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The Flyboy's Temptation
Kimberly Van Meter
Risky business…A redhead with long legs, creamy kissable skin, and a big fat wad of cash? That's the kind of trouble former Air Force pilot J.T. Carmichael can't resist.With his charter flight business on verge of bankruptcy, J.T. can't afford to say no to the money or the uniquely sexy woman who needs to get to South America immediately. Until the bullets start flying…When his plane goes down somewhere in the Mexican jungle, J.T. realizes two things: 1) he might not make it out alive, and 2) he wants Hope Larsen something fierce. Stranded and fighting for their lives, neither Hope nor J.T. can avoid in the inevitable rush of pure, heated lust. Now this flyboy isn't just flying in the face of danger…he's sleeping with her.


Risky business...
A redhead with long legs, creamy kissable skin and a big fat wad of cash? That’s the kind of trouble former Air Force pilot J. T. Carmichael can’t resist. With his charter flight business on the verge of bankruptcy, J.T. can’t afford to say no to the money or the uniquely sexy woman who needs to get to South America immediately. Until the bullets start flying...
When his plane goes down somewhere in the Mexican jungle, J.T. realizes two things: (1) he might not make it out alive, and (2) he wants Hope Larsen something fierce. Stranded and fighting for their lives, neither Hope nor J.T. can avoid the inevitable rush of pure, heated lust. Now this flyboy isn’t just flying in the face of danger...he’s sleeping with her.
“Sometimes you just have to go with the moment...”
“Shared intense experiences can create a false sense of attraction that is often misconstrued as something deeper,” Hope said, lifting her chin.
“Interesting,” J.T. said. “Care to put your theory to the test?”
“W-what do you mean?” she stammered, her eyes widening as he walked slowly toward her. “And it’s not a theory. It’s a proven scientific fact.”
“So prove it,” he said in a low tone, stalking her like a jungle cat. He backed her against the wall, trapping her within the space of his arms. She looked adorably perplexed and uncertain as to how to handle their close proximity.
He knew he ought to knock it off, and, in truth, he’d started this just to mess with her. But now that he was in her space, he was just as affected.
“We agreed to keep things professional,” she reminded him in a breathy voice.
“I don’t remember making that deal,” he said, leaning in...
Dear Reader (#ulink_5e92089d-3e0a-5b18-acbf-4e55e1297381),
I’ve always wanted to write a story with a plane crash in a jungle. I don’t know why this appeals to me so much, but I adore stories featuring this plot element. So when I struck upon an idea that involved this very thing, I was beyond excited.
What I didn’t take into consideration was the immense amount of research I would have to do, seeing as I know next to nothing about the Amazon jungle aside from it is very dense and there are a million ways to die a grisly death.
All I can say is thank goodness for Google Earth.
However, it was a fun challenge to craft a fun, sexy and wild ride through the Amazon with two complete polar opposites for love interests.
I hope you laugh, bite your nails and blush when you read this story!
Enjoy.
Kim
Hearing from readers is a special joy. You can find me in the following places:
Website: kimberlyvanmeter.com (http://kimberlyvanmeter.com)
Facebook: Facebook.com/kim.vanmeter.37 (http://Facebook.com/kim.vanmeter.37)
Email: alexandria2772@hotmail.com
Snail mail: PO BOX 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361

The Flyboy’s Temptation
Kimberly Van Meter


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KIMBERLY VAN METER wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for the Harlequin Superromance, Blaze and Romantic Suspense lines. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.
Contents
Cover (#uf3585434-786e-5f8d-afd1-524a8c28035b)
Back Cover Text (#u2f58191d-5f73-52c7-bb17-ef0dcbd91ba3)
Introduction (#ueafcaf5b-7d44-521d-8d13-ae69a80a19ae)
Dear Reader (#ufcc8d25f-d051-5817-a7cf-afefc7fb895a)
Title Page (#uc1ddf0f0-decb-59d0-b01e-7a2fefc139ba)
About the Author (#u6bd02a96-32cd-5752-b3da-625dc64c26a7)
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1 (#ulink_5471e60a-1f7f-5579-a1ba-5e77ad5f79d6)
“HELLO? UM, HELLO? Is there anyone here?”
James “J. T.” Carmichael banged his head against the frame of his Beechcraft turboprop charter plane and swore a blue streak as he rubbed his dome.
“Who’s asking?” he said, squinting against the blazing Southern California sun as his hangover made the pain of bumping his head that much worse. “If you’re a creditor, then I ain’t here.”
A leggy redhead wearing a pencil skirt and spindly heels peered at him through dark-rimmed glasses. “Not a creditor...Mr....”
J.T. straightened and wiped his hands on a dirty rag from his pocket, giving her the once-over just as openly.
He supposed she wasn’t lying. He didn’t know many creditors who actually showed up on a person’s doorstep to collect. And heaven help him, creditors didn’t look like her. Or at least, he hoped they didn’t.
He’d rather think that creditors hung out in darkened cubicles, didn’t shower and had complexions that reflected their junk-food diet. “J. T. Carmichael, co-owner of Blue Yonder. My brother, Teagan, is the other half. Is there something I can do for you?”
She pushed strands of fine red hair away from her china-doll face and straightened her glasses. “Mr. Carmichael, I’m in need of a charter to South America. Are you available?”
South America? That was a heckuva journey. Pricey, too.
Teagan’s voice rang in his head from last night’s argument alongside the pounding of his brain.
Teagan was in favor of calling it quits; J.T. wasn’t ready to give up on their dream.
The numbers don’t lie, J.T. We’re going to be bankrupt in two months at this rate.
Why had he thought mixing Jack and tequila was a good idea?
Because the bartender had been hot.
“Mr. Carmichael?” The redhead’s firm voice held an edge of impatience. “Are you capable of such a charter?”
Capable? Hell yes. But should he accept the job? His Spidey sense was tingling off the charts. Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just that this hot-looking chick was coming to his small operation when she plainly could afford something nicer. Although, now that he thought about it, that seemed a little off, too.
But hadn’t Teagan groused that they’d need a miracle to keep the doors open? Hell, looked like a miracle wore fancy designer glasses and an air of mystery.
And who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
“Of course,” he answered, eyeing her warily. “But that’s a pretty expensive ride. Not to be rude or anything, but...you got the cash?”
She smiled thinly as if she’d expected his question, opened her purse and pulled a small wad of bills free. “I believe this should be sufficient to get us off the ground?”
His eyes bugged. There had to be at least five grand in her hand! “Whoa, lady—” he snatched the cash and tucked it under his arm, glancing around “—don’t go flashing that kind of money around here. Times are hard and you never know who’s watching.”
“You have a suspicious nature, Mr. Carmichael. I think that will serve my purposes quite well.”
“Yeah? And what purposes would that be?”
“My own. When can we leave?”
“Look, I need to know some details. I can’t just blindly agree to zip you off to South America just because you flashed some cash in my face.”
“No? And why not?”
Uh... “Well, because I can’t. How do I know you’re not a drug dealer? I don’t want to get caught up with the feds over some illegal shit.”
“That’s a pity,” she said. “Because there’s more where that came from if you could be trusted to do your job quietly and without question.”
He didn’t like her tone, but he had to admit she’d hooked him pretty good. “Yeah? Like how much?”
She smiled again. “Enough to make it worth your while.”
Teagan’s voice intruded in his thoughts, only this time J.T. had a feeling his brother was telling him to walk away because this job promised trouble. But that was a lot of cash. And cold hard cash was the answer to their prayers right now. He had no doubt that Blue Yonder could pull through if they could just weather this rough spot.
“When do you need to leave?”
“Now.”
It was then he realized she’d come with a small rolling bag.
“Seriously?”
“As a heart attack.” She glanced behind her before saying with a bit more urgency, “In fact, if we could be up in the air within the next ten minutes, that would be great.”
Ten minutes? He had to file a flight plan, gain clearance... Hell, he had to drain his bladder and grab his meatball sub from the fridge. He chuckled, pumping the brakes. “Let’s start with the basics. How about you tell me your name, where we’re going, like a normal chartered excursion, and then we’ll schedule your flight.”
Her green-eyed gaze narrowed with irritation. “I don’t have time for that. We need to be in the air now.”
