Just Trust Me…

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  “Thanks for the invite,” she said with a half smile, drawing his attention to her full lips which looked even better up close and glistened with a touch of something glossy. Holding out her hand, she said, “I’m Kayla Watson. Stressed, out-of-balance New Yorker hoping to be rehabilitated.”

  He shook her hand, noting her firm, businesslike grip, along with the fact that her skin felt remarkably soft. “Nice to meet you, Kayla,” he said, holding on to her hand a fraction longer than was necessary before releasing her. “Brett Thornton. Another stressed, out-of-balance New Yorker.” He inhaled and her scent wafted across to him, all but intoxicating him.

  “Your fragrance,” he murmured. “Coconut. And a hint of lime…” He inhaled again. “Some sort of flower.” And something else that was uniquely her.

  In spite of her large glasses, there was no missing her surprise. “The flower is gardenia. So what are you-some sort of perfume tester?”

  “No. Just have a keen sense of smell.” He smiled. “Especially when it comes to women with beautiful smiles who smell like delicious tropical drinks with flowers floating in them.” As he spoke, he found himself wishing she’d remove her glasses and hat so he could see her face. He wanted to know if the rest of her packed as powerful a wallop as her smile.

  And her transparent skirt.

  “Thanks, but I’d think most men would describe a tropical drink with flowers floating in it as girly or frou-frou. Delicious? Not a chance. Makes me wonder what you do for a living-since it’s not perfume tester.”

  A sense of relaxation eased through Brett. Damn, but it felt good to be with someone who didn’t know. Who didn’t want something from him. Leaning back in his chair, he grinned. “Guess.”

  The waiter arrived with his water, and after he’d departed she said, “Hit man?”

  “Because I look like a murderer?”

  “No. Because I think it’s important to rule out occupations like that, especially if we’re going to share a café table.”

  “Not a hit man,” he assured her, “although I’d hardly admit it if I were.”

  “Noted. How about a chef? They need a good sense of smell.”

  “I can barely fry an egg.”

  He felt her gaze roam over him. “Your hands look strong. And clever. Artist?”

  Blood shot to his groin at the thought of showing her just how clever his hands could be. “Can only draw stick figures.”

  “Wine-taster?”

  “No, but that sounds like a great job. Where do I apply?”

  She laughed. “Bartender?”

  “Because they’re known for their keen sense of smell?”

  “No, because you’re easy to talk to.”

  “Thanks, but seeing as how I’m the only one here to talk to, I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one.”

  “I bet you say that to all the out-of-balance New Yorkers you meet in Cusco.”

  She grinned. “Caught.” She tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Fisherman?”

  “Do I smell briny?”

  “Not that I can tell. But I figured a fisherman would need to differentiate between cod and salmon and mahi mahi. That sort of thing.”

  “I wouldn’t know a mahi mahi if it jumped up and bit my butt.”

  “I didn’t know mahi mahi had teeth.”

  He laughed. “They probably don’t. I wouldn’t know. Give up?”

  “Not yet.” She appeared to give him the once-over. “Your obvious fondness for Hawaiian shirts rules out any career in the fashion industry-”

  “Hey, I’ll have you know I bought this from a guy selling clothes out of the back of a truck on Madison Avenue.”

  “I like your shirt just fine. I’m just saying the folks over at Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein probably wouldn’t. Back to my guessing-you appear to be in good shape…carpenter?”

  “Nope.”

  “Forest ranger?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  “Banker? Lawyer? Realtor? Mechanic?”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at her rapid-fire guesses. “No to all.”

  “Fine. I officially give up.”

  “Hmmm. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a quitter.”

  She lifted her chin. “There’s a difference between quitting and strategically knowing when to throw in the towel.”

  “I see. It’s a matter of timing.”

  “Exactly.”

  “In that case, I’ll let you off the hook. I’m a scientist. I’m accustomed in my work to using my sense of smell to distinguish between chemicals and compounds, none of which are normally coconut and lime.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a scientist before.”

