9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  Two hours later, tired and his legs aching with fatigue from the circles and crisscross patterns he’d trekked through the thick vegetation, he still hadn’t found a means of transportation. Walsh shook hands with the man and headed back in the direction of the dig.

  Frustrated, Tino wavered between following the professor and hanging out close to the cave. This was his first substantial lead on the traffickers. As much as he didn’t trust Walsh, he saw more to gain by inching as close to the cave as he could to see what, if anything, the guards might divulge in their conversations.

  *~*

  Isabella hurried out of the shower tent, clean and refreshed. The warm, humid night air clung to her skin instantly erasing her rejuvenation. She searched the area for Tino and found only darkness and solitude. Why had he left? Had her words hurt him deeper than she thought? She crossed the compound to his tent. Without a word, she whisked aside the flap and dropped to her knees to enter.

  The small space held only his sleeping gear and his backpack. No Tino. Could she find the place he took her to last night? Maybe he waited there. She left the tent and stared into the dark jungle. A shiver vibrated her skin. There wasn’t a clue to the path they’d taken the night before. Sighing, she resolved to return to work. If Tino wished to see her, he’d know where to find her.

  She entered the artifact tent and stopped. Darkness, murky and cloying, met her. What had Tino done with the lantern she’d used earlier? She replayed Tino’s motions of extinguishing the flame as they exited the tent. She groped first to the left and then the right of the opening until her hand smacked into the still warm chimney of the lantern. One step out into the moonlight aided her relighting the lantern with matches from her vest.

  Stepping back inside the tent, she scanned the interior. Something wasn’t right. The dark shapes and undulating shadows of the pieces in the lantern light replayed in her mind. She took her time walking around each table and scanning the contents of each shelf. She stopped at a table and reflected on the shadow. There had been a tall object on this table before. An urn Eunice planned to photograph tomorrow—well, technically today—was missing.

  Unease swirled in her stomach. Who came in here after she left? Or were they in here the whole time waiting for her to leave? The thought that someone other than the workers lurked in the shadows of the tent shoved her unease up a rung to distress. Her breathing accelerated. Her heart boomed in her chest as if she ran for her life.

  Who? Why? Should she wake Virgil? Where was Tino? Her heart jerked to a stop and her blood iced. Had he stolen the urn? Did he use her for access to collectable artifacts?

  Nausea replaced her distress. She should have known he was only coming on to her to get close to the artifacts. Shamutz! Thumping her forehead with her palm, she cursed her naïveté and virginal body. She stomped to the stone and sat cross-legged in front of it. So stupid! She wasn’t going to wake Virgil in the middle of the night to inform him she’d brought a thief into the compound. Stupidity and anger swirled in her head and belly making her nauseous.

  The stone stood solid in front of her. Tears, burning in her eyes, blurred the markings. Lantern light flickered the images. The caricatures undulated and danced in her vision, drawing her deeper into the story and freeing her mind from the constraints of academia. As she’d always known, the ancient stories carved into the stone held no lies and could be trusted. Distractions like the dishonest guide had to stop. Her career depended on it.

  She pulled out her journal and compared the glyphs on the stone in the village to this one. Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she leaned closer. The thrill of discovering a clue tingled the hair on her scalp. “They were carved by the same person!” The indentions, flourishes, and small details were identical, making the stones one story. The characters she didn’t know, she added to her journal and circled. She’d research those back in her tent. Crosschecking with the glossary she’d built in the back of her journal over the years, she painstakingly deciphered the glyphs she could with her research.

  Excitement bubbled in her chest as she slowly made sense of the lines. She stretched her arms above her head, relieving her hunched back.

  “Someone… I have to figure out this name.” She fingered each carving and translated the ones she knew. “Came seeking the moon treasure… I can’t decipher this character…”

  A soft thud behind her ripped Isabella’s attention from the stone. Was that no account Tino coming back to steal more? She slipped her journal into an inside vest pocket and stood, pivoting toward the sound.

