A little OC Sawyer, but hopefully enough on the nail to recognize him.
The muscles in her body tightened, just as her eyes closed on the impossible.
The cowboy.
Ducking her head under water, she gathered her remaining strength to face him. Because all in all, running away stuck on an island - ain't running at all.
But he wasn't one to allow her that. A stealthy glance over her shoulder, placed him nearer her than before.
Steeling her reserve, she finally emerged from the curtain of water. Her body slicked and sparkling in the half light.
Ana carefully began her way across the slippery sheet rock platform and down the jagged steps towards him. Curls of steam, cling to her skin, unable to let this vision move away, before rising into the twilight - relinquishing a sultry vision, shrouded in a thousand droplets of water.
Unflinching from his primitive survey, unashamed and head held high - meeting Sawyers arrogantly male smirk with the same attitude she was apparently born with.
A low whistle escaped before he could contain himself.
He noted her catlike moves added grace and agility, even as her eyes drew a storm, so close to him now, the tantilizing fresh aroma of the soap mixed with her unique scent, stirred his loins as well as his memory.
He swallowed hard and willed his body not to react.
At least he hoped.
Ana looked at her clothes drying over a nearby rock, and immediately dismissed the idea of giving him any satisfaction - other than he was blatantly getting already - in picking them up.
Executing modesty for familiar attitude, she struck a hell-care pose, as if she was wearing every stich of clothing she owned.
His grin widened, acknowledged the challenge.
"Sawyer." she hissed, A portion of the inferno that she met him with a few hours ago. Daring him to meet her gaze and hold fast
"Kitten," He gruffly replied, lips quirking of their own volition. He couldn't decide which he enjoyed more. The fully bronzed, naked, dripping wet chica, or the pissed off expression she wore.
Always seemed to wear, when it came to him.
"Y'know, of all the many psychotic sides I've seen of you, Lucy," he jovilly grinned, "This one has got to be the most - fascinating."
He let his gaze drift then, blatantly taking in the caramel warm figure. Following the drops of water down, and over, tracing with predatory smugness every familiar inch.
Fists clenched, eyes blazing, Ana allowed this momentary invasion, and when finally his eyes reached hers again, she was ready to smack him out.
"Done?"she growled at the hustlers never ending brass.
Hardly. But she didn't need to know that.. Yet. He pasted on the most conceited grin he could muster, leaning his frame against the rock wall, effectively blocking the narrow path the rest of the way down. Escape denied.
He returned her gaze, no apology in his perusal, no regret in failing her challenge. No intention of keeping it, given he was far interested in taking his fill.
"You've got some nerve, Blondie."she growled. His grin grew, dimples winking in reply.
"That's not all I've got for yo', Rambina."
Her eyes grew wide, dark and incensed, as she watched him begin to undress. One hand popping the buttons, the other trailing down his torso as more skin was revealed. He was enjoying this?!
Words jumped her tongue, as she resisted the urge to strike.
"It's clean,"he whispered huskily, eyes laughing at her. "I washed it this morning."
"I don' care if it's powered and wrapped in a fricken ribbon," Ana vehemently scowled, a gathering fire in her eyes, "If you think that--"
Her indignant tirade was cut short by his sudden and thunderous laughter, as he held out the article of clothing for her to use. His shirt.
He was offering her, his shirt.
Heat infused her cheeks, made her face hot - and a lot more besides.
It made her uncharacteristically silent, which seemed to create no end of amusement and pleasure for him, while she debated on what to do next.
To accept his kindness - suspicious as it is ever given - and admit quiet embarrassment. Or stalk past him, pride in tact and naked as the day she was born, suffering his unapologetic male ogling.
But accepting anything from the Island hustler could well mean a whole heap of trouble, offered or not. She was aware of all of this, but she had done more to piss him off than usual, and figured she might as well reap what she could before his brand of payback hit the fan.
"Don'get any ideas,"she gruffly admonished, taking the offered shirt and slipping it quickly on. He raised a eyebrow, as she went from gloriously naked wood nymph to School Mistress prude.
"Right,"she acknowledges him, cooly, once she was sufficently buttoned. All innocence now - like butter wouldn't melt.
"Somethin' I can do for ya? Cause I ain't got the time to chat."
"Find the time," his voice cracks open, seething. "You got somethin' of mine."Sawyer growled lowly, "An' I'm here to get it back."
Of course he was.
She feigned innocence. "If you lost it, Hustler --"
"Stolen!"he railed blackly. "By you, you son of a -"
Ana shook her head, disappointedly. "Can' trust anyone these days," she sauntered closer, eyes dancing with whimsy. "Did yo' call the cops, man?"
Smart.
Corners of his hard mouth twitched, turning up into a smirk. She remained unrepentant, a side he had more than enough expertise with.
"Bith," Sawyer ground out, but somehow despite his ire, all the harshness was taken out.
