The Bronzed Hawk by Iris Johansen Page B

trifle shallow. “I’ll have to save the rest for the next time, sweetheart. All my good intentions are on the verge of going down the drain.” He pressed a quick kiss on the curve of her throat. “God, you’re a lovely thing to touch.” He snuggled close to her, his hands moving up to cup her breasts. “Go to sleep, Goldilocks. It may be some time before I can relax enough to join you.”
    Kelly almost laughed out loud. Couldn’t he feel the crazy pounding of her heart beneath his hands? His explorations had not been meant to seduce her, she knew. But the gentle, probing curiosity of those long, sensitive fingers had made her wild with longing. For a moment or two she wouldn’t have cared if he’d ignored their snoring companions and set about showing her more potent delights.
    “Yes,” she agreed huskily. “I’ll go to sleep.”
    But it was a long time before she felt drowsy enough to ignore those warm, magnetic hands lightly cupping her breasts and fall into a restless slumber.

F IVE
    M ATZALEA PROVED TO be a tiny dusty village that looked as if it had been frozen in time over a century ago. It appeared to consist of just one main thoroughfare, which was unpaved. The street was bordered on each side by a straggle of adobe structures, which were dirty and generally seedy looking. The central attraction seemed to be the grimy chipped fountain in the center of the dusty road.
    “It looks like an old Clint Eastwood spaghetti western,” Kelly said, as she wiped the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her jacket. “Andwhere is everybody? It looks as if it’s completely deserted.”
    “It’s mid-afternoon, and that’s siesta time in Mexico.” Nick looked as hot as she felt, Kelly thought. Sweat had plastered his black shirt to his body so that it clung like a second skin, and his dark hair looked as damp as if he had been caught in a shower.
    Shower. What a deliciously lovely thought that was. They’d been walking since just after dawn that morning—Nick had been correct in his assumption that the bandit leader would fail to supply them with horses. Consequently, they had trailed behind the outlaw band on foot, eating dust and slipping and sliding on the rough, rocky trails until Kelly wondered if she would actually make it to the village before collapsing from exhaustion. The coolness of the dawn had dissipated as the day progressed, and by noon they were both horribly hot and sweaty, as well as bone weary.
    Matzalea may not have been an enchanted Brigadoon, but it had looked absolutely beautiful to her when they had reached the outskirtssome ten minutes earlier. As soon as the village had come into view, the bandidos had left their captives to their own resources. Right up until the last moment, Kelly had thought that the bandit leader might change his mind about the agreement. She couldn’t resist a sigh of relief when he’d laughingly called something back to Nick and then spurred his horse into a gallop, his men thundering at his heels.
    “I’m so thirsty,” Kelly said, wistfully looking at the fountain. “Do you suppose that water is sanitary?”
    “I doubt it,” Nick answered, his eyes searching the street keenly. “We’d better not risk it. It will be difficult enough getting out of here with no money or friends, without contracting Montezuma’s Revenge.”
    “I guess you’re right.” Kelly sighed, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly. When she was a child, she had fallen ill with gastritis from drinking unboiled water in a little village in Ethiopia, and she had been so sick she had thought she might die. She certainly didn’t want to risk that again. “What do you suggest we do then?”
    “There’s a tequila bottle painted on a sign over the door of that building,” Nick said, gesturing to a square adobe structure. “That’s probably the local cantina. Let’s see what we can do over there.”
    The interior of the cantina was small but blessedly dim and cool after the cruel