Kelly Jamieson - Crazy Ever After

She hurried across the vast lobby, her flip-flops thwapping on the marble floor in a rapid rhythm. She stabbed the elevator button with her forefinger, then stood there waiting.

“You should go home.”

She started and whirled around, a hand going to her throat. It was the man who’d been watching her in the bar. Her heart tapped in her chest as she stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You should go home,” the man repeated. His brows drew down over deep-set eyes. He didn’t smile. “Whatever you’re doing here, you need to leave. Trust me.”

He turned and walked away. Samara’s breath seemed stuck in her chest. The elevator doors slid open, and she stumbled in and pressed the button for her floor then the button to close the doors. Close, close, please close. She half expected the stranger to follow her into the elevator, and panic clawed at her insides.

But he didn’t. She made it safely to her room, where she locked and bolted the door.

* * *

Travis could have chewed up rocks and spit them out. Fury boiled inside him as he waited to disembark the Airbus on the tarmac at Santa Anjelita airport. He’d been fighting it the entire trip from Portland, but now he was only minutes away from seeing Samara, and it had surged up inside him again.

What the fuck did she think she was playing at, jumping on a plane and coming to this crime-ridden country all alone? Jesus Christ! He rubbed his aching jaw.

Passengers began moving slowly off the plane, and he resisted the urge to shove them out of his way, his body humming with pent-up energy as he inched his way down the aisle, down the stairs and across the tarmac into the terminal.

He’d tried to tell her not to come here, but as usual, she hadn’t listened. He was going to have to tell her the goddamn truth now, and who knew what kind of trouble that was going to get them into.

Shit.

After impatiently clearing customs and grabbing his luggage, he strode to his rental car and tossed the suitcase in. He’d only been to Matagalpa once before, back in the days before he and Parker had teamed up as partners. He’d enjoyed traveling and meeting the growers, but that had been Parker’s area, and he’d left him to it. Santa Anjelita was much more developed than he remembered, with tall buildings defining the skyline on the outskirts of the city. Funded by drug money, no doubt. Travis frowned.

He assumed Samara would stay at the same hotel Parker had, and he hoped he was right.

He was. The front desk clerk confirmed she was a guest there but, of course, wouldn’t give her room number. Then his optimism took a punch when the clerk said, “She went out early this morning and hasn’t returned yet.”

Travis turned away from the reception desk, trying to focus. Had she already gone to Ciudad Lupita?

He rubbed his chest. Was he having a heart attack? No, he was too young for that, surely. It was Samara. She was going to kill him, for Chrissake. If she didn’t get herself killed first.

He longed for a shower and a bed after traveling over twelve hours, but dammit, now he had to get back in that car and drive all the way to Alvarez’s farm. He tossed his suitcase into the room with barely a glance at the palatial accommodations then descended back to the sumptuous lobby. Jesus, this place was mind-boggling. He crossed the gleaming marble floor toward the front entrance, past thick white columns supporting a soaring arched ceiling, and guests sitting on elegant chairs grouped around mahogany tables. He headed toward the valet stand to ask them to bring his car and came face to face with Samara.

He stopped short and stared at her.

She stared back.

His breath froze in his throat. Her face was so pale the faint golden freckles on her nose stood out, and her eyes blinked at him rapidly. She thrust a trembling hand through her thick auburn hair. Relief surged through him that she was okay, followed by a white hot blast of returning fury.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He reached out and curled his fingers around her upper arm and started walking to the elevator, almost dragging her along with him.

“What’s wrong, Samara?”

“Nothing’s wrong, other than you manhandling me across the lobby.” She tried to wrench away, but he tightened his grip on her. “What are you doing here, Travis?”

He paused in an alcove off the lobby and glared down at her. Hoo, he looked pissed. Her insides fluttered. Her nerves already thrummed like a live wire. She didn’t need this on top of everything else. She dug deep for control.

“I came to find you, what else?” he muttered. Now both hands clasped her upper arms, and he held her like that, as if he wanted to shake her. The heat radiating off his body scorched her. “What the hell were you thinking coming here by yourself?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m here on business.”

