She twists around in her seat and pulls what looks like a passport out of her back pocket. Opening it, she takes out a piece of paper that she unfolds and waves in front of my face. “I have your bucket list!” There’s a hint of triumph in her voice. “Walker asked me to go by McKenzie’s apartment and get your passport—that’s why I was at her place and the kidnappers thought I was her—and I found your list, so I grabbed it too.”
“Yeah? Good work.” I shoot her a smile. “I’ll look at it when we get to Playa Nayarit, okay?” I don’t mention that even if I do manage to remember where I put the guns, it’s not going to be as simple as just returning them. Because the drug cartel has paid me half a million dollars for a shipment of guns, and I have a feeling they intend to get what they paid for—one way or another.
…
Charlotte rubs her eyes sleepily as the car stops. She’d fallen asleep for the last hour of the drive. She looks out the window and says, “Where are we?”
“Puerto Vallarta. I’m going to turn in the rental car here and we’ll take a cab to Playa Aislado. The cartel will have noticed you’re gone by now. We can’t be too cautious.”
She nods.
“Also, we need to get you some clothes.”
She looks down at her jeans and grimaces. “My clothes! Right. It’s bad, isn’t it? I’ve been wearing these for three days. But I don’t need to get anything. I can make do until I get home.”
“Yeah, so about that…” I say. I’ve been thinking about this for the last hour, and I don’t see another way. We’ve parked, so I turn to face her. “You can’t go home.”
“What do you mean? I have two weddings next weekend alone. Not to mention appointments all week long because McKenzie’s been gone and then Gemma went to San Francisco. Our business can’t run itself!” Her voice has risen higher with each sentence, and now it’s tinged with a hint of desperation. Who could blame her? She’s been through hell. “You don’t understand. I have to go home. I have to un-organize all my spices!”
“What?” She’s not even making sense now. “Char—”
“You don’t need me anyway,” she blurts. “Your memory is going to come back and you’ll find the guns, and—”
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s about to step right on the crazy train. Damn but I want to kiss her again, if only to shut her up. Instead, I cut her off with the simple truth. “None of that will matter if you’re dead.” That stops her cold. “I’ve thought about it, and the only way I can keep you safe while I look for the guns is by keeping you with me. If you go back to the States, there’s nothing to stop them from kidnapping you again, and the next time, they’ll make damn sure you don’t get away. And I can’t ask one of the team to watch you, because no one can know I’m alive until I find the guns.”
She bites her lip as she thinks. “No one has to know you’re alive. I could say I escaped on my own. And once the press gets a hold of the story, the drug cartel wouldn’t dare risk kidnapping me again.”
“Not true. They’re bad people, Charlotte. They don’t give a fuck about what the U.S. thinks. In fact, that will probably give them more incentive to take you back and make a point. Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you.” I hate the idea of dragging anyone into this with me, especially her. She deserves better. But she’s safer with me—even in Mexico—than back in Charleston alone. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. But I’m not going to put you in danger like that. I won’t let you go.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and her eyes narrow as she gives me a cool, appraising look. I’m quickly learning there are two sides to Charlotte—the always-in-control, restrained version who keeps a tight leash on her emotions, and a more passionate and somewhat unpredictable one. I’m not sure which one intrigues me more. “You won’t let me go? Are you going to physically stop me?”
I shrug. “If I have to.” Her brow is furrowed, and I have no doubt she’s trying to think up another of her infamous plans, but there’s no way around this one. She has to stay with me. Hoping to make her relax a little, I wiggle my eyebrows at her and say teasingly, “I could tie you up and pretend you’re my sex slave. Talk about a great alibi.”
“You are incorrigible.” Her tone is prim, but a gorgeous blush floods her cheeks. “This is serious.”
I try to ignore my cock, which seems to have developed a mind of its own where Charlotte is concerned. But I’ve got to impress on her how important it is she doesn’t leave. “I agree. Deadly serious. For you, for me, and for McKenzie.”
“What does McKenzie have to do with it?”
“If you go home and you’re all over the news, El Gato’s going to realize he had the wrong girl. Then he’s going to go after McKenzie and you.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sits in silence, mulling over my words. Finally, she exhales dramatically. “Fine. Let’s go shopping.”
I laugh. “Most girls would jump at an all-expense-paid shopping spree.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“Yeah, I’ve already figured that out.”
“And what do you mean ‘all expense paid’? They took my purse, and everything except your phone and watch are sitting in a tampon box under McKenzie’s sink. How are we going to pay for clothes?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of cash, courtesy of La Frontera.” My voice is flat. “Remember that bank account in the Caymans I told you about? It’s dirty money, and I didn’t intend to touch it. But I’ve already spent some of it to get here that I can’t repay, and it’s not like I can return it to the cartel and say ‘sorry, deal’s off’ anyway. Now it’s what’s going to get me…get us…out of this mess. I hope.”
