Anso mistook her silence for one of acquiescence and smiled indulgently. “You have journeyed far and I have not shown my best hospitality. Let me amend that error. Fresh clothes, a bath and a room fit for a queen await. You will join me for dinner.”
She wanted to shout, Dream on! but she needed time to think, to process, and she couldn’t do that while suffering this bastard’s banter. Hope lifted her chin. “Very well,” she said stiffly as she bent to pick up her pack, but he stopped her with a cold smile.
“The pack, if you please, will remain with me.”
Hope felt the color drain from her cheeks. “My pack stays with me.”
Anso smiled and snapped his fingers. Two men appeared. One grabbed her arm while the other scooped the pack up.
“I await your delightful presence at supper.”
And then she was dragged away, her pack in the hands of a man whose cultured smile and cold eyes gave her the chills as surely as staring down the business end of a gun aimed at her head.
* * *
J.T. RAN UNTIL he was certain he wasn’t being followed, and then he collapsed, his chest heaving as he caught his breath under cover of the thick jungle foliage.
Once again, he was lost in the jungle.
And he’d left Hope behind.
It’d been the only way—a calculated risk to protect her safety in the only way he knew how—but it still stung like a bitch to know that she thought he’d abandoned her.
It didn’t matter that he’d promised to come for her; she’d watched in disbelief as he’d run away, which probably made him look like a coward.
He cringed.
But how much worse would it have been if Hope had been shot in the back as they both ran?
You can’t save her if you’re both dead.
Reason was a paltry balm for his shrieking conscience.
J.T. pulled his phone and called his brother, but the call went to voice mail, which meant Teagan was probably already in the air.
Which also meant he had to sit tight, stay alive and wait for his brother to find him so they could go in, rescue Hope and put this wretched place in the rearview mirror.
Staying on the ground was a risky venture—due to both roaming predators and poisonous things that bit—so J.T. took to a tree, climbing the massive thing until he found a branch that he could fashion a small bower from to spend the night. Lashing vines together with broad leaves, he tied himself to the tree and settled in for a long night.
Closing his eyes, he kept his mind purposefully blank. It was too easy to second-guess every decision when he was getting an instant replay every ten seconds, and he couldn’t waste energy looking backward.
The jungle cacophony became white noise and J.T. dozed here and there. Why his thoughts drifted to his last tour of duty, he had no idea, but soon he was reliving one of his worst moments.
“Renegade, you are clear to engage.”
The static voice of Mission Control crackled in his headset above his mask and J.T.’s gloved hand hovered over the button that would release the heat-seeking missile.
“This is Renegade. Target acquired,” he confirmed as his jet split the sky like a hot knife through butter. The mission was a simple one, but highly classified. Deep in the Afghan desert, the hideout of a high-ranking al-Qaeda leader had been supposedly discovered. J.T.’s squadron, the Hell Cats, were charged with carrying out a sensitive mission—take out the leader’s lair with minimal civilian casualties.
J.T. didn’t hesitate. He pushed the button. “Fox Two is a go. I repeat, Fox Two is a go.”
A deadly sidewinder arrowed straight to its intended target and everything went boom.
Except...the intel had been bad.
And J.T. had blown up a small village, killing everyone in the dead of night.
The ensuing investigation had cleared J.T. of any wrongdoing, but that hadn’t absolved his conscience. J.T. finished up his tour and hung up his dog tags for good.
Collateral damage, they’d said.
His buddies couldn’t understand why J.T. was so shaken up by the mistake.
“Shit happens,” Rocco “Rooster” Gianni had said with a shrug. “There had to be some reason that the intel put us there. Maybe they weren’t so innocent after all. Let it go, man. You know what they say—war is hell, right?”
“They were innocent people,” J.T. said, feeling sick to his stomach. “I didn’t sign up to kill women and children.”
“I’m telling you, they couldn’t have been all that innocent. For all we know, they were harboring that SOB and if that’s the case, they got what they deserved.”
In the end, J.T. just couldn’t get right with it and had to end his military career earlier than he’d planned.
Hell, he’d always thought that they’d have to pull his cold, dead fingers from the throttle to get him to stop flying. The thrill of zero-G had always been a bit of an addiction.
But fate was a bitch that way.
Guess she’d had different plans for the Carmichael boys.
Why was he thinking of that night? He’d long since put that incident in a locked box and tucked it away.
Maybe because he’d been holding on to Blue Yonder for selfish reasons and should’ve listened to Teagan from the start when things had begun to sour for their small charter business.
And now he was lashed to a tree in the Amazon jungle with a fairly high probability that he was going to die within the next twenty-four hours and his brother, Teagan, was caught in his mess, too.
Why couldn’t he have been gifted with a smidgen of Teagan’s levelheaded foresight? No, he was always the one doing something reckless and stupid.
Like taking on a client that his gut plainly told him to steer clear of—and then sleeping with said client.
He supposed he deserved the lecture that was coming.
If he survived.
