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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  PO Box 2206

  Stow OH 44224

  Mayan Nights

  Copyright © 2006 by Ciar Cullen

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  ISBN: 1-59998-013-4

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2006

  This title has been previously published.

  Mayan Nights

  By Ciar Cullen

  Acknowlegements

  Warm thanks to the staff of Samhain Publishing, most especially Ansley Velarde. Cynnara Tregarth provided invaluable advice through many versions of this book, and I dedicate this to her, along with Bruce, for his unwavering support and love.

  Prologue

  “Can’t sleep, dear?”

  Shield Jaguar’s young wife shook her head and snuggled closer, running her fingers through his long hair, playing with the feathers braided into his royal topknot. She sighed in pleasure as he rubbed her back. Her huge brown eyes pleaded for his attention, tugging at his heart. Lady A’ok feared the night, the death of the Sun. For weeks, Shield Jaguar had humored his new consort, giving her attention as if she were the one who ruled Pacal herself.

  “I neglect my duties, attending to your insatiable need for attention and pleasure. The priests mutter amongst themselves, but loud enough that I might hear. If you tell anyone how you have turned me into a simpering lovesick boy, I’ll order your execution.”

  “You are a boy.”

  He growled in mock anger. The residents of Pacal had taken to affectionately calling him the ‘Boy King’, their youngest leader ever at twenty. Certainly, his consort looked far younger than her eighteen years, and she always laughed at the jokes at her expense.

  “I meant only that you are young to rule such a proud people and magnificent city!” A’ok winked, poking her tongue in her cheek. Shield Jaguar loved the dimples that came to life in her face when she teased, which was often.

  “You are younger still, to rule alongside me. Perhaps I needed a wiser, more mature consort…”

  She ignored his taunt and ran her hand along his arm.

  “Are you really lovesick? How does it feel? Tell me what you like about me?” Her precious smile warmed his heart and his cock, and for the hundredth time, he thanked all the gods for their wisdom in choosing this girl.

  “No. I have told you enough. It is your turn to lavish me with praise!”

  Shield Jaguar laughed as A’ok wrinkled her nose in disappointment. He clutched at her perfect soft hips, moving lower to squeeze her wonderful buttocks. Shield Jaguar held her gaze steadily with the dark look he knew excited her, as he unfastened her feathered skirt and slid his fingers down her stomach to toy with the nest of delicate black hair, lower to toy with the moist folds he craved. She squirmed and moaned under his touch.

  “Tell me a story.” A’ok caressed his chest, slowly moving her hand down his ribcage, and lower, to her prize. He moaned in pleasure, never tiring of her talented hands. She ran her thumb over the head of his cock and pulled teasingly, licking her full lips in glee.

  “So subtle, my dear.”

  “It works.”

  “In more ways than one. I believe Lady A’ok means to turn her king into her sexual slave.”

  “I believe the King of Pacal is very wise, indeed, despite his youth.”

  “You are truly happy with this union?” Shield Jaguar winced at his own weakness, the need to hear it again. All the women of Pacal wanted him, and yet, this one woman’s desire was paramount.

  “I live to serve my King.” She began a steady stroke of his cock as she nibbled playfully on his nipples.

  Shield Jaguar watched her in awe. How did her beauty grow daily? Her skills did as well, for in seconds, fire coursed to his cock and he became breathless. Still, he wanted her words as much as her body.

  She adores you; can’t you see it in her eyes? She must tell you, though—do not be the first to utter the words. It does not become the ruler of Pacal to beg for love.

  A’ok worked her way down his torso, teasing with her tongue until she captured the head of his cock between her lips. Staring up at him, she worked him deep into her throat. Her moans tortured him with pleasure; he reached out to hold her head and caress her silken hair as she began a rhythmic sucking.