  “That’s because they don’t let us out of the laboratory very often.”

  “What precisely does a scientist do?”

  “Research mostly. I also do some teaching.”

  “I have to admit I’d never have guessed. I thought scientists had wild electrocuted-looking hair and crazed gleams in their eyes.”

  “That’s only the mad scientists. They get all the good movie roles.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “The relatively sane ones, like me, are always passed over by those Hollywood types.”

  “Hmmm. But for all I know, your sunglasses might be hiding a crazed gleam in your eyes.”

  Brett suspected his eyes were indeed gleaming. Not with madness, but with unmistakable heated stirrings of lust. He wasn’t sure if it was the heady sense of having escaped New York, or the magic that seemed to shimmer in the air in this ancient city, or the delicious scent and smile and laughter of the woman sitting across from him, or the fire her transparent skirt had lit, or hell, even the high altitude, but for the first time in a long while he felt…free. Relaxed. And very attracted to a woman whose face remained half-hidden.

  “There’s only way to find out if my shades are hiding anything,” he said softly. He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward in invitation. “Take them off. See for yourself.”

  3

  KAYLA HESITATED, relegated, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, to mute stillness by his husky-voiced invitation. Other than to know it surprised her. As had he since he’d first smiled at her.

  He wasn’t at all what she’d expected, either in looks or demeanor. Based on his two interviews she’d read-before he’d ceased granting them-industry scuttlebutt, her own staff’s difficulties in making any inroads with the man, and the way he’d rudely ditched his party, she’d predicted a pompous, stuffed-shirt jerk. Instead he was warm and funny and friendly.

  And based on the several grainy news photos she’d seen, she’d expected a scrawny, nerdy geek. But clearly the man was just unphotogenic, because while he wasn’t in the same league as the male models with whom her job put her in contact, he by no means appeared unattractive.

  No, in fact, he had a really nice smile-sort of lopsided and quirky. And cute. And a rugged, square jaw. And what appeared to be a downright impressive physique hiding under his Hawaiian shirt and T-shirt. Certainly his arms looked nice, as did the breadth of his shoulders. And his thick, dark, rumpled hair begged her fingers to test its wavy texture. In fact, when she’d first seen him, she’d almost believed he was the wrong man. It wasn’t until he’d actually introduced himself that she’d been certain he was the person she sought.

  And now, faced with the opportunity to remove his sunglasses and unmask him, she felt an odd combination of curiosity and inexplicable nervousness. It hadn’t once occurred to her that this man she’d been sent to spy on, to whom she’d relished giving a bit of ditch-the-party-and-leave-me-holding-the-bag payback might be in any way likable or attractive.

  Pulling in a bracing breath she was frankly surprised she needed, she reached out, lightly grasped the black frames, then slowly lowered her hands. And stared. Into the most compelling, intense brown eyes she’d ever seen.

  Those eyes, gilded with intriguing flecks of gold, seemed to laser throug
h the protection of her glasses. His gaze was mesmerizing and sucked her in like a pool of quicksand. Whew. This extremely attractive man was definitely not what she’d expected to see. And in spite of the fact that she wasn’t fond of surprises, she couldn’t deny that she very much liked what she saw.

  Intelligence and humor gleamed in those golden-brown depths. Along with interest. Very definite interest. Of the very heated variety. Awareness tingled under her skin, and she fought the sudden surge to fan herself. For several long seconds she simply stared at him, unable to look away, her gaze roaming his features, noting the fine grain of his skin. The shaded beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. His well defined lips that somehow looked both firm and soft. And very, very kissable. Was it possible that a reclusive science geek who undoubtedly spent all his time in a lab peering through microscopes and examining test tubes, or whatever scientists did, could be as good a kisser as his gorgeous mouth would suggest?

  “Well?” he asked softly.