“Well, too bad. We have protocol, rules. I can’t just go willy-nilly into the air like a drunken bird. I could lose my license.”
“Mr. Carmichael...”
But whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sudden screech of tires.
“Shit,” she muttered, her calm and precise demeanor crumbling quickly. “There’s no time to argue. Let’s go!”
A black car sped toward them, mindless of the tarmac, and J.T. got a real bad feeling. “What the hell?”
She shocked him by roughly pushing him. “We have to move, now! They are not coming this way to shake hands. Trust me—let’s go!”
The way the car was barreling toward them, J.T. had to agree with the woman. Hell, he didn’t even know her name yet, but there was no time for niceties. He grabbed her bag and tossed it into the cabin, then helped the woman in afterward.
“I hate when Teagan is right,” he muttered, quickly buckling in and securing the cabin doors. He rushed through his preflight ritual—a quick prayer and a gentle swipe at the hula girl stuck to his cockpit dash—and gunned the engine. Taxiing, he hit the throttle and quickly picked up speed, but the distinct sound of bullets being fired put a whole new spin on things.
“They’re shooting at my plane!”
“Yes, and if you don’t get it in the air, we’re going to end up in a fireball!”
“Who are you, lady?” he shouted, pushing forward on the throttle, his adrenaline running like jet fuel through his veins. “If anything happens to my plane—”
“Get us out of here alive and we’ll talk! Until then, focus on getting us out of here!”
Couldn’t argue that logic. J.T. wiped at the sweat gathering at his brow and pushed the plane to gain altitude. The sound of bullets hitting the frame was hard to ignore. He could just imagine the holes. Teagan was going to freak.
Resale value, J.T., he would no doubt yell. No one’s gonna want a shot-up plane!
After what seemed an eternity, J.T. cleared the airfield and gained enough altitude to escape the trajectory of the bullets, but now that he was sure he wasn’t going to die, he was pissed as hell!
If he’d wanted to be shot at he would’ve remained in the Air Force! He’d already done his share of tours in the combat zone and he was finished with that shit.
“You want to explain what the hell just happened?” he shouted. “Why are people shooting at you? Who are you? It’s drugs, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, actually, it is,” she shot back, surprising him with her blunt answer.
He hadn’t expected her to cop to it so easily. “Heroin? Meth? Pot?”
“Nothing illegal. Pharmaceuticals. I hate to burst your bubble, but what they’re after is totally legal.”
“Yeah, like I buy that,” he shot back derisively. “Don’t let my baby face fool you. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that people don’t hand out bullet sandwiches for Tylenol. What the hell is really going on?”
“Look, nothing has changed. I’m still willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for you to transport me to South America. We’ve lost the people who were shooting at us, so let’s just stay the course.”
“Stay the course? Are you kidding me? People put bullets in my plane. There’s no course I want to travel that involves bullets. You hear me? No way, lady. I’m finding the first open airfield and dropping you off. You can find a different chump to peddle your story to, because I ain’t buying.”
“No? From my research, Blue Yonder is dangerously close to shutting its doors. You’re teetering on bankruptcy. I’m offering you one job that could put you in the black.”
“How do you know my personal banking information?” he demanded, chafing at his privacy being invaded. He’d had enough of the government knowing his every move when he’d been property of the good ole US of A.
“Trust me—it’s not as if you’re living off the grid. A simple Google search with the right query and I found everything I needed to know. Am I right?”
“That’s not the point,” he groused, feeling exposed. “The point is, it’s none of your business to go poking around in my private affairs.”
“Look, I’m not the enemy. I’m just a scientist and I need your help to get to my company’s lab in South America. Can you do that?”
“I can, but I won’t,” he answered, still thinking about the holes in his plane and how he was going to repair them when the bank account was dangerously dry.
She must’ve sensed a break in his resolve. “I can’t express to you how important it is that I get to my destination. Make your offer and I’ll pay it. My company will authorize a handsome sum to get what I’m carrying.”
“What are you carrying?”
“Part of the deal will be no questions asked. It’s safer for you that way.”
“Well, now you’re just leading me on. Either you tell me or I turn around.”
“Your business will be toes up by next month,” she countered firmly. “And then what? You have the opportunity to stave off the inevitable or maybe even pull out of this skid. But if you drop me off, your business is certain to fail because I didn’t see anyone else knocking down your door to throw money at you.”
He hated that she was right. Hadn’t Teagan pounded that point into his head last night? Hadn’t his brother’s reasoning rung in his brain in spite of J.T.’s attempt to drown it out with Cuervo? By the bottom of the tequila bottle, things had seemed pretty hopeless.
Until the hot, troublesome redhead had walked onto the property.
But now he didn’t know if he was about to make a devil’s bargain.
“What kind of money are we talking?” he asked with grudging curiosity. He was already up in the air. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much trouble to get her to where she needed to go, drop her off, then take the money and run.
“Enough to keep you afloat for a few months, maybe six if you’re frugal. My company has very deep pockets.”
Damn, that was persuasive. “And I’m just supposed to drop you off, no questions asked, and that’s it? I never hear from you again and no more people come after me with guns?”
“That’s exactly the deal, Mr. Carmichael.”
Didn’t seem so bad. Maybe it could work. It would certainly quell Teagan’s all-fired desire to cut bait and bail on their dream.
He had to make a choice. They were about two minutes away from critical decision-making time. Giving up Blue Yonder was like asking him to cut off his favorite finger—the middle one—and he didn’t see that happening. All they needed was a little time to sort things out. Business would pick up. He could feel it in his bones.
They flew past the last available airfield and his decision was effectively made.
“All right, I’ll take the deal. But I need to know your name, at the very least, unless you want me to call you Hey, lady the entire flight.”
“Seems fair enough.” She took a breath and said, “My name is Dr. Hope Larsen. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carmichael.”
“Okay, let’s get one thing straight... My father was Mr. Carmichael. If you know everything about my private business, but the color of my drawers, I think you can call me J.T.”
She nodded. “J.T. it is, then.”
“Doctor, huh? Like an MD?”
“Science doctor. A molecular biologist.”
Damn. He knew the deal was to keep quiet, but the questions were already bubbling around in his head. What the hell kind of scientist got shot at? What was the pretty doctor involved with?
Collect the money and leave the questions.
That was sound advice—the kind of advice that would likely keep him on the right side of breathing.
But as he’d realized too late after one too many altercations with the higher-ups, he wasn’t so good about taking orders without question.
He had a feeling dodging bullets might be easier than keeping his mouth shut.
As it turned out, they had bigger problems than the questions he wasn’t allowed to ask.
“Shit,” he muttered, his gaze trained on the altimeter.
“What’s wrong?”
His lips seamed together. This was all sorts of bad.
“J.T.?” The worry in her tone mirrored the bad feeling in his gut. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” he said, tapping his altimeter, hoping it was just a glitch. But when the needle continued to sink, he knew things were about to get dicey. His gaze traveled the gauges, locking on the fuel. Bingo. You’ve located the problem.
“What is it?”
“Buckle up, Doc,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’re about to run out of gas.”
“What?” She frantically tightened her belt. “Where are we?”
“Best guess? Somewhere over Mexico.”
And nowhere near an airfield.
A grim smile found his mouth.
And he’d mistakenly thought getting shot at was the worst that could happen.
He just loved it when Murphy’s Law seemed hell-bent on kicking him in the ass.
* * *
“WAIT! WHAT DO you mean you’re running out of gas?” Hope screeched, unable to hide her panic. “Fix it. Do something!”
“I’m open to ideas, doll face, but unless you have a way to patch the hole that has no doubt been ripped through my fuel tank, we’re out of options.”
Sweat gathered at her brow as her fingers gripped the seat beneath her. “What are the odds of surviving a crash like this?” she asked, clinging to facts and figures as her life flashed before her eyes. “Give me a percentage.”
“You don’t want to know.” His grim answer wasn’t very soothing. He muttered expletives as he fought the throttle, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing at the moment that she’d been more religious. She supposed now was not a good time to question her decision to be an atheist.