  Shield Jaguar fought to hold her gaze, the first hint of release filling him to bursting. His need built with the strokes of her tongue and her moans of appreciation, but he pushed her head away. Not like this, not tonight. Tonight he would make her wild for him, ensure she fell deeper, further, into the depths of passion, so far that she would never want another, never even look at another.

  Before the night is over, she will tell you she loves you. She will be your slave, and if the gods approve, she will become the mother of a King.

  “What kind of story would you like tonight, A’ok?”

  “I can listen and suck on you at the same time. I am quite talented that way. Oh, I see you intend to be difficult.”

  “I, however, cannot tell a story with your beautiful lips driving me into oblivion. I would like to extend the evening a bit.” Shield Jaguar gestured for her to lie next to him and slid his palm along her breast, teasing the dark hard nipple between his fingers.

  “Ah, Lord, you have the hands of the gods.”

  “I am a god.” He leaned in and suckled at her breast, caressing the other with his hand. “I asked you a question, woman. The King is not to be ignored.”

  “Oh…How am I to speak? Tell me a story of the ones who come after us—a tale with some good parts. Make them really in love, insane for one another, mad with lust, lots of sex! The kind with binding and playful torture, too! Make sure he touches himself, you know how I love that!”

  “I have never known a woman to enjoy such torrid talk. My words seem to please you as much as my hands, my lips, my essence releasing inside you.”

  “Your stories are wonderful. I have never known a man with such an imagination. It’s one of the reasons I…”

  “Yes?” Shield Jaguar held his breath, relieved the moment was at hand.

  “One of the reasons I enjoy our nights together so much. Not the greatest reason.” She pulled his head back to her breast and clutched at his hair. “Please?”

  He sat up and rubbed his chin, as if he were considering her request, as if this were a new game. Perhaps it was time to make her understand what it was to be the Jaguar King. To become the god of all the people, the most powerful creature of El Mundo Maya, to assume the immortal form. A’ok did not yet understand his power, his ability to look through time to eternity, to a place where the Sun rose and fell in days that each seemed to last a thousand years. His family’s priests wisely guarded the royal secrets, and none but he and his mother and brothers endured the rituals that provided the deep knowing, the connection to the Mayan cosmos. A’ok might never understand his world, but he wanted her love so badly, wanted her to know him completely.

  “Very well, a story about the future. Let’s see... Ah, I have just the one. It involves a very special man, you will fall in love with him, I am certain
of it. This man will be important to my destiny, as you shall see. All right, as they say in the days far along the wheel of the calendar, “Once upon a time, there was a lovely young woman…”

  Chapter One

  “St. John Twaine? The Ivy League Beast? You cannot be serious! He’s wiped out at least four researchers in the last two years. You didn’t tell me you were joining him.”

  Tam ignored Jack’s nervous pacing and tried to block out his arguments as she packed.

  “Look, I need this. He’s sitting on the most exciting Mayan finds in decades. If I can get a piece of this publication, I’m set. My phone isn’t exactly ringing off the hook with other offers.”

  “He shot at me! Are you listening? The man is a lunatic. Too much time in the Mexican sun, too much tequila, and the rumor is that he really lost it after his wife died.” Jack poked a finger at her. “It’s not exactly clear how she died. What do you say about that?”

  “Bullshit, that’s what I say. He’s a tenured Princeton professor—a brilliant one—and he didn’t get that far on tequila and wife-mutilation. You read too many romances. Do most gay men read romances? I think that’s fascinating. Really. Do you picture that you’re the woman? Of course, you’d have to.”

  “Don’t try to distract me with insults. Explain why Twaine’s stayed in the field for four years? Every archaeologist I know comes back after the season to a nice little house near the college, a respectable little wife, and a sensible Volvo.”

  “So he’s an eccentric academician. Remember, I can handle eccentric academicians. I’m a Martin.”

  “Your family isn’t this weird, trust me. It’s not just him, there’s the site. Of course, I wasn’t at Pacal for more than an hour or so, before he shot at me, but something about the place really creeped me out.”

