Just Trust Me…

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Nelson smiled. “Is it working?”

  She wanted to say no. Tell him that she was tired. Physically, emotionally exhausted. And so damn weary of doing things she didn’t really want to do. Like trek to another continent to partake in what boiled down to spying on a man she had no desire to spend one minute with, let alone one week with. That between work and her crappy personal life, she was completely out of balance. But clearly Nelson wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and Thornton’s miracle product was too much of a temptation to ignore. As was the opportunity to exact some spy-filled revenge on the arrogant scientist. Yes, a bit of payback for the way he’d treated her staff and embarrassed her was exactly what he deserved.

  She smiled. “Put me in, coach.”

  “That’s the spirit. You’re booked to spend a day in Cusco, the city where you’ll overnight before departing on your hike to Machu Picchu. Maybe you can even strike up a conversation with Thornton during that time. According to our travel agency, your hotel is less than a quarter mile away from Thornton’s. All the information is on your itinerary.” A satisfied smile curved his lips. “The time with Thornton should give you ample opportunity to befriend him and find out what his plans are for the formula. And to make certain that La Fleur is in those plans.”

  Nelson rose, indicating their meeting was concluded. “I’m out of the office for the rest of day,” he said, leading the way into the hallway, then turning toward the elevators. “I’ll want updates on your progress, although I don’t know what the cell-phone service will be like.”

  Nervous jitters tingled down her spine at the thought of dead air space. Maybe this was stepping too far outside her box. But then she shook off her apprehension and mentally chanted her new mantra: No change, no gain.

  They reached the bank of elevators and Nelson pushed the down button. “Bring home the goods here, Kayla, and the La Fleur world will be your oyster. We’re talking bonus, perks, another promotion.”

  Only a few short months ago, she’d have been thrilled by those words. Now, for reasons she didn’t quite understand but that undoubtedly had to do with her life being out of balance, she felt a strong urge to tell Nelson that as far as she was concerned, oysters were nothing but icky bits of slime. Instead she smiled. “You can count on me.”

  “I knew I could.” The elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside. “Oh, and be sure to pack some warm clothes. It’s hot during the day, but I understand it can get pretty chilly on the trail at night.”

  The elevator door closed, and Kayla found herself staring at her own reflection in the polished brass door. She looked a little shell-shocked.

  Not a big surprise, considering that’s exactly how she felt.

  But, according to the U.S. Weekly Review article, this trip was exactly what she needed. And she’d learned long ago that when life handed you lemons, you made lemonade.

  Of course, in the case of a four-day hike up a mountain with a man she regarded with high suspicion, she hoped this was more a case of life handing her limes, since, thanks to Brett Thornton, she didn’t doubt she’d need to make a margarita. Or two.

  I understand it can get pretty chilly on the trail at night.

  Three or four was definitely not out of the question.

  2

  SEATED AT a table at one of Cusco’s numerous outdoor cafés with a bottle of sparkling water at his elbow, Brett Thornton stretched out his legs and surveyed his surroundings. A sense of calm awe settled over him. Incredible to think that mere hours ago he’d been in fast-paced Manhattan, and now he sat where the mighty Incas had lived centuries ago.

  His gaze drifted over the stately Plaza de Armas, the focal point in this picturesque city referred to as the capital of the Inca empire. Drenched in bright, late-afternoon sunlight, the plaza teemed with tourists and merchants. Lined with colorful arcades and carved wooden balconies, its building foundations laid by the Incas over five centuries ago, the plaza was a sight to behold and seemed imbued with the spirit of the people who’d once roamed the stone streets.

  Leaning back, he took a sip of his water, the recommended drink to help acclimate to the high altitude, and for the first time in months, felt some of the tension that had been his constant companion ease. If he’d suspected how insane his life would become after publishing his findings regarding his anti-aging aphrodisiac, he would have taken more precautions to insure his privacy. He’d figured he’d receive attention, but he’d in no way been prepared for the blitz that had ambushed him.