The little plane hit a rough pocket and they dipped hard, causing a girlie scream to pop from her mouth. She thought of the package she was transporting and her panic doubled. “You have to promise me that if we crash and I die, you have to take the package that I’m carrying straight to Tessara Pharmaceuticals. Don’t let anyone else take it from you. Promise me!”
He didn’t have time to shoot her a look, but she could hear it in his voice as he yelled, “What the hell are you talking about, lady? I’m just trying to land safely and you’re spitting out your last will and testament. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to talk about death when you’re in a plane that’s about to go down in a fireball? Just shut up, buckle up and let me try to save our damn lives!”
Hard to argue with that logic. Hope wasn’t the kind of woman to scare easily, but it was hard to stay cool and collected when she was sitting in a metal coffin as it hurtled to the ground. Picking Blue Yonder had been a calculated risk. Right about now, she was rethinking that decision. Why hadn’t she taken her chances with first class?
A brilliant canopy of verdant green rapidly approached the descending aircraft, and even though he’d told her to shut up so he could concentrate, scared babbling escaped her lips.
“I don’t want to die in this plane. I don’t want to die like this. Please, J.T.! Oh, my God!”
“Brace yourself—this ain’t going to be pretty!”
The tops of the trees scraped along the belly of the plane, scoring the metal as they barreled through the air, hitting branches and sending leaves flying as the plane bounced and crashed through the thick jungle foliage. Birds took flight as they careened wildly, narrowly missing thick tree trunks as they crashed to their possible deaths.
Twisted metal screeched as a wing took a hard hit and the plane listed to the side, and it was all Hope could do to hold on for dear life.
The small plane went nose-first through a small tree, spraying obliterated shards of wood everywhere as they blasted through the humid jungle floor, slamming into another tree big enough to stop their descent.
Blackness eclipsed her vision at the point of impact and then there was nothing.
Hope slowly stirred, her hand going to her head and finding it sticky. The copper scent of blood followed, and she groaned as she did a shaky assessment of her own body. She was alive. It was a damn miracle.
She unhooked her seat belt and her recovering senses immediately smelled fuel leaking. J.T. was slumped forward, not moving, and Hope bit back the fear as she reached across the seat to check for a pulse.
At the tentative touch of her fingertips to his neck, J.T. groaned, but didn’t awaken.
Hope didn’t have time to sag with relief. The situation was no less dire. The fuel tank was leaking and at any moment the plane could become a scorch mark on the jungle floor. She unhooked J.T.’s belt and gently pushed his head back to assess the damage. Potentially a concussion. He must’ve slammed his head pretty hard with the crash.
“J.T., we have to get out of this plane.” She tapped his face lightly, cringing at the knowledge that someone with a head injury shouldn’t be jostled, but in light of the situation, she had to take the risk. “The fuel tank is leaking. We have to go now! Wake up, J.T.”
She slapped his face a little harder and he groaned, opening his eyes blearily. “What the...”
“We crashed. We’re alive, but that might not be for long if we don’t get out of this plane,” she said, maneuvering around him and opening the pocket door with a hard shove, her own head pounding. She dropped to the soft jungle floor with her pack, the sounds of wild things echoing in the humid air, and nearly broke an ankle as her heel cracked in two.
“Stupid idea to wear these, anyway,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and pulling her sneakers free. Thank God she always packed her running shoes. She tossed her useless heels and shoved her feet into her sneakers, grateful for small favors. Her rolling pack converted to a backpack, a feature she would’ve needed in South America—she’d read travel warnings about thieves snatching rolling luggage straight out of tourists’ hands—and once again, she thanked her stars for that bit of wise decision making.
J.T. was still a little out of it, but he managed to climb out of his seat and half crawl to the pocket door, where he promptly slid out and landed with a grunt at her feet.
“I think I just cracked a rib,” he groaned, looking like a brand-new calf trying to walk on wobbly legs.
Hope quickly slipped beneath his shoulder to steady him and he went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” she muttered, but he was out. What was she supposed to do now? Put him over her shoulder and pack him out in a fireman hold? He slipped from her grasp and went straight to the ground in an unconscious heap.
She wiped at the sweat and blood trickling down her face and grabbed J.T.’s arms, pulling him inch by excruciating inch away from the wreckage. Shoulders screaming, Hope managed to pull his deadweight far enough away from the plane before she collapsed beside him, breathing hard.
Okay, now what?
She was in the middle of the Mexican jungle, her pilot was injured and she had no idea how the hell they were going to get out of there alive, much less reach the South American compound.
Hope bit her lip as a wave of helplessness swamped her. It wasn’t like her to cry, but at the moment she wasn’t going to begrudge herself a few tears, because let’s face it...
They were screwed.
2 (#ulink_58faa5f9-e72e-5ec5-9905-bc8c960faa4f)
J.T. AWOKE TO the mother of all headaches—worse than any hangover he’d ever experienced. If he’d had a hammer handy, he would’ve buried it in his skull to stop the pain—but then he remembered that he was lucky to be alive.
He struggled to open his eyes, but when his vision finally cleared, he saw the leggy doctor curled up next to him in a leafy bed that he knew for a fact he hadn’t put together.
He gingerly touched where his head throbbed and found a respectable goose egg where he must’ve smacked his nob on the control panel when they were going down. Best guess, mild concussion, which would explain why he’d passed out.
Hope stirred and she awoke, rubbing at her eyes as she sat up with a tired yawn, clearly relieved to see him still alive.
“Thank God,” she breathed, her hands fluttering to her chest, where her formerly fancy cream blouse was now tattered and torn. “I was so worried you were going to die in the middle of the night.”
“Ye of little faith,” he grumbled, scooting to a sitting position, wincing as his head protested the small movement. “Takes more than a bump on the head to put me down. Trust me—others have tried.”
“Well, tough guy, you’ve no doubt suffered a concussion, and if your brain had continued to swell, I would’ve been helpless to do anything about it.”
“Lucky for me, I woke up just fine,” he replied dryly, surveying their situation. Great, they were somewhere in the Mexican jungle. Deep. Which put them squarely between up a creek and wedged against a hard place. He rose to his feet, groaning without shame at the way his body screamed with pain. “Been a long time since I had to bring a plane down like that. It’s as shitty as I remember.”
“You’ve done this before?” Hope asked, rising to her feet as well, swiping at her behind as if that small motion were going to make a difference in the grime they were covered in. “You might’ve mentioned that before I chartered your service.”
“Settle down, Doc. It was a long time ago, in another life,” he said, scanning the jungle, looking for something that might tell him where they’d gone down. Thunderclouds rolled ominously on the horizon, temporarily blotting out the early sun. “My guess is that the plane didn’t blow up?”
“No. I was afraid that it might, though, so I pulled you away from it.”
Awww, she cares. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Well, don’t get the wrong idea. You’re still on the clock, Mr. Carmichael. I need you to get me to South America.”
“Lady, my plane is in pieces. How am I supposed to do that exactly? Put you on my back and flap my wings? We’re going to have a bitch of a time getting out of this jungle alive, much less finding another plane to fly your happy ass to Timbuktu.” He paused, then added, “And I told you, my father was Mr. Carmichael. It’s J.T. or else I’m not answering.”
“Fine. J.T. Here’s the situation as I see it—we need each other to get out of this jam, so I suggest we work together instead of against one another so we can survive.” She squared her shoulders and adjusted the fluttering sleeves of her mangled blouse and asked, “Do you have any idea where we might’ve landed?”
“Best guess? Somewhere in the Lacandon Jungle, likely the southern part of the Yucatán Peninsula.” He bracketed his hips, squinting against the morning sun playing peekaboo with the clouds. “And if that’s the case, we’re well and truly screwed.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, because we have two possible situations and neither is good.”
“Which are?” She gestured impatiently.
“First, we have the potential of running into Mexican guerrillas who are using the jungle reserve to grow their illegal crops and guard their crops with semiautomatic weapons and a ‘shoot first, leave the body for the bugs’ mentality, or second, we have the potential of running into the last Lacandon Maya, who don’t interact with outside cultures and don’t take kindly to strangers. I think they might even be cannibals, but don’t quote me on it.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” she murmured in distress.
And since he didn’t believe in sugarcoating things, he added, “Yeah, and that’s not counting the bugs, snakes and apex predators that call this patch of earth home.”
