Lola Carlyle Reveals All

Chapter 9

Lola stared up into Max’s face. The heat of his chest seemed to be the only thing letting her know she was still alive. Her fingers and toes felt numb as if she were standing in snow, and she was afraid that if she let it, she would become frozen with fear. For the past three days, she’d lived with it, battling it back and barely keeping it at bay. She wasn’t sure she could do it anymore. “I want to feel safe again, Max.”

She’d been accidently kidnapped, threatened, tied up, almost drowned trying to save her dog, barely lived through a storm. Baby had been stolen and now drug runners were shooting at her. Add the unfortunate accident with the flare gun, the near-rescue of the night before, her constant worry, and she’d had it.

The first night aboard the Dora Mae, she’d felt she was going to die, and she’d fought to live. Last night during the storm, she’d known the same fear, and now she had to face this latest threat to her life.

She raised her hands to the sides of Max’s head and brought his face to her. In the past few days, the only time she’d come close to feeling safe was within the arms of the man who’d put her life in danger. The strength of those same big arms was the only thing making her feel alive now. “Max,” she whispered.

He didn’t have to ask her what she wanted; he knew. His mouth took hers, and she clung to him as he fed her the warmth of his kiss. It spread across her flesh like an accelerating flame and battled back her fear. He possessed her with his lips and tongue and she was able to concentrate on him. On the texture and taste of him. The scent of him filling her head.

She ran her hands over his neck and shoulders, touching as much of him as she could reach. She slid her palm under his shirt and warmed her hands on his powerful chest. He was so solid and alive. So potently male, his strong heart pounding beneath her hand making her senses alive and buzzing. She wanted more. Much more.

She moved her mouth to the side of his throat. “Make love to me, Max,” she said on a heavy breath.

His hand found her bare thigh and slipped beneath the hem of her dress. The touch of his warm palm and the anticipation of more pooled between her legs. “This isn’t a good time.” His voice sounded as thick as the blood pumping through her veins.

She couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

“This isn’t a good time.”

She had heard him right, but she couldn’t believe what he was saying. This was Max, the guy with the quick fingers who could undress a woman before she knew it. Max, the man who’d called her a tease no more than twenty-four hours ago.

She looked up into the shadows caressing his face. “When would be a good time for you? In a few hours when we might very well be dead?”

“Lola, I’ll do my best to see that you get home, whole and in-”

“I know,” she interrupted, “but you can’t guarantee it.” She plucked the button at the waistband of his jeans. “Everything we are, and everything that we’ll ever be, might die tonight, Max. On an uncharted island in the middle of the Atlantic.” All of her hopes and dreams for her business, and having a family of her own someday, would die with her. There would be no more somedays for her. Her mother and father would never know what happened to her, and they would have to live the rest of their lives wondering if she was dead or alive. She knew them well enough to know that they would never give up hope. They would search for her the rest of their lives. “No matter how much you might want to, you can’t promise we’ll be alive tomorrow.” All five buttons popped from their holes, and she slipped her hand inside. Through the clinging cotton of his boxer briefs, she found him fully erect. She pressed her palm against the incredible heat of him. Fire ran up the inside of her wrist, danced up her pulse, and shot straight to her heart. This was what she needed from him now. “Give me something to think about besides how afraid I am.”

His nostrils flared and through the orange fingers of the setting sun his eyes dilated, and still he hesitated. “You owe it to me,” she added, and couldn’t believe he was forcing her to use strong-arm tactics. “It’s your fault I’m here, now make it up to me.”

His hand slid farther up her thigh to the elastic edge of her panties and a smile curved one corner of his mouth. “That’s a persuasive argument.”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing at all.” She shoved her hand farther down his pants and softly took the weight of his testicles in the palm of her hand.

He sucked in his breath. “You’re not a screamer, are you?”

Not tonight she wasn’t. “I’ll control myself.”

That seemed to be what he needed to hear, and he cupped her between her legs. “Jesus,” he groaned, “you’re already wet.” His fingers slid beneath the crotch of her panties, and he parted and touched her slick flesh. She whispered his name, then turned her face into his shoulder. The tips of his fingers brushed her where she was most sensitive, and she bit the hard muscle at the top of his arm.

“Lola.”

“Hmm?” She kissed the spot she’d bitten.

“Nothing. Just Lola.” With each stroke of his fingers, he fed her intense desire and shut out everything but her need to feel him inside of her.

