Page 8

Archer

“A tree boa?” I ask over the comms. “You’re damn lucky it wasn’t venomous.” I wouldn’t wish a snake bite on anyone—especially in a vulnerable situation like taking a leak—but I can’t help but wonder if it’s the universe’s way of retribution for Blaze’s show of holding Mia as they descended the chopper. Thank God it’s him. Blaze is north of two hundred pounds, with a ten percent body fat. It’s certainly not the worst he’s endured. He can handle it.

But what if it were Mia instead of him…? What if it had been a viper? Even with a dose of antivenom, I’d never be able to get her to a hospital in time. The idea of her getting hurt causes my stomach to churn. I swallow down the nausea.

“ Owwwwww, you asshole!” Blaze screams from behind me.

“Well, would you look at the size of that fucker?” Legion says. I can see him out of the corner of my eye holding a tweezer with what looks like a curved needle in it. Except, it’s a tooth. “Not sure what’s worse, brother…nonvenomous snake teeth are more wicked than fangs…” He motions his hands in the air, weighing the options. “Venom with a less painful bite, or one of these large , curved teeth that packs a nasty punch.” He puts direct emphasis on the size of the tooth in case Blaze hadn’t gotten the full effect from the pain in his thigh.

Blaze breathes like he’s in a birthing class. “Clearly,” he says, “this is the better option, but it hurts like a motherfucker. Why don’t you try getting bitten just inches from your junk and tell me how the fuck it feels?”

Maybe my earlier assessment about him being able to handle a bite is incorrect.

“Stop your bitching while I clean the area,” Legion says.

I see Mia to my right as she pulls her gaze away from the chaotic scene. I know she’s trying to give Blaze a shred of decency while he lies there with his pants around his ankles and wheezes with pain.

But Blaze doesn’t miss a beat. “Darlin’, you don’t have to look away just ‘cuz my pants are down…”

“Oh, but I do,” she insists, an ounce of humor behind her delivery. “You, uh, just get cleaned up like a good patient now, okay?”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face and it takes physical effort not to laugh.

“I am a good patient,” Blaze says.

“And I can rappel out of a helicopter by myself…” she retorts.

This time I do laugh. But it reminds me of the way she clung to Blaze… “Yeah, that bullshit about Baby Bjorn…?” I say. Phantom’s low chuckle fills my headset.

Mia places a hand on my shoulder. Her touch alone is enough to set my skin on fire, but it’s twofold: she’s telling me it’s not worth mentioning.

I change the subject and instead confirm with Mia what they found at the site.

“Dillon, it’s another seal! Just like the one my dad has. They have to be connected.”

“Well, we’ll see when we get back to the huts, hmm?” It sounds promising and God, for her sake and the sake of this entire job, I hope it is.

In less than an hour, we’re back at the hut I’m sharing with the guys, gathered around a table downstairs. Well, all of us except Blaze. He’s resting in the hammock with a pillow shoved under his hip. I shake my head at him.

“What’s that look for, Arch?” He’s also sipping a fruity drink, which he at least has the decency to remove the umbrella from.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you see your knee?” I ask.

Motioning like Vanna White, he says, “You mean this beaut?”

“Yup.” I take note of the scar that runs across it like a faded white web. “You can take shrapnel to the knee, but a tiny little snake is rendering you useless.”

Crimson paints his face, despite the iced drink he’s consuming. “It was not tiny! Do you even know how big boas can get?”

A slew of Sir Mix-a-Lot jokes run through my head, but I rather like the path I’m going down. It’s too easy to poke the bear. “Just because they can get big, doesn’t mean the one that bit you was.” But judging by the size of the tooth that Legion extracted, it was. Giving him the benefit of the doubt is not the objective here, though. “Care to try again?”

As if I’d flinch, Blaze attempts a fake lunge at me. He ends up swinging precariously enough that he loses his hip pillow.

“Okay, I got the clay,” Mia says. I turn my back to the shitshow at the hammock and join her and the others at the table once more.

Inside the Ziploc container is a blob of gray with a nondescript plastic rolling device. Not much has changed since my days with Play-doh, apparently. I notice the accurately sculpted thigh piece, thanks to Ashlee, is no more.