Hope paled and a bridge of soft brown freckles appeared on her nose. “I don’t like snakes.”
“Yeah, I don’t either, but we did land in Satan’s armpit, otherwise known as the Mexican rain forest.”
“So what do we do?”
“Try not to die?”
Her mouth firmed with exasperation. “Obviously. What about a road? There has to be something that eventually leads to civilization around here. It’s not as if we fell onto an uninhabited planet. We’ll just follow the river. That should lead somewhere.”
“Yeah, right over a cliff. Look, the plane didn’t blow, which means by this point it’s not going to. I’ll trek back to the plane, grab a few flares and other survival supplies, which, thankfully, include a compass and a map. We’ll regroup after that.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you should stay here,” he argued, but she wasn’t going to budge. “Lady—”
“Stop calling me that. If I’m supposed to call you J.T., you can call me Hope. That’s the deal. One more ‘lady’ or ‘Doc’ and I’m calling you Mr. Carmichael, and since you seem to have an aversion to that, I suggest you pay attention to what’s falling from your mouth.”
“You’re a bossy bit of goods, you know that, Hope?”
She took that as a compliment. “A common enough label for a strong woman. I’ll wear it with pride.”
He barked a short laugh. “All right, fine. Let’s get to the plane and see if we can’t find our way out of this place.”
They started making their way back to the plane, being mindful of their steps, when Hope asked, “So, why do you hate being called Mr. Carmichael? Did you have a tense relationship with your father?”
J.T. pushed away a large leafy branch and held it so she could pass. “You could say that. Me and the old man didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. He thought I was a mouthy, disrespectful punk and I thought he was an overbearing, arrogant asshole.”
“Were you?”
“Was I what?”
“A disrespectful punk.”
“At times.”
Hope glanced back at him. “Well, maybe he was an overbearing jerk because he was trying to provide some discipline to a kid who was, in his opinion, going down the wrong path.”
“And maybe he was just a controlling closet alcoholic who cheated on every woman he ever tricked into loving him and at his core was a narcissistic waste of oxygen.”
Way to go, J.T. Why don’t you pull up a leaf and start spilling your whole life story while you’re at it. “It doesn’t matter what he was, anyway. The old man is dead to me and I’m done talking about it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
Touch a nerve? She’d done more than touch it; she was standing on it. “You know, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve been shot at, my plane crashed and now I’m pissed off about a man I haven’t seen in eight years and haven’t spared a thought for, either. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were bad luck.”
She scoffed. “There’s no such thing as luck.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Luck has kept me alive and you can thank your stars you hitched a ride on that luck because you’re alive when that crash should’ve killed us both.”
To illustrate that point, they broke the clearing where the plane had crashed and J.T. groaned at the damage. It wasn’t as if he’d actually thought there was hope the plane could be fixed, but maybe, in the back of his mind, he’d clung to the irrational idea that it could be.
That is, until he saw the poor busted-up heap of metal.
“Damn,” he breathed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw as he saw Blue Yonder’s aspirations go up in smoke.
“I’ll buy you a new plane,” Hope said, hoping to soften the blow. When he cast her a dubious look, she added, “I told you, my company has deep pockets. Get me safely to South America and you can add the cost of your plane to the bill.”
“Where the hell do you work?” he asked incredulously. “The Pentagon?”
Hope offered a short smile, but didn’t answer. “Your flares?” she prompted.
Yeah, right. The more he found out about Hope, the less he actually knew.
And he had a feeling that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
Eye on the prize, Carmichael. Eye on the prize.
All he wanted was to get out alive.
* * *
WHILE J.T. GATHERED up the supplies from the fallen plane, Hope dug through her backpack to find some protein bars she’d stashed for the flight. She also found her cell phone, but, as expected, there was no service. However, she hoped that when she didn’t show up at the designated point, her colleagues would start tracking its GPS.
She tucked the phone back into her pack and tried to repair her bedraggled blouse. There was no help for it—the top was ruined—so she gave up.
J.T. emerged from the wrecked cockpit with an Army-style pack of his own and dropped to the ground.
“I never thought I’d have to use this, but thank God Teagan made me keep one in the plane at all times.” He lifted the pack and shouldered it. “The water-purifying tablets might save our bacon. You don’t want to know what kind of bacteria swim around these parts.”
“I’m a molecular biologist. Chances are I know more about the microbes and bacteria than you,” she said with an enigmatic smile that J.T. found immediately inappropriately arresting and annoying. She was the prettiest know-it-all he’d ever come across, that was for sure. “What else is in your survival pack? I have some protein bars. That should help blunt the hunger pains for a while.”
“It’s no meatball sub, but it’ll do,” he said, wishing he’d been able to grab his sandwich before the bullets had started flying. Good ole hindsight. “Tarp and rope, which we’re going to need if it—”
As if on cue, Mother Nature rumbled and a torrent of rain began falling from the sky, instantly drenching them both, forcing them to climb back into the plane to escape the deluge.
Dripping from head to toe, J.T. laughed at Hope’s expression. “You look about as happy as a wet cat.”
She shook the rain from her hands and removed her glasses as she wiped her face. “You called this place Satan’s armpit?”
“Yeah.”
“Fitting.”
Thunder rumbled as a flash of lightning lit up the sky, and the rain pelted the metal frame of the plane, sounding like a barrage of gunfire.
Huddled in the downed plane, Hope sighed and broke into the protein bars, offering one to J.T. “Might as well have a bite while we wait out this storm,” she offered.
J.T. accepted the chocolate bar and broke it in half, then handed her the other half. When she looked at him in question, he explained, “We should ration what we have for food. God only knows how long we’ll be trekking through the jungle.”
“Good point,” she agreed, shuddering delicately, as the reality of their situation was hard to ignore. She stuffed the other bar back into her bag and slowly chewed her half of the protein bar.
He startled her when he reached across, brushing her belly as he leaned to grab something at her feet. “Excuse me?” she exclaimed at having her personal space invaded. “What are you doing?”
“Gotta take advantage of the water falling from the sky,” he answered, lifting a canister and causing her to blush at her reaction. He fashioned a hook from some wire he had in a small toolbox and before long had the canister hanging out the pocket door, catching the rain. He grinned, saying, “No need to filter the rainwater. That way we can save our purifying tablets.”
“Another good point,” she murmured, shifting in the seat, wondering why she reacted so viscerally when J.T. was close. Of all the inappropriate times to notice that rugged physique and those tight, trim hips. A bit of protein bar snagged in her throat and she began to sputter. Horrified, she tried to swallow, but it seemed stuck.
“Here, drink,” he instructed, pulling the canister inside to give it to her. “Talk about fortuitous. Or, as some might say, lucky.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed what water was in the canister, relieved that her throat had stopped spasming. “Thank you,” she said, her voice ragged. Hope sagged against the worn leather of the seat and returned the canister so he could hang it out the door. When he returned to his seat, she added, “Still don’t believe in luck.”
J.T. shrugged, then settled in the seat, stretching his legs out as far as he could, which wasn’t too far in the cramped cabin. “We have time to kill. Tell me why people are shooting at you.”
“I already told you that it was better if you didn’t know too many details.”
“I don’t usually tempt fate by asking what else could happen, but, really, we’re staring down the business end of some really craptastic circumstances already, so what’s the harm in telling me what you’re running from?”
“I’m not running from anything,” she said, frowning. “I told you, I work for a pharmaceutical company.”
“Last time I checked, pharmaceutical companies didn’t offer hazard pay because their researchers were going to have to dodge bullets. What’s the real story?”
The real story? She was carrying, quite possibly, the most dangerous virus known to man in a special case in her pack and if she didn’t reach the South American facility...well, a pandemic of the most devastating proportions could be the result.
Or if the virus fell into the wrong hands...
Hope shuddered to think.
And yes, the people who shouldn’t have a biological weapon of this magnitude were the ones shooting at her.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her eyes welling with tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed until this moment. Tessara Pharm had their hands in so many pies, but this project had eclipsed everything else.
Her boss, Tanya Fields, was dead, and even though the police had deemed it a robbery gone wrong, the fact that Hope’s house had been trashed the same night had sent her running.
Well, that and the fact that Tanya had suspected that someone within Tessara had sold proprietary secrets about the virus, which was why Tanya had entrusted Hope to destroy it.