11
HOPE GAPED AT the filmy gown that she was supposed to wear to dinner and wondered if this was some kind of joke.
It was practically see-through.
And looked like something from the 1940s.
Did this madman think she was going to become part of his jungle harem?
Two alluring Brazilian women wearing next to nothing on their curvaceous bodies entered the room and frowned when they saw that she had not dressed yet.
“Master DeLeon will not be pleased to see you are not appreciative of his gift,” the older woman said with pursed lips. “Come, we must dress you quickly. He does not like to be kept waiting.”
“He can wait until the parrots start singing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ because I’m not wearing that,” Hope said, shaking her head emphatically. “It’s nearly see-through, and besides, I’d rather not dine with Mr. DeLeon.” There was no way in hell she was calling him master. “I’ll have my supper in my room, thank you.”
The woman narrowed her gaze and shared a look with the younger one. “You are supposed to be very smart, but you seem very stupid to me. You will allow us to help you or Master DeLeon will have someone else come help you, and I doubt they will be as gentle as myself and AnaMaria.”
Hope opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She shuddered at the thought of being “helped” into her dress by DeLeon’s thugs. She lifted her chin and said, “Fine, you can help me into that ridiculous dress, but I want to go on record as saying that I think this is absolutely archaic. Women are not property or toys to be dressed up at someone’s will. I have a PhD, for crying out loud. I’m not a Barbie doll.”
“Your credentials mean nothing here. You are far from America and your American ways. Here, Master DeLeon is king and it would be better for you to recognize this fact before your pretty white skin is whipped from your bones.”
Hope tried not to show her fear at the idea of being whipped, but she surely felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to the hateful bit of sparkly cloth and gulped down the lump lodged in her throat to stiffly ask, “Will you kindly help me into this dress?”
“Perhaps you do learn quickly.” AnaMaria giggled and they flowed around Hope, making quick work of slipping the dress over her shoulders and tugging it over her hips.
Good gravy! The dress clung to every curve, even accentuating the V of her thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.
AnaMaria worked a bit of magic on Hope’s hair, twisting it into an elegant knot on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to tease her jaw, and the other woman applied makeup with an artistic, though heavy, hand.
“When you are clean and dressed, you are not ugly,” AnaMaria said as if surprised. “Pale as milk, but not ugly.”
“Gee, thanks,” Hope said with a faint glower, still shocked over how the dress clung like a second skin. For a woman who spent most of her life in a lab coat and comfy slacks, this was as far from her usual garb as it could be.
AnaMaria, feeling generous, paused before leaving, saying, “Give Master DeLeon what he wants and you will be treated like a queen. He can be quite a generous lover.”
Lover! Oh, hell no. Had she dropped into the twilight zone or a different dimension where women were traded for goods and services? Oh, wait, no, she was just walking a tightwire of danger and intrigue over something she’d invented that could destroy the world!
But there was no use in trying to disabuse the two women of their assumptions, because clearly, it didn’t matter. They thought she was an idiot for not encouraging Anso’s advances.
From their vantage point, they were pampered princesses and Anso was the king, doling out diamonds and privilege in exchange for their bodies and dignity.
Well, that wasn’t going to be her.
But as she glanced down at herself, she realized she was without too many options at the moment seeing as that coward J.T. had run off and left her to fend for herself.
Unexpected tears pricked her eyes and she dashed them away, her finger coming away with a smudge of black. “Crap,” she muttered, going to the mirror to fix her makeup. “No man is worth ruining your makeup for,” she reminded herself with a slogan that she’d read in a magazine while waiting at the dentist’s office for a new crown.
But the worst part was that J.T. had seemed like the kind of man who would go to the ends of the earth to protect his woman.
Well, you’re obviously not his woman. Duh.
And she was okay with that, she countered stubbornly. “You didn’t graduate top of your class to aspire to be some guy’s woman.”
The door opened and two men appeared—not the same men who had transported her, but apparently Anso shopped at the same thug shop because they all seemed to share similar traits—and she followed with her head held high, holding on to her dignity with both hands.
If she ever saw J.T. again, she’d do two things: first, pop him in the mouth for leaving her and, two, kick him in the shins for putting her in the hands of a man who thought to make her his brainy harem girl!
* * *
ANSO DELEON WAS used to having things his way. He accepted no obstacles and that included excuses framed in the vernacular of an “environmental impact survey.”
He also had no use for “moral” and “ethical” quandaries.
Not that he’d ever suffered any.
Ahhh, there she is. His prize. Dr. Hope Larsen. He rose and gave a subtle bow in deference to the radiant beauty standing warily before him and graced her with a benevolent smile. “You look ravishing,” he said, and kissed her cool hand. “This look suits you.”
“It’s not exactly my style and not what I had in mind for a dinner invitation,” she said, allowing him to seat her at the lavishly appointed table. Hope locked eyes with him, her keen mind and fiery spirit everything he’d thought they would be. “Are you going to tell me what’s in store for me or do I have to guess?”
