Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1)

by Rachel Woods

  It was an inviting, happy scene, and Sione felt a strange stirring, a longing for a family of his own and a situation where he would walk into the kitchen and his wife and kids would be sitting at the table. It was odd, and a bit disturbing, that Ms. Edwards could make him feel that way. A woman mixed up in something shady and criminal should have inspired suspicion and mistrust, not blissful domesticity.

  “What’s all this?” Sione walked into the kitchen. “What are you girls making? A big mess that I’m going to have to clean up?”

  “It’s not a mess,” India said, her chin smudged with green paint.

  Smiling, Maggie announced, “We’re making a masterpiece!”

  “A masterpiece, huh?” Sione went to the table, giving each of the girls a playful thump on the forehead, which they laughingly protested, and he checked out the drawings the girls were making—houses, stick people, flowers, balloons, and a few shapes he couldn’t quite figure out.

  “And what about you, Ms. Edwards?” Sione glanced over at the piece of paper Ms. Edwards was sketching on, a scene which seemed to include palm trees and blue skies. “You making a masterpiece or a mess?”

  Making a face at him, Spencer Edwards stuck out her tongue, then smiled, and said, “Maggie, what is that you’re drawing? A birthday cake?”

  “A wedding cake!” Maggie said.

  “A wedding cake?” Ms. Edwards exclaimed. “Are you getting married and you didn’t tell me? Let me see your hand! Do you have an engagement ring?”

  “No!” Maggie giggled. “I can’t get married.”

  “You have to have a boyfriend to get married,” Keisha said, rolling her eyes at her sister.

  “Miss Spencer, do you have a husband?” India asked.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Maggie asked, giggling.

  “Um, no,” Ms. Edwards said. “I don’t.”

  “But you’re so pretty,” India said. “You should have someone to be in love with!”

  “And you can love him,” Keisha teased and then laughed.

  “And you can kiss him,” Maggie said, smacking her lips, imitating kissing sounds.

  “Girls,” Sione warned.

  The girls kept giggling, and then India said, “Miss Spencer, you can marry cousin Sione. He doesn’t have a wife. He’s all alone and Auntie Carmen says that’s a crying shame because she doesn’t have any grandbabies.”

  “Girls!” Sione said, his tone gruff though he realized they were only repeating opinions they’d heard from his mother.

  Maggie scowled at him. “Don’t you want a wife?”

  “Miss Spencer could be a pretty wife for you,” Keisha said.

  “Maggie, are you drawing a butterfly?” Ms. Edwards asked, effectively changing the subject, for which Sione was grateful.

  Their focus redirected, the girls continued their drawings, and Ms. Edwards kept them engaged in animated conversations on topics more appropriate for six-to-seven-year-old little girls.

  Maggie announced, “I’m going to give my masterpiece to Mommy.”

  “I’m going to give mine to Mommy, too.” India promised, grabbing a green crayon.

  “Me, too!” said Keisha, not to be outdone.

  “Miss Spencer,” Maggie said. “Are you going to give your picture to your mommy, too?”

  “What?” Ms. Edwards’ pencil skidded across the paper, creating a haphazard line, ruining the sailboat she’d been drawing.

  “Miss Spencer!” Keisha said. “You messed up your picture!”

  Dropping the pencil, Ms. Edwards looked at the girls, obviously struggling to speak. “I just, um, I …”

  Confused by her disorientation, Sione became concerned as tears welled in Ms. Edwards’ eyes. The girls noticed her distress too and immediately began asking her what was the matter, their faces filled with tension and worry.

  Instead of answering the girls, Ms. Edwards pushed the chair back from the table, stood, and ran out of the kitchen.

  Near tears themselves, the girls jumped up to follow her, but Sione stopped them. “Stay here, I’ll go and see if she’s okay.”

  Sione left the kitchen, worried that the girls’ conversation about their mother had reminded Ms. Edwards of her mother’s death and had triggered the tears. Heading down the hall, he rounded the corner into the foyer and saw Ms. Edwards walking toward the door.

  “Ms. Edwards …”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the door, and grabbed the knob.

  “Wait a minute.” Sione grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. “What’s wrong? Are you crying because—”

  “I’m not crying.” She yanked away from him and then swiped at the tears with trembling fingers. “It’s just allergies.”

  Gently, he lifted her chin. Forcing her to look at him, he wiped away a tear she missed. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Please tell the girls I had fun with them, but …” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I’m just not feeling well, and I don’t want them to think I abandoned them or I’m disappointed with them about something.”

  “Listen, I know it was probably difficult for you to hear the girls talking about their mother when—”

  “I have to go.” She opened the door and hurried out.

  chapter 72

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

  “John?” Ms. Edwards stared at him, confusion in her brown eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  Sione stared at her, amazed at how innocent and vulnerable she seemed in a pair of pajamas and slippers. She looked much younger without the makeup and her hair swirling around her shoulders, loose and wavy, free from the severe hairstyle she usually wore.