“Hey, where’d you go?” J.T. asked.
Hope shook her head, not about to share. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. I’d appreciate if you respected my privacy.”
She didn’t blame him for his questions, but she couldn’t stomach the idea of another person dying because of this virus. Especially when, if things had been different... No, she wasn’t going to go there. Dating had never been easy for her. She sucked at small talk because she saw little point and first dates were almost entirely comprised of the useless chitchat that she abhorred.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, attempting to be less prickly. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’d just prefer—”
“That I keep my nose out of your business,” he concluded, and she nodded. “Well, ordinarily, that’s a rule I live by, but then, this is not your ordinary circumstance. If I’m being chased and shot at...I’d like to know what I might be eating a bullet for.”
The thing was, Hope had this insane desire to actually tell J.T. everything, to just lay it all on the line and let him know exactly what they were up against, but that wasn’t fair to him. The fact was, this was her burden. She’d helped create the virus; it was up to her to destroy it.
She sighed and said as she turned away to watch the rain through the murky window, “Just get me to South America and you never have to see me again.”
3 (#ulink_163726a8-a3ba-5dca-a5d1-2937d4fea135)
THE RAIN FELL most of the afternoon, which afforded them the opportunity to catch some z’s without fear of snakes or big cats dropping by for a snack, but J.T. knew they couldn’t hole up in the plane forever.
He was already twitchy about being spotted by the guerrillas who hid out in these dense jungles, and it was better to be on the move than hanging around like a sitting duck.
While Hope slept, he climbed up into the cockpit and tried the radio, but it was deader than dead. All of the electronics were fried, which wasn’t a huge surprise, but he wasn’t above praying for a miracle.
Hope stirred, but didn’t awaken, her glasses slipping down her nose a bit. Her red hair had escaped the elastic she’d managed to tie the massive red cloud with and she looked like a hot mess with her torn and tattered blouse and skirt.
And why did he find that incredibly arousing?
Of all the damn wrong times to get some wood going, this was it.
But his cock didn’t care about circumstance—it just wanted what it wanted.
His stomach growled, protesting at the half protein bar that’d long since left his gut, and he wondered what the hell he was going to do to get them out of there alive.
His Air Force training kicked in and he grabbed his map and compass. Granted, he’d never been this far south before—his Mexico trips had been liquor-soaked and of the party-resort type—but he knew enough about the terrain to know that if they were close enough to Guatemala, they could possibly find a small plane and hump it to Brazil within five hours.
The challenge would be making it out of the jungle first.
The second challenge would be finding a trustworthy local to procure a plane.
And the third challenge would be getting back in the air before the mystery shooters who had brought them down in the first place tried to finish the job.
What the hell was she packing that people were willing to kill to have?
He eyed the pack at her feet and gauged how deeply she was sleeping.
Maybe he’d just take a peek. Seemed fair to know what he was risking his life for, right?
Invasion of privacy, Teagan would warn, but J.T. pushed away his brother’s voice. Some things were worth the risk.
But as he started to reach for the pack, her eyelids fluttered open and he casually shifted in his seat as if he’d been seeking a more comfortable position, and she was none the wiser.
“How long was I out?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. Distress colored her voice as she looked out the window. “It’s still raining? How long is it supposed to rain?”
“It’s the rain forest, babe. It could rain for days.”
“We have to get out of here,” she protested, twisting in her seat to stretch her back. “Maybe we should just strike out and take our chances.”
“Take our chances with the rain and everything else that’s out there? No, thanks. We have to wait out the storm. Besides, it’ll be night soon and you don’t want to be traipsing around the jungle in the dark.”
She seemed to realize the wisdom of his advice, but as she worried her lip, her gaze darting, he realized she might have a different sort of problem.
“You need to pee?”
Hope lifted her chin, determined to be an adult about things. “Yes.” But her eyes darted again and her teeth returned to her lip. “But what about the jaguars and snakes and all those other things you mentioned?”
“Want me to stand guard?” he offered, to which she scowled. He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, just trying to help.”
She climbed past him, then after gazing unhappily at the rain, climbed from the plane and disappeared. He chuckled at how ridiculous girls could be about that stuff, but remained mindful of how long she was gone. He might joke, but there were serious dangers lurking in the brush.
Hope reappeared quickly and climbed back inside, her blouse sticking to her skin in all the right places as she shook the water from her hair, and groaned as she sank into the seat.
“I can’t sit in this plane for another ten hours. I’m going insane. I’m used to working fourteen-hour days with barely enough time to shove something down my throat before heading back to my lab. This is torture.”
No, that smoking hot body is torture. It would be his bad karma to be holed up with a sexy scientist. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he’d realized.
During his tours with the Air Force, J.T. had learned how to shut off his brain for long stints, taking the opportunity to doze and conserve energy, which, once you got the hang of it, was rather Zen. Or, well, it was the closest he’d ever get to a Zen state of mind, that was for sure.
“Try to relax. We can’t go anywhere, so we might as well save our energy,” he said, closing his eyes.
“It’s not in my personality to sit idle.”
“There’s always a first time for everything.”
She huffed in annoyance. “Is there nothing that creates a sense of urgency for you?”
He opened his eyes to regard her thoughtfully, then answered, “Sure. A hot meatball sub, which, I might add, is chilling in my fridge as we speak. It was supposed to be my lunch.”
“I’ll add it to my tab,” she quipped.
“You do that,” he murmured. After a moment of strained silence, he reopened his eyes and asked out of sheer curiosity, “So...I take it there’s no Mr. Doc Larsen waiting at home while you traipse around the country?”
Hope laughed awkwardly. “No, no husband at home. But if I did have a husband, he would be fully supportive of my work and my need to traipse about the country, as you put it. Most evolved men are supportive of their wives’ career goals. Please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who think women should be in the kitchen.”
“Of course not. I support women picking up the tab at dinner. More power to them. Better for my cash flow, too.”
She made a face. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Oh, you mean you still want the guy to pick up the tab for dinner, but heaven help a man who holds a door open for you, right?”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s a difference between chivalry and being a male chauvinist.”
“Look, I’m all for equality for men and women. Some of the best pilots I flew with were women. I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying certain traditional gender roles. Such as...a woman cooking a nice meal for her man. You know what they say—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“Then I’m out of luck. I can’t cook to save my life.”
“No?”
“Not a thing. I mean, I can heat up TV dinners, but for the most part I eat at the office cafeteria. They make a mean mac and cheese. It almost tastes like real cheese.”
He grimaced. “That sounds disgusting.”
She shrugged. “Food is fuel.”
“No, food is more than fuel. Good food is like an orgasm for your mouth.”
Hope gasped and blushed, immediately flustered. “Well, I don’t look at it that way. Besides, I don’t have time for...orgasmic food experiences.”
J.T. liked seeing Hope blush. The sudden pinkening of her cheeks softened her face and made him think of other things that might make her blush.
He sighed dramatically. “That’s a pity. You’re missing out.” And he left it at that with a slightly crooked grin.
The rain lightened to a steady drizzle as night fell. The jungle sounds seemed to amplify, and a sudden howling and screeching nearly startled Hope out of her chair.
“Probably howler monkey,” he supplied to calm her nerves. “Harmless, but loud.” But to be on the safe side, J.T. pulled in the water canister, closed the pocket door and latched it for the evening.
He took a swig and offered Hope the canister, which she accepted. After they’d drunk about half, he screwed the top back on and placed it in a safe spot, away from their feet, then closed his eyes.
“Are you going to sleep?” she asked.
“Sounded like a good idea.”
“Okay.”
He shot a quick glance at Hope as she tried to get comfortable in the leather chair. The plane wasn’t in bad shape considering it’d dropped out of the sky and skidded to a stop on the jungle floor. They were lucky the cabin hadn’t been ripped to pieces.
Again, there was that luck factor.
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a bitch.”
“That sounds promising,” she grumbled.
He smiled grimly and closed his eyes.
Darling, you have no idea.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Hope awoke ravenous with a full to bursting bladder. She maneuvered around J.T., who was still sleeping, mouth open slightly and gently snoring, to relieve herself and prayed fervently as she squatted that a snake would not think her derriere was a good place to sink its fangs.