  “Come on, the Pacal curse? Don’t disturb the tombs of the dead? You probably believe in the curse of King Tut’s tomb too? Puh-lease.”

  “You’ll see. I’ll pick you up at the airport—let’s say in a week or so. We’ll have dinner, and you can tell me all about your one fantastic night in Cozmano. Just don’t piss him off and get shot.”

  “Very funny. Can you at least drive me to the airport without nagging?”

  Jack sighed in resignation and nodded.

  “Tam, one more thing.”

  “Hmm?” She sorted through the mound of clothes on her bed, quickly pulling out summer garb for the jungle and a few classier designer items to impress the great Professor.

  “I’m not an expert on these things, but I imagine most women might think Twaine’s attractive in some perverse way. Despite the guns.”

  Tam snorted. “Well, I suppose you would know.”

  “He’s not my type. My gay-dar works perfectly, thank you very much. Twaine’s as straight as they come, damn it.”

  “Well, he certainly won’t be my type.” He probably wears a tweed jacket to dinner. No doubt smoked a pipe. Of course, Twaine was young by Princeton standards. Still, she hadn’t seen a sexy professor on campus in the five years it had taken to get her doctorate.

  “Why are we talking about Twaine’s sex appeal, anyway? I’d rather screw one of the handsome local lads, if it comes to that, and it won’t! Every time I get near you I end up talking about sex.”

  Jack arched a brow at her and she threw a bra at him. “I think it’s called nymphomania. Simply put, you’re a ‘ho’.”

  “So are you.”

  “That’s why we get along. We can talk about big cocks together.”

  “You’re vulgar, really Jack.” Tam laughed at Jack’s leer. “Are you sure, absolutely, positively sure?”

  “Not that again. It’s not reversible, Tam. But if I ever feel the urge to do a woman, you’ll be the first to know. You really can’t imagine that a man wouldn’t want you, can you? God, it must be rough to be you.”

  If you only knew, my friend. Tam took a long look at Jack, wondering if he really understood how special he was, how she longed for a man like him…with one difference. He really was the perfect guy; incredibly handsome, built, great taste in clothes, and could he cook. Most of all, he respected her, her work, her devotion to her career, her independence.

  “Oh, most guys want me for at least one night, until they find out I’m more intelligent than they are.”

  “Come on, baby, you’re the one who dumps them.”

  “Okay, so maybe I like my men smart. Sue me.”

  “Hmm, Twaine’s actually pretty smart. Brilliant, in fact. Careful, Tam, I’m serious.”

  “But does he have a big cock?”

  “Charming. Do send me a postcard and let me know. On a serious note, I’ll point out that your plane takes off in three hours, and it takes an hour these days to clear customs out of Philly.”

  Tam hugged Jack tightly. “I’ll miss you, baby. I wish you could come with.”

  “I had my fill of Pacal, and Twaine. Tam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need those heels and stockings.”

  “You never know. He’s upper crust, old money, and first impressions are very important. I’m taking the Indiana Jones gear, too, don’t worry.”

  “Me, worry?”

  Sweat drenched every inch of her. Her smart linen suit looked like a crumpled dishrag. Her soaked hair hung limply. Tam wiped off the last remaining streaks of makeup and smashed a mosquito on her arm, where it left a drop of her blood. It was the bus ride from hell.

  “Shoo.” A chicken pecked at her Prada shoes while its foul-smelling owner snored across the aisle.

  Another pothole the size of a moon crater, another wind in the road, another lurch to a sudden stop, and Tam thought she would lose her breakfast. Photos of half-naked women hung next to rosaries from the driver’s rearview mirror. Everything about the last two hours infuriated her.

  Diesel fumes spewed out in huge clouds as the death-trap rolled to a halt.

  “Cozmano,” the fat greasy driver growled, gesturing slightly with his head as he straightened his pornographic photo collection and rosary beads.

