by Anna Hackett
The smooth voice spoke in perfect, accentless Spanish. She felt warmth along her spine as a firm body pressed close to her back. Every single one of her nerves flared to life.
“Piss off, gringo,” the drunk muttered.
Persephone was done. She moved her foot, catching the leg of the stool. It tipped over, and the man sprawled on the floor with a string of curses.
The bartender leaned over the bar, barking out some rapid words to the man. The drunk glared at the bartender, then at Persephone, before he hauled himself to his feet. He unsteadily weaved his way to the door, ranting to nobody.
Persephone grabbed her drink and downed the last of her shot before she turned.
Mr. Mouthwatering Archeologist was even more handsome up close.
She discovered that he had beautiful, cobalt-blue eyes, and he smelled good. Damn.
“Nice move,” he said with a smile.
“I didn’t need a rescue.” She slammed her glass back on the bar.
“I can see that.” He tilted his head to the side. “Can I get you another drink?”
“Hell, no.”
His sexy smile just widened. “Not the usual response I get when I offer to buy a woman a drink.”
She snorted. “I bet.” Persephone was sure that women fell over themselves whenever this man gave them any attention. Pretty, normal women, who wanted to play house with him, cook his meals, roll around naked in his bed, and give him pretty, well-behaved kids.
“I have to leave,” she said.
“I wish you’d stay.” His blue eyes bored into hers, like she was an interesting story that he couldn’t wait to hear.
Staring at that gorgeous face muddled her brain. He was too handsome, too everything. Dammit, she never let anything or anyone fog up her head.
“Why?” She mentally cursed herself for opening her mouth.
He leaned closer. “Because I’d like to know why you were spying on my dig today.”
Shit. She stiffened. God save her from smart men.
Persephone spun and strode toward the door. The man grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
Quick as lightning, she let her switchblade fall down her sleeve and into her palm. She flicked it open and out of view of everyone in the bar, she pressed it against his collarbone.
“I don’t like being grabbed.”
He lifted his hands, palms up. “Fair enough.” His voice lowered. “But I will admit I liked touching you.”
Persephone wasn’t dumb. She felt the electric current arcing between them. Dammit. He was a complication she didn’t need.
“Forget you saw me,” she said.
“Never going to happen.” Again, she got that sexy smile.
Because she felt her brain fogging up again, she pressed her blade a little harder against his skin. He jerked back, and a thin line of blood welled.
Persephone used the distraction to spin under his arm and escape out of the bar.
Chapter Two
Early the next morning, Oliver pulled on a fresh set of clothes. He knew he should be focused on the work he had to get done at the dig, but instead, he was thinking of his feisty mystery woman from the night before.
He rubbed the small cut on his collarbone and smiled. He was pretty sure she would’ve stabbed him, if he’d given her a good enough reason.
His smile widened. Maybe not. He’d seen interest in her eyes. Reluctant, but it was there.
She’d been a pint-sized package. Five feet tall if she was lucky, with brown hair cut short to follow the shape of her head. She had big, gray eyes, and a chip a mile wide on her shoulder.
A fist thumped on his door. “We’re ready to go, Oliver.” Ben’s muffled voice.
“Coming.” Oliver tucked his shirt into his work trousers. He had work to do. Grabbing his backpack off the rickety bed, he headed for the door. The hotel where they were staying was far from fancy, but the simple, tiled rooms were clean, and did the job.
Outside, a lush, little garden filled the small space. Across the road from the hotel, he saw the slow slide of the river. It passed through the town of Tena, and later met up with the larger Rio Napo.
But even as he moved toward his team, who were waiting by the battered Jeeps, he wondered if he’d see the woman again.
“Who’s ready to get muddy?” Oliver called out.
There was a chorus of laughs and groans.
He rode in the passenger seat beside Ben. The others were all chatting about the work they had planned for the day.
When they reached the mud-splattered site, Oliver felt a sense of rightness. He smiled and got right to work.
Soon, he was hot and sweaty, and his hands were coated in mud. Cory was working beside him, carefully pulling artifacts out of the dirt.
“Those stones covering the hill, they have to mean something,” the young man said.
Oliver grunted. He’d learned not to make judgments without all the information he could glean. But he had to admit, there were some strange, unique carvings on the stones. They were all images of boats, and they all pointed toward the river. It had to mean something.
“I think it has to be something important. Maybe even the Tomb of Atahualpa.” Cory’s voice was laced with awe. “That would be so ace.”
Oliver shook his head. He remembered being a student, heading off on hard, dusty digs, hoping to discover a lost temple or tomb. Over the years, he’d learned that the little things were just as important. A carved-bone toy a child had once held, the shard of a pot that people had used to cook with, a piece of jewelry a man had once given the woman he loved. Archeology wasn’t always about the grand discoveries, and the bread and butter were the small things.
“It’s definitely an Inca site,” Oliver said. “But I don’t think it’s grand enough for the tomb of an emperor. It looks like these were homes of ordinary people.” And Oliver didn’t care if they were kings or workers. It was still a mystery for him to solve.
Cory looked disappointed.