Finished, she returned to the plane to find J.T. doing the same, only he hadn’t felt the need to hide behind a tree.
She shouldn’t stare.
But J.T. had the kind of body that females noticed—even if they were doing their best to ignore every muscled inch.
Hand bracing himself against the plane, pants slung low on his hips, he groaned with relief as he pissed on the ground.
Hope had just enough time to whirl around before J.T. turned and saw her gawking at his body.
“Oh, hey, sorry, I thought I could finish before you returned.” He zipped and said, “All clear. No worries about seeing anything that might frighten you. I remember what you said about snakes.”
Hope turned and faked a smile at his joke. “Very funny. As long as your snake doesn’t bite, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
J.T. guffawed and rubbed at the stubble on his beard. “Well, at least the rain has stopped, right? Gotta be thankful for small favors.”
True enough, but even as she was anxious to get moving, she knew the trip wasn’t going to be easy.
“Right. Let’s eat our rations and pack up. I want to use as much daylight as we can before we have to stop and make camp.” She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the last protein bar, breaking it in half so they could share it as they had before. “Bon appétit.”
Hope made sure to really savor each pseudochocolaty bite in the hopes that her stomach realized it would have to go without for the rest of the day unless they happened upon a burger joint in the middle of the jungle that allowed you to pay with a credit card.
Within moments they were finished with their woefully inadequate breakfast/lunch/dinner ration and began to pack, but Hope had to keep stopping when the torn sleeves of her blouse kept snagging and getting in the way. “This stupid shirt...” she grumbled, wishing she’d chosen something more practical for the trip.
J.T. surprised her when he stepped over and ripped the sleeves plain off, untucked the blouse from her tattered skirt and tied the front in a knot tightly around her waist. “There, that ought to help,” he said, grinning. “And it looks better, too.”
Hope gaped, unable to believe what he’d just done. She glanced down at her ruined shirt and realized he was right. At least it wasn’t going to get caught on branches now. Although she wasn’t entirely comfortable with how much skin was showing, J.T. seemed fine with it.
Ahem, he seemed more than fine with it if the appreciative glimmer in his eyes told the truth.
“Thank you,” she murmured, shouldering her pack and hoisting it higher on her back and tightening the straps.
The low buzz of an approaching aircraft caught their attention and Hope immediately started waving frantically to catch the pilot’s attention. J.T. yelled, “Get down!” and tackled her to the ground to hide in the foliage.
“What are you doing?” she screeched, unable to believe he’d just submarined a possible way out of the jungle. “That could be our rescue plane!”
“I can guarantee that is not a rescue plane,” he growled, holding her tight. “Remember how I said there were guerrillas in this jungle? Well, they use ultralight aircraft to patrol their territory, such as that Cessna that just flew overhead. Chances are they saw the plane down, which means they’re going to circle back around for a better look. We gotta get out of here, now.”
A flutter of alarm traveled her spinal cord. “What if they saw me?”
“Let’s not hang around and find out,” he said, letting her go as they climbed to their feet. The sound of the aircraft returning put their feet into sudden motion as they ran into the jungle, trying to lose themselves within the dense canopy.
Branches scraped her face and thick tree roots tripped her more than once as they ran like bats out of hell until they could no longer hear the plane, but by that point they were so deep in the jungle Hope was terrified that they’d gone from the frying pan to the fire.
Breathing hard, sweat running down their faces, they stopped to catch their breath as they regrouped.
“Do you think they saw us?” she asked when she could speak again.
“No way to know,” he answered grimly, and drew a deep breath. “But we gotta keep moving.”
“But we don’t even know where we’re going!” she protested. “We could be heading in the wrong direction.”
“We’ll follow the river. At least we’ll have access to drinking water.”
“But you said the river would take us over a cliff,” she reminded him anxiously.
“I guess we’ll just have to be careful.”
He flashed her a grin that belied the seriousness of the situation and she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit reassured that they were going to be all right.
As long as they weren’t eaten.
Or shot.
4 (#ulink_1a6378f5-14bb-5c97-bb57-1463695b23e7)
J.T. TOOK POINT, pushing through the dense jungle, getting slapped and scratched by branches, as they slipped on slick mud and swatted at the mosquitoes that buzzed around their heads. By the time they reached the river bend, they were both hot, sweaty and hungry.
“That protein bar didn’t go very far,” Hope said, squinting at the midday sun, breathless. “I feel like my stomach is caving in.”
“Same,” he agreed, looking around. He knew that the Lacandon had plenty of edible fruits, tubers and greens, but he wasn’t about to take a chance and gnaw on a leaf he couldn’t identify.
And seeing as he wasn’t a botanist, he couldn’t identify much of anything.
However, Hope had better luck.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, moving past him to crouch on the jungle floor beside a leafy green bush that looked, frankly, exactly the same as the rest of the jungle, but when she rose with a triumphant smile and a handful of green pods, he knew she’d found something. “These are edible berries,” she explained, plucking the green buds and pouring a few into his palm.
“Are you sure?” he asked, regarding the buds with uncertainty. “I don’t want to die hallucinating that the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is coming to eat me.”
“They are completely safe,” she assured him, popping her handful into her mouth. Immediately grimacing, she added, “But no promises on how they taste. Good gravy, that’s a different flavor altogether.”
He followed suit and experimentally chewed on the berries. “Whoa, you aren’t kidding,” he said, trying to categorize the flavor. “Not sweet, a bit sour...and grainy.”
She nodded and swallowed. “But edible. We should eat a few more.”
“I’m not sure starving wouldn’t be preferable to putting those things in my mouth again, but I’ll take your word for it.” He accepted a few more round green buds and hastily tossed them back, chewing quickly so he could get it over with. “What I wouldn’t do for my meatball sub,” he groused.
Hope commiserated, swallowing quickly. “Never been a huge fan, but right now I’d go face-first into that sub if it were in your hands.”
J.T. laughed and pulled the water canteen to wash down the jungle gunk. “Here, take a few swigs. The aftertaste is a killer.”
They shared a few drinks and then surveyed their situation. “Best guess, this is the Lacanjá River. If we follow it, we should run into a few villages. With any luck, we can hitch a ride to one of the bigger cities closer to Guatemala or Belize. From there we can regroup and find another plane.”
“And what if this isn’t the Lacanjá River, but some other tributary and we end up more lost than ever?”
“Then we’re going to be eating a lot more of those disgusting berries,” he said grimly. But, God, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“That’s not a great prospect,” she said.
“Tell me about it.”
They wound their way along the river’s edge, slipping and sliding, landing more than once in the water, before they realized they were running out of traversable land and would have to double back.
“Maybe we could let the current take us downriver,” Hope suggested, and bit her lip in distress. Thinking better of her own suggestion, she said, “Or we could just find an alternate route.”
“The current is moving pretty fast. I wouldn’t want to take the chance if we didn’t have to.”
Hope agreed, sighing heavily. As they turned to go back the way they’d come, they heard the distinct sound of voices speaking Spanish heading their way and froze.
“What do we do?” Hope asked fearfully, swallowing as she stood rigid. “They’re going to see us any second!”
J.T. did some quick thinking and came up with two possible scenarios. Stick around and die, or jump in the water and possibly drown—only one option had a slim shot of survival. Grabbing her hand, he yelled, “Jump!” right as a bullet split the air by his ear and they went feetfirst into the fast-moving river.
If he hadn’t been choking on river water, the sudden cool of the water would’ve been refreshing, but the brutal current was tossing them around like rag dolls, pulling them under as they went, only to spit them out again as they drew quick lungfuls of precious air.
“J.T.!” Hope managed to scream before going under again. He swam toward her and managed to grab her hand and pull her to him, but the waves buffeted them, doing their best to tear them apart.
“Don’t let go!” he yelled, gripping her hand so hard he would’ve feared under normal circumstances that he’d snap bone.
J.T. popped out of the water in time to see the worst-case scenario materialize before his eyes. Awww, shit. A waterfall loomed and they were heading straight for it.
He knew they had seconds before they went over, so he used the time to shout quick instructions.
“Whatever you do, try to go feetfirst into the water. With any luck...we won’t hit rocks!”