  And not only from every cosmetics firm. Acquaintances he hadn’t heard from in years suddenly wished to renew their friendship. He’d even received calls and correspondence from people claiming to be long-lost, distant relatives. Then there was the plethora of lawyers and financial advisors wanting to represent his interests, and charities asking for donations. He’d changed his number twice and disconnected his phone at work but they’d still found him. There were nearly ten thousand e-mails in his inbox.

  Good God, now he knew how people who won the lottery must feel-overwhelmed and inundated. Crushed by everyone suddenly wanting a piece of the money, or in his case, the formula.

  He’d happened upon the basics of the formula by accident in his home lab, but once he had, his scientific curiosity had pushed him to refine it. And after three years of research and experimentation, he was convinced it was ready to be introduced. All it had taken was publishing an article in a scientific journal, and then, like an exponential equation, the news had spread rapidly, mushrooming like a nuclear explosion. And his life hadn’t been the same since.

  The upside was that if the formula proved successful and he sold it, he’d be financially set for life. Definitely a huge inducement, especially for a guy living in a cramped apartment in a very untrendy section of Manhattan with another decade worth of student loans to pay. And certainly it would be nice to pay off his parents’ mortgage and treat them to the sort of vacation they deserved.

  The downside was that except for his folks and a few close friends, he didn’t know who to trust. People and offers were coming at him from all sides. He was a scientist, not a businessman. He knew squat about negotiating deals and finalizing contracts and all the myriad things that he was suddenly required to know. He needed expert advice and over the past few months had worked on figuring out who he wanted in his camp. What he’d learned during that time was that there were a lot of shallow, greedy people in the world. And unfortunately, it seemed most of them had his phone number.

  Most surprising and most hurtful of all, was the realization that Lynda fell into that shallow, greedy category. How, after being together for a year, had he not seen her true character? He’d thought them very compatible, their scientific natures completely in sync. While their relationship might have lacked some physical chemistry, he’d found their shared passion for science quite fulfilling.

  He’d learned how wrong he was two months ago at a party thrown by La Fleur Cosmetics in his honor, when he’d found her on her knees, servicing a male model-a discovery which had prompted him to abruptly abandon the festivities. He hadn’t been impressed with the company’s aggressive campaign to lure him their way, and seeing his girlfriend’s lips wrapped around their model’s cock hadn’t endeared them.

  He grimaced then swigged his water, suddenly wishing for a beer. Damn. If only he could invent a formula that would erase that visual from his mind. Not that he was heartbroken. No, rather, he’d been totally shocked. And royally pissed-at her for cheating and at himself for not recognizing that she would. And with a pretty-boy model type, no less. That was the last sort of guy he’d ever have expected the very serious Dr. Lynda Maxwell to go for.

  But go for him she had. In a big way. Thanks to his failed relationship with Lynda, he’d learned the hard way that dating a work colleague was not a good idea-especially after the romance ended. He’d heard through the grapevine at their laboratory at Scientific Industries that she and the model had recently jetted off to
some exotic Caribbean resort. According to Lynda’s own explanation of the attraction, she’d taken one look at the guy and been “hooked up to a nuclear reactor.” Completely unscientific and ridiculous.

  But between Lynda and the constant pressure and people and companies trying to woo him, he’d had enough. He needed peace. Quiet. Away from everyone and everything pulling him in so many directions he couldn’t even concentrate on his work. In a place where no one knew him. In a location that would cleanse him, body and soul, of the craziness that had wrapped itself around every facet of his life with a chokehold. A place where he could get back to basics and find inner peace. Somewhere plain and simple. Filled with history and a sense of legend. A step back in time.

  There’d been no doubt in his mind where he’d wanted to go. Traveling to Cusco, then hiking from the gateway city to Machu Picchu had been a sojourn he’d wanted to take for years, ever since studying the Inca empire in high school. The Inca people, their society and culture, had fascinated him. Unfortunately college and life had prevented him from making the trip, but the desire to go had remained bubbling in the back of his mind.

