Information on all project members had been disseminated two weeks before she left for Guatemala. Ari’s had been painfully brief because of her last-minute decision to apply for the project. In retrospect, she was comfortable flying under the radar. She hadn’t been herself since discovering Eric’s dishonesty and hadn’t taken the time to look over her colleagues’ materials, neither did she participate in the email exchanges. In fact, she’d never opened them. So here she was, in Cobán without knowledge of how many were involved in the project, what their specialties were, or how to recognize them. On top of that, the reminder of why she’d left the university and town so quickly had been stuffed into the bottom of her duffel before leaving Antigua.
Luca lay back on his pillow in his non-air-conditioned room, lost in the fan rotating above him, its soft breeze pleasant on his still-damp-from-the-shower nakedness. He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a nap before dinner. Traveling for over thirty hours, with stops in three countries and the eight-hour time difference, had wearied his step and his mind. Shuttling to Cobán immediately after landing in Guatemala City had offered little chance of sleep and recovery. Instead, he found himself appreciating Guatemala’s rugged scenery and taking photos. It had been years since he was here, and he had forgotten how beautiful it was.
Guatemala’s weather was similar to his childhood home in Rome during the summer months. The stone and concrete buildings surrounding the tiny apartment in which he’d lived with his parents held on to the day’s scorching heat, baking its residents long after the sun disappeared. There had been no fan in his family’s apartment. It was a luxury his parents could not afford, but Mamma had a way of hanging wet sheets in the balcony window and catching the early-evening breeze just right. Luca slept in front of that window during summer nights, after his mamma applied cool, wet cloths to his skin. Comfortable, he would drift off to sleep, feeling deeply loved.
Mamma had such a gentle touch. Would Sofia have touched their child like that? He would never know. Luca’s hand drifted to the flat scar snaking from the inside of his right hip bone and ending in his groin. It would always be a reminder. He chided himself softly in Italian, “Enough! It has been eight years. Let it go. Focus on today, for it is the beginning of the future.”
Luca raked his fingers through his dark wet hair. It was wavy, long—past his shoulders—and thick. Water droplets scattered across his face and onto his chest. The pillow was soaked. He sat up and reached for the towel on the chair, stuffing it under his head as he lay back.
Sofia had asked him to grow his hair out when they were first dating and he was finishing graduate school. He’d refused, believing his professors would not consider him serious about the field of study he pursued. His hair was almost as long as Sofia’s had been when she died.
He had insulated himself from people after the accident, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his research. He spent most nights in his office at the university, showering at the gym after his morning run. It was easier that way. He could avoid their apartment, which was still full of Sofia’s things and many memories, some of which were not so pleasant. He could avoid Sofia’s sister, her friends, and their mutual ones. He could avoid the aching and sympathy in their eyes and their questions and attempts to engage him in conversations and social events. In time, they’d stopped reaching out to him.
Steeped in research, Luca had let his hair grow. He wore it down when the weather was cool and in a ponytail or a knot when the temperature warmed or when he worked out or trained.
Sofia had disliked facial hair, so Luca had kept his face smooth even though he hated shaving. After she died, grooming had become less important. His salt-and-pepper beard grew bushy, and he trimmed it back every few weeks. Before leaving for Guatemala, Luca planned to shave his face clean and get his hair cut short, but as he mulled over his appearance in the mirror while ridding himself of his beard, he decided to leave his hair long. He liked the look. He would tie it up, which would be adequate when working on-site in the Guatemalan climate.
Luca groaned. Sleep was not coming, but his thoughts were, at an increasing pace. He had only a few days to rest between here and Flores and to become acquainted with most of his team before heading to the project. He rose from the bed and pulled the paperwork from his battered briefcase. After grabbing a dry towel from the bathroom and tossing it onto the wooden chair, which had seen better days, he sat naked and withdrew the accordion folder from his battered leather satchel.
