Sheridan couldn't believe what Pedro had told her, and she had to see it with her own eyes. She understood the need to guard the valuable research at the facility, but she couldn't fathom holding a man prisoner for weeks at a time. For God's sake, Ricardo wasn't the law!
And if he was holding a man captive, then the question became: what else was he hiding out here in the middle of the jungle?
Pedro, her one real friend and the head of information technology security at the compound, had advised her to be careful around the place. Just yesterday, he'd whispered a warning for her to leave. Despite losing such a valuable research opportunity, she was prepared to do just that. But not until she verified the truth of a man chained up in a cave. When she eventually reported this to the authorities, she wanted to present fact, not speculation.
The guard changeover would end soon, she reminded herself as she raced to her destination. Thanks to Pedro's directions, which bypassed security, she should be able to enter the cell undetected and leave before the next security change.
Another item on her “why this place is crazy” list.
Half the men who worked on the compound growled at her, literally growled at her, when she neared them. Like animals. And they were all bigger, stronger, and decidedly more animalistic than any men she'd ever come into contact with. The few women she'd seen always dressed like prostitutes, and she'd never seen the same woman twice. Entertainment for Ricardo's guards? Part of some bizarre experiments? Where the hell did Ricardo find these people?
She paused when she reached the door Pedro had told her to find. Once inside, she'd see the truth for herself. Ricardo had a mysterious background: money, power, and a menacing air. But was he a criminal? If so, what kind? The Esteveses spoke highly of him. If he was as bad as Pedro hinted, would the Esteveses have allowed her to go with him, so deep into the jungle that she'd never get out on her own?
To his credit, Ricardo never made advances. He acted like a perfect gentleman, and he'd even brought Elena along to keep Sheridan company in her off-hours. No one at the facility had touched her, and except for the growls and the hungry gazes from the men, she couldn't complain that she hadn't been treated right. Yet she felt the danger nonetheless. And, if she were honest with herself, most of her anxiety came from Ricardo himself.
Hell, he’s a good twenty years older than me. He can’t be interested, not when he’s got a woman like Elena by his side. She snorted. His secretary, my ass.
The older woman was a model, for God's sake.
Sheridan shook her head, smacking her face with the long ponytail holding back her plain Scots red hair. Not blue black like Elena's. She didn't have the woman's bronzed skin, dusky lashes, or bright green eyes that glowed like emeralds. Or the toned, slender curves that magazines paid thousands of dollars for to use in their advertisements—well, they didn't exist in Sheridan. Yeah, I’m plain and plump. What a bargain.
Swearing under her breath, she used the device Pedro had given her and disabled the electronic lock, an incongruous sight against the natural splendor of the cave walls. Outside, bats chattered, monkeys howled, and the clicking of insects could be heard. A sudden, soft breeze cooled the sweat soaking through the back of her sleeveless shirt. The shorts she wore helped her stay comfortable. The jungle insects were never a factor when it came to selecting clothing. Sheridan just told the others she used a special spray to deflect their attention. The truth was, Sheridan had never been bothered by them.
She pushed past the keypad and entered the cell. According to Pedro, the cameras that secured the rest of the compound didn't work in the caves. She had nothing to fear about discovery, so long as she avoided the actual guards.
Sheridan glanced at her watch again. Fifteen minutes until the new set came on duty.
She shut the door behind her, and it automatically locked. She wished she could see more than what the moonlight through the hole in the ceiling illuminated.
Sheridan found herself in an abandoned cave, barely larger than the room she used as a laboratory. Why had it been closed in by a man-made wooden door? And why did an electronic keypad protect it?
Something rattled a few feet in front of her. She jumped and scuttled back into the shadows.
A low growl sounded, as if from a wounded animal. Chains rattled again, and she frowned.
“Hello?” she whispered.
No one answered, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she spied something—someone—held against the wall across from her.
Oh my God, Pedro was right! There’s a man trapped here in this cell. And he’s hurt. I can sense he’s truly injured. Her palms itched, the need to soothe, to heal so strong, she couldn't ignore the compulsion. The intensity of her need should have shocked her—she'd never felt so drawn to pain before—but she couldn't think past the overwhelming urge to heal.
She darted through the moonlight into the shadows against the wall, where he stood. Except he wasn't so much standing as fighting to stand upright. The scent of blood and infection hit her hard, and tears filled her eyes.
“So much pain,” she whispered. She reached out to him and laid her hands on his slick chest. Moist from blood or sweat, she couldn't tell.
He jerked, amazing her that someone who felt so much hurt could still be awake and aware. Then he straightened to an imposing height several inches taller than her.
“Don't touch me,” he growled.
Light gray eyes so bright they looked white blazed down at her, almost glowing in the darkness. The preternatural shine should have scared her, but she couldn't stop staring at the giant man bound to the wall. He was huge. He had large muscles, a well-conditioned body, and the headiest scent she'd ever smelled.
Sheridan swayed closer, wanting to inhale him, and quickly stopped herself. Come on, Sheridan, focus. She wished she could see him better, but she'd take what she could get.
Unable to help herself, she ran her hands over his chest, trailing heat over his skin, allowing the healing to pour through her fingers into him. The faint scent of vanilla filled the air. Sheridan sniffed again. An earthy combination of grass and vanilla, as if nature had approved of this male and set him in wait just for her.
Slowly, the infection she'd sensed in the man faded, and the vanilla scent grew stronger.
She continued to caress him, lost in a haze of wonder. Always before when healing, she grew tired, as if giving away a piece of herself. But now, with him, that wasn't the case. He—she had no other word for it— intoxicated her.
“Who are you?” he rumbled, his low voice quiet but burning with intensity.
“Sheridan,” she answered, lost in the feel of him. He needed so much, and she had so much to give.
“God, what are you doing to me?” he rasped. “Your hands are so hot. Or is that the drugs they pumped into me? Hell if I know up from down anymore,” he muttered.
“Shh, it'll be all right. Let me help you. It's okay,” she crooned and kissed the spot directly in front of her face, over his broad chest.
She couldn't have said why she did it, but she had to put her mouth on him, to taste some part of him. It dawned on her then that he wore nothing at all. Stunned, she didn't know what to think.
He froze, and the heat leaving her palms returned full force, centering in every pleasure point in her body.