The tears she hadn't realized she'd been holding back threatened to overflow. Turning her face into his chest, she fisted the fabric of his wet tank top into balls beside her cheeks and tried to steady herself. But she couldn't. Especially not when Rock whispered softly, "It's okay to let go, chere. There's no one here but you and me."

Uh, huh. And, just like that, she could no longer pretend she was tougher than she really was. Then Vanessa did something she never, ever allowed herself to do in front of anyone...

She cried.

And it wasn't one of those tragic, lip–quivering, slow–crocodile–tear cries either. The kind most actresses perfected. Oh, no. This was a full–on, ball–your–eyes–out, tears–and–snot–everywhere kind of deal.

It was humiliating and liberating at the same time.

Humiliating because, come on, this was Rock. The one man on the entire planet she wanted to impress with her grace and poise and strength. Liberating because finally saying the words out loud, telling the tale and admitting to the root of her fear was freeing in a way she could have never imagined. Letting someone else share in the horror of her experience, having someone hold a mirror up in front of her face so she could address the foolishness of her irrational fear, relieved her of a burden she hadn't known she'd been carrying around like a two–ton bolder of shame.

Pushing up from his chest, she wiped a shaky hand across her eyes and beneath her nose. "Thank you," she breathed.

"De rien," he whispered—you're welcome—and, oh, sweet merciful Lord, his mouth was right there.

She couldn't see it in the dark—she couldn't see anything, which for the first time in years didn't scare the living crap out of her—but she could feel his lips moving, could feel the heat of his breath.

And, suddenly, she didn't care about the impropriety of the situation. She didn't care that he'd made it quite clear there could never be anything permanent between them. She didn't even care that there were men skulking through the jungle outside, looking for the first opportunity to blast an extra hole in each of their heads. All she cared about was this moment, when she had him exactly where she'd always wanted him.

Without a second thought, she reached up to fist her hand in his short hair and pressed her lips against the lush pad of his mouth. His stubble tickled her nose and chin; she could taste hints of the papaya he'd eaten for dinner on his breath, and—

Okay, so this was obviously a big mistake.

Because the man did a pretty good impression of a brick wall. He didn't move. He didn't even appear to breathe. And his lips were sealed shut like he'd applied the ChapStick version of Krazy Glue.

Yep, in the Great Handbook of Kisses, this was going to go down under the title Worst One Ever.

And just as she was about to pull back and apologize for what was obviously a stupendously dumbass move, his mouth softened and the tip of his tongue swept over the seam of her lips. A hot flower of desire bloomed low in her abdomen, and opening her mouth to him was instinctual. Of course, the part where she sucked on his tongue was totally deliberate. And what had started out as tame quickly became tumultuous.

He growled deep in his chest—the resulting rumble against her breasts was delicious—and slid his hand down her waist in order to pull her on top of him. Her thighs fell to either side of his lean hips, her pelvis cradling the stark evidence of his desire. And, just like that, the traffic light blinked from red to green, and they were a go!

Teeth and tongues and hands everywhere.

Sucking, licking, laving...

He grabbed her ass with both hands and ground her against his erection. The friction was unbelievable and so delicious it had her toes curling inside her boots.

Once he realized she was more than happy to oblige him in the bump–and–grind they had going, he released her ass to snake a hand between their bodies so he could undo the buttons on her shirt. She lifted herself slightly, to give him room to work, and then...

Bliss.

The rough pad of his thumb found the aroused bead of her nipple even through the ACE bandage she'd wrapped around her chest in order to flatten her breasts. He pinched it gently, coaxing it into an even harder point, and a longing whimper sounded in the back of her throat.

This was what she'd wanted for months. To push past his barriers. To get him to drop his guard. Because she'd always known it would be like this between them. Explosive and succulent and—

A rustling outside alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone in this part of the jungle...