She waits while I turn in the rental car near the Malecon—the iconic promenade lined with shops, cafés, nightclubs, and street vendors that borders the ocean—and then we peruse the shops. An hour later, I have a swimsuit to add to my backpack filled with American-brand clothes I bought in Mumbai, and Charlotte’s carrying a small designer bag filled with a sexy-as-hell bikini swimsuit, a few sundresses, shorts and tops, a pair of flip-flops and some heeled sandals. She also bought a bra and several pairs of underwear—thongs—although I tried to turn my back while she picked them out. Okay, maybe I didn’t try too hard.
Funny, but I sort of pegged her as the functional cotton brief type. Who would have guessed Miss Uptight and Always Put Together has a secret penchant for naughty lingerie? I have a feeling there’s a lot more to Charlotte Windsor than meets the eye, and I find myself wanting to uncover the sexual, wanton woman beneath that always-in-control exterior of hers.
I immediately squelch that thought. I have no business thinking like that. Although I’ve got to keep Charlotte with me while I figure things out, I can’t touch her. I’ve officially fucked the toaster on this one, and I’ll be damned if I take anyone else down with me. Not Walker. Not McKenzie. And definitely not Charlotte. Fantasies of her ass in those lacy scraps of fabric are going to have to be enough.
We stop for coffee at one of the sidewalk cafés, and she hasn’t taken a single sip before she says, “So what’s the plan now?”
I bite back a grin. I’ve never seen a woman who loves a plan as much as Charlotte. “We’ll hide out at Playa Aislado for a few days while I look at the bucket list and figure out my next step.”
“Our next step,” she interjects. “If you’re keeping me hostage, I get a say.”
I grin. Damn, she’s a firecracker. “I wouldn’t say keeping you alive is keeping you hostage. But okay. Our next step. As long as you keep in mind I have the final say.”
She frowns. “Why do you get the final say?”
I reach over and wipe a fleck of foam off her upper lip. “Because I’m in charge.”
She huffs with indignation, but there’s something about the way she shifts self-consciously in her chair that has me wishing things were different. “Control freak,” she mutters. “You like to be in charge of everything.”
Even though I’m not going to touch her, I’m looking forward to spending some time alone with her in Mexico. I know things don’t look too good for me, and this might be the last time I enjoy flirting with a beautiful woman. Or maybe it’s her. There’s an electricity whenever we touch, an undeniable chemistry and connection I’ve never felt before.
“Playa Aislado is a popular honeymoon destination. We’ll pretend we’re newlyweds from Denver.” It’s a stroke of genius if I do say so myself. This whole debacle is going to be infinitely more fun flirting with her and playing the part of the newly wed groom. Just then, we pass Diamond International and I impulsively grab her hand, pulling her inside. “You need a ring.”
“No, I don’t.”
Before we can argue about it, we’re greeted by an elegantly dressed woman who seems accustomed to sucking up to tourists with money burning a hole in their pocket.
“I’m Giselle and I’ll be happy to assist you today,” she says. Turning to me, she says, “You are looking for something for the lady, yes?”
“Yes. An engagement ring.”
She claps her hands with delight. “Puerto Vallarta is muy romantica, si? Un momento. I will get my best for you. A woman this beautiful needs something equally beautiful.”
As she disappears into the small stockroom, I turn to Charlotte. She looks like the proverbial deer in headlights. “Anything in particular you like? Round? Square? Triangle?”
“Triangle? It’s called a marquis, and no. I—do we really have to do this?”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Most of the girls I’ve dated would have given a kidney for a ring and a commitment, and here I am actually buying a ring for a girl and she doesn’t want it. Perversely, her reluctance only makes me more determined to buy her the biggest and best diamond I can.
“Absolutely. Who’s going to believe we’re newlyweds if you don’t have the requisite rock on your hand?” I lower my voice. “I’ve got money to burn. It’s not mine. I might as well put it back into the Mexican economy where it belongs. Now come on, tell me. You’re a wedding planner for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t believe in marriage,” she says crisply.
I almost burst out laughing. A wedding planner who doesn’t believe in marriage? But before I can respond, the saleswoman returns with a tray of rings and a bottle of tequila. She pours us each a shot. “Diamond International tradition,” she says with a wink.
Charlotte stares at the two shot glasses dubiously. “This doesn’t seem like the best time to get drunk. It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s always a good time to get drunk, sweetheart. That’s what you do on vacation.”
I pick up one of the shot glasses and hold it up in a toast. “To second chances.” I down the shot, and then nod at hers. “You going to drink that?” Obviously, drinking alcohol before ten o’clock in the morning isn’t part of Charlotte’s master plan, but it’s a shame to waste good tequila. I’m about to take hers, too, when she surprises me by picking it up and smiling at me for the first time since we walked into the store. “You’re right. Why not? To second chances!”
Giselle shows us several rings, and while Charlotte no longer looks like she’s going to run away, she tries on each of the rings with a certain sense of detachment.
“Which one do you like best?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I don’t care. You choose.”
“Have it your way.” I wink at her. “See? It’s not always my way.” I pick a two-karat round cut diamond with smaller diamonds set in an infinity band, and hand Giselle a wad of cash.
