No, that wouldn’t happen. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. She would do exactly what Zach told her to do. She would carry her own weight. She would do her best not to slow them down. And she wouldn’t complain. He’d told her he didn’t think she was a wimp, and she would do her best to prove him right.
They would make it. They wouldbothmake it.
Trying to draw comfort from her resolve, she draped the towel over the nearest towel bar, then reached for the silk nightgown, the fabric cool against her skin as she slipped it over her head. Then she set about brushing her teeth. It was only when she’d finished rinsing her mouth that she saw her reflection again.
Oh, my stars!
The nightgown made her look beautiful—like a bride on her wedding night. But this wasn’t the sort of nightgown a woman wore in the presence of a man unless she wanted very much to have sex with him. White silk clung to her breasts, her belly, her hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The swells of her breasts were covered only by lace, her nipples dark against the shimmering fabric, the thin stripe of her pubic hair a shadow.
Had Zach bought this hoping to see her in it?
Rather than making her angry, the thought made her breath catch, sent a trill of excitement into her belly. She found herself wanting tolethim see her in it, wanting to see how he would react, wanting to see where that would take them. He was such an intense man. Kissing him had shaken her to her core. Making love with him would be . . .
Did she actually want it? Did she truly want to sleep with a man she’d known for all of three days, a man with secrets, a man who might be a criminal? Did she truly want to have sex with Zach?
Would it be so wrong if she did?
For six long years, she had grieved for Beau, missing him, holding on to his memory, hating herself for calling him from the hospital and asking him to come get her. That phone call had cost him his life. She’d wept for him until there was nothing left inside her, until the pain of losing him had left her numb, until she’d begun to think that she had died, too.
But Zach’s kiss had brought her back to life. He had awakened something inside her, made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. She couldn’t help but want him.
Would it be so wrong if she let herself live again?
The question jabbed at her conscience, but her body had a very different response. Even theideaof sex with Zach aroused her, the wetness between her thighs having nothing to do with her shower. She couldn’t help but want him. Besides, hadn’t she promised herself that if she got away from the Zetas she would live her life to the fullest?
Yes, she had.
Who have you become, Natalie?
She met her own gaze, unable to answer. She didn’t appear any different, not on the outside. But something inside her had changed. During the course of these past few days, something had definitely changed.
Her gaze dropped to the nightgown.
No, of course, she couldn’t wear this. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.
But she couldn’t seem to get herself to take it off either.
ZACH READ OVER the list of supplies he’d just written, checking to make certain he hadn’t forgotten anything. Handheld GPS. Batteries. Compass for when the GPS fucked up. Wristwatch. Night vision goggles. Infrared binoculars. Night scope for the AK. Box of 115 grain +P jacketed hollow point rounds for the Glocks. Cartridges for the AKs. Double shoulder holster. Flashlight. Two backpacks. Sturdy trail shoes, athletic socks, BDU pants and jackets for both of them. Thick leather gloves. Bandanas. A heavy wool blanket. Duct tape. Sunscreen. Lip balm. Hats. Rope. Powdered electrolytes. Moleskin for blisters. Antihistamine. Insect repellant. Snakebite kit. Codeine-caffeine tablets. Hard candy. MREs if he could find them. Canned food and a can opener if he couldn’t. Hand wipes. And eight gallons of water—enough to last three or four days if they traveled at night.
As a supply town that served everyone from poor families planning to cross the border illegally in search of work to wealthy drug lords, Altar had pretty much everything on the list. To avoid attracting attention, Zach would pay in cash, wear sunglasses, speak only Spanish. Shopkeepers in Altar had long ago learned not to ask questions, and there was almost no chance that Zach would be recognized. There was only one Zeta still alive who knew what he looked like.
But Natalie was a different matter. Her photo had been in the papers and on the news. As striking as she was, she’d be recognized immediately. What was he going to do with her?
He stood, stretched, pain in his ribs stopping him short. He looked over at the bed, his body desperately in need of sleep. He was still in combat mode, exhaustion kept at a distance by adrenaline. But he’d had only one full night of sleep since being taken by the Zetas. Eventually, it was going to catch up with him.
He dragged one of the chairs over to the door, jammed it beneath the doorknob—an extra obstacle just in case—and had just started checking the weapons when the bathroom door opened and Natalie walked out. He glanced up—and his mouth went dry.
Sweet Jesus!
She was wearing it. She was wearing the nightgown.
And damned if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—virginal, achingly feminine, seductive as hell. The fabric seeming to slide over her skin like a whisper, breasts that had teased him all day from beneath her tank top now daring him to touch them, kiss them, suck their velvety tips. And that dark stripe where her thighs came together . . .
Not a triangle, astripe.
She waxes.
The thought of smooth, bare labia knocked the breath from his lungs, heat rushing to his groin, his cock already half-hard and getting harder, his jeans uncomfortably tight.