A Baby For Mommy. Sara Orwig
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her cheeks flushing a fiery pink this time.
“I don’t think so. Look, I’m not making a play. We can’t travel if you get infected. Out here in this jungle and heat, you can get all kinds of things.”
She nodded and moved cautiously. He didn’t know whether she was being so careful because of her thigh or because she was trying to ensure that his shirt did not slip. She unfastened her slacks and then lay down on her stomach carefully. “I’m ready.”
He took a deep breath and tugged her slacks down as far as the cut went. And it went down over the small of her back across the rise of her bottom. He gritted his teeth. His body was reacting swiftly, and he couldn’t take his gaze from her and had to fight the idiotic urge to let his hand drift over her smooth skin. He ached to push those slacks down and bare the rest of her enticing bottom. As he looked at her, he wanted to sink himself into her softness.
Swearing silently, he worked quickly and stood. “I’m through.” His voice was hoarse, and he turned, walking away from her and trying to get his body under control.
“Thank you,” she said after a few moments. He glanced over his shoulder at her and then walked back. Moments later, she was dressed again and held out his shirt. He accepted it, his fingers brushing hers lightly.
“What about your head?” she asked.
“It’s all right.”
“I remember something to the effect that cuts can get infected easily here, in this climate.”
He sighed and unfastened the handkerchief. He was cut and had a lump that was turning a dark blue. She inhaled, swamped with regret. “I’m sorry! You have a big knot—”
“Forget it.” He grinned. Her breath caught in her throat as the smile transformed him from a formidable warrior into a charming male, and again she felt a strange stirring of awareness. He said she was married—if so, why was she having this reaction to Micah Drake? “You pack a mean wallop,” he said.
“I thought you were with those men. I didn’t know.”
He chuckled. “You got one of them full force. His head is probably about to come off about now. I’ve got a hard head.”
“I can well imagine,” she answered with amusement, and saw his brow arch. “You’re too tall. Sit down somewhere so I can reach your head.”
He handed her the first-aid kit and sat on the ground. She knelt beside him and began cleaning the wound. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
“Don’t apologize. That was gutsy to lead into a guy with a gun. Three guys with guns actually. Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
He turned to look at her, and the moment shifted and changed, tension sparking between them. She reached down to touch his jaw lightly, aware of each tactile sensation that should have been insignificant because they were slight. The bristles on his jaw prickled her fingertip mildly. His skin was warm. He was close, so close, his dark eyes taking her breath. She tingled, the reaction stirring a warmth in her body. She turned his face away from her and continued working on the cut.
She bandaged it and braced her hand on his shoulder as she stood up. He came to his feet easily and took the first-aid kit from her. “Thanks. Can you keep going?”
“Yes,” she answered, shouldering her bag.
He took it from her. “I can carry that bag better than you can. You should have told me about your injuries. You have a lot of bruises.”
“I figure we’re lucky to be alive.”
He nodded and swung his pack on his back along with his rifle. “Angelica, let me carry you,” he said, lifting her up in his arms.
“Do you have a little girl?” Sophie asked him from behind.
“No, I don’t. I don’t have a little boy, either.” He glanced back at Raffaela. “Let me know when you have to stop.”
She nodded and held Sophie’s hand as he led the way.
Raffaela followed him doggedly, knowing he wasn’t keeping as fast a pace as he had earlier. Even so, she hurt with each step, although her headache had eased slightly after taking the pill. After a time he looked back at her. “All right?”
“Yes,” she answered, and he nodded.
“If you can keep going for another hour, I’d like to. We need to find a stream.” He studied her a moment, and she gazed back. He looked powerful and determined which should have been reassuring, but instead was disturbing.
When he moved ahead, she followed, wondering how he had found them in this wild land and how he knew where he was going. The thick canopy of leaves hid the sun, and she had lost all sense of direction.
When necessary, Micah hacked a path for them, moving steadily west. He figured the men who had approached Raffaela had to be close to a village or a guerrilla band and he didn’t want them to come back with reinforcements. The pretty lady would be an inducement, and he had seen the covetous gleam in their eyes as they’d looked at his automatic weapons.
Raffaela Granillo hadn’t looked exactly like her picture, but Micah chalked that up to the lack of makeup, days in the jungle, and going through a plane crash. The little girls resembled their pictures, though. But what had happened to the bodyguard?
Micah glanced over his shoulder. Raffaela was following him, alternately carrying Sophie and then letting her walk. At least some of the distrust had faded from her eyes since they had stopped. He had slowed his pace, and they seemed to be keeping up. He knew he was pushing them by the grim set to Raffaela’s face. Better to exhaust them trekking through the brush than to have to fight off ten or twenty lust-filled men.
Raffaela looked slender and frail, and he had formed an unfair judgment of the Webster women from Luke, thinking he had to rescue two spoiled darlings. After trekking hours with her, he was changing his mind. She was keeping up without complaint, even though he knew she was exhausted, grieving the loss of her sister, hungry and hurting badly. He felt a growing admiration, knowing she was doing as well as many soldiers he had known.
Finally Micah halted and turned, swinging Angelica down to set her on her feet. “We’ll stop for the night. There’s a couple of hours left before dark.”
“Thank heavens!” Raffaela exclaimed, bending down to talk to the girls.
“I want my bottle!” Angelica exclaimed, bursting into tears, and Raffaela pulled the child into her arms to hug her.
“This is the last can of formula. Angelica, this will be the last bottle.”
“Mama! Carry me. Carry me,” Sophie suddenly sobbed. Both girls were wailing loudly enough to stir birds from the lower branches. They wanted Raffaela to hold them, and he felt a sense of panic at what to do to calm the children.
Raffaela sat down and pulled the girls into her arms, hugging and rocking them as she talked softly to them. Her gaze met his, and they stared at each other. Doubt rose in his mind as he remembered Luke staring out the window, sounding as if he had almost forgotten Micah’s presence as he said, “It’s Rachel who’s the real mother. She’s the one the girls run to. Unfortunately Raffaela doesn’t give a damn about children, not even her own.”
If he was with Raffaela Granillo, she was handling the girls with love and tenderness. They were becoming calm as she petted them.
“I want my bottle,” Angelica cried.
“Shh, love. One last bottle and then we’ll just have bananas and water now,” Raffaela said, meeting Micah Drake’s gaze again. He swung his pack off his back and knelt beside it. The fatigue trousers pulled tautly over his long legs as he rummaged in the pack and pulled out packets of food. He snapped covers off and held them out. “I imagine this will look good right now.”
“Angelica, Sophie, look.” Her hands shook as she reached