  “Sorry? Por favor?” It couldn’t be. There was nothing more than a dirt path and a big rock with an arrow painted on it.

  “Cozmano.” He gestured emphatically and muttered something obscene. “Professor Sin.” He pointed again.

  Professor Sin?

  A local helped her drag her suitcase off the bus. “Señorita, I am Orlando. If you come for Señor Twaine, we will meet again. I work at his ruins.”

  “Oh! I’m very pleased to meet you, Orlando! My name is Tam.”

  Orlando eyed her quickly from head to toe and tipped his hat. “Señorita, I mean no offense, but how well do you know the Professor?”

  “I’ve never met the man.”

  “He does not take well to females.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My English, my meaning maybe, is not so clear. There has never been a female on the site. He prefers the men, you understand? Not in the kitchen or the bedroom, no! But at the site, you see? He says they cannot pull the weight. I heard him talk of the new assistant, but I think he expects someone…else. Does he know you’re a woman?”

  Tam’s annoyance grew by the second. Ridiculous! More than half the archaeological community was female. What century spawned this asshole Twaine? He must have known Princeton was sending a woman. But they might have only mentioned her last name. How could it possibly matter to him?

  The driver called Orlando back to his seat, and Tam watched the bus pull away in a cloud of diesel fumes, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Suck it up, Tam. This is your big break. Doesn’t matter what the great professor thinks, you’re going to set the world on fire.”

  She took in a deep breath and started up the steep, stony road. After turning her ankle twice in the deep tire ruts, she pulled her shoes off and ducked behind a bush to take off her pantyhose. The searing midday sun scorched her face, leaving her parched and cursing
Twaine for not sending a car to the airport.

  Making me hike up this damned road in the heat. At least a hundred degrees. So the asshole doesn’t like women on the site, eh? We’ll see about that. Can’t pull their weight! I can read Mayan glyphs with my eyes closed, buddy, can you?

  By the time she reached the top of the road, Tam’s mind reeled in fury, her head pounded, her feet bled from sharp rocks lodged in the parched soil, and her arms and legs ached and felt heavy as lead. Immense relief swept through her when she finally caught sight of the hacienda nestled in the shade of lush greenery. The stately old building looked like paradise.

  Come on, Martin, you can do this. Only a few hundred yards. At least the Professor was close by now and would help her. Surely this Orlando fellow was wrong. St. John Twaine would welcome her graciously, make this hellish day worth it. Offer her iced tea, be very apologetic about not being able to pick her up himself. SinJin, she practiced the Brit pronunciation several times, trying to ensure it would sound natural when she greeted him. No doubt, the Professor was having a very civilized lunch at this hour, or perhaps making notes of the morning’s excavations. Maybe he had grown tired at the site and was enjoying a siesta.

  Tam pulled off her dusty sunglasses to get a better view of a man who had wandered onto the broad porch of the hacienda. He was tall, well over six feet. She squinted and covered a few more yards. One of the workers? Definitely not Mexican, definitely not shy. His worn fatigue shorts hung so low that Tam could make out the cords of muscles hugging his hips, pointing downwards towards what looked like a promising package beneath the thin fabric. He certainly wasn’t dressed for visitors.

  “How about a little help here, Señor?”

  He watched her calmly as he sipped an amber-colored liquid from a smeared glass. Liquor? The thought of drinking hard alcohol in the scorching midday sun made Tam’s stomach roll. She dropped the suitcase into the dust along with her jacket and hobbled up to the house. He looked amused at her struggle, and fury overtook her again. Didn’t it just figure? The asshole had to be drop-dead gorgeous. He was probably only thirty-four or so, but he looked a bit older, tanned deeply by the Mexican sun, a bit tired looking, with a hint of dark circles under his eyes. A drunk? His dark brown hair hadn’t been cut in months hanging well past his ears in sun-streaked waves. His eyes were chocolate brown pools that turned to dark slits as he squinted against the sun to stare her down.