  That single word yanked her from her thoughts. Her very inappropriate thoughts. She needed to recall that she didn’t like this man. And that she was on a fact-finding mission-and not of the how-does-he-kiss variety.

  Unfortunately, as she’d lost the entire thread of the conversation, she was forced to ask, “Well what?”

  “Any sign of a crazed gleam?”

  “A gleam…maybe. Crazed? I don’t think so.”

  “The gleam’s all your fault, you know.” A slow smile curved up one corner of his gorgeous mouth, denting a dimple that could only be described as sexy in his cheek. “I’m positive it wasn’t there until you showed up.”

  Yikes. This man and his damn dimple and damn brown eyes were potent. Like a shot of tequila on an empty stomach. Forcing a light tone, she matched his earlier words. “I bet you say that to all the out-of-balance New Yorkers you meet.”

  His smile faded and his gaze flicked down to her lips. “Actually, right now I can’t imagine saying it to anyone else but you.”

  She’d been around the block enough times to know when she was being fed a line, and her first instinct was to believe he was full of crap. But something in his voice, in the way he was looking at her, as if he, too, was surprised by what he saw and liked it very much, shoved her cynical thoughts aside. Something was clicking here between them, something electric and exciting…wasn’t it? It sure felt like it to her-in a way that had nothing to do with formulas or La Fleur or her spying mission. Obviously the high altitude was affecting her brain, but hey, if he was attracted to her, so much the better. It certainly would make getting him to open up to her that much easier.

  Yet even as the thought occurred to her, her conscience tossed a cold bucket of guilt on her. While she’d been okay with the idea of covertly seeking information from the unlikable Dr. Thornton, trying to pry information from the very personable Brett suddenly felt like…lying. And she didn’t care for it one bit.

  So the guy makes a good first impression-in person, her inner voice chimed in. Big deal. Before today-heck, before fifteen minutes ago, he was the bane of her existence. Reclusive, unavailable, standoffish, arrogant-tossing his credentials around as if he were casting pearls before swine. Embarrassing her by ditching the party in his honor she’d planned. Playing coy and pitting every cosmetics firm in the country against each other. For a product that most likely didn’t even exist. There was every chance this guy was a big fat fraud.

  Right. So what if he was surprisingly attractive and had a killer smile, sexy dimples and compelling eyes? Thanks to La Fleur, she had access to dozens of male models who were a hundred times more attractive than him. Of course, they were all either jerks or had significant others or were gay. But still.

  Hmmm…but still…there was something about Brett Thornton that shivered a heated tingle through her-something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. And had never felt so strongly after such a short acquaintance. A tingle that made it nearly impossible to remember who he was and why she was here.

  Indeed, meeting him here in this foreign city felt suspiciously like one of those precious and rare instances. A Meant-to-Be Moment. Her common sense immediately rejected the idea, but her humming libido definitely accepted it. And surely the fact that he’d been inspired by the same No Change, No Gain article as she indicated some sort of strong connection between them.

  “Any chance you’d return the favor and let me take off your sunglasses?” he asked softly, pulling her from her thoughts. “You know, so I can see if there’s any gleam in your eyes?”

  She knew darn well there was a gleam in her eyes-it was practically burning her retinas. A gleam that matched the glitter simmering in his. And she also knew darn well that she wanted to see what would happen when those two gleams collided. See if this really was one of those Meant-to-Be Moments. Maybe she’d been all wrong about this guy. Only one way to find out…

  Leaning across the small table, she settled her weight on her forearms and said, “Be my guest.”

  He reached out and slowly slid off her lenses. The tips of his fingers grazed her temples and she had to force herself not to lean into the feathery touch. The brim of her hat helped shade her eyes against the onslaught of bright sunlight, and after blinking twice, her gaze met his. And for several seconds she couldn’t seem to breathe. Could only stare while her insides performed a crazy pirouette. Okay, sure the air was thin up here at eleven thousand feet, but this was absurd.