Anso chuckled and took his seat, amused. “You are not one for idle chatter. I like that. A woman who knows when to close her mouth is a rare treasure, indeed.”
“Yes, well, as is a man who knows that women are not chattel and haven’t been for quite some time now.”
“You are naive if you believe that,” he said evenly, pouring wine for them both. “Women will always be owned in some fashion as long as the men rule the world. But it does not have to be unpleasant for the woman. Some chains are desired, even sought after.”
“Not by this woman,” she returned with a steely glare that he found incredibly arousing. “I am a scientist, not some silly sorority girl who is wowed by your obscene show of wealth and this ridiculous gown... Sorry, but did you get this out of a porn star’s closet? There is barely enough fabric to cover a baby, much less an adult.”
He laughed at her scorn, his smile widening as his gaze roamed her curves and valleys, noting with pleasure how her nipples were clearly visible in the hand-chosen garment. “I find it most pleasing.”
“I do not,” Hope countered, her chin lifting in a mutinous gesture. “I’m not ashamed of my body, but I don’t believe in showing it off to someone who hasn’t earned the right to see it. And you, sir, have not earned that right. Nor will you ever.” She drew a breath and continued, saying, “Let’s get to the point. Why am I here?”
Anso smoothed his hair and smiled. “You know why. I have need of your particular skills. You alone can help me achieve what I desire most, which makes you the most important person in my universe right now. Does that not please you? Who in this world would do anything for you in exchange for what you are trained to do? You paint me as a villain, but I am simply a man—a businessman—who will do anything to see that my business thrives.”
“Running me down like an animal isn’t the best way to compel me to help you.”
He shrugged. “I’m an impatient man. It is one of my faults. When your friend was...averse to helping me achieve my goals, I was not about to make the same mistake twice.”
Hope’s eyes glistened as she swallowed. “You killed my friend.”
“Unfortunate,” he agreed. “She, like you, had a brilliant mind. I weep for the loss we all suffer for her untimely end.”
“Untimely? Yeah, I’ll say. Funny how that happens when you end up shot on the street.”
“The world is a dangerous place,” he murmured as if they were simply discussing world events and not the most horrifying shock of her life.
Losing Tanya had been like losing her best friend. They’d started out as a colleagues, but had quickly turned into confidantes.
“You’re a monster,” she said, wiping at a tear as it tracked down her cheek. “I won’t help you.”
“Please, do not make a rush to judgment,” he said, gesturing to the servants. “You are hungry and overwrought from your perilous journey. We will eat, enjoy each other’s company and then perhaps we shall retire for more pleasurable pursuits before we talk business.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said point-blank. “So unless your pleasurable pursuits include reading quietly or playing backgammon, you’ll just have to amuse yourself with one of your Brazilian blow-up dolls.”
“Redheads have always fascinated me. Such fire, such spirit. I imagine you are a hellcat in bed. The thought pleases me greatly, but I am not one to force a woman. However, I feel you will come to seek me of your own accord. I can offer much to a woman like you. It would be my honor to shower you with your greatest desire. You would make fine sons. A woman such as you should be treated as the rarest treasure.”
Hope balked at the mention of bearing his children. “S-sons? Listen, I don’t know what kind of time warp you’re stuck in, but I am not some baby factory and I defi
nitely don’t consider it an honor that you would like me to be your biological receptacle!” She pushed her chair back with indignant fury and stated in a low tone, “I’ve lost my appetite after all,” before attempting to leave the room, but she was promptly returned to her seat with a rough push by his guards.
“You have much to learn, Dr. Hope Larsen, but I am eager to teach.” He snapped his napkin and smoothed it over his lap, his appetite roaring as loudly as his libido. The servant placed a plate of rare steak exquisitely prepared with baby red potatoes in front of him and he inhaled the aroma with relish. He selected his knife and fork, addressing Hope as he cut into the bloody meat. “I am a man who is accustomed to having the best. The best chef in the world, the best architect for my castle, the best people in my employ. I am generous to those who are loyal to me and ruthless to those who betray me.”
“And how do I play into all this? How did you know Tanya?”
“I’ve been very blessed to have many things work in my favor, but there is something that has stymied my every attempt to circumvent, and as you can imagine, it does not please me.”
“Welcome to the real world. Can’t always get your way.”
“Perhaps for ordinary people that is true. Not for me.”
“And what makes you special?”
“Money, Dr. Larsen. Lots and lots of it. I have more money than some small countries. And I put it to good use. However, there are some things that money cannot influence, much to my annoyance.”
“Which would be?”
“There is an indigenous tribe deep within the Amazon, very difficult to find, very suspicious of Western influence. They shun all contact with modern civilization and defend their territory most vigorously.”
“I guess it’s hard to buy off people who don’t deal in any concept of currency,” she said with a smirk, which he allowed to slide. There would be time enough for correction later.
“Yes, indeed. And when the environmentalists discover that your company is trying to move the tribe out of their native land to a different section of the jungle, it’s suddenly a crime against the Indigenous Culture Act.”
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