As far as he knew, most of team was gathering for dinner tonight. Luca perused each colleague’s file intently. All the files had headshots except one, but that would be simple to figure out. Perhaps it had been lost in transmission. He would be able to remember the corresponding names better after meeting and speaking with each member. The only person not in Cobán tonight was his assistant, who was delayed and was flying into Flores in two days.
Luca tossed the folder on the desk and grabbed the orientation binder. He believed it was thorough; however, he looked it over again. Bored, he rose and stretched. His thoughts strayed to the petite redhead he had been short-tempered with at the bus stop. Would any of them be as interesting as her? He grinned. A sassy American. A hot-pink thong. He felt himself stir. Unconsciously, his palm drifted lower. She was appealing; an unusual combination of fiery hair, umber eyes, freckles, and bronzed skin. Why had he snapped at her? It had to be his fatigue. It would have been enjoyable to run into her again before he left Cobán, see where things went. An undeniable chemistry had sparked between them during those mere minutes; that much he was certain of.
A middle-aged woman stopped Ari as she entered the small lobby area. “Hello, dear. I believe we’re working together in Petén. Are you Ariana Antony?”
“I am. I prefer Ari though. And you are?”
“I’m Joan Fisher, from Washington State. It’s nice to meet you, Ari. I’m a cartographer. I’ve never been in Guatemala. I’m so excited about seeing the ruins. I tried to memorize the résumés”—she laughed, shaking her head—“sorry, CVs, and pictures of everyone coming in for this project. You look just like your photo, only younger. Lucky you. Anthropology, right? Forensics is your specialty? I noticed you’re a recent tenured associate professor, at twenty-eight? Wow! Good for you!”
Confused, Ari asked, “My photo? Um, I didn’t send one in. As it was, I only sent a short bio. You seem to know quite a bit about me.”
“I’m a nosy one, dear. I researched you,” Joan said, her double chin jiggling under her smile.
Uh-huh. Inwardly, Ari rolled her eyes. She was so tired of people commenting on her youth and tenure. White-haired Joan seemed kind though. “Well, thank you. And yes, I’m fortunate to have been awarded tenure at this point in my career. I started college early, kinda moved quickly through my degrees.”
“Dedication, it sounds like to me. Having someone as young and smart as you around will be fun. I’m sure you’ll run all of us old-timers ragged.”
She just smiled and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Joan.” She turned to go.
“Where are you headed, Ari?”
“I’m going to go find something to eat and a cold beer.”
“A bunch of us, the entire team actually, are headed to dinner, a place known for their molé. Want to join us? Here’s more passing through now.”
She wavered. It would be nice to be by herself, but she did need to meet her teammates and establish working relationships. She would be spending a lot of time with them over the ensuing months. She turned to where Joan looked—spotting people who were likely her colleagues. They greeted Joan and looked her over with interest.
Joan called to them, “You all go on ahead. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Well, okay. I haven’t met anyone until you, so I guess it’s time I meet the people I’m spending the summer with. It won’t be a late night, right? I’m exhausted. I rode in buses all day.”
“You brave girl! Did you ride a chicken bus?”
&
nbsp; She nodded. “It—”
“Come on.” Joan began walking toward the door. “Aren’t they something else? You know, one went off the road last week, just outside Guatemala City. Injured the passengers and killed the driver.”
Ari’s stomach lurched. “Really?”
“Yes. So sad. Apparently happens all the time.” She patted Ari’s hand. “We won’t be too late. Most of us are going to Flores tomorrow. We’ve been here a few days. Seen the town. Seen the markets. Seen Semuc Champey. We’re ready to dig in”—Joan laughed at her double entendre—“and begin our research. Are you heading to Flores with us tomorrow?”
“No. I’m going to visit Semuc Champey before immersing myself in the research project. It’s on my bucket list. Joan?”
“Yes, honey?” Her eyes were warm, full of motherliness.
“Thanks for including me tonight.”
“But of course, dear,” said Joan, squeezing Ari’s forearm, then prattling enthusiastically as they walked toward dinner.