“Rocks?” she cried, ending with a shrill, “OHHMYYGOD” as they plunged over the side.
It would be a miracle if they survived.
And J.T. worried...they might be plain out of miracles.
* * *
HOPE SURGED TO the surface with a huge gasp as her lungs screamed for air. Mist from the waterfall sprayed her face as she tread water looking frantically for J.T.
Oh, God, please don’t be dead. “J.T.?” she called out, desperately hoping that some kind of luck—even if she didn’t believe in luck—was on their side.
J.T. popped up from beneath the water and she nearly cried with relief. She swam to him and immediately went into his arms, so grateful that he was alive that she didn’t care that he was a relative stranger. Immediately aware of the strength rippling in his arms as he held her afloat, she found herself a little breathless.
“You okay?” he asked, and all she could do was nod gratefully.
“You’re alive,” she said, smiling through tears that had suddenly appeared without warning. “I thought you were dead when you didn’t surface right away.”
“More weight...went deeper,” he grunted, his arms tightening around her, water spraying all around them.
“I was scared,” she admitted, pushing away the wet hair clinging to her face. “I thought for sure we were both dead.”
“Not dead yet,” he said with a ragged smile, showing no signs of letting her go, and she was okay with that.
More than okay.
Was it bad that she wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go?
Of course it was.
“Well, glad you didn’t die,” Hope said, reluctantly pulling away so she could gather her wits before they floated away along with her self-respect.
“That makes two of us,” he said from behind her as they swam away from the falls to climb onto the rocks lining the bank of the river.
Hope cautiously stood on a slippery flat rock to survey where they’d landed.
“It’s like something off a postcard,” Hope noted with wry amusement at the raw natural beauty of the scenic lagoon as her gaze traveled up the waterfall. She shuddered at how high they’d fallen. Had she really just gone over the falls like a skipping stone? She didn’t even like staying on the top floors of hotels! “But I never want to do that again.”
J.T. paused in shaking his head like a shaggy dog to squint up at the falls. “Yeah, that was an adrenaline rush, wasn’t it? Reminded me of the time I went bungee jumping off the Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado. I thought I was going to piss myself. It was great.”
“I don’t understand the fascination people have with putting themselves in terrifying situations simply for the biochemical response created by saturating your brain with fear hormones.”
J.T. shrugged as if he’d never taken the time to ask the question, nor did he care. “It was fun. We went out for beers afterward. Good times.” He eyed her with interest. “You mean to tell me you’ve never done something simply for the thrill factor?”
“My idea of a thrill does not involve the potential of bodily injury.” Hope made her way gingerly from the rocks toward the bank. Turning to watch him as he followed, and trying to keep from staring at his perfectly molded physique, she added, “Besides, I find scientific discovery thrilling. You may not realize this, but a lab can be filled with excitement.”
He laughed at her claim, but when she cast him a sharp look, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll take your word for it.” He maneuvered around her, holding his hand out to help her navigate the final rock.
Hope slipped and he yanked her into his arms before she could land on her behind. Sheltered in the warm cove of his arms, Hope had a hard time remembering why it wasn’t completely natural to be cozied up to J.T. as if they were a newlywed couple enjoying an exotic honeymoon.
“Thank you,” she murmured, intensely aware of how wonderful it felt to be pressed against all that solid muscle and just how long it’d been since she’d enjoyed the company of the opposite sex.
Hope gazed up at him, unable to break eye contact, even though she knew she should. “Extreme situations often cause an emotional response to the opposite sex that could be misconstrued as attraction,” she explained, not only for his benefit, but for her own.
One dark eyebrow went up. “Are you feeling a misplaced attraction, Dr. Larsen?”
God, yes. “N-no, I was just saying...in case you’re feeling something...that it could be a false notion.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You can let me go now.” But please don’t. Heaven help her, she wanted to do something reckless. Maybe it was the whole falling-off-a-cliff thing that was messing with her head, but it was really hard to ignore the overwhelming urge to seal her lips to his, if only to celebrate that they’d freaking survived what should’ve killed them.
“Those guys were shooting at us,” Hope said, shuddering. “If we hadn’t jumped...”
“Yeah, best not to think about that. Besides, we made it. Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Good idea.”
Their lips were inches away from touching. It would be so easy to close the distance. His arms felt warm and secure tucked around her, their bodies fitting together almost perfectly.
“You’re a good guy to have around in a crisis,” she murmured.
“And you bring trouble,” he countered with a sexy grin. “Good thing I like that about you.”
Don’t kiss him. Don’t confuse the adrenaline of the moment with an inappropriate attraction.
The advice was solid, but it took a superhuman effort to disengage her hold around his neck and step away. Leaving the comforting feel of his solid body immediately made her feel vulnerable.
“What kind of snakes are in Mexico? Water snakes? Venomous? Constrictors?” she worried, scanning the dense foliage and the ground for anything that resembled a snake. “That’s all I need, a snake bite to go with this already harrowing experience.”
“I see your precious cargo made the fall, too,” J.T. noted.
She double-checked her bag, breathing a secret sigh of relief when she confirmed that the special carrying case was still locked safely and securely. He frowned as he said, “You know, you could’ve drowned with that thing weighing you down. What’s so special about that cargo that you’re willing to die for it?”
Hope forced a light laugh. “No, no, a deal is a deal. No questions.”
But he wasn’t laughing.
“That was before I was shot at, my plane was ruined and I went over a cliff with nothing more than a prayer. What the hell are you carrying around?”
Take a chance. Tell him. But even as she opened her mouth with the thought, Hope stuffed down the impulse, dismissing it as stupidly reckless—more so than kissing J.T. would’ve been—and switched gears.
She shouldered her pack and offered a sunny smile. “Nope. Best you don’t know. Now, can we get moving? Daylight is wasting.”
“That answer is getting real old,” he growled, running his hands over his head, sending droplets everywhere. “You’re a stubborn thing, you know that?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Well-behaved women rarely make history’?” she shot back coyly, yet her insides trembled with her need to come clean with J.T. Just get the job done. Deliver the virus. Those were the priorities. What did it matter what her hot pilot thought of her? “And yes, I am stubborn. I think it’s one of my best qualities.”
His gaze snagged on her chest area before bouncing away as if scalded. She gasped when she realized how completely see-through her blouse had become. She might as well have been naked. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize...”
“I didn’t take you for a pink-hearts kind of girl,” he teased gruffly, referencing the tiny hearts that dotted the dainty white bra beneath her blouse.
“Yeah? Why is that?” she asked, laughing past her embarrassment. Would he be shocked to know her panties matched? “You think smart girls don’t like to feel pretty?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t make a habit of shacking up with smart girls,” he admitted with a shrug that was sexy as hell even if his quip did send her internal feminist into a tizzy.
“Which begs the question...what do you have against smart girls?”
“I don’t have anything against smart women,” he said, clarifying. “I try to avoid smart and beautiful. Seems a dangerous combination. And complicated.”
“Only for a man who isn’t secure enough to handle being with one.”
J.T. staggered as if he’d been shot. “Ouch. You got me.”
“Not that I care what your preferences are,” she said, needing to make that clear, not only for J.T., but for herself. “I’m just making an observation.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”
The word chest made her think breast and reminded her of how J.T. had caught an eyeful, and her nipples pearled when her mind wandered to things best left alone.
J.T., the opportunist, laughed, his green eyes twinkling. “Catch a breeze?”
Hope scowled and started climbing the short bank, needing space between herself and J.T. She could still hear his quiet chuckling from behind her, but before she could whirl around and remind him of their professional relationship, her gaze caught the most beautiful sight in all the jungle—a road!
Embarrassment forgotten, Hope pointed, exclaiming, “There’s a road up ahead. Do you think it’s safe to follow?”
He didn’t have a definitive answer, but they didn’t have much choice. They both knew they couldn’t hole up in the jungle for much longer. “We’ll just have to take our chances,” he said, taking point.
“That sounds dicey,” Hope said, but she agreed it was a risk they had to take. “Here’s hoping we’re not hopping from the frying pan to the fire.”
The road wasn’t exactly maintained by modern standards. In fact, it seemed more of a suggestion than an actual roadway, but at the very least they weren’t fighting jungle branches and slipping in mud up to their knees with every other step, and for that she was grateful.