  “Dr. Mumphrey, I see you are living up to Virgil’s high regard for you.” Professor Walsh’s voice carried to her ears out of the darkness.

  “Professor. What are you doing in the artifact tent so late?” She checked her watch. “Or I should say so early?” His stealthy approach triggered her self-protection nerve. Isabella set her feet in an offensive stance and shook her tense muscles loose. She couldn’t throw a kick if her body bunched in knots.

  “I went to the loo and spotted the light on in here. Thought I’d better check to make sure no one left a lantern on. It would be a bloody shame to have all this charred from a fire after it survived so many centuries.” He walked into the light of the lantern. Fully clothed.

  Did one dress completely when using the facilities at night? She didn’t. Maybe it was some kind of British prudishness. She’d ask the interns Professor Walsh had brought with him.

  “If you see a light on in here in the future you can rest assured it’s me. I work best in solitude and the less stifling heat of night.” She moved to return to her work, believing he would take the hint.

  The scent of his rancid cigar breath and tangy sweat crept into her space.

  “I’ve been helpful with Mayan glyphs before.”

  “When I get stuck, I’ll ask for help. Right now, I’m doing fine.” She backed away from the man and the lantern light. His eyes glowed as they devoured the stone she’d been studying.

  Could he know the glyphs she didn’t? His brow wrinkled in a frown as he continued to study the carvings. He was stumped on some as well. Elation fluttered in her chest. She and Virgil would decipher the glyphs and be paid, not Walsh.

  “Professor, doctor, have you discovered the mystery behind these carvings?”

  Tino’s voice started her heart pattering until she remembered the missing urn. She glanced at Professor Walsh. Annoyance and anger darkened his face.

  Isabella shoved her fists on her hips and spun toward the thief in guide’s clothing. She started to open her mouth, when the professor kicked over the lantern, snuffing the light.

  “Oomph.” A body ran into hers, heavy groping hands and rancid breath accosted her.

  “Hey! Get your hands—” A wide palm slapped over her mouth. Judging his position, she brought up a knee and grimaced at the soft connection.

  Walsh swore and crumpled to the ground.

  “Ezzabella?” Tino’s concern riveted her attention to his voice moments before his arms banded around her. He drew her away from the moaning, cursing body at her feet.

  “Come with me,” Tino’s soft whisper warmed her ear. He grasped her hand and led her into the moonlight, across the compound, and directly into her tent. Inside, he sat, drawing her down beside him and pulled the mosquito netting over them. He leaned close, his nose nearly touching hers.

  “What was the professor doing to you?” His hands skimmed up her arms and over her shoulders. His fingers probed, like a doctor inspecting injuries.

  “Don’t. You can stop pretending.” His actions muddled her thoughts. How could she accuse him of stealing when he acted like this, like he truly cared?

  “Pretending? What am I pretending?”

  His hands rested on her knees—knees that butted up against his, making her very aware of his close proximity even though she couldn’t see him.

  “I know there’s a missing urn. It was there when you took me to the shower and it was gone when you disapp
eared.” There, she said it. Accused him of stealing. Her stomach clenched. Why did it feel so wrong?

  “There is an urn missing? You are sure it was there before I came for you?”

  “Yes. It was a little taller than the rest so it stood out in the shadows when I walked by with the lantern.” She placed her hands over his. “You didn’t take it?”

  He snorted. “First you accuse me of not being good enough to be seen in daylight with you, and now you think I am a thief?” He held her head and drew her face to his. “Your words hurt me to the core, yet you are a sirena I cannot resist.”

  His rough kiss sparked intense passion. She fisted her hands in his hair and clung to him, returning the heat and tangling their tongues in the mating ritual her body craved.

  “Mi pichón, you rattle my senses and make me weak when I should be strong.” He kissed her neck and worked the buttons of her vest and long-sleeved shirt loose.

