back of her neck, but don’t step any closer. “And not ever unless you decide you want to. Tonight, I’m yours. Whatever you want to do, whatever you want me to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Even though my dick hasn’t fully relaxed since she came to my door, I won’t push her. Hell, for all I know, she could be a virgin.
Her eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and when she opens them again, the setting sun catches the golden flecks in her irises, turning them into tiny flames that make me want her even more. I’m about to release her when she swallows hard and licks those perfect, bow-shaped lips. “I want you to kiss me again.”
That does it. I’m now turned on enough she’s going to notice. Any second. But I made her a promise. Whatever she wants and whatever she wants me to do. So I dip my head and taste her.
I never believed in sparks. Kissing a woman…well, it can be about the best damn feeling in the world—maybe even better than great sex, because with a kiss, there’s a connection. If you’re doing it right. But as soon as she parts for me and her tongue starts a slow, lazy dance with mine, there are definitely sparks. If not a raging inferno.
A tiny moan escapes her throat, and I slide my hand up to tangle in her hair. The short strands are soft and thick, just the right length for me to hold onto. I can tell when I move too close, though, because she tenses at the feel of my length against her stomach. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say as I break off the kiss. “Can’t help what you do to me. Give me a minute.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her voice cracks, and she nestles herself against my chest, her arm around my waist as we start walking again. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“I made you uncomfortable.”
“No. You surprised me, that’s all.” With a sigh, she shakes her head. “I’m not…completely inexperienced, Austin. It’s just been a while. And this?” Her sultry laugh as she gestures between us does nothing to calm me down. “This isn’t something I’ve ever done before. Pick up a guy in a hotel? Lie awake half the night thinking about a kiss that…well…was nothing compared to that one?”
“You weren’t the only one.”
“But I don’t sleep with guys on the first date,” she says. “Or the second.”
“No sleeping. Got it.”
“No sex.” With a chuckle, she twists out from under my arm and flashes me a smile. The move pulls at my shoulder, and I can’t stifle my wince, or the quiet grunt of pain. “Austin?”
“Just an old injury.” I drive the heel of my hand into the center of the throbbing ache, and after a few seconds, it fades enough for me to shove it into the background where hopefully, it won’t bother me again tonight.
“What happened?” She approaches warily, like she’s afraid she’ll break me, but I sidestep her and tuck her under my good arm where it only takes a few steps for her to relax again.
“It’s an ugly story,” I say quietly, then press a kiss to the top of her head. Her scent helps chase away the demons floating so close to the surface. “And tonight…let’s stick to the good ones. That okay?”
“On one condition.” Mik peers up at me, her long, dark lashes framing eyes full of concern. “If we have a tomorrow, will you let me ask you again?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I will.”
Mikayla
Dozens of tourists wander the streets amid the colorful buildings and open-air stalls of the public market. It’s relaxing with Austin at my side, his fingers wrapped around mine. “What did you do all day?” I ask. “And just how many hiking trails are there around here anyway?”
A laugh rumbles in his chest, smooth and deep and sexy as anything I’ve ever heard. Steering me towards one of the booths selling freshly cut flowers, he points to a blushing red rose. “¿Cuánto questa?”
After handing over five pesos, he accepts the bloom, brings it to his lips, and then to mine before he offers it to me. I don’t know what to say other than, “Thank you,” and he gives me a quizzical look.
“Not here.” Scanning the area, I point to a little cantina with outdoor tables and clear lights hanging overhead. There’s a table for two at the edge of the patio, and when we’re facing one another with my rose between us, I stroke my fingers over the velvety petals. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.”
“You’re kidding. Who are these guys you’ve been dating, Mik?” Austin cups his hands over mine, and the contact makes those butterflies in my belly flutter to life again.
This is a much more personal conversation than I thought we’d be having tonight. But there’s something about this man I trust, and it’s not just his collection of medals and commendations. “Well, there have only been three of them,” I admit.
“Shit. Mikayla. Why? You’re smart, fucking gorgeous, and incredibly sexy. Men should be falling at your feet and begging you to spend time with them.”