  “I was just …” Sione wondered if he’d made a mistake, showing up at her casita unannounced. “I was worried about you.”

  “You were?” She gave him a skeptical look.

  “I mean, the girls were worried,” he amended. “Because of what happened this afternoon.”

  “They shouldn’t be worried about me,” she said. “I told you to tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “They didn’t believe that,” he said. “And I didn’t either.”

  Smiling a little, she leaned against the door and stared up at him. “I’ll be fine. So don’t worry, okay?”

  “Well, since you’re okay,” Sione sighed. “I should probably leave. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “Do I look bothered?”

  Was that a trick question? Wary, he said, “I don’t know …”

  “Come on in.” Ms. Edwards sighed, then turned, and headed into the living area, allowing him to follow her. Against his better judgment, Sione crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.

  “Want some wine? Compliments of the resort.” Ms. Edwards walked into the kitchen and headed to the refrigerator. “Which means you paid for it, so …”

  “Sure.” Sione went to the couch and sat.

  She opened the pinot noir and poured them each a few ounces into wine glasses.

  “Here you go.” She handed him a glass, joining him on the couch. Ms. Edwards tapped her glass against his, took a healthy gulp and then asked, “Were you really worried about me?”

  “Yes.” Sione put his glass on the coffee table.

  “Why?” Staring at him, she held the rim of the glass against her mouth and then took a small sip of wine. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Well, maybe I want to get to know you.”

  It was probably a good time to talk about the contents of those Xanax boxes, to find out if she would come clean or if she would lie to him. But Sione wasn’t in the mood to take her through some sort of “Belizean Inquisition”. He still had every intention of asking her about the fake passports and money, but maybe not tonight. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy some wine with a beautiful woman he wanted to know more about.

  She took another sip of wine and put the glass on the coffee table. “What do you
want to know about me?”

  Smiling a bit, he asked, “Have you ever been in love, Ms. Edwards?”

  She glanced at him, and he saw the slight panic in her eyes before she reached for the wine glass again. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “You told me that you weren’t going to fall in love and waste your time on someone just to have it blow up in your face,” he reminded her. “So, I thought, maybe you had been in love before, but it ended badly.”

  “No, that’s not it,” she cut him off, her tone curt. “I mean, I don’t think I really know what love is, so I doubt I’ve ever been in it.”

  “Then why are you so sure that you don’t want to fall in love?” He angled toward her, eager to move closer. “Have you ever thought that if you ever did fall in love, you might like it?”

  Frowning, she finished off the pinot noir, then put the empty glass on the coffee table, and looked at him, a slight challenge in her stare. “Have you ever been in love, John?”

  “No,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “But I am looking forward to it.”

  She stared at him, with the same doe-in-the-headlights look she’d given him out by the pool. It was almost as if she was dealing with some internal struggle, waging a war against herself that she would never win, and yet she had to fight.

  Sione could relate to her discomfort. He was regularly beset by his own internal struggles, moments where he fought to make sure the secrets he kept hidden didn’t spill out all over the place.

  She grabbed the empty glass and then stood. “I’ll tell you what I’m looking forward to.”

  “What’s that?”

  She smiled. “More wine.”

  chapter 73

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

  “You believe in love at first sight Ms. Edwards?” John asked.

  Leaning against the throw pillow from the couch, Spencer stared up at the ceiling, her eyes following the crown molding along the perimeter of the room. She and John had already finished one bottle of wine and were sprawled out on the floor in the living area of her casita, working on the second bottle.

  Perplexed, Spencer looked at John, lying inches away from her, hands behind his head. “Are you serious?”

  “Do you?”

  “Not exactly.” Spencer grabbed the nearly empty bottle of pinot noir on the floor between them.

  “Why not?”

  Spencer took a healthy swig from the bottle and said, “Love at first sight never happens.”

  “Never?” He glanced at her.

  “Never.” She put the bottle down. “Love at first sight is just wishful thinking.”

  “So, you don’t think,” John started, his tone hypothetical, “that you could see someone and fall instantly in love?”

  Spencer laughed. “Fall instantly in love? John, you are so way beyond drunk! No more wine for you.”

  “You had more than I did,” he insisted, sitting up and grabbing the bottle. “And there’s hardly any left in here. You drank all of this one.”

  “I did not,” Spencer protested. “I drank all of the last bottle, but we shared that bottle in your hand.”

  Sighing, John put the bottle down. “So, you don’t think you could see someone, and just know, someway, somehow, that you belong with that person, you want to be with that person, and no matter what it takes, you’ll find a way to be with them.”

  “Love at first sight is a silly myth,” she said. “Besides, I already told you, I don’t plan to get caught up in love.”