She shoved her hand beneath his underwear and closed her fist around his shaft. The air whooshed from his lungs, and she moved her hand up and down the long hard length of him, feeling the tight silkiness of his skin and the incredible heat. She raised her lips to receive his kiss and took the plump head of his penis in her hand. She squeezed and a low groan sounded deep in his chest. His mouth opened wide over hers, and she tasted his passion, hot and vibrant on his tongue. Dimly she heard the music from the beach, but nothing existed beyond Max. Beyond the scent of him, the smooth texture of his hard flesh, and the length of him.

Max rose on his knees and removed her panties. He moved between her legs and hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his jeans and underwear. Slowly, he pushed them down his thighs, revealing first the black hair that grew thicker low on his belly. Then his erection jutted free, huge and powerful. He took himself into his hand as his heated gaze moved over her. Within the shadows of the pine tree, the Caribbean sun set around him, bathing slices of him in gold. “Unbutton your dress, Lola,” he said, his voice raw. “I want to see you. All of you.”

The air around her was charged with longing as she worked each button until the dress lay open. She raised her arm to pull him close, but he planted his hands by her hips and lowered his face to her belly. He kissed her navel and stomach, and buried his face in her cleavage. His rough cheeks chafed her breasts as his wet mouth placed more kisses there. His smooth erection brushed the inside of her thigh and sent a shudder throughout her body.

With unsteady hands, she brought his face to hers. Their gazes met and held as he began his entry. He pushed the broad head of his hot penis inside of her, then his hips rocked back and forth. A slow and easy rhythm, giving her time to stretch and adjust before he grasped her thighs, and with one final thrust, he buried himself fully. Lola gasped and grabbed hold of his shoulders. He filled her completely, the heat of him burning her up inside. A moan she could not control poured from her throat and she wrapped one leg around his waist.

Max sucked in a breath and held it. Beneath her hands his muscles had turned to stone. “Lola,” he whispered against her cheek. “God, you feel incredible. So hot.” He pulled halfway out, then lunged forward. “So good.”

Like the blast of a furnace, heat spread across Lola’s skin. Down her legs to the soles of her feet. Up her belly and across her breasts and arms. Each thrust felt better than the last, leaving her greedy for more. Leaving her wanting. Wanting. Wanting more. More of him.

In and out, harder. Faster. She couldn’t breathe. And still it went on. Stroking exquisite pleasure, and just when she thought she would combust, he placed a hand beneath her bottom, tilted her pelvis, and dove a little deeper.

“Max,” she whispered on a panted breath. “Max. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t plan on it,” he managed as he hammered into her.

Below his T-shirt where their bellies touched, their skin stuck together. He wrapped his arm around her, and she felt completely consumed by him. With his taking of her, surrounding her, and filling her. Driving her toward orgasm with each thrust of his hips and stroke of his velvet penis. Her entire world was focused on the place he touched inside of her and how good he made it all feel. Her mind reeled and she may have spoken out loud, but she wasn’t quite sure. She closed her eyes, and he placed his hands on the sides of her face. “Lola, open your eyes and look at me.”

She managed his request, but barely. Her whole world was focused on where his body joined hers and the intense rush of sensation that had taken over and was forcing her to meet each plunge of his hips.

“I want you to look at me. I want to see your eyes when I make you come,” he said, then he got his wish as the first wave of orgasm took hold and pulled her into its fury. Her body arched and she clung to him as his body drove her into the vortex of hot, mind-numbing pleasure. She opened her mouth, and he kissed her, swallowing her long moan, taking everything she had, then demanding more. Within the shelter of the Caribbean pine, he swore and praised God in the same ragged whisper. On and on, until he tangled his fingers in her hair and a groan rumbled deep within his chest. His hips pumped faster and harder, then he drove into her one last time.

In the aftermath, their labored breathing filled the air. She wasn’t certain how long they lay together, Max supporting most of his weight on his forearms, while his body covered hers. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.

She ran her fingers through the sides of his hair and chuckled softly. “I think so.”

“Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. You’re an incredible fu-” He caught himself. “Lay. No.” He shook his head. “I meant to say you’re an incredible lady.”

Lola laughed without making a sound. Max’s slip was one of the nicest compliments any man had ever given her. “I’ve also wanted to be an incredible lay.”

“Well, you are that.”

Above the sounds of their breathing, salsa music penetrated their haven and the real world intruded. Max kissed her forehead and muttered something she didn’t quite catch. Then, with her heart still thudding heavy in her chest and her skin still sensitive from his touch, he slid from her body and rose to his knees. The last fingers of light glistened on his wet sex before he pulled up his boxer briefs. He looked out through the branches, then returned his gaze to her.

“You deserve better than this, Lola. If I had my way, we’d do a little skinny-dipping, then go at it again, but real slow next time,” he said as he buttoned up his pants. “But we don’t have time, and we need to have a serious talk.”