Oliver clapped the younger man’s shoulder. “This is important, too. This kind of work is the foundation. Each piece we discover is a part of the puzzle. It might not be glamorous, but you’re doing good work here.”
Cory’s gaze brightened and he nodded.
Oliver looked out at the thick jungle surrounding them. “Well, one thing we know is that they probably weren’t farmers.”
“Fishermen?”
“Maybe.” Although he’d seen no evidence of that, yet.
Oliver fell back into his work, completely unfazed by the mud on his clothes. But one part of his brain was still thinking about his mystery woman. All of a sudden, he heard startled shouts, followed by the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.
He instantly dropped to the ground. “Get down,” he roared.
A group of bandits was coming down the slope, all wearing dark-green fatigues. They looked like locals. They already had several of his team members rounded up, prodding them forward with their AK-47s.
Fuck. Oliver jumped to his feet. “What’s going on—?”
The closest bandit turned, ramming the butt of his weapon into Oliver’s gut. He hunched over, air rushing out of him. Damn, that hurt.
Beside him, he saw the men were forcing his archeologists onto their knees. Carlos started speaking in Spanish, but one of the bandits barked at him, and he fell silent. The bandits started ransacking the artifact tent and their gear. Bins of pottery were upended on the ground, and Cheryl cried out.
Oliver gritted his teeth. There was no treasure here, nothing of monetary value. What the hell were they possibly looking for?
He glanced up and saw that a trio of bandits were standing near the stonework covering the hill. One was crouched, studying something. Oliver frowned. The three men were gesticulating and talking among themselves. It looked like they were looking for something specific.
There was more crashing as the other men tore through the artifact tent. He watched one take out a large knife and started sl
icing at the canvas. Anger burned through Oliver’s veins. Ransacking was one thing, but this was just willful destruction.
The trio by the hill called out and the bandits pulled back. Most of them disappeared into the trees. But two stayed close by, picking through the remnants of the artifacts.
“You won’t get away with this,” Ben called out.
The closest bandit moved over and smacked the older man in the face. Ben grunted in pain and grabbed his cheek. Then the bandit lifted his fist to hit Ben again.
Oliver lunged and caught the man’s hand before it made contact. Their gazes locked, and Oliver stared him down. He wasn’t going to stand there and let his friend get hurt. The bandit sneered, and as he yanked on his hand, Oliver pulled back a fist and punched the man in the face.
With a grunt, the bandit staggered backward. At that moment, the second bandit stepped in between them. He lifted his rifle and aimed it straight at Oliver’s face.
Oliver froze. Fuck. He heard Cheryl crying, and the others calling out.
Breathless moments passed, and then the sound of a gunshot echoed through the trees.
Oliver flinched, but after a second, he realized that nothing had hit him. He wasn’t dead or riddled with bullets.
Right in front of him, the man holding the gun stumbled to his knees. Blood bloomed on his shoulder, soaking his shirt.
Oliver crouched and spun. What the hell was going on? His boot slipped on the slick mud, but he managed to stay on his feet.
A small figure sauntered out of the trees, hat sitting low on their head and a handgun clutched in their hands.
It was her!
Oliver watched the woman march closer. She reached them, barked something in Spanish to the bandit, then kicked him in the chest.
He fell to the ground and the other bandit moved. The woman turned her gun, training it on the man. He went still.
“I think you saved my life,” Oliver said.
Gray eyes whipped up to his. “Guess you owe me, then.”
He smiled. “I’m actually not too cut up about that.”
Cheryl made a sound. “Oliver, do you know this woman?”
He didn’t take his eyes off his savior.
But just then, the injured bandit leaped upward. He slammed into the woman.
Oliver saw her eyes widen, then she was tumbling down the slippery slope with the bandit.
“No!” Without thinking, Oliver dove after her.
Persephone was falling. Shit.
Great. Just great. She bumped over the ground, sliding through the mud. Below, she caught a glimpse of the sunlight glinting off the river.
She tried desperately to stop her fall, but she seemed to be picking up speed, mud flying around her.
Before she could come up with any ideas, she hit the water with a splash.
She looked up, and saw the asshole she’d shot struggling wildly in the water. It didn’t look like he could swim.
The bastard’s panicked eyes locked on her and he grabbed her. Dammit. He dragged her under with him, and her mouth filled with water. She kicked at him, trying to get him off her.
She came up for air, vaguely aware of hearing another splash nearby. Don’t be a caiman. Don’t be a caiman.
A second later, Dr. Handsome was there, tearing the man off her. He pushed the man away, grabbed a fistful of her shirt, and then kicked strongly toward the riverbank.
As they swam, Persephone saw several caimans pop up out of the water nearby. Dammit.
“Ward,” she snapped.
He lifted his head and saw the beasts. He pulled her closer and kicked harder. She kicked as well, trying to help.
They reached the steep bank and both of them grabbed handfuls of the thick, green plants. She tried to pull herself up, but the mud was so slick that she kept slipping back. She cursed loudly and enthusiastically.
She heaved again, but this time, firm hands gripped her hips and pushed her out of the water. For a brief moment, she felt Oliver Ward’s face pressed against her butt. Then he tossed her up on to the bank. She grabbed some vines and held on tight before glancing back.