None of us speaks while Mia rolls the cylinder. It’s like we’re all drawn by a magnet, because the four of us lean over the table, curiosity getting the better of us.

“This one doesn’t have any half animal, half humans,” I point out. Immediately I feel foolish for stating the obvious.

“You’re right,” Mia says. Her hands have the drying remains of clay clinging to them, but it doesn’t stop her from smoothing her hair out of her face.

Midas points at an intricate arch that is dead center. It appears to be a portion of something bigger, and where the interior part of the arch comes to a point, there are decorative bits that adorn the curved edges. “Gothic?” he asks.

Mia shakes her head no.

“Are those lions on either side of it?” Phantom asks for clarification.

“Yes…” With her lack of explanation, it’s obvious Mia’s thoughts are in overdrive.

I peer down at the simple relief. A fancy arch with a narrow lion on either side. The carvings in the structure are detailed and remind me of the Taj Mahal. But then where do the lions come in? “The Middle East?” I ask.

She shakes her head again, sending water droplets across her shoulders. “No…you’d think that though, given the intricacy of this,” she says, gesturing to the curvature in the center.

“Do you have the first one, or—or a picture of it?” Phantom asks.

Behind us, Blaze slurps the last of his drink noisily.

“Yeah.” Mia pulls out her phone and scrolls until a photo of the original impression is on the screen.

The difference seems obvious now that we can easily compare the two. “There’s so much space on the left and the right with this new one,” I say.

“And so much negative space in the middle of the original,” Mia whispers. Her fingers hover over the clay. Shiny glimpses of her nail polish peak through the bits of caked mud and clay.

“Except for that little piece in the center,” Blaze pipes up. We all turn to him, eyebrows raised.

“How the hell did you remember that?” Midas asks, scratching at his ear.

Blaze lifts his phone. “Shared docs.” He’s positively smug.

Mia turns back to the table. “He’s right. The original has this tiny engraving in the center…” Her voice trails off not for the first time.

“Looks to me like they fit together.” Legion makes his presence known. “You know, like if they were layered or one seal had the engravings from both combined into one.”

Mia is photographing the new impression with her phone. “God, I’d give my left foot right now to have photo editing software…”

“Would Lightroom do?” I ask.

Mia turns to me like she’s tethered to a whip. “Yes,” she says, placing a hand on my forearm momentarily. “You have it?”

“Yeah, I uh, sort of take pictures as a hobby. Let me get my laptop…”

In a few minutes, Mia has the two photos loaded into the program.

Once again, her silence has each of us intrigued. We’ve migrated behind her and are watching her photo editing skills with rapt attention.

Then, she drops the opacity of the new image and drags it over the original one. “Holy shit,” she says. “They do fit together!”

On the screen, the continuity is undeniable. Each carving is perfectly spaced and fits together like a puzzle.

“But what does this tell us?” I ask, feeling the slow release of deflation after a high.

Mia begins to ramble. “Bat-faced man…sun…gold…arch, lions…there has to be a connection…” Stepping back from the screen, she paces. And paces some more. She taps a fingernail to her front tooth. The motion causes her finger to rest against her enticingly full bottom lip.

Legion crosses his arms. “Okay, let’s go over what we know: the original was Colombian. And this bat/man thing is real, right? And it’s gold.”

“Correct.” Mia chews on her bottom lip and I have to look away.

“What we don’t know is the origin of the lions and arch. Nor do we know what the small engraving in the center is,” Legion says, listing everything verbally.

Mia returns to the laptop and begins frantically tweaking the image. “Let me up the contrast and then…I’ll detect edges…and then…” No more than a minute later, she stands straight and says, “That’s it!”

She’s pointing to the screen triumphantly. Whatever that small engraving was, it’s now enhanced and blown up. Like the arch, it’s a portion of something bigger, but now that the image is clearer, the characters stand out like a sore thumb.

“It’s Muslim,” I say.

“Yes!” Mia practically shouts. The balls of her feet are getting a workout as she bounces on them. If I had to guess, she doesn’t know she’s doing it. When she catches Phantom’s confused look, she clears her throat. “How is that related to the Guztá people, you ask? Well, quite simply put, it’s gold. The Guztá tribe used gilded gold, but the cuff is supposedly solid…and, they traded with the conquistadors who came from Spain. And in turn, they were funded by the crown and Ferdinand and Isabella lived in a palace…”

“So, the next step is a Spanish palace?” I ask unsurely.