  “What’s wrong with getting caught up in love?” Sione asked, resting his head on a corner of Spencer’s pillow.

  Moving her head to give him a bit more room, she sighed and then said, “Nothing, except …”

  “Except?”

  “What about you?” she said, desperate to change the subject. “Are you ready to get caught up in love?”

  John moved so that he was lying on his back and just a bit too close to her than she wanted him to be.

  “I am,” he said. “I want to fall in love with someone and spend the rest of my life with her.”

  She turned her head toward him. “The rest of your life is a really long time.”

  John laughed.

  “So, what kind of woman would Mrs. Tuiali’i be?”

  “Hopefully, she’ll be a compassionate, loving woman who cares about other people, selfless and sincere,” he said. “She’ll be smart and have her own opinions, but she won’t be judgmental. She’ll be honest, someone I can trust, someone who will help me be a better person.”

  Spencer sighed softly, thinking about what he wanted in a woman. He’d described the exact opposite of her, and it bothered her, knowing the kind of woman she would have to be if she wanted to be with John. She could never be that woman. She would never live up to his expectations. The realization angered her and made her long for something she had convinced herself she didn’t want.

  “You think that’s too much to ask?”

  Spencer turned to face him, not entirely surprised to find him facing her. There were only scant inches between them. “You won’t have a problem finding a Mrs. Tuiali’i.”

  “Really?”

  “I know you won’t,” she said, aware of the inches between them disappearing as she moved closer to him. “Because you’re very charitable and accommodating.”

  “Charitable and accommodating.” He frowned. “You think I’m nice?”

  “I think you’re beautiful,” Spencer said, her words a bit slurred, and the amusement in his gaze worried her because “beautiful” was probably the wrong word choice, but she would blame it on the wine.

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said and slipped an arm around his waist, moving closer, getting rid of what remaining space was left between them.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” she said, planting a whisper-soft kiss against his eyelid, something she couldn’t do if she weren’t totally drunk. And beautiful skin,” she said, trailing kisses along his jaw. “And a beautiful mouth.” Without thinking of the ramifications, she leaned forward until her mouth was inches from his.

  “Ms. Edwards,” John whispered against her lips.

  “Spencer,” she whispered back.

  “What?”

  “You can call me Spencer.” Gently, she placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him again. With a lot less reluctance. And a lot more tumult.

  A bit frantic, she moved on top of him and kissed him as though her life depended on it, as if she were thirsting for him. I have to stop this. She knew that. But his mouth was so delicious, sweet and ripe.

  John stopped the kiss and asked, “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

  Breathless, she shook her head, gazing at his full lips. “No.”

  “Then why are you kissing me?”

  “Maybe I’m drunk.” Spencer kissed him again.

  An intense urgency to have him inside her took over, consumed her, and she slid her hand along the front of his pants, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband. Without warning, John grabbed her wrist, yanked her hand away, grabbed her other hand, and pinned her to the floor on her back.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, her heart racing in anticipation.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, much too serious.

  “Why not?” She glanced down below his waist again.

  “Because …” He frowned a bit.

  “Never mind.” Humiliated, disappointed, Spencer looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

  John released her and then stood, grabbing the empty wine bottle. “I’m going to put this away.”

  Confused and mortified, Spencer jumped up and wobbled over toward the table in the kitchen nook. God, what the hell was her problem? Why did she ask him “why not?” It was obvious why not. He didn’t know her and he didn’t trust her. He was suspicious of her. He’d followed her to the Mayan ruins and took photos of her that he
was probably going to give to the police.

  “Spencer.”

  Her stomach flipped and then flopped.

  John’s presence behind her embraced her even before his arms encircled her. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to be with you because I do …”

  She leaned back against his chest, enveloped in his warmth.

  “It’s just …” Sione tried to continue.

  Turning in his embrace, Spencer stood on her toes, winding her arms around his neck. “It’s just what?”

  Sighing, he said, “I didn’t come here to try to get you into bed.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you had.”

  His gaze a bit regretful, John removed her arms. Worried he might see disappointment in her gaze, Spencer half-walked, half-staggered over to the refrigerator, opened it, and grabbed the last bottle of wine.

  “Three’s the charm,” she said, upset because she was disappointed.

  “Maybe we’ve had enough for tonight,” John suggested.

  Spencer sighed, thinking about the way his mouth felt against hers, wondering if fermented grapes would make the intense longing go away. “John, I haven’t had nearly enough.”

  chapter 74

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

  Spencer’s eyes opened, slowly. With confusion and shock, she realized her left cheek was resting against John’s chest, which was hard and warm, his heartbeat strong and steady. Spencer felt his thumb glide gently along her thumb, and when she tilted her head down, she stared at their intertwined fingers.

  “You awake?” John asked.

  “Um … I think,” Spencer said, pulling her hand from his and wiping her mouth. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About nine hours,” he said.