Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(28)
“Of course.” He glanced over his shoulder, his beard stubble rasping deliciously against her lips. “Did you doubt I would?”
“No,” she admitted. “Not for one minute.” Even though they’d lost touch for so long, she’d always known he wouldn’t hesitate to come if she ever called. He’d promised her as much the last day they spoke. And she’d taken comfort in knowing he was out there, somewhere, keeping the world safe, ready to hop-to at the drop of a hat…the most wonderfully loyal, courageous man ever.
The same man she’d foolishly and unforgivably deceived eight years ago…
“Ready?” he asked, adjusting her weight. Thank God the stifling heat of Malaysia had put the kibosh on her appetite over the last few days, resulting in a not-unwelcome five-pound weight loss. Because even though Steady was built like a bull, stocky and strong, she didn’t suffer under the illusion that carting her around was going to be easy.
“Let’s do this,” she told him, refusing to acknowledge the fact that her breasts were smashed against his broad back.
“Good girl.” He covertly peeked from the rear entrance of the hut before jogging silently toward edge of the clearing.
She bounced lightly with each of his quickened steps, reveling in the feel of him against her, so forceful, so sure, his body a smoothly working machine. She wondered idly why she wasn’t still scared out of her head. From the looks and sounds of it, they were a far cry from being out of the woods…er…jungle? But it was Carlos who’d come for her. Carlos…who she was pretty sure was the real-life equivalent of Superman, Batman, and Captain America all rolled into one. Nuclear fallout could be raining from the sky, and if she was by his side…er…on his back?…she was pretty sure she’d feel invincible.
Good girl… His last words whispered through her head as he ducked into the jungle, dodging the slap of wet leaves and jumping over the snaking maze of roots that threatened to trip him.
Good girl? Oh, how she wished that were true. How she wished it could ever possibly be true…
*
Logging Track 3B
Seventy-five minutes later…
So far, so good…
The hum of the Ducati was reassuring, as was Abby’s tightened grip around Steady’s waist. They were riding down the devil’s own washed-out, rutted, rock-filled hell of a rubber tree logging road, and for the first ten minutes of the harrowing journey, while she’d still been suffering the lingering effects of the sedative, it was just as difficult to keep her on the bike as it was to navigate the frackin’ jungle track.
But now they were clipping along at a steady, if decidedly slow, pace. No JI goons could be seen in his rearview mirrors—though it was hard to tell exactly, given the fact that the forest encroached from both sides and above. And if his calculations were correct, a half hour or so more should see them entering the lovely kingdom of Thailand.
See, he wished he could call and tell Dan, sometimes it’s better to Lone Wolf McQuade things…
Abby squirmed against his back, interrupting his thoughts and alerting him to the feel of her supple thighs pressed against the outsides of his hips and legs. Which, in turn, immediately focused his attention on her soft breasts—and distended nipples?—grazing his back.
Okay, so who was he kidding? Like he hadn’t been keenly aware of each of those things since the first moment. Even while worming his way through the dense undergrowth of ferns and vines after escaping the encampment and hiking back to the Ducati, he’d been hard-pressed to concentrate on anything other than the feel of Abby squeezed all nice and tight against him. Abby’s soft skin touching his. Abby’s sweet smell—even sweaty and bedraggled, she still emanated a soft cloud of dryer sheets and cocoa butter lotion—filling his nose and making his head spin.
That stiffy he hadn’t been able to finish off at the hotel was back to doing its best impression of a baseball bat—the imbécil. And you want to talk about one of the most pleasurable and uncomfortable rides of his life? It was this one right here. No contest.
“Um… Sorry to say, but I have to pee again,” Abby proclaimed from over his shoulder. The poor woman, dehydrated because she’d been unconscious and sweating for hours without so much as a sip of water, had been emptying his hydration bottles one right after the other since the moment she regained control of her arms. They’d already had to stop once to let her stumble into the jungle and relieve herself.
He felt for her. He really did. But he wouldn’t rest easy until they crossed that border…
“You’re killing me, woman,” he called back to her as he throttled down. Coasting to a slow stop, he planted his boots on the earthen road and steadied the bike while she crawled off. Even in the sweltering heat, he missed her sweet warmth all along his back.
“It’s a proven fact that we women have smaller bladders than you men,” she told him, stumbling slightly. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her. She was still weak, but she was toughing it out just as he’d always known she would. Abigail Thompson might look fragile, but scratch her surface and what you found beneath was one hundred percent pure, brass-balled grit. As if to underscore his thoughts, she added with a smirk, “I think it’s to make up for our bigger brains.”
He snorted, the wet earth and lush green scents of the jungle tickling his nose. He’d always thought Abby had it all, looks, smarts, charm… But it was her sense of humor he found most attractive.