“Not just any palace,” she says. “It would have to be the Alhambra. But… over the centuries, what could be left that archeologists and historians haven’t already discovered?”

Midas snaps his fingers. “I’ve seen pictures of that place and it’s architecture does not look Spanish.”

“That’s because it’s not Spanish. Before Granada came under Christian rule from the Catholics in 1492, the Iberian Peninsula was ruled by Muslims. Muhammad I, the founder of the Nasrid Dynasty, began expanding upon the Alcazaba in 1238. Throughout the two centuries of Moorish rule, the citadel underwent several additions and modifications. The entire palace is not only stunning, but it’s a stellar example of Moorish and Andalusian heritage. The Arabic calligraphy, the various fountains, the painted tiles…the gardens, all make it one of the best-preserved Islamic palaces.”

If only you could view the previous owners of it on Redfin…what would that look like? I think to myself.

“So, that small inscription makes you confident enough to know that the next clue is at the Alhambra?” Legion says without thinking. A low growl escapes my throat and he amends his tone. “No offense,” he mutters.

“None taken.” She gives him a half-hearted smile.

Midas speaks up. “There are lions on the second seal and if I remember correctly, the palace has a courtyard with a fountain made of them, right?” He looks to Mia for confirmation. “Regardless of how well the Alhambra has been combed, what other option do we have?”

“Yeah,” Blaze says in agreement. “I mean, it’s not like we’re going into this completely blind. There’s evidence that supports the location.”

“I second that,” Phantom says.

“I concur.” Legion says seriously.

Mia bites her bottom lip. “The Alhambra it is, then.”

Midas had taken a seat during Legion’s first question and he slaps the tops of his thighs, standing. “It’s late afternoon,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I suggest you all get cleaned up and we can meet back here for drinks—I think you’ve all earned them. We’ll head out in the morning.”

A round of “copy that’s” is heard while everyone but Midas heads upstairs. Even Blaze in his weakened, injured state fumbles out of the hammock. “I call dibs on the first shower,” he shouts. But he’s left in the dust while his brother and Phantom take the steps two at a time. “Bunch of dicks,” he says to himself.

I look at Mia. She’s soaked and covered in mud, but under the grime is a contentedness that’s been absent. She’s bent over the table, fixated on the clay impression, nibbling her bottom lip again. I’m blown away by her brilliance. Could any of us have strung together two arbitrary clues like she’d done? Fuck no. She’d done it with very little effort, and I have a fleeting thought of how she would be at a trivia night.

Mia stretches and looks above us where we can both hear Blaze and Legion arguing about the shower. “Why don’t you use the one in my hut?” she suggests. Midas has wandered off toward the restaurant, most likely gathering refreshments and liquor.

“Nah, you go first.”

She wrings her hands together. “I insist. Plus, there’s a little more fiddling I want to do on here,” she says, gesturing her head toward my laptop. “Please.”

“It goes against my ‘ladies first’ rule, but I’ll be done before you know it.” I head upstairs to grab my stuff from my bag. When I enter, I can hear Legion singing in the shower. Blaze is pulling his pants down to show Phantom just how close the bite is to the family jewels, and Phantom looks like he’s ready to vomit.

“Pull your goddamn pants up,” he tells Blaze. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid of snakes. But I draw the line with you, sans clothes.” He shudders.

“Oh, hey,” Blaze says when he sees me. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a perfectly good vacant shower next door. See ya.” I blow him a kiss goodbye and close the door before he tosses a wadded up pair of socks at me.

Mia’s hut is identical to ours, but the difference lies in all of her belongings. The back of the bathroom door has an unfolded gold overnight bag hanging from the hook. Black square cases, a hair brush, various tubes and products with pump tops all sit in the neat zippered sections. On the counter is a small bottle of perfume. I don’t have to pick it up to know that its aroma is jasmine—I could smell it when I walked in.

I turn the water until it’s almost all the way on cold. The humidity with the warm temps has me sweating through every layer of clothing, and the rain masked it all by soaking the rest.

