Page 9 of Her Reluctant Hero
“Roller coasters have metal bars to hold you in. And tracks. And maintenance workers who check it every day. It’s not the same as dangling off a cliff because people are shooting at you.”
“What?” He edged back against the cliff beside her and pulled his pack in front of him. He wasn’t wild about heights, either, truth be told. He just knew what he had to do and he did it.
“Roller coasters.”
She did open her eyes then and looked at him. More specifically, his bloody palms.
“Good Lord, Shepard. What did you do?”
He wouldn’t dignify that with an answer, instead opened his pack for his antibiotic cream and gauze. Infection in the jungle was bad news.
“Let me do it,” she said, once the first aid stuff was in his lap. “It’ll give me something to think about besides how we’re going to get down from here.”
She took his left hand, closer to her, reached in his pack for his water, and splashed a bit on his palm before dabbing it dry with the hem of her shirt. He could feel the heat of her body when she lifted the shirt. Just inches away would be smooth skin. Soft hands pampered his. He could imagine them on his chest, on his stomach, on his—
Soft because she was spoiled. Because she was the whore of a drug lord. Her luxuries came at the cost of other people’s lives. He knew that too well.
He wanted to pull away, but didn’t want to give her that much power. She might as well make herself useful.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“They should be coming along soon. We were first over the cliff. They were covering us, remember?”
He hoped to hell they’d made it over the cliff. He couldn’t get back up to them, not with these hands.
“Can you get them on the radio?”
He snorted. “You think they’ll be free to answer me? We just have to give them some time.”
“How much farther to the ground?”
“Don’t know till the sun comes up or we get down there.”
“Do you think there will be vines all the way down?”
“I’ve got a hundred feet of rope in my pack. We’ll anchor it here and ride it down. I may even be able to rig a harness.”
“With these injuries?” She smoothed the antibiotic cream on his palm, gently, thoroughly. Sweetly.
He pulled away. “We can manage. You may have to haul your own weight.”
She lifted huge eyes to him. “What?”
“I have gloves in my pack, and I’ll help you, but I can’t carry you down.”
She sniffed. “They’re just going to have to find my skeleton up here, then, because I can’t do it.”
He shifted to put more space between them, as much as he dared. “No skin off my nose.”
“I thought you needed me to get to Santiago.”
He rubbed the edge of his thumb between his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ll find another way.”
“I can’t do it.” Her voice grew shriller. “I am not athletic at all.”
“Whatever you say, Goddess. This pack is about seventy pounds without the rope. I’m not hauling another hundred and thirty pounds down.”
“I am not a hundred and thirty pounds.”
