The Flyboy's Temptation. Kimberly Meter Van

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СКАЧАТЬ shuddering. “If we hadn’t jumped...”

      “Yeah, best not to think about that. Besides, we made it. Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

      “Good idea.”

      Their lips were inches away from touching. It would be so easy to close the distance. His arms felt warm and secure tucked around her, their bodies fitting together almost perfectly.

      “You’re a good guy to have around in a crisis,” she murmured.

      “And you bring trouble,” he countered with a sexy grin. “Good thing I like that about you.”

      Don’t kiss him. Don’t confuse the adrenaline of the moment with an inappropriate attraction.

      The advice was solid, but it took a superhuman effort to disengage her hold around his neck and step away. Leaving the comforting feel of his solid body immediately made her feel vulnerable.

      “What kind of snakes are in Mexico? Water snakes? Venomous? Constrictors?” she worried, scanning the dense foliage and the ground for anything that resembled a snake. “That’s all I need, a snake bite to go with this already harrowing experience.”

      “I see your precious cargo made the fall, too,” J.T. noted.

      She double-checked her bag, breathing a secret sigh of relief when she confirmed that the special carrying case was still locked safely and securely. He frowned as he said, “You know, you could’ve drowned with that thing weighing you down. What’s so special about that cargo that you’re willing to die for it?”

      Hope forced a light laugh. “No, no, a deal is a deal. No questions.”

      But he wasn’t laughing.

      “That was before I was shot at, my plane was ruined and I went over a cliff with nothing more than a prayer. What the hell are you carrying around?”

      Take a chance. Tell him. But even as she opened her mouth with the thought, Hope stuffed down the impulse, dismissing it as stupidly reckless—more so than kissing J.T. would’ve been—and switched gears.

      She shouldered her pack and offered a sunny smile. “Nope. Best you don’t know. Now, can we get moving? Daylight is wasting.”

      “That answer is getting real old,” he growled, running his hands over his head, sending droplets everywhere. “You’re a stubborn thing, you know that?”

      “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Well-behaved women rarely make history’?” she shot back coyly, yet her insides trembled with her need to come clean with J.T. Just get the job done. Deliver the virus. Those were the priorities. What did it matter what her hot pilot thought of her? “And yes, I am stubborn. I think it’s one of my best qualities.”

      His gaze snagged on her chest area before bouncing away as if scalded. She gasped when she realized how completely see-through her blouse had become. She might as well have been naked. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize...”

      “I didn’t take you for a pink-hearts kind of girl,” he teased gruffly, referencing the tiny hearts that dotted the dainty white bra beneath her blouse.

      “Yeah? Why is that?” she asked, laughing past her embarrassment. Would he be shocked to know her panties matched? “You think smart girls don’t like to feel pretty?”

      “I wouldn’t know. I don’t make a habit of shacking up with smart girls,” he admitted with a shrug that was sexy as hell even if his quip did send her internal feminist into a tizzy.

      “Which begs the question...what do you have against smart girls?”

      “I don’t have anything against smart women,” he said, clarifying. “I try to avoid smart and beautiful. Seems a dangerous combination. And complicated.”

      “Only for a man who isn’t secure enough to handle being with one.”

      J.T. staggered as if he’d been shot. “Ouch. You got me.”

      “Not that I care what your preferences are,” she said, needing to make that clear, not only for J.T., but for herself. “I’m just making an observation.”

      “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

      The word chest made her think breast and reminded her of how J.T. had caught an eyeful, and her nipples pearled when her mind wandered to things best left alone.

      J.T., the opportunist, laughed, his green eyes twinkling. “Catch a breeze?”

      Hope scowled and started climbing the short bank, needing space between herself and J.T. She could still hear his quiet chuckling from behind her, but before she could whirl around and remind him of their professional relationship, her gaze caught the most beautiful sight in all the jungle—a road!

      Embarrassment forgotten, Hope pointed, exclaiming, “There’s a road up ahead. Do you think it’s safe to follow?”

      He didn’t have a definitive answer, but they didn’t have much choice. They both knew they couldn’t hole up in the jungle for much longer. “We’ll just have to take our chances,” he said, taking point.

      “That sounds dicey,” Hope said, but she agreed it was a risk they had to take. “Here’s hoping we’re not hopping from the frying pan to the fire.”

      The road wasn’t exactly maintained by modern standards. In fact, it seemed more of a suggestion than an actual roadway, but at the very least they weren’t fighting jungle branches and slipping in mud up to their knees with every other step, and for that she was grateful.

      Bare-chested brown children with shaved dark heads, wearing threadbare cotton shorts, stopped their play to smile shyly at the strangers who had shown up unannounced while the adults assessed them.

      The fact that the locals wore Westernized clothing was the one small clue that they weren’t in the most remote village in the Lacandon and that gave her hope. Well, that and the fact that there was an actual road running alongside the village. She’d never been so happy to see asphalt.

      “Does anyone speak English?” J.T. asked, looking for anyone who might be willing to serve as a guide. “Anyone?”

      Murmurs rippled through the group as they each turned to one another. Then they motioned a young man to come forward.

      “We need a guide to get us back to a city with an airport,” Hope said, offering a friendly smile. “We can compensate anyone who offers to help.”

      J.T. shot Hope a quelling look that warned, Don’t go mentioning money in a place where 80 percent of the population live well beneath the poverty line and eat dirt cookies for breakfast, but she knew offering something of value was the only way they’d get them to budge.

      A young teen with an oily shock of black hair hanging in his face spoke up. “I speak English,” he said, pushing his hair from his dark eyes. “There’s an airport in Comitán, about a four-hour drive from here.”

      “What village is this?” J.T. asked.

      “Lacanjá.”

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