I’m done in three minutes. Once I retired from the Marines, military showers just kind of stuck with me. Conserving water has its obvious advantages, but hopefully Mia will be left with enough hot water to take her time.

With her face smeared in mud and her clothing unrecognizable, she’s still beautiful. That, and the fact that no amount of dirt can hide her infectious energy or enthusiasm.

Sure, I’ve been with women, but never had much time for anything serious. Nor did I deem it fair to start something, only to be redeployed soon after. And I’ve certainly never been with anyone that can ground me the way Mia can with a single touch. Nobody that I’ve wanted to get to know beyond a fun night of sex.

I don’t attend galas or the opera, nor am I capable of donating millions to causes. I’m not someone who is comfortable in large cities where a cup of coffee will cost you north of ten bucks. I’m not the type of guy who wears a suit and writes large checks.

I protect others for a living. And kill, if necessary.

In nothing but my pants, I turn my wrists until I see my palms. My middle finger that sits crooked from being hastily set in the field will never run over the hills and valleys of Mia’s curves.

Yet…I want that. I want to know what she feels like under my touch. What her lips would taste like on mine. Would she melt into me the way she had on the beach? Would she hold back, or give in completely?

“Dillon?” Her voice pulls me from my absurd musings. “Are you decent?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, you can come in. It’s your room after all…” Am I coming across as a dick?

Mia closes the door behind her and stops in her tracks. “Oh. I didn’t mean to…” Her eyes rake over my naked torso, a small O forming on her lips. “I’ll just…” She begins trying to backtrack her steps, but she hits the table by the door and begins to lose her footing.

“Easy,” I say calmly, grasping her by the elbow before she falls.

Her hand comes to rest on the underside of my forearm. The gesture feels oddly intimate. Perhaps it’s the way her fingertips are moving in a back-and-forth motion slightly, sending a hypnotic trance over my senses and goosebumps up my arm.

I’ve dried off, but there’s already a sheen of sweat on my skin. Does she notice? Or even care? I look down. Some of the dried mud from her hands has transferred on to me. She hastily starts apologizing.

I chuck out a breath. “It’s just a little mud. I’ve been a lot dirtier…”

“I’m sure you have…” Her delivery is wispy, but her eyes are intent, holding my gaze. Her warmth seeps into my skin where we’re holding each other, her soft breaths coming in quick succession.

I could kiss her right now if I want. There’s no one around. She’s making no effort to step away from the contact. I hesitate, plagued with a million reasons not to. There’s a definite attraction between us, but is this just temporary lust due to our circumstances? Is it right to blur the lines with a client? Will we face nothing but an awkward goodbye when this is all said and done? Is ignoring my rationale worth the risk of facing the consequences in less than a week?

“Dillon…”

My name on her lips is a plea. I know the way she takes a step closer to me, our bodies pressing against one another, she may not afford me an opportunity like this again.

Women like Mia don’t beg.

I’ve been in literal combat. Fighting a bona fide war. But the conflict that I’m fighting internally right now has me wanting to preserve professionalism, but the other half of me wants nothing more than to tear the clothing from her body. My teeth ache at the idea of taking her right here, consequences be damned.

My free hand goes to the small of her back and I tug her tighter against me. A sharp breath escapes her. I shouldn’t be doing this, touching her like this. If I get involved with her, it only puts her safety in jeopardy. But my desire is as real as the pull I feel. Like a hook that’s sunk deep beneath my skin, I’m drawn in. I’m powerless to it, as if I’m watching from the sidelines saying, You know better than this, Arch, but how can you resist her?

“Dillon,” she repeats, “I’m filthy, and you’ve just showered.”

“I thought we’ve been over this,” I say evenly. “It’s not the mud I’m worried about.”

“You’re not?”

I shake my head no. She’s waiting for me to elaborate.

“I couldn’t give a damn about getting dirty.” I take my arm away from hers and raise my hand to her face, cupping her gently behind her ear. My thumb strokes across her cheek, smearing the drying grime further until my palm is covered in it. Her eyes flutter closed and I sigh. “Mia, we shouldn’t.” I hate that the words are meaningless. They’re hollow and backed with the flimsy idea that I’ve only voiced what should be said.