Lola sat up and put her panties on. If she had her way, she’d lay around in Max’s arms and bask in her afterglow. She didn’t want to have a serious talk, but she knew they must. Tonight there would be no basking. No laying around. No skinny-dipping, then making love again.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be an hour, maybe longer. The main thing is, you’ve got to stay put right here. No matter what you see or hear.”

Meaning, no matter if he got into trouble, she wasn’t to help him. She pulled her dress together, then buttoned it. “I still think I should come with you.”

“No.” He placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “I can’t protect you against four armed men.” His hand fell to his side. “If anything happens to me, this is what I want you to do-”

She shook her head. “Nothing will happen to you.”

“I want you to wait until those men are long gone,” he continued at if she hadn’t spoken. “Then start a fire on the beach. Get a really big one going, and throw all the plastic and rubber on it that you can find from the Dora Mae. Plastic and rubber give off a lot of black smoke which can be seen for miles.” He took the binoculars and stared down at the beach. “Remember to keep the fire burning at night. If you soak the sand in some oil from the yacht, that will help.” He lowered the binoculars and handed them to her. “Those birds’ nests I told you I’d spotted are very dry and will make good kindling.”

“Max?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing will happen to you,” she repeated, as though, if she said it enough, she could make it true. She didn’t even want to contemplate what could happen.

“I hope not.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Promise me you won’t move from this spot.”

“I promise.”

He placed his hand on the back of her head and gave her a quick kiss. “When I come for you, be ready to move.”

“I will.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Honey, I’m always careful.”

When he would have pulled away, her grasp tightened. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He took her hand from his arm and kissed her palm. “I’ll do my best.”

There were only two real-life rules to any conflict, two principles of war, that Max followed. Win at all costs, and failure is not an option. Max had been in too many conflicts not to believe in these now more than ever.

He knelt by the creek that ran down the side of the hill and scooped up mud with two fingers. He smeared it across his forehead and around his eyes, down his cheeks and chin. On his arms and the backs of his hands.

The music coming from the beach stopped, and Max glanced through the foliage. Night had completely fallen, and he could see very little. Slightly below him to the left, he could just make out the glow of the campfire. Above the sound of the surf, the slurs and boasts of drunken men filled the cool breeze. Then a new CD kicked in with the sort of Latino music Max had been raised on-the kind of music that made him think of empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays.

He moved to edge of the trees and became part of the inky black shadows. Three bad guys sat next to the fire swilling booze, while a fourth looked to be passed out in one of the fishing chairs. He didn’t see Baby, but the rope that had been tied to him was still tied to the chair. Max crouched behind a palm tree and listened and watched and waited.

The three men by the fire were like most men who sat around getting shitfaced. They bitched about their wives and girlfriends, and they bitched about their jobs. About how hard it was to pick up drug drops and deliver them to waiting vessels on time, as if they were working for the freakin‘ UPS.

The longer he listened, the more they drank and the louder they got. They talked about the death of Jose Cosella and the bounty their boss had put on the head of the man who’d been responsible. Five hundred thousand pesos. Too bad no one had a clue who the gringo was or where he’d disappeared.

Max glanced up the hill to the point where Lola would be sitting. He envisioned her with her elbows resting on her knees, looking down at the beach through the binoculars. Her dress, a pool of blue in her lap, the moon touching her long legs and full lips. His gaze returned to the beach, but his thoughts weren’t entirely on business. He raised his hand to his face and pushed his palm close to his nose. It was still there. Between his fingers. But just barely. The scent of Lola Carlyle. The scent of intoxicating sex. He breathed deep, and his body responded. Lust coiled in his groin and his dick hardened within his jeans. He closed his eyes and thought of kissing her there. There between her thighs, where she’d been wet and wanting. Wanting him.

If anyone had ever told him that he would someday have sex with Lola Carlyle, especially while drug runners partied below, he would have laughed his ass off. Max had always considered himself one lucky guy, he’d lived through too much not to believe it, but he wasn’t that damn lucky.

Since the night he’d commandeered the Dora Mae, he’d thought of her beneath him naked. He’d thought of it in the context of living out every man’s fantasy. Of Maximilian Zamora, son of an alcoholic Cuban immigrant, fucking a supermodel.

He closed his fist and lowered his hand. He’d been extremely shortsighted. Caught off guard, something that didn’t happen often. There was no feeling of macho triumph. No urge to beat his chest or tell his buddies. Just the knowledge that he’d given in to his lust for her under extremely dangerous conditions. That he’d gone too far, and if given half the chance, he’d go there again. And again.