  His hands heated her skin and made her blood pound. She searched for a fragment of the conversation. Why was she mad at him? Oh, yes, the missing urn. “So you didn’t steal the urn? Or are you just taking my mind off the missing artifact?” She wanted to give in to his seduction, but she couldn’t until she knew the truth. And even knowing the truth she wasn’t sure she could stop her desire or curiosity.

  “I did not steal the urn.” He opened her vest and shirt. “While waiting for you, I spotted the professor heading into the jungle. I followed.” He kissed her neck and slid his hands up her sides under her tank top.

  The wet kiss and his hot hands were new wondrous sensations. Her level head told her she’d enjoy this from any man—her heart said differently.

  “Professor?” She fought the fog of desire wiping out her thoughts. “Where was he going?” She didn’t want him to know how badly she wanted to touch him. But her hands had their own agenda and slid up his sides. His hot skin and firm muscle triggered more sensations. She moaned, squeezed the muscle, and wished this moment would never stop. Yet her head barged in. This must stop. She wasn’t an adolescent girl exploring her sexuality in the back seat of a car. She was an adult—a virginal adult, but still an adult who needed to act with decorum.

  Breathing in his male scent and exhaling, she withdrew her tingling hands and leaned back. “I think things are going too fast.” She nearly choked on the words as his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts.

  “There is nothing wrong with sharing kisses.” He pulled her closer and captured her mouth, sucking the air from her lungs with a long, deep kiss that drugged her body and limbs but left her throbbing.

  He drew back from the kiss, and she felt the cushion of her sleep pad under her back. He’d maneuvered her body to the ground. Her mind kicked into survival mode. If he could lay her down this slick, she feared his ability to make her do other things she wasn’t ready or willing to do.

  “No. It’s time you left.” The apprehension she felt vibrated in her words.

  Tino’s hands stopped their exploration. His breath puffed warm against her cheek. “When you stop thinking and follow your heart, you know where to find me.” The tent fluttered and she was left alone. For the first time in her life she despised her analytical mind.

  Chapter 13

  Tino stood beside Isabella’s tent. What had happened? Never had he craved a woman as he did Isabella. If her voice hadn’t held fear when she asked him to leave he would have cajoled her into more intimacy. That realization scared him.

  The woman would be the death of his mission and the death of him if he didn’t keep his hands to himself. She was everything that didn’t usually pique his interest. But somehow she had become everything his body craved.

  Resentment wracked his body. What had the professor been doing in the tent with Isabella and why had he attacked her? He couldn’t believe the man had the audacity to do so with him present. Walsh moved about the jungle like a snake. He wound around the narcos and slithered back into camp like shedding his skin to become a creature that fit into whichever environment.

  Tino stalked toward the artifact tent. Would whatever Isabella did to the man incapacitate him for this long? The dark interior smelled of kerosene. The low budget dig meant no generators like the larger more popular digs. The remoteness and newness made his job easier. If there were also tourists hanging around, it would be impossible to know who was friend and who was foe. The list narrowed with each person he talked to. At the top stood Professor Walsh, then Doctor Martin; Isabella would be stricken to know this. But the man didn’t feel right. It was a poor excuse to keep him at the top of the list considering he was in a way a rival for Isabella’s affections, but something about the doctor set off his sensors. He was surprised that as intuitive as Isabella was, she didn’t sense it as well.

  He felt along the right side of the tent and found another lantern in the stack of supplies. Fuel sloshed and nose-hair-curling fumes seeped into the air when he shook it. He lit the lamp and stepped deeper into the tent. If something were missing, he wouldn’t know. Eunice kept the log of artifacts found. Had the item Isabella said was missing been logged in?

  Walsh had left the premises. Tino stopped at the stone that held Isabella’s attention. It was absurd to feel jealous of a centuries-old rock, but he’d witnessed how reverently she ran her fingers over the carvings and noticed the glow in her eyes as she gazed at the stone. Passion drove her need for knowledge. He smiled. Passion drove everything about Isabella. One day, he hoped to share her passion, but not until he could clear his conscience and tell her the truth.