The team had pushed tables together, expanding the seating area as colleagues arrived. Ari sat toward the back of the small restaurant, a seat away from Joan and next to Keaton, a photogrammetrist who would be assisting Joan with collecting and interpreting the site’s geographic data. She wanted to pinch herself. The scope of the team staggered her imagination. In addition to Joan and Keaton, she had met colleagues whose specialties ranged from archaeology and cultural anthropology to biological anthropology and ornithology.
Excitement about working together on the interdisciplinary project bubbled among the group. They became louder and louder as they dined and drank. Their energy was contagious. Ari found herself fully engaged. She was listening intently to Matt—the linguistic anthropologist and epigrapher, when someone else entered the restaurant and was hailed by Joan. “Hey, Luca! Join us!”
Ari turned in her seat and looked, seeking the newcomer. She turned away, disbelief overwhelming her.
“Hello, everyone. I am sorry to be late. I was detained by a phone call.” Luca kissed Joan, who had risen to greet him, on both cheeks and then turned his attention to the seat on the other side of him to acknowledge its occupant. He bent over. “Hello,” he said into Ari’s ear.
She turned, facing him, stunned by his closeness. “Hello,” she muttered, her eyes round with the shock of seeing him again.
Amusement sparkled in his eyes and a barely there smile played over his face. There was one chair left—between her and Joan. He rested his hands on its back, claiming it for himself.
Joan’s voice was full of surprise. “You two know each other?”
“We’ve met,” Ari said coolly, trying to figure out how she could extract herself from the restaurant as quickly as possible.
Taken aback by the rebuff in Ari’s tone, Luca squinted. “Yes. But we did not introduce ourselves.” He extended his hand. “I am Luca. Luca Fierro.”
The timbre of his voice did funny things to her insides. Ari’s eyes widened, and her breathing became shallow. She shook her head and found her hand extending to shake his, hypnotized by his beauty. “Dr. Ariana Antony.” Her skin tingled as their hands touched.
His smile was devastating. “We are all doctors here. What is your specialty, Dr. Antony?”
She swallowed, refusing to be baited, and said seriously, “Forensic anthropology.”
He smirked, and mischief lit his eyes. “Has someone died?”
Enraptured, Ari returned his smirk. She couldn’t help herself. Its effect was disarming and fun. “From what I understand, all of them.”
Luca threw his head back, and deep laughter exploded from him.
She joined in. Laughter felt wonderful and cleared out all the fluttering wreaking havoc in her body. When was the last time she’d laughed like this?
He pulled out the chair and sat. His eyes sparkled with mirth. “Can I order you a beer, Dr. Antony?”
“It’s Ari.”
Leaning toward her, he lowered his voice so that only she could hear, almost purring. His accompanying slow smile grazed her ear. “Can I get you a beer, Ari?”
The mother lode of desire kicked Ari in her core, and her heart beat as though she’d run a 5K. “Okay, thanks.”
“Is the local beer fine with you? I understand it is good. Although, I do prefer a nice bottle of red.”
“I like red wine, too, but not in Guatemala. Local beer will be great.”
He asked the waitstaff for two beers, then smiled at her again. Deep dimples etched his cheeks. Her heart hammered harder. Her lips parted as if to get more oxygen. Ari’s senses were threatening to leave her, and that would be a problem.
Luca’s eyes searched hers, as if gauging her. He stroked his rough jawline, his eyes crinkling and the corner of his mouth turning up into the sexiest amused grin. Then he shifted slightly to speak to Matt across the table. His fresh soapy fragrance wafted her way.
She took this time to observe him. His thick, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which was somehow very masculine on him. He hadn’t shaved, lending a rough look to his handsome face. The shadows enhanced his mesmerizing eyes, thickly winged brows, and jawline. His worn pale blue button-down shirt was rolled up from his wrists, exposing strong forearms. The memory from the bus stop hurtled forward, slowing the beating of her heart and the heat building in her body.
Luca seemed to sense Ari’s change. He crossed his arms and leaned way back in his chair, studying her. A puzzled look crossed his face. “I see. We have a lot of work to do, yes?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asked, mirroring his posture, pushing her weight into her chair so that it tilted onto its back legs. It started to teeter.
