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She rolled over, ass up. “Hmm. That was fun.” She made soft kissing sounds before she fell asleep.
He stared at her naked, stretched-out, leggy form. Fun? Sure, but what they shared was far more than a pleasurable fuck. The witch was under his skin and burrowing a path toward his heart. Their connection was more than sex.
****
The next morning, Roark and Indigo explored the temple. Convinced the sword was buried there, Roark punched in Celene’s number, explaining their need for her psychokinetic talent again. In the background, Nace snarled, cussed, and muttered unkind statements about Indigo and him. Celene, on the other hand, seemed eager to travel. After many shouted side conversations, she promised they’d start out early tomorrow. She slipped in a pleasant goodbye before Nace disconnected her from the call with a loud, “Hang up the fucking phone.”
Rude jaguar shifter.
On the drive back to the hotel, Indy fell asleep, her head leaning against the window. Roark knew she was exhausted, a result of the heat, sleepless nights with him buried in her, and the responsibility of finding Blood’s Kiss. After he parked in front of their cabin, he opened the passenger door and scooped her into his arms.
She stirred. “Are we back?”
“Yep.” He kicked open the door, balancing Indy in his arms while he pulled off the bedspread. He settled her on top of the sheets, dropping the mosquito nets in place. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for dinner.”
She muttered something when she rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. She slept through food and the night. Roark figured he’d been right. Indy was exhausted.
The next morning, fresh-eyed, she bounced out of bed before him. After chowing down breakfast, they waited. Once Celene and Nace arrived, they were again on the road, trekking into the jungle.
It was June. It was raining. And it was damn hot. But he pushed the weather aside. They were near their goal, excitement hanging in the oppressive air.
Stomping along the path, Indy didn’t look so happy. She tugged her braid over her shoulder, twisting it in her hands as if wringing it out. “Damn thing’s a wet blanket. My clothes are clinging to me like a layer of Saran Wrap.” She swatted at her arms exposed by rolled-up sleeves she promptly re-cuffed. “The bugs are drowning on my drenched skin.”
He planted a kiss on her damp cheek. “Stop whining. Cast a spell or something.”
“No spell could make this better. How do you do it? No sweat under your arms, your clothes aren’t wrinkled, and insects avoid you like repellent. It’s not natural.”
He shrugged. A glance over his shoulder at Celene told him she also suffered. It was hard to peg Nace. He always looked as if his dick was caught in his zipper.
Pushing aside a waterlogged, leafy branch of something, Roark opened the temple to everyone’s view.
With a plan in place, the females climbed the steps to the top. Roark leaned against the base of the ancient ruin beside the ever-wary, cranky Nace. Just two guys chatting at the Temple of the Great Jaguar, trying to look normal in case any tourists were stupid enough to venture out in this tropical downpour. None were. Of course, between the males, they weighed in at five-hundred-plus pounds of muscle. To top it off, the big cat shifter wore leather and squeezed his tight lips into a snarl. Roark figured he wasn’t less intimidating, what with multiple blades strapped to his hips as if he were an actor in an Indiana Jones movie.
“I didn’t want to come here.” Nace crossed his muscle-bound arms over his chest.
“No kidding. It’s so hard to tell with the good vibes you’re throwing.”
“Celene is a danger-seeking missile. Drives me crazy. You know, she accepted a job with Indigo over my objections.”
Roark shrugged, his mouth curling into a smirk. “I bet she refuses to stay in the kitchen or chained to the bed where you want her.”
Nace grimaced. “I’m not that fucking out of sync with the times. I just don’t want her toe-tagged.”
Roark’s head hurt. Emotional shit was not his strong suit. Life was simple. If it was female, fuck it. If it stood in your way, kill it. If it was food, eat it. If it was booze, drink it. If it needed to be changed, change it. But shut the hell up.
He glanced at Indy, who was still climbing the stairs to the top of the temple, Celene in front of her.
Yeah. Simple.
He changed the subject. “So, your jaguar pack originated in this region?”
Nace seemed happy about the shift in topic. Maybe laying himself open wasn’t his idea of a good time either. The touchy-feelie convo over, Roark figured the guy opted to go with the flow, the flow being to allow Celene to do whatever the hell she wanted. Best move to get along with a female.
Alert, Nace spread his legs, preparing for a fight while he checked out the surrounding jungle. “Many millennia ago my ancestors ruled this region.”
Roark held out a soggy brochure, the image of a Mayan king on the cover.
“My great-great grandpappy. The humans worshiped us as gods.”