My cheeks catch fire, and I pull my hands from his when the server comes to take our order. “Margarita?” Austin asks.
“I’ve never had one.” His brows shoot up, furrowing his forehead, and I stammer, “I-I don’t usually drink. Just a beer…uh, once in a while. I’ll take an Agua Fresca.”
Alone again—or as alone as we can be on a patio full of people—I fiddle with the tablecloth. “I’m not good at relationships. I study endangered orchids. I have two Ph.Ds. I’m much better with microscopes and soil acidity, and…numbers than people. I spent the day analyzing the cellular structure of half a dozen root samples from the grow sites we have access to, then entering data for three hours.”
“Three hours?” He frowns, then rubs his hand over his jaw. “Shit. Sorry. That came out wrong. But I don’t know anything about orchids. Or most plants, for that matter. What’s there to study?”
“The Blushing Note orchid is one of the largest in the world. Some of the plants weigh close to fifty kilograms. And its roots and flowers…they’re poisonous. A self-defense mechanism it developed. The dried particles are a powerful phytotoxin, but there’s a researcher at Johns Hopkins who thinks he can use that phytotoxin as a component in a treatment for Parkinson’s. But the orchid’s endangered. Almost extinct. And…I’m babbling. You really don’t want me to bore you with all the details. This is my passion, and even I think a lot of what we’re doing here is…well, dry as all get out.”
There’s that laugh again. The one that sends those butterflies all the way down to my toes. “All get out?”
“I…I don’t swear much either. Or at all. Crap on a cracker was the most vulgar phrase my parents allowed when I was growing up.” My cheeks warm, and I do the quick mental math. Four hours last night. Another hour tonight. Five. Yep. About the length of time most men take to figure out I was raised Muslim. Then run away.
“Oh. Shit.” Austin’s eyes widen. “Shoot?”
Now I’ve done it. “It doesn’t offend me when other people swear. And no one should have to change their behavior because of how I was raised. Really, I almost wish I did swear. But my parents don’t allow it in their house, and keeping things…clean makes it easier when I see them.”
“That’s…” Austin gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then focuses back on me, “actually sweet. But I have to ask. You rarely drink, rarely date, and don’t swear…?”
Taking a deep breath, I hold his gaze. “I was raised Muslim. My parents are devout, and while I’m not, I respect their choices. If that’s a problem for you, please tell me now? My last boyfriend didn’t tell me for weeks. James the Jerk just wanted to get me into bed. Once he did, he called my parents terrorists, and I never saw him again.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them away. I won’t let James ruin this night for me. Assuming I haven’t ruined it all on my own.
Austin sits back in his chair and stretches his legs under the table so the outside of his thigh touches mine. “Mik, I’m not that shallow. Or judgmental. Or…any of those things James the Jerk apparently was. In fact, if you want me to find him and punch him into next week, I will. Or at least threaten him a little.”
He’s completely serious. Now, I’m the one who’s shocked. “But you’re… I Googled you,” I say as I stare down at the rose. “You fought in Afghanistan. Iraq. My parents are Syrian. They applied for refugee status before I was born, became citizens ten years ago or so, and they love the United States. They’re the most peace-loving people you’ll ever meet, but still—“
“Hold up right there, sweetheart. Any man who would walk away from you because your parents are Muslim is a fucking idiot.” He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. “I used to be damn high up in military intelligence. Which means I’ve been trained to read micro-expressions. Tone of voice. Body language. You don’t have to convince me of anything. Being Muslim doesn’t make your parents terrorists. Or anything other than two people I hope I get to meet someday.”
I relax a little, letting his gentle touch soothe my pounding heart. “You’re too good to be true.”
Austin snorts. “If I were…” With a shake of his head, he releases my hand. “You don’t get where I was without a whole lot of bad disguised as good.” The sadness in his voice makes my heart hurt, and I want to ask him to explain, but the server drops off two plates of tacos and our drinks, and he looks so relieved, I let it go.
For now.
