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.