“Something repellent,” I demanded cheerfully.
“Repellent? That’s a tall order.” Though normally I was uncomfortable under the eyes of another, those baby blues against my skin invigorated me and I beamed back at him. “When I look at you, I can only think of,” his fingers found a lock of my auburn hair and he rubbed it between his fingers to release the scent, “Lavender and honey.”
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “Happily, we are talking about you.”
His grin was wolfish as he leaned back in his seat again. “I make a very good living.”
“Ah, you’re one of those.” His silver cuff links shone even in the dim light of the descending plane. “That helps, I’m more the starving artist type.”
“Hardly starving.” His eyes raked over my curves even though I wore a modest cotton shift.
Despite myself, I flushed. “No, but an artist all the same. Let me guess, you work with money.”
“In a sense,” he said, and his eyes danced. “Is this twenty questions?”
I laughed. “I haven’t played that since I was a kid.”
“Not so long ago.”
“Long enough,” I corrected and shot a look at him from the corner of my eye. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one. I’m also 6’1 and I’ve broken my right arm three times.” His small
smile was a boyish contrast to his sharp, almost aggressively drawn features. I wanted desperately to trace the exaggerated line of his jaw and dip a finger into the slight hollow beneath his cheekbone.
“Twenty-four.” I pulled the bulk of my wavy hair to one side in order to show him the tattoo behind my ear.
When I didn’t explain its significance, he frowned. “What is it?”
“A mark,” I said simply.
I jerked slightly when his fingers brushed over the swirled ink. “I like it.”
“Thank you.” My voice was breathy as I draped my hair once more over my shoulders.
“What brings you to Mexico? I take it your family doesn’t live here.” A finger ran done my arm lightly, highlighting the paleness of my skin.
“My family is much more exotic than I am.” I thought of Mama and the twins with a slight grimace; years of hero worship were hard to completely eradicate. “My best friend booked the trip but couldn’t make it. I was only too happy to take her place.”
He nodded, his eyes intense as he contemplated me. The connection between us thickened and hummed like the air during an electrical storm. Disturbed, I shifted away from him to look out the window as we swooped low over the ground above the runway. Strangely, I did not feel my usual apprehension as the plane tentatively brushed the tarmac once, twice, before smoothly landing.
We didn’t speak as the pilot came on the overhead system announcing our arrival and it was only when came to a slow stop at the terminal that I turned back to him. He faced forward, a furrow etched deeply between his brows and his mouth was firm with concentration. I wondered what he thought of me, of this strange meeting.
Sensing my gaze, he said, “I’ve been trying to decide if I should see you again.”
“What makes you think I would want to?” His eyebrow arched and I gave into his silent reproach with a little shrug. “What’s stopping you?”
The seat belt sign turned off and we both stood at the same time, suddenly almost touching, the slim space between us charged with electricity the color of his eyes. He looked down at me, his deep chestnut hair softening the dangerous edge of his features. “I have never wanted someone the way I want you.” His hand skimmed over my hip and sent a deep, throbbing shock through my system. “But I don’t like the idea that you could very well change my life.”
My heart clanged uncomfortably against my ribcage and though I desperately wanted to say something, I couldn’t find the words to untangle the jumble of hormones and desires I had been reduced to. So instead, I watched a serious smile tilt one side of his closed lips as his eyes scraped over my face one last time and then, without a word still, he left.
Chapter Two.
My cell phone rang just as I emerged into the muggy Mexican heat to hail a taxi. I shook my head at the many men eager to help me with my suitcase for a few pesos and stuck my cell between my ear and shoulder.
“Giselle, darlin’.” Brenna’s husky southern drawl warmed me. “How is the drug runner city treating you?”
I smiled and nodded enthusiastically at a sweet-faced Mexican man who pulled up in his beat up yellow cab. “I just got off the plane, B, but so far no drug runners.”