“Li—” Charlotte catches herself before she says my name. In a loud whisper, she says, “That is way too much for a fa—” She stops again, frustrated by her inability to say what she really wants to say. I don’t help her out. It’s kind of fun shaking up Charlotte. She takes a breath and says more calmly, “I don’t think you should spend this much money.”
Giselle overhears her and fusses, “It is the man’s prerogative to spend what he wishes for the woman of his heart.”
I grin at Charlotte. “What the lady said.” I could have gone with a cubic zirconia, but I have a shit ton of dirty money that I don’t want, and some perverse part of me wanted Charlotte to have something real, something beautiful, something to show her she is worth it. Something that makes her mine, even if only for a few days. Taking her slender hand in mine, I slide the ring onto her finger. There’s that current again, and I feel a tug of something both familiar and absolutely foreign. “You’re mine now, sweetheart.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but somehow, it comes out in a deep rasp.
She’s the kind of girl you could spend forever with.
Where the hell did that thought come from? She’s not for me. That’s not for me, not even if and when I sort out this gun running fiasco. When I chose to be a Navy SEAL, I chose to put my country first, even before myself. I can’t ask a woman to give that, too—marriage to a man who’s gone more than he’s home, unable to provide the kind of emotional support a woman deserves, the years marked by a series of goodbyes. Sure, some of the other guys on the team make it work, but I see the toll it takes on their marriages. Most don’t last. It’s even worse for the ones that do. Those sorry S.O.B.s have too much skin in the game. I stay strong, and I’m the SEAL that I am because I have nothing to lose.
I like my life exactly the way it is. I don’t need a woman. At least not one I give my heart to. Why would I want that? I get plenty of pussy when I want it, and then I say goodbye and go back to doing what I do best—unencumbered. But Charlotte…she could make a man doubt everything.
Chapter Five
Charlotte
New York cab drivers have nothing on cabbies in Mexico, and our driver darts in and out of traffic like he’s Mario Andretti, punctuating each lane change with a string of curse words in Spanish and the occasional hand gesture. If Liam wanted to be inconspicuous, we should have kept the car and driven ourselves. But honestly, Liam couldn’t blend into the background if he tried. I’ve never met anyone with a bigger natural presence. He has an air of effortless confidence and a way of totally commanding the space he fills. Especially when it’s as small as the back seat of a cab. I can feel the undeniable pull of him even though we’re not touching.
I steal a glance at him. Even with his long hair and scruffy beard, he’s still impossibly gorgeous. He seems completely relaxed and at ease as he watches the passing scenery through the car window, but his hand rests on his leg close to where I know his knife is strapped, and there’s a certain aura of readiness about him that belies his casual demeanor. I wonder if he ever fully relaxes. But there’s no doubt about it. He makes me feel safe.
He catches me looking at him and flashes a smile, and for a minute, my insides feel wobbly. I quickly squelch the thoughts that come immediately after—thoughts of me under him, the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of his lips…
I sigh. That’s not going to happen again. He doesn’t remember anything. Not our weekend in Playa, not making love until the sun came up, or the promises he whispered in my ear. I remind myself that’s a good thing. Because it means he also doesn’t remember that horribly awkward encounter a month later when I realized that it hadn’t meant anything to him, while I’d inadvertently fallen for him. Not that I’m surprised. Guys like Liam don’t fall for girls like me.
And here…now…he’s still clearly not interested, despite his comments. He’s the kind of guy who flirts with everyone, including eighty-year-old women who smile back at him with a remembered sparkle in their eyes. He admitted he’s not happy about me having to stay in Mexico with him. He even apologized for kissing me! I just need to forget all about that night and remember Liam is nothing more than my best friend’s brother. The Navy SEAL who rescued me. I glance down at the two-carat diamond glinting on m
y finger and sigh. And my pretend husband.
I’ll admit I freaked out a little when Liam told me I couldn’t go home. After all the soul-searching I did last night before we escaped the drug cartel, I don’t want to waste another minute waiting to start living my life differently. But my plans are going to have to wait. I’m stuck in Mexico, and my only act of rebellion against my former life so far has been buying a decidedly-not-Charlotte teeny bikini and some totally impractical underwear.
I don’t have a choice. I certainly don’t want to put McKenzie in danger, or expose Liam. And the thought of being kidnapped again—or at the mercy of the cartel members—makes me shudder. Being on the run with Liam is definitely better, although it might be just as dangerous, and in more ways than one.
But honestly, Liam needs my help. He seems to live life on a wing and prayer, but that’s not going to help him find the guns and clear his name.
We’ve turned off the main road, and the cab bumps along a smaller road through the jungle before pulling into a circular driveway in front of a large resort. Through the lush foliage around us, I can see several straw-thatched huts tucked in between the trees.
“Playa Aislado, señor,” the cab driver says. He gets out of the car and opens my door with a flourish. “Welcome, señorita.”
Liam has come around and pays the cab driver before slipping an arm around my waist. His touch is electric. I try to ignore it, focusing instead on the surrounding resort. It’s a good distraction; this place is stunning. I turn to Liam.
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