Forty minutes later, hair bushing out from her head courtesy of the ninety-percent humidity, pulse strumming from the strenuous climb up the sloping terrain, she paused to take a break. Macy plopped down on a lichen-covered rock and fished out a bottle of water and a protein bar from her knapsack.
As a freelance investigative journalist, Macy was prepared for the unexpected. Besides food and water, she also carried a first-aid kit, flashlights, flares, a small tarp, a satellite cell phone and extra clothing. Prepared yes, but the heavy knapsack was slowing her down, big time.
She finished off the protein bar, capped the water bottle and then checked the map. She should be getting close, but in the lush green maze of tropical plants it was easy to lose her bearings.
As she was packing up to continue on her way, the cell phone rang. Gotta love technology. She was never out of touch, not even in a tropical rain forest.
Without even looking at the caller ID she knew who it was. “What’s up, Greg?”
“You find the young corporate hotshot who went all Tarzan in the jungle?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, hurry. I want to put your interview in next week’s edition.” Greg Winston published Gotcha, a popular online magazine devoted to uncovering scandals, scams and corporate misconduct. He was eager because Macy was sitting on a potential bombshell of a story.
She was pretty darned eager herself. What Greg didn’t know, and she wasn’t about to tell him, was that this exposé—if she didn’t mess it up—was exactly the ticket she needed to land her a long-coveted job at Alliance News Network. From the time she was a young girl scribbling in her diary and penning the neighborhood newsletter, she’d wanted nothing more than to write for the crème de la crème. She’d had several interviews at ANN and she was getting close. The last time they’d told her, “Blow the lid off something big and you’re in.”
Macy had spent the past six months searching for her “something big” and finally she believed she’d found it. She could almost taste the story, could feel the undercurrent of scandal strumming through her blood. But it wasn’t cheap. The trip to Costa Rica was on her own dime. If she came up bust, she’d be eating nothing but ramen noodles for a month.
“You still there?” Greg asked.
“Once I find Cutler, you’ll get your story. He’s been dodging reporters. Hence the Costa Rican hideaway. No one’s been able to get an interview. Rumor has it he’s living in a remote cabin in the rain forest and working on his uncle’s banana plantation.”
Macy was determined to get to the bottom of why the brilliant chemical engineer Armando Cutler had unexpectedly exited his position as fourth vice president of Hollister Chemicals. After earning three lucrative patents for the company, he’d been a shining star on the fast track being groomed to one day take over as CEO, plus he’d been working on a much ballyhooed project having something to do with a revolutionary new fuel additive.
Then without warning, he’d resigned and taken off for Costa Rica while Hollister’s top competitor, Bond and Martin, announced they were conducting trials for a fuel additive rumored to boost engine performance to the point where cars would get up to a hundred miles a gallon.
Coincidence?
Macy thought not. Her instincts told her there was much more to the story.
Had Bond and Martin stolen Cutler’s formula? If so, why had he thrown in the towel? Why not file a lawsuit? From what she’d gleaned, Armando was a scrapper from childhood, having grown up in a rough neighborhood without a father. He wasn’t the kind of guy who walked away from trouble.
And yet he had.
Why?
Curiosity—the thing that had gotten her into so much trouble as a kid, but now completely defined her as an adult—gnawed at Macy. She’d tried to get an interview with Cutler, but he’d refused to answer his phone or return her calls. His evasiveness had fueled her suspicions. That was when she’d decided to fly to Costa Rica and pretend to be a bird-watcher. Her plan was to find him, gain his trust and then tell him she was a reporter interested only in the truth.
Okay, okay, so lying to get an interview isn’t exactly honest, but I’m not above a little deception in order to crack a big story.
“So you won’t have the article in by next week?” Greg sounded disappointed.
“I’m guessing not.”
Greg muttered a curse. “Call me as soon as you get the scoop.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Her boss grunted and hung up.
Macy stuck the phone back in her knapsack and started walking again. Birds flitted through the trees. Critters rustled in the undergrowth. Insects buzzed.
It took a lot to unnerve Macy, but she was unaccustomed to the exotic sounds of the rain forest. Not to mention that the verdant cloak of foliage blocking out the noonday sun cast suspicious shadows over the forest floor.
“Buck up, keep going. This is it. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of is in the palm of your hand,” she said out loud.
Macy trudged through humidity so heavy it felt as if she was pushing against an invisible revolving door. Sweat pearled at the hollow of her throat. Her legs felt as if she had ten-pound weights strapped to her ankles. Why had she thought coming out here under the facade of a bird aficionado was such a stellar idea?
And then she heard it. The thing she was searching for.
Heady rushing.
The San Pablo Waterfall.
The local landmark signaled that she was on the right course. She parted two large palm fronds and spied the waterfall in the distance. Supposedly Armando Cutler’s cabin was near San Pablo.
Macy raised the binoculars for a closer look at the waterfall. A flutter of wings, a flash of red. Was that the red-throated Costa Rican swallow?
What do you care? You’re not here to bird-watch.
Still, she couldn’t help tracking the swallow’s flight as it soared and dipped around the waterfall, playing in the spray. And then she spied something that made her forget all about rare birds.
