Secret oasis the oasis t.., p.1
Secret Oasis (The Oasis Trilogy), page 1
SECRET OASIS
The Oasis Trilogy
Cassandra Pierce
Erotic Romance
Secret Cravings Publishing
www.secretcravingspublishing.com
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A Secret Cravings Publishing Book
Erotic Romance
Secret Oasis
Copyright © 2012 Cassandra Pierce
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-404-9
First E-book Publication: September 2012
Cover design by Dawne Dominique
Edited by Kyle Lewis
Proofread by Julie Reilly
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Secret Cravings Publishing
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Rachel Hayes' father set out to prove the existence of the Miloni temple and the Jaguar people. Tumi is a descendant of the Miloni race and is sworn to protect their secret with his life. Will he be forced to uphold his vow at the cost of his heart and Rachel's life?
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Dedication
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SECRET OASIS
Cassandra Pierce
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
The moment he stepped out of his car, Heath heard a jumble of many male voices along with the steady thud of classic disco music drifting from the pool area. Sounded like Martinez had pulled out all the stops for his summer kick-off party, not to mention his favorite CDs.
As he approached the gate, he spotted several familiar faces among the throng of guys dancing, eating, and paddling around in the water. Joe Martinez himself hurried over to greet him. His neon yellow shirt seemed to glow radioactively in the strong desert sun, and his hair and beard glistened with styling mousse. “Heath! Glad you could make it. Ready to move in yet? Got a couple of primo units just coming up for lease.”
“No thanks,” Heath answered. “I still like having my own house. The privacy suits me.”
“Well, no matter. I expect we’ll be up for the summer. Can I get you something? Not on duty, are you?”
“Nope,” Heath said with a shrug, “but make it non-alcoholic anyway.”
“No problem. Plenty of everything right over there. Your brother’s here somewhere too.” Martinez pointed to an open cooler parked near the barbecue grill. Heath wandered over and snagged himself a can of soda. He scanned the crowd until he spotted Zack, which didn’t take long. His brother was leaning against the chain link fence, his arms casually slung around Patrick, his boyfriend of four months now.
Heath raised his brows when Zack leaned forward and nuzzled his lips against Patrick’s neck. Part of him felt happy for his younger brother, but part of him remained uneasy. He wasn’t sure if he would define the emotion as jealousy, since he’d never wanted a serious relationship for himself. Still, there was something comforting about the prospect of a steady lover. At times, he wouldn’t have minded someone waiting at home for him.
“They make a cute couple, don’t they?” Martinez’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Heath realized for the first time that the manager of the complex had followed him to the cooler. Martinez gave a theatrical sigh. “Seems like everyone here is pairing up lately. Lucky thing Patrick was around to take over Felix’s lease. He and Jonathan seem pretty tight these days, too.”
“I’m happy for them.” Heath felt far less ambivalent about that relationship. He had a special interest in Patrick’s brother, Felix Lynch, who shared his own gift—or curse, depending how you thought of it—of lycanthropy. Like him, Lynch refused to join any of the packs roaming the surrounding desert, but instead looked to Jonathan to provide a stabilizing influence and control his movements during the full moon. So far, their pact seemed to be working. It gave Heath hope that such an arrangement might one day work for him too.
“Come on,” Martinez prompted him, probably noticing his melancholy expression. “Let me introduce you to some of my new tenants. That’s why I threw this party, after all. So everyone could get to know them.” He dragged Heath over to two men standing by the grill holding paper plates of potato salad and veggie shish-ka-bobs. “This is Heath Jaeger,” he announced to the pair. “You already met his brother, Zack. Heath comes around to visit quite a bit, and I’ve been trying to convince him to take one of our units. Maybe you can succeed where I’ve failed. Remember, we do offer a rent incentive for anyone who brings in a qualified new tenant. And Heath here is more than qualified.”
To Heath’s relief, Martinez finally walked off to bother someone else. He dutifully shook hands with the two men. One was middle-aged, with a full reddish beard and wire glasses, while the other looked about twenty-two or so. Heath wondered if they were a couple. He could see why the older guy would be attracted to the younger one, whose tan and loose blond mop made him look more like a surfer dude than a desert rat. What the younger guy might see in the older one was harder to figure out. Was he a sugar daddy?
“Good to meet you, Heath,” the bearded man said. His handshake seemed firm and his tone of voice direct. “Name’s Barton Reece. Came out here for the summer so I can do some archaeological research. This is my assistant, Wyatt Taylor.”
“Archaeology, huh? Sounds interesting.” Inwardly, Heath winced. Out-of-towners sneaking onto the desert to pilfer
“Oh, it is,” Reece assured him. “I plan to start first thing in the morning. Can’t wait.”
“I assume you know about desert safety,” Heath said, unable to banish the skepticism from his voice. He’d gone hunting for too many stranded tourists in his time as a desert ranger, and transported a few too many to the hospital for his liking. “People don’t always realize how dangerous it can be out there.”
“Oh, I’ve been on dozens of desert expeditions,” Reece said with a nonchalant flip of his hand. “No need to worry about that. Wyatt, here, is a different story. This is his first trip out of San Francisco. I can’t wait to show him everything I know.”
“Bart says the desert is an addiction,” Wyatt put in eagerly.
“He’s right.” Heath thought he understood the relationship now. They were professor and graduate student, perhaps. “Remember, though—addictions can be deadly.”
“Of course they are,” Wyatt said. “That’s what makes them irresistible.”
“Well, I’m off to get another beer,” Reece announced with a frown, gulping down the last of his food. “Should I grab anything for either of you?”
“No thanks,” Heath said, jiggling his soda can.