“Isn’t that why we should ?” she says innocently. I groan at her implication. “What are you afraid of? It’s just a kiss…”

“But it’s not. Not with you,” I tell her.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

“You know I do.”

She leans in closer.

“Mia.” Dropping my arm, I position my hands on her hips, trying to muster an ounce of self-control. Because if I’d already given in, she’d be on her way to her second orgasm by now.

But her body stiffens under my hold, her demeanor shifting. “I see.” There’s disappointment in her tone and worse yet, her head droops. She’s embarrassed.

Stepping out of my hold, she says, “I understand. It’s probably best we don’t.” She turns and takes a few steps toward the bathroom. When I try and say something, anything to erase her rising chagrin, she warns, “Don’t.”

Fuck. Blood pumps through my veins, and my heart rate ticks up. She needs to know that my choice isn’t a rejection. My choice is made with good intentions. I’m not sure I should take this risk. I’ve never blurred the lines with a client before, but when Mia’s gaze turns downcast and her shoulders curl in on herself, the last thing I want to do is hurt her.

“Mia.” I close the distance between us, turning her toward me. There’s a glassiness in her eyes. And it kills me.

Maybe it’s instinct or selfish desire, but all thoughts of being a gentleman leave my consciousness faster than I can blink.

Fuck it.

My mouth finds hers in a frenzy of colliding limbs and frantic hands. Nothing about this is slow and gentle. It’s aggressive. Hasty. Uncoordinated.

And my self-control is a fuse that burned out at my first taste of her.

Mia’s tongue seeks mine and when she finds it, a power play ensues. Our teeth clash. When I gain purchase and suck on her tongue, she groans in frustration. But it does little to stop her from slowing down.

She begins to climb me until I have no other option than to grab her, settling her wrapped legs around my waist. My hands want to roam, to touch her everywhere, to feel her and make her moan. But this hut serves only as visual privacy—and this is something the guys do not need to hear.

“You’ve gotta be quieter,” I say against her lips.

But there’s nothing more that I want than to hear every whimper, cry and groan fall from her lips that are now bruised from our kiss. My cock throbs in absolute selfishness, desperate to hear my name called out in ecstasy rather than in casual conversation.

Mia breaks the kiss. Her chest heaves while she rests her head against the side of mine. Her breath is hot at my ear, spurring me on. She takes my lobe and begins to nibble, making her way to the hollow of my throat. Fuck it feels amazing. The weight of her in my arms, her wet lips against my skin, even the goosebumps that have broken out across my entire body.

I shift my head, seeking her mouth once more. We reconnect instantly and the glide of her tongue is determined. The urgency is there still, but grows more languid with exploration. She grips the back of my neck tighter, like she never wants to let go. I don’t want to let her either. I kiss her back like my life fucking depends on it, like this is my one and only opportunity to ravage her.

But it’s not enough. I can kiss this woman all day, but my tongue has many other talents. I won’t be stopping at her mouth.

I walk to the bed, kneeling down and cradling her head until she’s flat on her back. Now that her hands are free, she traces them down and over my chest where she toys with my nipples. I groan, wanting more.

“Mmm,” she hums, “you need to be quieter. It’s what I was taught…” Coyness dazzles in her eyes.

“Look at the student turning the tables on the teacher.” I peel away her shirt and lift off her tank with her help. She’s in a sports bra that fastens in the front with a series of Velcro tabs. How convenient. Freeing her from the constricting piece, my breath catches when I see her displayed. Flawless olive skin makes my mouth water.

Her breasts aren’t large, but they’re a perfect handful as I take one in my palm. She inhales through her teeth. I dip my head to the other and begin to lap at the rosy peak. Licks turn to swirls and kisses, then I suck the bud tightly between my lips. Her back arches.

“Dillon…please, I need more.” Her voice is no longer a whisper and I pray to God nobody can hear her. I place my tongue to her other breast, and cover her mouth with my free hand. The reminder is heeded when she licks my finger, sucking it between her lips. It’s hot and slippery and my cock reacts like it’s being personally summoned.

I have to focus on the way she’s writhing under me, how soft her skin is against my lips, and what she’ll taste like. I won’t allow myself to come just because she’s sucking my finger like a goddamn popsicle.