A man.
Underneath the waterfall.
Totally naked.
Spontaneously, Macy sucked in her breath and felt a thick lump of unexpected pure animal lust clog up her throat. She brought the binoculars to her eyes. Her gaze raked down his body, starting at the top of his dark head and sliding over the sharp angles and honed muscles of his exquisite frame.
As a reporter she was trained to notice details, and notice she did. His shoulders were as broad and straight as an ironing board, the control of his rigid posture belying his freewheeling nudity. An enigma. Immediately Macy was intrigued.
Who was this guy? Could it be Cutler?
She crouched, shifted her knapsack off her shoulders and searched inside for her camera. She found it, flipped off the cover, attached the zoom lens and peered through the viewfinder.
Her heart thundered, galloping faster as she studied the planes of his broad, sinewy back only slightly veiled by the curtain of falling water.
He was tall and ripped—nothing about him was soft. He was a rock, rooted in place, untouched by the blasting force of water.
The evidence of his physical strength and power caused a shiver to blister down her spine. He had his head dipped. Dark strands of sleek, midnight-black hair plastered against his neck.
Torn between desire and guilt over spying on the guy, Macy pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth and let out a long, slow sigh. Her blood boiled. Her stomach churned.
And when her gaze strayed to the curve of his bare butt, Macy lost all capacity to breathe. She’d never been one of those women who openly ogled good-looking guys, but by gosh, she was ogling now.
Who wouldn’t? Who couldn’t? With a physique like his on display, all wet and shiny?
Compelled and hungry to get a closer look, Macy tiptoed through the thicket of greenery, escalating excitement making her pulse skitter.
She trod a thin path along the soft ground. The gurgling water gr
ew louder. She stepped into a clearing, spied a small wooden footbridge, drenched in spray, leading to the falls. As she tread cautiously, she let her camera fall around her neck and pulled out her binoculars.
He moved beneath the waterfall and she simply couldn’t drag her gaze away.
Magnificent, exquisite, divine—there weren’t enough superlatives in the English language to describe him.
Then, head still down, he turned and she caught a full-frontal view of the man in all his glory and she almost lost her footing.
What in hell was the matter with her?
Macy shook her head, trying desperately to scatter the spell he’d woven on her. She shouldn’t be, couldn’t be, feeling like this. It was unprofessional. She had work to do and she refused to be distracted by a compelling sideshow. Besides, she’d sworn off gorgeous men. They were far more trouble than they were worth.
“Once bitten, twice shy,” she muttered, but still, she didn’t glance away. She couldn’t help noticing this man had been blessed in ways her ex-husband had not.
Then he raised his head and she saw his face clearly for the first time.
It was the man she’d been searching for.
* * *
ARMANDO CUTLER stood beneath the splashing waterfall trying desperately to wash away his sins.
But in spite of the breathtaking beauty of his Costa Rican hideaway, he couldn’t cleanse the dirt from his soul. Over and over again, he mentally replayed the pivotal moment when everything in his life had changed.
And not for the better.
He’d been overly confident and blind to his own weaknesses. Arrogant, some might say. His intentions had been good, but the cost of his hubris ran high.
Wincing, Armando closed his eyes, braced his forearms against the rocky outcropping and ducked his head. The water sluiced over him with a power fueled by the recent summer rains.
It took all the strength in his muscular runner’s thighs to hold him in place against the tumbling onslaught. Truth was, he wouldn’t be all that distressed if the water shoved him headlong off the twenty-foot drop and into the turbulent green pool below.
Underneath his breath, he cursed himself, both for his spectacular failure and his inability to shake the guilt knocking around his brain.
You gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself.
He tossed his head, sending strands of wet hair—which three months ago had been clipped into an appropriate corporate style—slapping against his face.
A year ago he’d been on the cover of D magazine, lauded at twenty-nine as the heir apparent to the CEO position at Hollister Chemicals. Now he was lying low, licking his wounds in a tropical mountain cabin near his uncle’s San Pablo banana plantation and struggling to get his life back on track.
And all because he’d gotten involved with the wrong woman.
Sucker.
Armando snorted, tilted back his head and let the water blast his face. He was glad his mother wasn’t around to see her only child’s downfall. It would have broken her heart.
At the thought of his late mother, Armando’s gut pinched tight. It had been just six months since he’d lost her to cancer, and the wound was still achingly fresh. In fact, his deathbed promise to her was what prompted him to let down his guard with Jennifer Kemp. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have jumped into a relationship so quickly.
I promise, Mom. I’ll get married. Settle down, have children.
He’d been hurting and looking for someone to help him keep his promise. He’d been stupidly vulnerable when he’d met Jennifer at work. He’d never dreamed his sexy colleague was a corporate spy when he’d allowed her to seduce him that night in his corner office, which overlooked downtown Houston.
Jennifer had appeared in his doorway wearing a come-hither smile and a skimpy blue dress, the light shining through the filmy material, her long, blond hair curling down her shoulders, her magnificent cleavage on display. He’d fallen for the bait. A dumb catfish swallowing a shiny lure.