  Appreciation, along with a flare of unmistakable desire filled his eyes. “Wow,” he murmured. “I was expecting pretty, but…wow.” He cleared his throat. “In case you’re wondering, ‘wow’ is a highly scientific term meaning ‘you’re gorgeous.’”

  Her heart fluttered in the most ridiculously pleased way. “Thank you.”

  “Your eyes are the exact color of burning copper.”

  She blinked. “Uh, thanks. I think. But my eyes are green.”

  “Exactly. When copper is burned, it emits a green glow.” His lips curved into a crooked, sheepish grin. “It’s a whole laboratory, Bunsen-burner thing. Trust me…it’s a compliment.”

  “In that case, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He handed her her sunglasses, and their fingers brushed, shooting a spark up her arm. In an effort to distract herself and keep from touching him to see if he’d cause another spark, she reached for her water. “So, what do you think I do for a living?”

  “Magician,” he answered without hesitation.

  “And you guess that because…?”

  He reached out and trailed a single fingertip over the back of her hand. “You’ve cast some sort of spell on me.”

  A sensual thrill zoomed through her, not only from his featherlight touch, but because he clearly felt this…whatever she was experiencing…too.

  “Not a magician,” she assured him.

  “Victoria’s Secret model?”

  “Because you’re hoping I am?”

  “No, because you’re beautiful enough to be one.”

  “Are you always such a flatterer?”

  “No. In fact, I’m really bad at it-you’ve clearly already forgotten how I compared your eyes to burning copper. Something for which I should be grateful.”

  “Actually, I gave you points for originality.”

  “Oh? Good to know.” His fingertip skimmed over her hand once again, then he leaned back in his chair and gave her a speculative look. She barely refrained from stretching out her hand toward him in a silent invitation to touch her again. “About your profession…given that you’re friendly and have no difficulties talking to people, I’d guess you’re in sales or marketing.”

  She laughed. “You went from underwear model to marketing?”

  “All part of the scientific method. How about talk-show hostess?”

  “You were closer with marketing. I’m in public relations.”

  He nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.” His grin flashed. “So, what sort of relations do you have wit
h the public?”

  Not the sort I’m suddenly fantasizing about sharing with you. “Some good, some troublesome. Some clients are easy to deal with, others require more…finesse.”

  “I’m sure you’re very good at it.”

  “I am,” she said, without false modesty. Because she was good at her job, and she worked damned hard. “But lately…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned, wondering why she’d continued.

  “But lately what?”

  She shrugged, not prepared to confide feelings she barely understood herself to a man she scarcely knew, and also unwilling to say anything that might cast a pall on their easy camaraderie. Forcing a smile, she said lightly, “Lately I’ve needed a change. Which is why I’m here.”

  He raised his bottle of water. “Amen to that.”

  She tapped the rim of her drink against his and took a sip, watching him tip back his head to draw a long swallow, his strong throat working, his large hand dwarfing the bottle. Good grief, he even looked good when he drank water.

  When he lowered his drink, their eyes met and held, and just as before, she felt the impact of his direct, compelling gaze like a heated wallop. One that made her breath catch, but not in any way she could blame on the eleven-thousand-foot altitude.

  “Which hiking tour are you taking?” he asked.

  “It’s a four-day, three-night tour with Inca Trail Explorations. It departs at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” She shot him a half smile. “I’m not sure if I’m more excited or more nervous.”

  “Do you know your guide’s name?”

  “Not off the top of my head, but I can easily find out.” She pulled the leather pouch where she kept all her travel documents from her tote bag, then scanned her tour itinerary. “His name is Paolo Trucero.” She looked up from the papers. “I’m hoping Paolo’s done this a thousand times before and knows what he’s doing.”

  “According to my travel agent, he does.” His lips curved into a sexy, lopsided smile. “I’m on that same tour.”