The bandit’s screams cut through the air. She saw thrashing coming from the river, and her stomach curdled. More caimans were converging, and she knew the blood in the water would also draw the piranhas.
And Ward was still in the river.
She reached down with one hand and gripped the neck of his shirt.
“Move higher,” he growled. “Get to safety.”
She ignored him, and tugged and pulled. He muttered a curse, got his boots up onto the muddy bank, and together, they pulled him out of the water. He landed beside her, and then they climbed up the bank to flatter ground.
“Shit.” She face-planted onto the dirt, chest heaving.
“Hell.” He flopped onto his back beside her, eyes closed.
“Quite a morning, Ward,” she said.
He turned his head and opened his eyes. Their faces were only inches apart.
“You know my name.”
She’d made it her business to find out who he was after the bar. Dr. Oliver Ward—smart, ambitious archeologist from the University of Denver. He was staring at her, and then he reached out and cupped her jaw, the look on his face intense.
Persephone knew it was coming and she did nothing to avoid it. The next thing she knew, his mouth pressed against hers.
Damn. His lips were firm but had just the right amount of give. His tongue slid into her mouth and she tasted him. Instantly, she fell into the sexy fog this man seemed to induce in her, and she kissed him back.
Her tongue tangled with his, her hand sliding into his thick hair. He groaned, deepening the kiss, and she bit his lip. God, she wanted to eat him up.
Somewhere above them, she heard voices.
They pulled apart, both of them panting.
“I’m Oliver Ward,” he said.
“I know.”
He sank a hand into her wet hair. “Tell me your name.”
She didn’t answer, and he kept staring at her.
“I want to know,” he murmured quietly. “Please.”
Damn him. “Persephone. Persephone Blake.”
Gently, almost delicately, he tucked her hair behind her ear, and her heart spasmed. It was stupid. They were both wet and covered in mud.
“Hi, Persephone,” he murmured.
Time to go. She tried to get up.
“No.” His hold on her tightened. “I want to know what the hell is going on. Who are you?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
“I doubt that.” A small smile flirted on his lips. “Although, I will confess that you did star in some of my dreams last night.”
A wicked curl of heat hit her belly. “I’m someone that you have nothing in common with.”
“I beg to differ.”
She snorted. “You’re an upstanding archeologist.” She smiled thinly. “I’m a treasure hunter.”
Persephone had expected a reaction, but the damn man just raised a brow.
“So, we both like history.”
She shook her head.
“And we don’t mind getting a bit dirty to get the job done.”
A surprised laugh burst out of her. “You’re crazy.”
He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “I need you to tell me why everyone is suddenly so interested in my dig.”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“I can help you.”
“I work alone.”
“Not anymore,” he said darkly.
“Ward—”
Suddenly, he moved fast, and she let out a squeak. She felt something settle on her wrist and looked down. She sucked in a breath. He’d tied her wrist to his with a short length of rope she’d seen on his belt.
Her mouth dropped open. “You into kink, Ward?”
She got a brain-fogging, sexy smile as a reply. “No, but maybe we can experiment later.” Then his face t
urned serious. “After you tell me what’s going on, Persephone.”
Chapter Three
Oliver pushed his damp hair back, and fastened the buttons on his clean shirt. He was glad to have all that mud off.
He heard the shower in his hotel room running and glanced at the closed bathroom door. He tried not to think of Persephone Blake naked under the water.
And he failed spectacularly.
He’d driven back to the hotel with her in the passenger seat, still tied to him. She’d fumed silently the entire way. Ben and Cory had huddled in the back, still shocked and quiet. The rest of the team had followed in the second Jeep.
Back in his room, he’d tied Persephone to a chair while he’d showered. She’d almost stripped his skin off with the scorching glare she’d given him. After he’d showered, he’d untied her and led her into the bathroom. Once she was in the shower, he’d stolen in and taken her muddy clothes. They now sat in a soggy pile with his by the door.
He doubted even his feisty treasure hunter would attempt climbing out the bathroom window naked.
His shaken team were all resting, and Cheryl had promised to find a doctor to check Ben over.
Now it was time for Oliver to work out what the hell was going on.
The shower stopped, and he fished around in his duffel bag. He grabbed a clean khaki shirt. Then he cracked open the door an inch and held the shirt inside. A second later, it was snatched away.
Back in his room, he started pacing. He needed to know the truth. He wasn’t going to risk any of the team getting hurt.
The bathroom door opened and Persephone stepped out. Her short hair was slicked back against her head and his shirt was huge on her. But not huge enough. It still left far too much of her legs gloriously bare. Oliver went hard in an instant. Damn. He should be thinking about gunmen and treasure hunters, not sex. Not Persephone Blake naked.
He forced his gaze from her legs to her face. He may have taken in the soft swell of her breasts on his way up. They didn’t look big, but he still wanted to know what they felt like. He wanted those slim legs wrapped around his hips.
His cock pulsed. Cool it, Ward.
Persephone eyed the rope resting on the bed and then looked back at him. With her hair wet and thrust back off her face, she looked younger. She lifted her chin, her eyes squinting. “You going to tie me up again?”