“Armando.” She’d called his name in a sultry voice that shot darts of desire straight to his groin.
Stupidly, unforgivably, he’d gotten to his feet, neglecting to log out on his secure computer before crossing the room to pull Jennifer into his arms. Lust drove him. Ego blinded him. When she suggested they make love on the rooftop, he’d carried her up the stairs. Never once thinking about leaving his computer completely vulnerable, never guessing she had an accomplice waiting in the wings.
He’d been the world’s biggest fool.
Forget it.
But he could not. He’d been trying to do just that for three months.
Armando clenched his jaw and let out a breath of pent-up frustration. He might not know what to do about his sunken career, but there was one important lesson he’d learned from this mess—stay far away from beautiful, deceptive females.
Regret burned his gut. Shame sat on his shoulders.
All at once, Armando felt a strange prickly sensation at the back of his neck and he froze.
Instinct had him cocking his head, listening. Toeing the rocky ledge, he stepped from beneath the falls. He peered out across the forest and saw a slight rustle of fronds beside the pool below.
He paused, frowning. Nothing more than the normal rain-forest sights and sounds surrounded him.
“Probably some animal,” he muttered under his breath.
And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
CHAPTER TWO
MACY GULPED, lowered the binoculars and pulled back into the tropical thicket. Had he seen her?
You wanted to get close to him. That was the point. Yes, but now that she was here and had seen firsthand how incredibly gorgeous he was, she suddenly felt fifteen and tongue-tied. Get over it. You have a job to do. Get out there and pretend to be taking pictures of that swallow.
But he was naked. That definitely put a kink in things. She was just going to wait right here until he finished his nature shower and then—
She heard rustling in the bushes in front of her. It sounded like something big. A puma? A jaguar? A panther? Her pulse leapt into her throat. Did they even have pumas or jaguars or panthers in Costa Rica? Dammit, she should have done more research on the place before blithely jumping into the tropical forest alone. Macy stepped back, moving deeper into the lush foliage, feeling distinctly like prey.
More rustling as the furtive creature came closer and closer. Her blood pounded in her ears, boom, boom, boom, until she could hear nothing else. She couldn’t see anything either except thick, wet, slick greenery. The plants in front of her trembled. Fear wrapped around her thick as the humidity.
If she screamed for Cutler would he hear her above the sound of the waterfall?
You’re freaking yourself out. Calm down.
Good advice, but she was out of her element and totally unprepared for the dangers lurking in the rain forest. She took a deep breath, but it got stuck half way into her lungs as the plants around her vibrated with movement. Something big was most definitely coming straight toward her.
Get to Cutler. Who cares if he’s naked?
She turned to run but her rubber-soled hiking boots sank in the damp soil and she stumbled. Instinctively her fingers curled around her camera. Snap the photo of her attacker before she died so when the search party found her body they’d know what was responsible for her demise.
The fronds parted.
Macy raised her camera, spied sleek black hair. Panther, was her first thought. How did Cutler get down off that waterfall so fast? was her second. Her mind barely had time to register that his tanned, long-limbed, muscular body was even more delicious up close and personal than it had been at a distance, before her finger clicked off the shot.
“Who the hell are you?” Cutler growled. “And why are you trespassing?”
* * *
ARMANDO SCOWLED DOWN at the slender brunette crouched among the vegetation, camera clutched in her hand—correction, make th
at a dazzling brunette looking at him with Bambi eyes and a feisty stare.
“Oh,” she said in a smoky, torch-singer voice, “I wasn’t aware this was private property.”
“Well, it is,” he growled.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to disturb your sanctuary.”
He fixed on the camera and he took a step closer. He’d had his fill of cameras and nosy reporters. “Were you taking pictures of me?”
Her eyes widened. “You? Why would I be taking pictures of you?”
“Don’t deny it. I know you snapped a shot of me as I came through the bushes. I heard the click. Now give me your camera.” He held out his palm.
She stepped back, held her camera behind her. “What is your problem?”
“I’m going to delete that shot you took of me.”
Her gaze flicked over him. Armando was suddenly aware that the only thing he had on was a pair of swim trunks he’d managed to pull on. He was also aware of just how adventuresome she looked in her Banana Republic attire of khaki cargo pants, hiking boots, green T-shirt and red bandanna.
“Okay, dude, I’ll agree, you’re hot and all, but seriously, you’ve got some ego. I took your picture because I thought you were a panther coming to eat me.”
Armando glowered. “Panther?”
“Or puma or jaguar or whatever you guys call predatory cats down here.”
“Why would you think I was a jaguar?”
“Hey, the palm fronds were moving and I knew something big was coming my way and I thought, this is it, I’m gonna die, so I might as well take a picture of my killer.” She shrugged. “I snapped you, instead.”
“You sound disappointed.”
She laughed. The sound was so compelling he wanted her to keep doing it.
“While it would have been sweet to get a picture of a jaguar, believe me, I’m quite relieved to live to take pictures another day.”
He took another step toward her. She backed up again. He narrowed his gaze. “Are you a reporter?”
Sand, Sun...Seduction! Page 17