“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, handing him the steaming mug. “I was just heading back to the tent to bring you this.”
“Thank you. And good morning.” He brushed his lips over hers, nearly laughing at the heat that zoomed through him at the casual contact. “Any oversleeping on my part is completely your fault.”
She raised her brows. “Is that a complaint?”
“Hell, no.” He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “My only complaint is that you weren’t there when I woke up. I missed you.”
“I…I couldn’t sleep, so when I caught the first whiff of coffee, I figured I’d get dressed and score us some java.”
He leaned back and searched her face, noting even in the dim light the smudges beneath her eyes. “Couldn’t sleep? You feel okay?”
She smiled. “I’m fine. My mind is just full. Lots of thoughts, all whirling around.”
“Well, sweetheart, you emptied my mind last night.” He nudged his pelvis against hers. “Among other things. If Paolo hadn’t shouted out the rise-and-shine call, I probably would have slept for a week. I intend to write the author of Mastering the Art of the Erotic Massage a heartfelt thank-you note.”
She laughed and nudged him back. “The pleasure was mine.”
“Not entirely, I can promise you that.”
“I think we’re both all paid up now. You owed me pleasure-twice-because you cheated and let me win our bet, and I owed you an erotic massage. We’re even.”
He shook his head. “I seem to recall a mention of make-up sex in there somewhere which hasn’t happened yet. So you still owe me one.”
“Not that I mind being indebted to you, but the only way we can have make-up sex is if we get into an argument.” She rose on her toes and gently bit his earlobe, rushing more blood straight to his groin. “And arguing isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Unfortunately Paolo chose that moment to walk by and clap him on the back. “Glad to see you finally dragged it out of bed, señor. Breakfast in five minutes, then we need to pack up quickly if we’re to arrive at Machu Picchu with the sun.”
“Five minutes,” Brett said with a groan. “Not nearly enough time for what I had in mind.”
“Me, either.”
He dropped a quick kiss to her upturned lips. “Hold that thought. At least until we’ve checked into our hotel this afternoon.”
The rest of the campers slowly exited their tents, all anxious for coffee. While they enjoyed their breakfast, Paolo filled them in on some of Machu Picchu’s history.
“The legendary lost city of the Incas was rediscovered in 1911 by an American team of archaeologists from Yale University led by Hiram Bingham. Of course, like most men, Mr. Bingham didn’t ask for directions and was actually looking for Vilcabamba, a stronghold of the Inca rebels, when he discovered Machu Picchu, and was convinced he’d been successful.
“Since the Incas didn’t leave written records, Machu Picchu remains shrouded in mystery. Some believe it was a sanctuary inhabited by high priests, others feel it was used for astronomical studies. Other theories include agricultural site and citadel. Or perhaps it is a combination of all or some of those. Most mysterious of all is that in spite of the exceedingly fine construction and architecture, Machu Picchu was built, inhabited and abandoned all in the span of less than a century-a tiny blip in time considering the four-thousand-year history of Peru. Today scholars still ask why?”
Paolo sipped his coffee, then continued, “Some suggest it was the result of wars between rival Inca tribes resulting in the mass execution of the entire community. Or perhaps it was a plague. Given the site’s pristine condition, scholars agree that it is unlikely that the Spanish conquistadors ever found Machu Picchu during their invasions as they made no mention of it in their meticulous chronicles.”
After finishing their meal, the group packed up their belongings and set out on the final leg of their journey, which, they found thankfully, was shorter and not as strenuous as the previous days’ hikes. They followed a broad, level path which wound gently through light woodland, the air cool and still. With the first streaks of light in the sky, their walkway was dappled with color from scores of butterflies flitting across the trail.
They arrived at Intipunku, the Sun Gate, a short time later. After a final, thigh-murdering, fifty-step, nearly vertical climb that left them all gasping, suddenly the whole of Machu Picchu was spread before them, in all its enigmatic glory, captured in the glowing splendor of the golden rays of the sunrise.
Brett stared at the fantastic sight, at the incredible series of terraces and buildings nestled amongst the verdant landscape, and he felt as if he’d stepped back in time. He reached out and entwined his fingers with Kayla’s.
She gently squeezed his hand, then whispered, “It’s even more impressive than I’d envisioned. I’m almost expecting an ancient Inca warrior wearing full ceremonial dress to step from an archway.”
They spent the day exploring the ruins, from the Temple of the Sun with its extraordinary stonework which fitted together seamlessly, an incomprehensible achievement for a people who had neither a written language nor the wheel, to the Temple of the Moon, a place of mysterious caverns with a carved throne and altar.
Hours later, as the sun disappeared behind the snowcapped peaks in the distance, the group headed toward the guard post where they would exit. Everyone except Brett and Kayla, who were spending the night at the Sanctuary Lodge, were heading to the train station in nearby Aguas Calientes to travel back to Cusco. Once outside the gate, there was a hasty exchange of e-mail addresses along with promises to keep in touch and e-mail photos. Then hugs and handshakes all around as the people who had come to mean so much to Brett over such a short period of time departed and went on with their lives, filling him with sorrow that he wouldn’t be seeing them again tomorrow. Their adventure together was over.
But speaking of people who’d come to mean a lot to him in a short period of time…
His gaze settled on Kayla and when she looked at him, her bottom lip trembled.
“I’m going to miss them,” she said with a catch in her voice.
He drew her into his arms and she rested her forehead against his chest. “Me, too. But hey, I’m glad that at least I won’t have to miss you. Pretty great that we live in the same city.”
A strangled sound came from her. Burying her face against his neck, her shoulders shook and she sobbed as if her heart were breaking.
Not certain how to comfort her, he just held her, brushing his lips over her temple, murmuring reassurances that everything would be fine, that they’d keep in touch with everyone, and waited for the storm to pass.
When it seemed the worst was over, he pulled a hanky from his jeans’ pocket and handed it to her. “Don’t worry-it’s a clean one,” he said with a smile.
She looked up at him, her green eyes wet with tears, her lashes spiky, and whatever small part of his heart might have remained his own, he lost with that single look.
“I’m sorry,” she said, after giving her nose a lusty blow.
“No problem.” He chucked her gently under the chin and grinned. “But I’ve gotta tell ya, for a woman who claimed she wasn’t a weepy female, you sure do cry a lot. And it is not easy on a guy’s nerves.”
“Or his hankies,” she said with a wobbly smile.
“I have plenty.” He cradled her tearstained face between his hands and brushed at the wetness lingering on her cheeks with his thumbs. “Feel better?”
For several long seconds she simply looked at him with an unreadable expression and he wished like hell he knew what she was thinking.