  And now he hadn’t allowed anything to stop him from taking the journey. Because now it wasn’t just a case of wanting to make the trip-he needed to do so. He’d use this time away to renew himself and reflect and when he returned to New York, he’d be prepared to deal with the future of his formula.

  He finished off his bottle of water and was looking around for the waiter to order another when his attention was caught by a woman walking toward him across the plaza. Huge dark glasses and a floppy straw hat obscured most of her face. But it wasn’t her face that riveted his attention. No, it was the sinfully sinuous way she moved-combined with the fact that the sun’s bright rays slanting behind her rendered her gauzy, ankle-length skirt nearly transparent.

  Whoa, baby. And what a view it was.

  He sat up straighter, mesmerized by how the transparent material outlined her outrageously curvy hips and long, shapely legs. His mouth went dry and he instantly fantasized about what, if anything, she wore beneath her skirt. With every step closer, his temperature notched up another degree. He was surprised she didn’t leave a trail of smoke behind her. His gaze flicked upward, noting a bright turquoise tank top that showed off toned arms and a hint of cleavage. When he’d planned this trip, the last thing on his mind had been women-other than wanting to get away from the ones fawning over him because of his formula.

  But one look at smokin’ hot Miss Transparent Skirt sure as hell had women racing to the forefront of his mind. And this woman in particular. Along with the reminder that he hadn’t been with anyone since Lynda. And in a single heartbeat, this woman made him want to banish the phrase hadn’t been with anyone lately from his vocabulary. With an intensity that surprised him. The last time he’d been so instantly smitten with a woman, especially just on the basis of her looks, was…never.

  A cloud drifted across the sun, ending his unexpected view. “Damn,” he muttered. He reached into his pocket, intending to toss some centavos on the table to pay for his water then go after her, but he realized she was heading toward the café where he sat. Sitting back, he adopted a nonchalant pose and from behind his sunglasses watched her sit down several tables away. Before he could strike up a conversation, however, she reached into her canvas tote bag, withdrew a magazine, and promptly opened it and started reading.

  His gaze drifted idly over her reading material and halted. U.S Weekly Review. His favorite magazine, which, along with its like-minded competitor, Newsweek, was the only publication outside the scientific community he religiously read. He took particular note because the issue she held was one which contained a very inspirational article on stress and balancing your life. The article’s catchphrase flashed in his mind: No change, no gain-a bit of advice he’d taken to heart. Advice that had inspired him to finally get off his ass and make this trip.

  At that moment, the waiter approached her and she lowered the magazine. Thanks to her huge dark glasses and floppy straw hat, all he could tell was that she had a great smile, one which clearly dazzled the waiter. And, after hearing her order a bottle of water, that she sounded distinctly American.

  Now that his brain cells were no longer stupefied by her transparent skirt, he decided she was most likely here with someone, a husband no doubt, although a quick glance at her left hand showed she wore no ring. Okay, so a boyfriend. One who probably had a black belt and was on his way to the café right now.

  Just then, she looked directly at him-or at least he thought she did. It was hard to tell with those crazy huge sunglasses. And she smiled. Although her transparent skirt was a tough act to follow, that smile did a damn decent job.

  Just in case a black-belt boyfriend hovered in the area, he turned his head left then right, then took a peek over his shoulder. As there was no one else around him, he concluded her smile was meant for him, which greatly pleased him, although sort of surprised him. While he’d had his fair share of girlfriends and lovers, he’d never describe himself as a babe magnet. In his experience, not all women found his everyday look of goggles and dingy lab coat sexy. Discounting, of course, the models who’d draped themselves over him at the numerous gatherings recently thrown in his honor by the various cosmetics firms vying for his attention. But then he hadn’t been wearing his goggles or lab coat at those functions. Still, he normally wasn’t the guy hot women flocked to at parties.