“What the fuck business are you here on?” Now he did give her a little shake. “I told you there was no point in pursuing that crazy idea. Why can’t you just listen to me?”

She stared back at him, her long bangs falling across her eyes, but she couldn’t reach up to push them aside because he restrained her arms so tightly.

“And why are you looking like you just got mugged or something?” His eyes widened. “Samara.”

“I didn’t get mugged.” She swallowed, not wanting to tell him what had happened to her since she’d arrived. “I’m fine. I told you I can look after myself.”

“This country isn’t safe for a woman on her own,” he ground out. “Jesus, Samara, I could just put you over my lap and spank your ass.”

Her insides went hot and liquid at his words, and her legs went weak. Luckily he was holding on to her so tightly. A shaft of intense longing speared through her. Oh, god. Oh, god. Imagining his hand on her ass had her burning up with feverish need.

She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily.

“Why do you keep treating me like I’m a stupid child?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Because you keep acting like a stupid child!”

They glared at each other.

“Really? Are we going to do this here?” he asked. “Come on. Let’s go to your room.”

He released one of her arms, slid his hand down the other into hers, and gripped it tightly. He started walking—make that marching—toward the elevator.

“Travis.”

“Just wait,” he muttered. She scurried after him, because if she didn’t he’d drag her into the elevator. “What floor?”

She told him. He punched a button, and once the doors closed, he turned to her, crowded her up against the wall, and kissed her. Hard.

Her head spun. Her tummy fluttered. Her pussy ached.

Another emotion she didn’t even want to admit to floated beneath the lust— relief. Relief that he was there, that someone was there. Because she was scared.

Inside the hotel room, he kicked the door shut behind them and dragged her to the center of the room. Fisting a hand in her hair, he held her head while he kissed her again, his other arm sliding around her and pulling her against him. Her body arched into him as his mouth devoured hers, and her fingers dug into his shirt and held on, a ferocious need for him rising up inside her.

He drew back then strode to the bed, tugging her along, and sat on the edge. She stood between his spread knees, blinking down at him, heart hammering, chest lifting and falling with quick breaths. What was he doing?

His hands clasped her hips, shifted her to the side, and in a quick move she was lying across his knees. “Travis!” She lifted her head to try to wriggle away, but one arm pressed her down, and the other laid a gentle swat on her butt.

He was spanking her!

Another crack of his palm against her bottom sent a wave of heat over her body, and a broken cry tore from her throat.

“Need you bare,” he muttered, and flipped her onto her back. He deftly unfastened the button of her knee-length shorts, tugged the short zipper down and yanked them, along with her panties, down her thighs. Then he flipped her again as if she weighed nothing, and this time when his palm landed on her ass, the sting flashed through her.

“Travis!” She struggled again, but only halfheartedly because the truth was she was melting, her pussy turning molten and aching, her breasts throbbing. She complained about him treating her like a child, but this was a very grown-up spanking. A very erotic, adult spanking.

He continued to lay fiery taps on her cheeks, and her ass caught fire, heat flaring along every nerve ending. She let it consume her, her body a hot glow of pleasure and pain. The sharp, forbidden thrill of being spanked streaked through her body right to her clit.

When he stopped, she lay there over his hard thighs, face pressed to the bed, panting. His hand now stroked over her bottom, gentle, slow, and when she felt him bend and press his lips to the heated flesh, her head lifted and jerked back.

“Samara.” Her name was an agonized groan. “God, Samara, you drive me crazy.”

She closed her eyes, fought for breath, aching for him to turn her over and take her. When he didn’t, she rolled. His hands caught her and kept her from rolling to the floor. She wriggled off him, drew her tank top up and over her head, reached behind her for the clasp of her bra, and let it fall off. She lay back down and watched him.

With a low groan, he moved over her, kissed her mouth, then stood and quickly tossed off his clothes. He fell over her, his mouth on her in hungry, voracious kisses, his hands all over her, cupping her breasts, stroking her face.