  He picked up the broken lantern. Kerosene soaked the dirt. A footprint remained in the fuel-soaked ground. The logical answer was Walsh. He followed the trail out the back of the tent and to Walsh’s. What had the man been up to? As badly as Tino wanted the answer, he was sure the professor would not tell the truth so to confront him would be a waste of time. Keeping an eye on the man to make sure he wasn’t alone with Isabella again and catching him with the narcos when the DEA team moved in would be his best course of action.

  Tino replaced the lantern in the artifact tent and started a perimeter surveillance of the compound. The professor hadn’t carried anything to the cave, so who’d stolen the urn and why? How long had Isabella been away from the artifact tent? Her shower the night before lasted ten minutes at the most. When she didn’t find him did she return immediately to the stone? He should go to her and ask, but he didn’t trust his body. Not yet. After the sun rose and others mingled around, then he’d approach her.

  A broken frond caught his attention. He used his penlight to search the ground. Multiple shoe indentions with toes pointed toward the compound proved someone had stood here watching. He stepped to the spot and stared at the camp. The center of the compound spread before him like an open window. All activity to and from the tents could be seen from this vantage point. Was the person spying one of the group or an outsider?

  He’d find out tomorrow night.

  *~*

  Isabella slept until the first gray light of dawn lightened the interior of her tent. She stretched and her mind kicked into action. Tino had been in her tent kissing her with unrestrained passion and she’d order him to leave. The heat and good feelings his kisses had rendered from her body came back in vivid detail. Her body called her a fool, but her head still wanted things to add up and they didn’t.

  She sat up and tugged her tank top into place. If only the bugs weren’t so bad, she could work in this and not be so hot. A couple of the other women worked in T-shirts, but they must have slathered their skin with DEET. She didn’t like the idea of spending twenty-four hours a day with the chemical on her skin. Grudgingly, she shoved her arms into the long-sleeved cotton shirt and buttoned it up. Her vest lay in a pile beside her. She extracted her LED light, journal, and then her research notebook from her backpack.

  The symbols she didn’t know would take some detailed study to decipher. Virgil traveled everywhere with his extensive library. She’d take a peek at it af
ter breakfast and see if he had books that would help her.

  Isabella replaced the journal and light in her vest, adding the research notebook before donning the vest. Her stomach growled. Pedro would have coffee and possibly something she could munch on until breakfast was ready. She exited her tent and stretched her arms overhead, enjoying the cool, early morning air and chatter of the jungle animals waking to the new day.

  Her gaze traveled to Tino’s tent. Was he sleeping? Did she dare go talk to him? He never really said he didn’t steal the urn. Had she allowed a thief to steal her body? For he had. His touch would forever be ingrained in her memory and on her body. She doubted there could ever be another to fill her body with such passion. Yet, did she dare allow herself to let go and enjoy his attentions? That question could plague her all day and quite possibly until he was on his way out of her life.

  Tino crawled out of his tent. Her heart raced at the sight of his tousled hair and tight-fitting tank-style undershirt. The white cloth stretched taut across his chest and belly, enhancing the contours of muscle. A masterpiece. One she wished to run her hands over again.

  He glanced up, and their gazes locked. Her heart flipped in her chest and her body throbbed.

  “Morning, Ezzabella.”

  His deep, scratchy voice rippled heat along her skin.

  “Morning, Tino.” Her voice wobbled, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He’d shown her his passion, and she’d tossed him out.

  He walked toward her, drawing on a long-sleeved shirt. “You look rested.”

  In response to the twinkle in his eyes, she curved her lips into a welcoming smile. It appeared he wasn’t upset by her need to think about his advances.

  “I slept well after thinking about our…encounter.”

  His right eyebrow rose and he smiled. “I see. And what conclusion did you come to?”

  “I-I don’t want to keep pushing you away, but it’s a puzzle to me that you even find me remotely interesting. Which substantiates my theory, that I’m an easy target and that’s why you’re making romantic overtures.”