"Excuse me, won't you?" Ana feigned a scowl, her mouth twitching as she grinned up at him, undaunted. "I think I hear the phone."
Hell no, chica.
His chest puffs out, solid naked male sculptured form denying her escape. He's a brick wall of denial, and brusque opposition.
She looked up at him, stern and unamused. "You gonna move, Jethro? Or do I gotta do it?"
Sawyer pretended to consider it. "Would be the gentlyman thing to do, Chicquita –" He allowed his gaze to drift over her body again.
"--Pity I'm not a gentleman."
Her smile disappeared, and she got back in his face. "Lemme put it another way," a dark pall in her eyes, he's not seen since on the otherside of this mountain. "MOVE."
A gasping vitality that's got him all caught up. He leans down, re-creating an intimacy they both didn't expect to come up again.
"You asking me or telling me, Lucylu?"
Her dark eyes light on him. "When have I ever asked?
The southern reprobate grins down at her, not sure why, when she shoves him again with her shoulder, he lets her pass.
"An' by the way, my name is Ana Lucia." Ana rasps out angrily, those knol dark eyes flashing as she shoves by. "An-na-lu-cee-ah. Not Rambina, not Analulu, not Lucy or Lucylulu. " You belligerent handsome bastrd, she thinks sourly, pushing passed him. "I'll spell it for you, and pronounce it slowly, if you like."
Sawyer fair bristled. "Can you pronunce and spell Bit--"
His words cut out, suddenly distracted. Miss 'jump-when-I-say-jump' doesn't realize just what a pretty picture she can make from the back. His shirt had kicked up, unknowingly revealing more skin than she had intended.
His grin widened, doing his dandiest not to admire her cheeky curves, the bare skin of her thighs seemed to call his mouth, among other extremities he'd rather not think on, while she had something of his he wasn't willing to part with just yet. Damned woman.
But still - he wouldn't be Sawyer if he didn't show his appreciation.
"Jus' when I thought it couldn't get better..."
At the laughter in his voice, her steps falter, just enough, to make him very, very glad he is male. A momentary rear end jiggle as she halts, evokes his whiskey warm chuckle to mock her soundly. Ravishing her discovery, as she roughly pulls the hem back down.
Ana glares at Sawyer over her shoulder. He gives her a quick wink, his smile upping in wattage. Too late for that too.
Gruffly, she turns away, checking the progress of her clothes drying. Apparently Ana-lucy was in a hurry to get as far away from being in anything of his.
He shakes his head, bemusedly. Hasn't she learnt anything of him yet?
The air shifted, without even turning she knew he was closer than any man dared, and wouldn't let a little thing like pretending to be a gentleman get in the way of being an A. She tilted her head, meeting his gaze.
He stared down at her, his eyes cold enough to freeze the blood in the veins of a lesser woman. She took something from him - and no man or female ever got away with that.
"You owe me."
Ana squares her shoulders. "I don' owe you squat, Cowboy."
At her words, he is moving suddenly, grabbing her up into his clenched fists. She didnot move a muscle, just met his unflinching gaze and something in her stillness, moved HIM. There was something akin to defeat in her eyes. It didn't belong there, and suddenly he wanted anything else - even if it was her anger.
His voice drops, a chilling coldness warns he ain't playing now.
"You do, an' you will, Ana."Sawyer chooses his words well, slipping easily into villainy. "'Cause Jacky boys opinion of you is important. Just how much respect you reckon he'll have left, when he hears how good his latina co-leader is on the jungle floor getting scre–"
If he wanted her fire, he's got it. It takes several minutes of fighting for control dodging her brutal flailing, swearing and wrestling to contain his hold on her. By that time they're both exhausted and he's got her pinned to the wall.
He's almost afraid to look down into her eyes. Already knows he's a bastard. Does not know just how much, till he sees what bruises Gales forced on her - what his words have inflicted deeper, because he's said them. Because he's still caught in her eyes, as she's in his.
Kates and Jacks images wiped out, by the other.
But he pushes through, knows that if Rambina gives up the fight - she'll end up dead.
And that scares him more than he wants to admit.
"This ain't over between us." He forces any warmth, or apology from his tone. "An' I'll be taking what you owe me, when and where I please."
She bucks against him, futility, her glare like black coals. Her heart shrinking to fit.
"The hell you will," she spits at him. The hell with you.
Sawyer drops his forehead to hers, wants to apologize, take it back. The hurt in her venomous gaze, killing him. Knows that look, knows the trials its gotten him through. Hate is the only thing that can save her.
"Lemme be the judge of that, Sweetheart."
"No let me,"
A voice came harsh and unforgiving to them from the lengthening shadows of the thermal cove, eliciting a chill down to both their bones. As they turn to face their intruder, they are instead coming face to face with the barrel of a loaded gun.
"Now get your stinking hands off her."
END of 2