But it’s also quite early, and I know most people aren't up anywhere close to my normal waking schedule. I weigh the possibilities in my head for another minute, watching his muscled, tattooed chest rise and fall with his sleeping breath. His hands are still behind his head, his eyes closed, and I let my eyes wander down over the tightly wound body of the man I'm in charge of. I look down over the ink and muscle of his chest and shoulders, my eyes lingering for a moment on the scar on his neck from Quinn; now covered by a tattooed rose.
My eyes drop further, down those chiseled abs and the deep grooves on his hips; in general the body built for sin. I follow the trail of hair leading down his abs under the waist of his shorts, and suddenly I gasp as I notice the huge bulge there.
Oh my GOD, he's hard.
He's actually very hard, apparently, and I blush furiously as I wonder just what sort of dreams Javier Toro is having at this moment.
Yeah, I need to get this man and that body out of my head.
He's not going to run.
I shake my head and quickly make my way down to the water's edge, taking off my sarong and laying it on a rock by the water. It's absurd that I'm thinking about Javier Toro like that. It's unforgivable, really, after what he did to our family.
Well, and what our family did to him.
Oh shut up, the voice inside chides me, making me frown.
I start to strip off my bathing suit, realizing how bizarre it is to do that before a swim, but also knowing that I don't exactly have a change of clothes, and the idea of spending all morning in a wet bathing suit is just uncomfortable to think about.
The water is surprisingly cool as I dunk under, the chill of it tingling across my sun-warmed skin. I suppose I’m just overwhelmed a little with the adventure of the last twenty-four hours, which is why I'm not thinking clearly. I'm out of my element, and pent up, and just confused. And I blame my sex life back home, or rather, lack thereof. Boyfriends? Yeah, right. I don’t have time for life, let alone a relationship. I don't even have time for just going out for something casual, even if wanted to. Working for who I work for is like having the most overbearing father-figure in the world monitoring your dating life. There's just too many levels of security around me.
I realize as soon as the thought crosses my head that I mean that both literally and metaphorically.
I guess I’ve just learned to be insular. I learned to add layers and levels around myself to keep me safe; to keep me protected. I was the youngest when our dad died, and my sisters were there for me of course, but they were also older, and moving forward with the rest of their lives.
Me? I had to stay. I had to process being alone more than they did, I suppose.
I shake my head as I stare at the gentle ocean waves before me. Of course, fucking none of this matters, because it’s all stemming from horrible thoughts about him.
Jesus, just, no.
I dunk under the waves again, letting the ocean clear my thoughts for me as I come up and push the hair from my face. There are bad boys; I mean I get that whole “rebel with a problem with authority” thing. Both my sisters are with tatted-up Marines who flaunt authority and rules like it’s their second job for crying out loud.
But, Javier isn’t a bad boy.
He’s a man.
A very, very bad man.
I step out of the waves, knowing it’s probably not a good idea to be so naked and exposed like this. But he was out like a light back at the campsite, and again, it's not like I have a change of clothes. The sun and the edge of my sarong dries me quickly, and I step back into my bikini before heading back to the campsite. Time to wake up Javier and get going with getting out of here.
My heart drops like a rock though as soon as I step through the trees: The sleeping, muscular and hunky fugitive is no longer snoozing under the tree where I left him. He's just gone.
You fucking idiot. The thought hits me like a rock to the head as I whirl around, manically looking around for him as if I’ve somehow missed him standing right there.
Of course he's not here, you moron. He probably wasn't even sleeping, he was just waiting for his moment to strike, like a snake in the grass. I somehow trusted him, like a complete fool, and that piece of shit ran off.
There's a trail of sorts leading through the underbrush and up the hill from the beach, and I wildly jump into the foliage. What am I doing, chasing him? With what, exactly? A sense of righteousness and a half-damp bikini? What exactly am I going to do if I even do find him?
I'm shoving branches aside and starting to run further up the forested slope, when suddenly, I hear it.
I hear my name.
I freeze in the stillness of the trees, trying to push the sounds of birds out my ears as I strain to hear what there is no way I actually heard. But there it is again; my name, whispered quietly and whispered lowly. It’s followed by a groan and more growled words in a Spanish.