Kissing my way down her narrow ribs, I pause when I come to her navel. Faint goosebumps cover her skin, embossing the heated smoothness from before. I move my lips lower. She’s released my finger and as good as it felt, I’m happy for the dexterity. I need to get her pants off. Sensing it, she uses her toes to kick out of her shoes.

Soft fabric is hooked and tangled in my hands. Smoothness meets my fingertips, until a delicate roundness tells me to stop. Ankles. My task is almost complete, solidified when I hear a muted thud behind me. The rest of her clothes. In a heap. On the floor.

The gentle curves of her calves glide under my palms. It takes little effort to drag her to the edge of the bed. She’s more than willing to comply. Shifting her legs until they drape over my shoulders, I get my first glimpse at Mia. Open and willing. My cock weeps and I wish I could slide into her slick heat.

Her skin against mine is like the most luxuriant velvet and I explore it further, kissing the inside of her left thigh. When I reach the apex, I indulgently lick her slit. I want to prolong this, take my time with her and create more of a buildup. But with the taste of her sweet honey on my lips, my hands grip her hips and roughly pull her closer to me. She tastes too damn good.

Mia senses my fervency, locking her heels together. They dig into my back in her own attempt at getting closer.

I spear her with my tongue, curling upwards, unable to get enough. Her hands find purchase in the bedding, pawing and clawing while I flutter the tip of my tongue over her clit. I settle back on my heels. My hands roam from her hips to her pert ass where I support her body, raising her to me like a sacred vessel.

I steal a glance at her, loving the way her bottom lip is caught in her teeth. Her eyes lock with mine while I continue to devour her. My cock is straining against my zipper painfully.

The sheen across my skin has turned to thick beads in areas. The faint tickle of sweat runs down the side of my neck. It’s stopped by Mia’s leg on my shoulder. A slickness grows behind her knees when she begins to ride my face.

I set her back on the bed, cupping my hands over top of her thighs. She fists my hair, nails scraping against my scalp. Goosebumps break out on my arms. Her hands come to rest at the side of my head. Her unspoken desire to keep me where I am doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey, can a guy bum a shower over here?” Blaze’s distinct voice carries through the thin walls.

Mia’s quads grow taught under my hands. She stills, then clamps a hand over her mouth.

My body freezes, aware that there is just a flimsy door separating us from him. The blood is rushing in my ears like a freight train. I look at Mia. “You better come up with an excuse if you want to come,” I whisper seriously.

She looks left and right, then at the door, then back to me. “Dillon is just about done,” she says steadily, her gaze never faltering from my own.

“Good girl,” I mouth. My tongue finds her once more. She’s drenched. This interruption may not be wanted, but its forbidden nature is turning her on.

“What’s taking him so long? The guys are taking their sweet ass time too, and all I want to do is shower,” he whines.

Mia grabs my head again and starts riding my face. She answers him. “I’m sorry, Blaze.” The sound of another man’s name on her lips while I’m between her thighs makes me want to claim and mark her like a fucking Neanderthal. I do the next best thing: slip two fingers inside her. Her pupils dilate. Her walls clench. And she’s close.

“I’m afraid I haven’t showered either,” she says to the door.

A firm pressure against my ears tells me she’s seconds from release. Her thighs flex and go rigid as she comes hard around my finger and under the stroke of my tongue.

Blaze grumbles and finally leaves.

The barbarian inside me smiles at the quiver in her thighs when I caress it with my free hand. I lick my other one clean of her sweet juices. Mia’s flushed, but at my boldness, crimson spreads from her chest to her throat.

Mia’s hair is messy, half of it dislodged from her ponytail. Dried pieces of mud from her discarded clothes are scattered across the bed; some are stuck to her. Her breaths have decreased from crazed heaves to gentle pants. She’s settled back against the bed with her legs pressed together and bent at the knees. And the sight of her sends my heart rate up a notch.

“You’re beautiful,” I say in a hushed tone.

“You’re talented.”

“And you better get in the shower before Blaze or anyone else suspects anything,” I tell her.

I stand, attempting to right myself and offer her a hand. Leaving Mia is the last thing I want to do.

But it’s the only logical thing right now.