But he knew what she was thinking, whether she’d admit it or not. She wanted him. She’d had so damned many climaxes the night before there was no way she couldn’t want more, though she’d seemed a bit shell-shocked by the whole thing. He might almost have thought she was a virgin—hell, she was tight enough, but he knew he was big. And he hadn’t given her much of a chance to participate—he’d wanted to fuck her into a little pool of pleasure and enjoy himself at the same time. She’d been right—it had been his way of trying to make up for what he’d had to do to her earlier that day, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. Particularly when the pleasure for him had been just as shattering.
Shattering? That was a stupid-ass way to look at it. Intense, that was it. “Come on, buttercup. Night’s closing in.” He started up the side steps, coming into a kitchen that looked like it had been inhabited by frat boys on a spring break. There was garbage everywhere, mostly empty beer bottles and trash, and he looked around thoughtfully.
“I guess the Guiding Light has been here,” she said. “God, that name is so ridiculous.”
“Call them La Luz, then. But don’t underestimate them—they’re thugs and killers.” He kept himself from saying she ought to know something about that—he’d been too hard on her already, and he was beginning to suspect why.
His circumspection had been a waste of time. “Yes, I know I’ve been surrounded by thugs and killers all my life. I make no excuses for my family,” she said in a tired voice. “Though I’ve never had proof of the killer part.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he protested.
“But you were thinking it.”
“Don’t tell me what I think,” he growled. “Let’s find you a room, and then I’ll see if there’s a generator here. It’s wired for electricity so maybe we’ll be in luck—otherwise we’ll have to make do with candles.”
“And you think there’ll be candles left in this place.”
“I come prepared, remember.”
The halls were strewed with trash and beer bottles as well, and some of the greenery had begun to intrude through a couple of the open windows and louvered vents near the roofline. Lucky she wasn’t claustrophobic as well, or he’d have a basket case on his hands. As it was, he wasn’t crazy about the closed-in feeling of the place himself. In another year or so the jungle would take over the building completely.
He found a couple of small rooms that were marginally clean, though one had vines coming through the window. He dumped her bag in the adjoining room. “I imagine you’re going to want to clean this place up a bit.”
“You think?” Her sarcasm amused him.
“I think,” he agreed solemnly. “Just put the trash in the next room down—there’s no way we can clean the entire place, and La Luz will just come back and trash it again. We need a clean place to sleep—the rest of it will have to take care of itself.”
“One place to sleep? Or two?” She didn’t look happy about the idea, but she was accepting it, and he gave her a lazy smile.
“Despite your insistence to Rosario that we like to cuddle, I thought you’d be happier with your own bed tonight. In case you didn’t notice I left my bag next door. Now you can always talk me into changing my mind—far be it from me to disappoint a lady.”
“Go to hell,” she said without much heat. “This room will be just fine. I don’t suppose there’s anything like a broom around here?”
“Improvise. I’ll see what I can do about dinner and electricity.”
She waited till he was gone, then turned to look at the tiny room in dismay. The only furniture was a very narrow bed, and she realized this must have been one of the nun’s rooms back when this was a working convent. A good thing too—the walls must be imbued with virtue and chastity. No place for her to be thinking about last night, the feel of him inside her, the way she could still feel him.
She started with the trash, newspapers and beer cans and old boxes, scooping them up and dumping then in the abandoned room next to them. The bed in that one was splintered and the mattress slashed open, and she simply threw the garbage in there and shut the door.
She was left with a room full of dirt and an old mattress. The first thing she did was push open the louvered window and haul the mattress halfway out. She beat at it, watching clouds of dust emerge and then settle back down on the ticking, but she kept at it, sneezing, until she was satisfied that at least half a pound of dirt was gone. She pulled it back onto the metal bedsprings, listening to them creak in protest, then surveyed the dirt on the floor. “Improvise,” he’d said. Heading out into the hallway, she picked up a discarded newspaper and wadded it into a large, loose ball, then used it as a makeshift broom, herding rather than sweeping the top layer of dust and dirt out into the hallway and away from their doors.
She surveyed the darkening room with satisfaction. She left the windows open to allow at least a breath of fresh air in the room, then headed into the hallway. If Ryder wasn’t able to turn on the electricity, it would be dark before he could get to his room, and she didn’t want anything encouraging him to share hers.
His was in worse shape, and it took three trips to the newly designated trash room to clear out the trash. His mattress had a slash in it, but it was still in one piece. She lost only a little bit of stuffing as she beat some of the dirt out of it, and by the time she was sweeping the place, it was growing very dark indeed. Was he going to leave her here in the dark while he wasted his time doing whatever he was doing? One thing was for certain—she wasn’t going after him in this shadowy place. She didn’t quite trust him on the subject of eight-legged creatures, those that she refused to name. She would go back to her own room and sit tight, wait until the lights came on or he brought her a candle.
The shadows had grown deep in her room, and she pulled the louvered windows closed. Enough air seeped through, and she didn’t fancy sleeping with a jungle a foot away from her bed. She didn’t know how fast the foliage grew, but she had a sudden horrifying vision of lying in bed and waking up bound to the mattress by the invasive vines like in some 1950s horror movie.
She shuddered, sitting down on the mattress. Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight with her? The only things in her bag were a couple of changes of clothing and not even the grace of a nightgown. Thank God Ryder had no intention of repeating
last night’s debacle, despite that box of condoms he’d shown up with. She could still remember the expression of disgust on his face when he woke up, and his succinct “God damn it to hell.” As curses went it was mild, but the tone of voice made it equal to the most profane. He was even more horrified by what had happened last night than she was. There was no way he would be coming near her again.
As for that disgust, she knew perfectly well that it had been directed at himself, not her. Knew it in her head, but in the long run it made no difference. It had felt like a stab in the heart when she’d woken up, warm and sleepy and splendidly sated. He’d ripped all that lovely feeling away and ruined it. What had he said . . . “love causes nothing but trouble”? Then again, what did love have to do with what happened between them? It was sex, it was an accident, it was her own stupid fault and she had to stop thinking about it . . .
“Don’t move, Parker.”
She looked up and saw Ryder standing in the door, his gun pointed directly at her head.
Chapter Seventeen