“I’m all set, too,” Wyatt said. Barton Reece moved away, tossing his paper plate in the trash as he walked. When they were alone, Wyatt smiled at him. “Don’t you drink?”
“Not usually. I like to keep my head clear.”
“You strike me as that kind of guy. So what do you do around here?”
“I’m a desert cop.”
“Oh? Sounds interesting. I’ll have to make sure I stay on the right side of the law.”
Heath raised a brow. He could have sworn Wyatt batted his soft gold eyelashes at him when he spoke. Surely he was imagining it, though. Things like that just didn’t happen to him. “I never advise anything else,” he said after a flustered pause.
This time Wyatt openly winked at him. “On the other hand, there’s something to be said for being put in handcuffs…under the right conditions, of course.”
Heath gaped as another thumping disco song came on.
“Want to dance?” Wyatt asked.
“I…uh…I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Just stand and pump your fists. I’ll do the rest.” Without waiting for an answer, Wyatt grabbed Heath’s wrist and pulled him toward the makeshift dance floor. As promised, and much to Heath’s relief, Wyatt did most of the work, shimmying and shaking with a natural grace and rhythm Heath did not possess in the least. Wyatt proved himself a good dancer, attracting attention and admiration from the crowd. Heath saw Barton Reece staring at them. His expressionless face set Heath’s mind at ease, suggesting that the two had no emotional connection to one another.
Finally the song ended and Wyatt slung a casual arm around Heath’s waist to lead him from the floor. “That was fun, didn’t you think?”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to do much,” Heath confessed.
“Don’t be silly. Dancing is good for you, both physically and spiritually. It’s all just a matter of feeling the music inside you.”
“If you say so.”
“I can give you some lessons if you want. You’re probably the type who prefers to pump iron, though. You do have pretty good muscles.” Boldly Wyatt pinched Heath’s left bicep through his T-shirt. “But you know what they say. It’s never too late to reinvent yourself.”
“Don’t worry.” Heath barked out a laugh. “I reinvent myself all the time, so you don’t have to convince me of that.”
They took over a pair of empty lawn chairs at the edge of the pool. Wyatt watched the current group of dancers with amusement.
“I’d say you’re not the only one in need of a few lessons,” he observed. “Still, I suppose I shouldn’t be judgmental. Some of them probably learned to dance when these songs were still new.”
“That must have been a fun time to be gay,” Heath said wistfully. “The music, the clubs, and those bathhouses…well, you’re from San Francisco. You know what I’m talking about.”
“I sure do.” Wyatt nodded. “I used to think I was born thirty years too late. Still, I guess there are fun things to do now.”
“Sure there are. And the good old days probably weren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
Wyatt sighed. “They never are. Maybe I could ask Bart if he ever got down and partied when he was young. I doubt it, though. Something tells me he spent the seventies hidden away in some library with his nose stuck in a book.”
Heath pounced on the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “Speaking of Bart, what did he mean about you being his assistant? Are you two affiliated with some university or something?” Frankly, he’d feel a lot better about their presence if they had proper academic credentials. Though the professorial crowds who trooped through the desert now and again were annoying in their own way, Heath generally didn’t have to worry about them desecrating Native American burial sites or destroying what they were trying to study.
With a nonchalant shrug, though, Wyatt dashed those hopes. “Bart calls himself an independent scholar. He keeps his own little museum back in San Francisco. He’s planning to write a book about some of the stuff he’s discovered.”
“And that would be Native American stuff, I assume?” Heath asked carefully. “That’s what most people come to this area to study.”
“A lot of it is. He says this time he’s after something really big, though. Even I don’t have all the details. I figure he’ll tell me what I need to know when I need to know it.”
His casual tone surprised Heath. He might as well as have been talking about a trip to the antique shop with a doddering old uncle. “So I take it archaeology isn’t a passion of yours?”
“Nah. To tell you the truth, I’m a lot more interested in the future than the past. Plus I get really bored piecing together all those broken pot shards. Still, it beats waiting tables or steaming milk at the cappuccino bar. And so far, I like living out here. The desert’s beautiful at night.”
“I can’t argue with that. But if you don’t mind my asking…how did you start working with Bart, if you’re not a budding archaeologist yourself?”
Wyatt’s baby-smooth forehead briefly creased under his curly blond bangs. “You know, it’s kind of a weird story. I was in this bar one night, and he came over and sat next to me. I thought he was trying to pick me up at first.”
“Oh?” Heath didn’t like the quick tightening sensation in his chest at the image of Reece approaching Wyatt in a sexual way. Still, he leaned forward, intrigued at the unusual turn the conversation had taken. The fact that Barton Reece preferred a rank amateur to a trained historian or experienced excavator struck him as peculiar, if not downright suspicious. Did he want someone with him who wouldn’t question his methods? “What happened then?”
“Nothing much, really. He asked me if I wanted to work part-time at his museum and help him assemble some broken pottery he’d bought off a collector. Supposedly the stuff’s really valuable. After I’d worked there a few weeks, he invited me to come digging this summer. I didn’t see why not, so here I am.” Looking around, Wyatt lowered his voice and leaned closer to Heath. “At first, I figured the whole thing was just some elaborate setup to get me into bed. He never did put the moves on me, though. So I guess he was on the level. Don’t get me wrong—I do like older guys. Just not him. Not like that.”
His gaze lingered on Heath a moment longer than necessary, and Heath felt himself start to sweat. Wyatt’s hand moved a little, as if he were planning to rest it on Heath’s thigh, and he opened his lips to say something more. Before he could, though, a shadow fell over their lawn chairs.