Bare-chested brown children with shaved dark heads, wearing threadbare cotton shorts, stopped their play to smile shyly at the strangers who had shown up unannounced while the adults assessed them.
The fact that the locals wore Westernized clothing was the one small clue that they weren’t in the most remote village in the Lacandon and that gave her hope. Well, that and the fact that there was an actual road running alongside the village. She’d never been so happy to see asphalt.
“Does anyone speak English?” J.T. asked, looking for anyone who might be willing to serve as a guide. “Anyone?”
Murmurs rippled through the group as they each turned to one another. Then they motioned a young man to come forward.
“We need a guide to get us back to a city with an airport,” Hope said, offering a friendly smile. “We can compensate anyone who offers to help.”
J.T. shot Hope a quelling look that warned, Don’t go mentioning money in a place where 80 percent of the population live well beneath the poverty line and eat dirt cookies for breakfast, but she knew offering something of value was the only way they’d get them to budge.
A young teen with an oily shock of black hair hanging in his face spoke up. “I speak English,” he said, pushing his hair from his dark eyes. “There’s an airport in Comitán, about a four-hour drive from here.”
“What village is this?” J.T. asked.
“Lacanjá.”
“Lacanjá,” Hope murmured, looking to J.T. “So we are on the southern edge of Mexico, near Guatemala?”
“Fair assumption.”
“What’s your name?” Hope asked the young man.
“Juan,” the teen answered. “Welcome to our village. Are you hungry or thirsty?”
“Starved,” Hope answered, her stomach grumbling. “Is there someplace we could get something to eat?”
“Sí, Campamento Vicente Paniagua—you will like.”
“Sounds good to me,” Hope said, looking for confirmation from J.T. When he gave her a short nod, she fell in line behind Juan, so grateful to be heading someplace somewhat civilized.
Maybe if they were lucky, they could be back in the air and back on schedule by tomorrow morning.
And then she could shelve these intrusive thoughts of hard pecs, solid thighs and the feeling of J.T.’s arms wrapped around her.
5 (#ulink_12011b1d-a026-56b8-92c0-208d06a8e321)
TO HIS SURPRISE and Hope’s delight, Campamento Vicente Paniagua was a nice little place that actually catered to ecotourists eager to experience something a little more adventurous yet still retain the comforts of home, such as running water and toilets.
And they took credit cards, which was a huge relief, as he hadn’t exactly been able to grab his wallet before the mad dash to avoid getting killed and Hope immediately pulled out her company American Express.
“You ain’t kidding about the deep pockets,” he said, gesturing to the black American Express card. “Not many companies hand those out to their employees.”
“I’m not just any employee.”
“I gathered that.” He dug into his plate of black beans and rice, never so happy in his life to stuff his mouth with the simple staple, but that first bite was nothing short of exquisite. Hope did the same, actually groaning with pleasure as she chewed. At the sound, J.T.’s overactive imagination was only too happy to supply alternate ways to make her moan. Cut it out, Carmichael. Eat your beans. And whatever you do, don’t dwell on the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about that damn pink-heart bra covering those sweet breasts.
He actually choked a little, attracting Hope’s attention, but he betrayed nothing that would give away the thoughts running like dirty monkeys through his mind.
“Juan said it will take a day to find a truck to take us to Comitán, but in the meantime we can stay at the Ecolodge. He assured us that the accommodations are very good. I told him as long as it has a bed and a bathroom, I’m grateful.”
“Now that we’re not jumping off cliffs and dodging bullets, I can take a moment to appreciate the natural beauty of this place,” she said, as if they were just vacationing Americans.
Juan reappeared with an eager-to-please grin and gestured to them. “Your room is ready,” he said, adding helpfully, “Honeymoon suite.”
“Oh!” Hope’s eyes widened, immediately looking to J.T. for backup, but he was actually glad for the single room. Although the risk was smaller with an obviously tourism-oriented village, he figured there was safety in numbers. Particularly for a beautiful redhead with legs for days.
The harsh truth was that human trafficking was alive and well in Mexico, and the sexy scientist would certainly turn heads.
“That’ll be fine,” he said, shocking Hope with his agreement.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “I think I can afford to spring for two rooms.”
“That’s not the point. Safety in numbers. We’re not in Idaho.”
His meaning sank in and Hope nodded with dawning understanding. “That’ll be very nice, Juan,” she said, giving him a few American dollars from her pack. “Please show us to our room. I’m ready for a bath and a soft bed.”
Juan led them to the Ecolodge and J.T. was suitably impressed with how clean and resort-like the accommodations were. Thank God for Americans’ need for comfort.
They walked into the honeymoon suite and immediately they both centered on the huge bed dominating the room with the gauzy mosquito net draped over it.
It was Hope who spoke first. “We’re adults. I think we’re capable of sharing a bed without dissolving into teenage fits of giggles and awkward silence,” she said, though he got the distinct impression she wasn’t saying it for only his benefit.
“All I’ve got on my mind is sleep,” he drawled with practiced nonchalance, but couldn’t help but add with a cheeky grin, “However, I’m not opposed to cuddling.”
Hope immediately scowled even as her cheeks flushed. “There will be no cuddling,” she told him. “We need to keep things professional.”
“Do you always live your life by so many rules?” he asked, curious to get a peek inside that brainy head of hers. “Or do you ever do anything a little off the rails for fun?”
“I have plenty of fun,” she retorted stiffly. “I just don’t see the value in muddying a business relationship with momentary pleasure. That’s the problem with people today—they immediately jump into bed with someone before considering the full consequence.”
“Sometimes you just have to go with the moment,” he said with a shrug. “See where it’ll take you.”
“I know exactly where it’ll take me,” she said with a disapproving stare that could rival a Catholic-school nun’s. “Which is exactly why I’m not going to succumb to something as ephemeral as what can be perceived as attraction.”
“There you go throwing around scientific facts again. I don’t care what your lab partners have told you—that ain’t sexy.”
“Good.” Hope firmed her lips as if she didn’t want to explain herself, but prepared to do so, anyway. “Shared intense experiences can create a false sense of attraction that is often misconstrued as something deeper,” she said, lifting her chin.
“So you keep saying,” he said. “Care to put your theory to the test?”
Now why’d you go and poke the bear? The reasonable section of his brain was reminding him that pushing the sexy scientist beyond her comfort zone was a bad idea. But he rarely listened to anything coming out of that part of his brain, so why start now?
Maybe it was a shorted-out fuse or maybe it was the circumstance, but Hope, standing there, chin lifted, eyes flashing and damp hair still dripping, was doing something dirty to his thought process.
She’d felt pretty damn perfect in his arms under the waterfall. Every rounded curve and soft valley had pressed nicely against everything that was hard on him, and he was hungry for a little more of that sassy redhead.
And he didn’t really care what was prompting it.
Be it science or otherwise.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered, her eyes widening as he walked slowly toward her. Backing away, she tried protesting, “And it’s not a theory—it’s a proven scientific fact. Adrenaline can create a false attraction that’s difficult to—” She stopped abruptly when her back hit the wall and a tiny gasp escaped her mouth.
“So prove it,” he said in a low tone, trapping her within the space of his arms. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re speechless?” J.T. brushed a kiss across her slightly open lips. “And damn near irresistible?”
“Wh-why are you doing this?” she managed to ask in a breathy tone that was more anticipatory than frightened and made his groin tighten. “We agreed to keep things professional.”
“Yes, but as you can plainly see, things have changed significantly since we struck that bargain. And now it might be time to renegotiate.”
He knew he ought to knock it off, and in truth, he’d started this just to mess with her, but now that he was in her space, he had lust rockets going off in his brain and he wasn’t ready to stop.
“And what makes you think I’m open to negotiating?” she asked, trembling, her chin lifting.
“Darlin’, if you don’t stop looking at me like I’m your next meal, all that we’ll be negotiating is where we’re going to seal the deal,” he said, unable to stop from leaning in, tasting her lips, wanting more. She groaned and opened her mouth to him, which was like tossing gasoline on a spark. Their tongues tangled and danced, sliding against each another. He slid his hands down to grab her wrists and pinned them to the wall, holding her in place as he continued to plunder her mouth.

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