Max sat in the shadows for half an hour before he moved back through the trees and shrubs to a point where the island curved around and was out of sight of the beach. If there was one thing Max had always trusted in himself, it was his instincts, but lately his instincts were proving unreliable. They’d failed him during his operation in Nassau, and they’d failed him where Lola was concerned, too. Or perhaps his instincts weren’t failing; maybe he just wasn’t listening.

Tepid waves rushed over the toes of his boots as he bent to pull out the fish knife. In Lola’s case, he figured the problem was the latter. He wanted her, and no matter how much he told himself that having her was likely to get him killed, he hadn’t listened.

Now that he’d been with her, he knew without a doubt it had been a mistake, and he wasn’t talking about the physical threat. Making love to Lola Carlyle wasn’t as mind-blowing as he’d figured. As lustful as a thousand different fantasies. No, it was better. More. Being with her, looking down into her face as he buried himself in her warm wet body, he’d gotten a glimpse of something bigger than lust. Something bigger than the desire pulling at his groin and urging him to plunge faster and deeper. To make her belong to him so completely, she wouldn’t know where he began and she ended. He’d gotten a glimpse of what his life could be with her, and for those few moments, he’d given in to it. He’d let it crawl into his chest, steal his breath, and block his reason.

But it was just a glimpse. A fantasy, after all. In the real world, Max wasn’t a forever kind of guy, and Lola wasn’t the kind of girl who’d settle for someone like him. A man who couldn’t guarantee he’d be around tomorrow.

Max waded into the surf and forced thoughts of Lola from his mind. She was a civilian, just like any other civilian. This was a job, like so many others he’d been given. Years of discipline allowed him to detach himself from everything but what needed to be done. Waves hit his chest as he stuck the fish knife between his teeth so he wouldn’t lose it, then he kicked out and swam. Just the top of his head and his eyes broke the surface of the water as he made his way out five hundred feet. He made not a ripple or a splash as he turned and swam parallel to the shore.

From a distance, the white outline of the Dora Mae resembled an enormous beached whale, a sad and pathetic waste. The closer he swam, the more the yacht took its recognizable shape, but no less sad or pathetic. The go-fast lay twenty feet to the left of the yacht, yet it rode so low in the water, he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t known where to look.

The open-hulled speedboat rocked within the gentle waves as Max silently hoisted himself over the side. He took the knife from this mouth and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the light within the hull. Three plastic barrels were stowed starboard next to what looked like an army ammunition crate. He glanced toward the beach, counted all four bad guys, then lifted the lid.

Bingo. A cache of all kinds of goodies. Through the light of the moon, Max made out several MP4 machine guns, but no ammo. There were about a dozen sticks of dynamite and blasting caps, and the last thing he touched made him smile.

“Hello,” he whispered, and pulled out one of his all-time favorite weapons, a.50-caliber sniper rifle. Right after he’d completed SEAL training and received his BUD/S, he’d been sent to sniper school at Fort Bragg. For months he’d hidden within the North Carolina weeds, shooting the hell out of paper targets and dummy vehicles while chiggers feasted on his ankles and wrists. A few years later, he’d used his training in real combat during Desert Storm, taking out necessary targets and learning a whole lot about living and dying.

He’d been just a kid.

What those boys on the beach wanted with a weapon that was capable of blowing a big hole in a target from a mile and a half away was anyone’s guess. Max took a quick inventory of what he had and what he didn’t. He didn’t have ammunition for the MP4s, and figured the men had used it all to shoot the hell out of the trees. He didn’t have a detonation cord for the dynamite, but in the bottom of the crate he found five half-inch.50-caliber bullets.

After a quick check of the beach, he slipped over the side of the boat and, keeping the rifle and ammo above his head, swam to the Dora Mae. Except for patches of light filtering in through the windows, the inside of the yacht was as dark as a tomb. It didn’t help that the interior had been ransacked and things were thrown everywhere. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the stateroom. It took less than a minute to find what he was looking for. He shoved half a dozen condoms in his pocket, then opened several packs and stretched the thin latex over the rifle. He dumped the bullets in the last condom, tied it to his belt loop, then left the yacht once more.

Relief tugged at one corner of his mouth as he slipped into the ocean and headed again toward the go-fast. He was finally in familiar territory. Things were definitely looking up. Hell, all he had to do was snatch Baby Doll Carlyle from beneath the chair of a passed-out drug runner, get Lola and the dog aboard the powdercraft without the bad men on the beach suspecting anything, then haul ass out of the Bahamas.

Piece of cake.