Luca’s eyes never left her face as his hand shot forward and grabbed her chair, righting it before she fell backward. “You buy the second round.” Once again, his eyes took on a mischievous glint.
The voice inside her head warned danger… danger… but she overrode it and heard herself saying, “You’re assuming I’m staying.”
His confident expression challenged her. “It would be rude of you to leave after you accepted my offer of a beer. Would it not, Ari?” He leaned forward and lifted his beer, his green gaze looking deeply into her rich brown eyes. “Salute.”
She looked at the table as the full impact of Luca’s playful sensuality hit her, hoping the restaurant’s low lighting hid her flushed face and response to him. She struggled for composure, looking him straight in the eye as was expected in Italian culture, nodding back as she lifted her beer to his. He was right. It would be rude to leave.
Pounding. Stop it. Please. Moaning, Ari rolled onto her stomach and pulled the sheet over her head.
More pounding. Someone was at her door. She grabbed her watch. It was six a.m. Ugh. Why does the hotel staff clean so early? More pounding.
“I’m not up,” she answered. “Come back later.”
“Ari, it’s Meg. Come on! We’re leaving in fifteen. You should get some breakfast.”
Plans made last night came racing back. Plans made after her fourth—or was it her fifth?—beer. Meg, from Australia, and one of two botanists on the project had asked if she could go to Semuc Champey with Ari. The women met after dinner last night, mingling and talking over beers. They had moved the timetable up to make the most of the day. Six a.m. came early when she’d gone to bed after one. What on earth had she been thinking?
“Come on, sleepyhead. I’ll order your breakfast. You all right with Guatemalan eggs?”
“Perfect! Thanks, Meg. I’ll be down shortly,” she yelled through the door. Ari flipped back over and kicked off her sheet and stretched and breathed deeply to begin waking up. Sexy green eyes and a teasing smirk flitted through her mind. Her heart beat faster. Heat flushed her body. No. She would not think of him.
The majority of their group had shared their plans to leave early this morning for Flores, undeterred by the late night. Ari assumed that meant Luca as well, even though she had not seen him
after their second round of beers.
She had played it smart, drinking as much water as beer. She wasn’t hungover, just sleep deprived, which she could make up with a nap later. Ari rushed to get ready and pulled her smaller backpack from her duffel. The letter fell out. She snatched it angrily and compressed it again into a small wad and stuffed it back deep into the larger bag, saving it for the right time to address it properly.
Ari filled her pack quickly and then threw everything else into her duffel. She and Meg planned to spend the day swimming, sunning, and hiking. She had a reservation at a hostel in Lanquín tonight. Last night, Meg had offered to join her. It would be fun. The plan was to drop their duffels off at the hostel before catching a local truck to Semuc Champey.
She glanced around the room. She had barely spent any time here, yet she felt bereft. Her soul begged to be grounded. Soon, she promised herself. Soon.
The sparkling sapphire pools of Semuc Champey beckoned. Outcroppings of rock punctuated the thick jungle’s growth before disappearing into the water. The muffled thunder of the Cahabón River rushing out under the limestone bridge silenced numerous waterfalls cascading into the clear water around her.
Ari felt she was smack-dab in the middle of a fairy tale. At any moment, she expected to see some creature from the fairy tales read to her as a child. The place was magical, even with people milling about, swimming, tubing, yelling, and singing. How nice it would be to be here by herself, without Meg or anyone else, soaking in the exquisite sunshine dancing on the water’s surface and listening to the water and chatter of the birds. She might have been able to lapse into a daydream or lulled by nature’s music into a nap on the toasty limestone bank. But first a hike to the mirador.
“I hiked most of yesterday in the hills surrounding Cobán with Matt and Keaton. I’m going to stay behind and find us a primo spot to sun our beautiful forms,” Meg said, pulling a paperback and sunscreen from her backpack.
Afraid to Fall (Ancient Passages Book 1) Page 3