  Maybe because you never go to parties, his inner voice interjected. When you did, look at all those gorgeous, hot models who’d wanted a piece of you.

  Not him, he reminded himself. His formula. A sobering reality check.

  But this woman didn’t know anything about his formula. That smile was just for him. And that felt damn good.

  He smiled back, and she asked, “Do you speak English?”

  Her voice was soft and slightly husky, as if she’d just rolled out of bed. His imagination conjured up an image of her long legs tangled in his sheets, and heat that had nothing to do with the bright sun sizzled through him.

  “Only when I want someone to understand what I’m saying,” he said.

  She laughed, a sexy, smoky sound that resonated through him and vibrated all his nerve endings to attention. “I thought you might be American,” she said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Your shirt.”

  He looked down at the colorful, short-sleeved tropical-print shirt he’d left unbuttoned over his T-shirt. “Are you saying my Hawaiian print screams American tourist?”

  “Loud and clear. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Based on your accent, I’m guessing you’re from the northeast.”

  “New York.”

  Her smile widened and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the small, round ceramic table. “Really? Me, too. I live in Manhattan.”

  He huffed out a surprised breath. “Small world. So do I. Lower West Side.”

  “Upper East Side.”

  He didn’t doubt it for a minute. He couldn’t see much of her, but what he could see-the bright smile, the toned arms and shoulders to match her obviously toned legs, the glasses, hat and sandals he guessed bore designer logos and were the height of fashion-looked pampered and expensive. Definitely high-maintenance. Just the sort of woman who wasn’t his type. Just the sort of woman who’d been fawning over him lately at every cosmetic company function he’d attended. Just the sort of woman who represented everything he was trying to avoid.

  Yet even as his better judgment reminded him of that, along with the fact that he had enough trouble in his life right now trying to focus on the biggest career decision he’d ever faced without throwing a woman-any woman-into the mix, his libido had him asking, “So what brings you to Cusco?”

  She made a breathy noise that sounded self-conscious. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m here because of an article I read in this magazine.” She held up the copy of U.S. Weekly Review. “It’s about rebalancing
your life.”

  Brett’s brows shot up. “No Change, No Gain?”

  There was no mistaking her surprise. “That’s right! You’ve read it?”

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t looking for female companionship, but how could he possibly ignore a woman who was not only smokin’ hot, but also clearly a kindred spirit? “Would you believe that it’s part of the reason I’m here?”

  She laughed. “Considering the fact that it induced me to come here and hike up the Andes to Machu Picchu-something that’s so outside my comfort zone as to be laughable, yes, I’d believe it. You weren’t kidding when you said ‘small world.’”

  Before he could reply, the waiter returned with her bottle of water. After setting it down, the young man approached Brett’s table.

  “Another, señor?” the young man asked, picking up Brett’s empty bottle.

  “Please.” After the waiter moved off, Brett studied her for several seconds and couldn’t deny he liked what he saw. A lot. Her unmistakable uptown aura rendered her Ms. Wrong, but the sex appeal rippling off her and grabbing him by the throat-and groin-rendered her Ms. Right Now. So, while she wasn’t what he needed for the long term, the tightening ache in his boxers strongly indicated she was definitely what he wanted for the short term. The fact they were on the same no change, no gain wavelength just sealed the deal.

  “Would you care to join me?” he asked.

  She hesitated for several seconds, and he figured she was debating whether or not he might be a serial killer. Clearly she decided he wasn’t because she said, “Sure. No point in talking across the tables.”

  She rose and, after picking up her magazine, tote bag and bottle of water, wove her way around the trio of tables separating them with the same sinuous grace with which she’d crossed the plaza. His eyes shielded by his own sunglasses, Brett’s gaze skimmed down her shapely, feminine form, from her tank top to the flat sandals decorated with colorful jeweled flowers that adorned her feet, and awareness jolted through him. No doubt about it, she’d lit his fire without even trying. She slid into the chair opposite his and set down her things.