Part 13 (2/2)

Words of friends.h.i.+p. Words of trust, of grat.i.tude. Words Liam had given to a man he'd considered a close and loyal companion.

A companion who'd abandoned him in the jungle, and thena”

”Oh, G.o.d,” Mac said. ”One of the guerrillas had it.”

”As payment, perhaps?” The shock was gone from Liam's voice, and his eyes held only a blank acceptancea”a silver s.h.i.+eld erected between him and the rest of the world.

Mac didn't have to ask him what he thought. She'd seen Perry's letter, his guilta and then a d.a.m.ning piece of evidence left on the scene of the crime.

”No,” she said aloud. ”Maybe he lost it, or it was stolen.”

Liam stood and grabbed a bottle on the desk. The watch and its chain fell with a dull rattle and thump to the earthen floor.

Mac stared at the abandoned timepiece. ”What happened between the two of you?”

He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank. Mac caught the whiff of potent liquor and shot to her feet.

”Hey, you shouldn't mix alcohol with those pillsa””

”No?” He drank again, long and deliberately. ”Could it kill me?”

”Stop it!” She grabbed his arm and hung on, trying to pull the bottle out of his fingers. ”Whatever you may think about your friend, I saved your life, and I'm not going to see my efforts go to waste!”

He laughed. There was a chilling indifference in the sound. ”Like Perry's did?”

He let go of the bottle. Mac glanced around the tent, trying to decide what she should do with it. Pour it out somewherea A large, warm hand drifted across her cheek, wiping all thought from her mind.

”You did save my life, Mac. And you brought me the watch.”

”I guess thata sort of proves I wasn't working for Perry, doesn't it?”

”It must prove something.” Callused fingers cupped her chin. His touch was turning her legs into something out of a Jell-O mold.

She met his gaze. The cold metal barrier had begun to give way, soften, become molten again. Was it possible to drown in liquid silver, or would you burn to death first?

”Uha if those guerrillas are still around, maybe you should set up a guard or somethinga”don't you think?”

”I'm not worried.” His thumb hooked her lip, moved on. ”You wouldn't betray me, would you, Mac?”

Betray him? She couldn't even move, not when his knuckles were making a survey of her jawline with such tenderness.

”We hardly know each other,” she said. ”Don't you have to know someone well to, um, betray them?”

His hand slipped to the nape of her neck. ”We could know each other much better, darlin'.”

That crazy endearment again. ”I was on my way out of here.”

”And you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

”I did saya””

”When I was sleeping.” He caressed the short hairs behind her ear. ”You were going to leave then. But you talked to me, didn't you? And you touched me.”

Mac was certain any reply would come out as an undignified squeak. Or a moan.

”Admit it. You were touching me. When you thought I was asleep.”

”I was just making sure you werea””

”a”and you want to touch me again.”

Her mouth went dry. ”No.”

”There's no need to fight it.”

”I'm not fighting anything.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. ”You're a fighter by nature, darlin'.”

Somehow or other she'd gotten very close to him. Somewhere along the line the liquor bottle had fallen from her hand. She could smell the spilled alcohol. Liam's gaze was locked on hers, pulling her in, sucking her into a whirlpool of desire.

Panic shot through her. She jerked away. Liam tried to keep his hold and failed. She retreated and he followed, his boots sliding in newly-formed mud. As the back of Mac's knees. .h.i.t the cot, Liam lost his balance, careening forward.

She barely caught him in time, pushed backward by his solid bulk. The cot's thin mattress sank under their combined weights. Mac worked her body sideways to avoid being crushed and found herself entangled with hima”limb with limb, chest to chest.

She came to rest on top of a warm, hard-contoured, breathing male body. Every inch of him burned through her thin clothing, fever-hot. Hooded gray eyes made a study of her face. His lips curled in something like triumph.

Heat pooled between her legs, in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, filling up the s.p.a.ce where her brain ought to be. She planted her hands on the cot and pushed up. ”Your shouldera””

”No pain,” he said. He worked his arm between their bodies, brus.h.i.+ng her oversensitive b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”I think I've found the cure.”

Where's your snappy comeback now? Mac asked herself. But it wouldn't come. Her mind had detached itself from her body.

”Mac,” he said, caressing her name. ”You know what it's like to be close to deatha”feel it brush by you and leave you untouched.”

”Yes,” she whispered.

”Something always happens then, darlin'. It's when you know you're most alive.”

Yes. The admission hummed through her, a first inevitable surrender. She felt more alive now than she had in years.

His mouth was so close, his body so unapologetically masculine. Right down to the unmistakable thrust of his pelvis under hers. She felta womanly. Soft. Almost beautiful, all the things she'd never been and never could be. Didn't want to be. Except he made her want it.

He made her want him.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands. ”We're alive, Mac. Now more than ever. Life calls to life. It demands repayment.”

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