It took a long time for Rafe to get Helen to talk to him again. Throughout a meal of the most abominable, stringy rabbit stew and thick black coffee, she ignored him.
Throughout his detailed explanation of his motives in telling the bandits that he planned to make love with her and let them watch, she stared ahead stonily.
Throughout his clumsy efforts to reapply the bandage and ointment to his own aching ass, she tuned him out.
Even when he grudgingly praised her karate skills, she refused to budge.
The orange sunset gradually gave it up for another day. Flickering shadows began to blanket the secluded campsite.
Leaving their two captives alone for a brief moment, the three bandits began to lay out their bedrolls, but they kept a close eye on Rafe and Helen. Whispering furtively, they argued amongst themselves, presumably over which one got the first jab at Helen.
Rafe used that opportunity to approach Helen once again. His hands remained untied and, if he was going to make his move to escape, he wanted it to be tonight, after their captors fell asleep. But, first, he’d have to inform Helen of the plan. Timing was everything, as he’d told her before. And teamwork. So, he muttered an apology… sort of. “I’m sorry if you thought I really meant what I said,” he blurted out ungraciously.
She raised her brown eyes, blinking with surprise. Although her hair was red, her eyelashes were dark brown and thick and incredibly sexy. Her full, sensuous lips opened, as if to speak, then clamped shut.
He hit his head with the heel of one hand to rid it of the unwelcome, consuming attraction.
Helen wasn’t really mad at Rafe anymore. She’d accepted his explanation about the Mexicans’ obsession with religion. For one thing, she’d had lots of experience in the military with recruits who harbored ridiculous, but deep-seated, superstitions, many of them grounded in religion. Some wouldn’t go into combat without a certain blessed crucifix. There were pilots who were convinced they had to say three Hail Marys in a row — no more, no less — or their flight would be doomed.
Yes, these three nitwits might actually stay clear of her if they believed she was married to Rafe. But Rafe should have told her ahead of time about his plan. And he didn’t have to be so crude when talking about their so-called marriage.
Marriage? A clear, erotic picture flashed in her mind of what marriage to a man like Rafe would be like. She recalled his words to her back on the plane; “I’d wrap your legs around my waist and bury myself inside you. And I’d be kissing you the entire time to muffle your screams….”
Oh, my God! What’s happening to me?
Rafe sank down beside her on the horse blanket that would serve as her bedroll, and she shifted away from his alluring body heat.
“Helen, I admire your bravery and your expertise in defending yourself, but don’t you ever trust anyone besides yourself?”
“Huh? You mean, I should lean on a man, like some helpless little bimbo?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and he watched their fluttering with an odd fascination.
“No,” he said, glancing away, then back again. “I meant that you seem to consider yourself the only one capable of taking charge or making intelligent decisions. Where’s your Army team spirit? Not once today have you honestly considered me capable of handling this situation. You have a way of making a man feel, well, less than a man.”
That criticism stopped Helen cold. She tried to think back. Had she really acted so superior? So condescending?
“You treat me like an imbecile,” he continued. “I know I can’t ride a horse — yet — but I can defend both of us. Timing is everything in a fight. Give me some credit for waiting until the right moment to take care of these jerks. Hell, I spent the better part of my life on the L.A. streets with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.”
His face was bleak for a split second before it closed over into an unreadable mask. “And that’s another thing. You never — not today, or anytime during the four years we were together at Stonewall — you never once asked me anything about my life. You made, and continue to make, judgments about me without knowing me. Oh, what’s the use!” He threw out his hands hopelessly.