Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (4 page)

Clutching the burner phone, Spencer walked toward the center of the living area and sank into a chair across from the oversized couch. She reached for the champagne, and—

The burner phone rang, and she answered, forgetting about the Moet.

“Hello.” Spencer jumped up from the chair and paced over toward the French doors leading out to the private terrace. “Ben?”

“Hello, sweet girl.” He chuckled a little. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” she asked, growing more livid, more apprehensive with each passing second. “I’m wondering why the hell you told that asshole cab driver to steal my passport?”

“I needed some assurance that you would stick around and fulfill your debt,” Ben said, calmly and logically, in his deep island lilt. “I didn’t want you to get any ideas about leaving Belize and flying off to some country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States.”

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“It’s depressing and frustrating, isn’t it, when someone you care about steals from you,” Ben said. “But eventually, I will return your passport. Unfortunately, I will never see my money or watches again.”

Frustrated and pissed, Spencer said, “Okay, fine. Tell me how to fulfill my damn debt so I can get the hell out of this country! I’ve done
Step One
, now what?”
 

“Relax, sweet girl.”

“Don’t you tell me to relax!” She paced the length of the sofa. “Tell me what the hell the next steps are so I can get them done and get back to my life!”

“You are in no position to make demands, sweet girl,” he warned. “You are lucky I’m allowing you the chance to make up for your mistakes. You are lucky I don’t have you thrown in jail for grand theft larceny.”
 

Bristling, Spencer dropped down onto the couch. There was the threat again, hanging over her head, her very own personal sword of Damocles, a warning she had to heed. She didn’t like him thinking he could dictate her motives, but she was in his crosshairs because of her foolish choices.

“Don’t forget I have proof that you stole from me,” Ben warned. “And I don’t want to get you into any trouble, sweet girl.”
 

Spencer rolled her eyes, cursing the stupid video tape. Her image on the screen had been so clear and convincing; there was no way she could deny she was the girl taking money from the bottom drawer of the closet island.

“So, how did
Step One
go?”

“It went exactly the way you planned it,” Spencer snapped. “I made a fuss about being booked in the wrong casita, and then I demanded to see the owner.”

“What were your initial impressions of Sione Tuiali’i?”

Why was he asking her that? Why did he care what she thought about the resort owner? What the hell did her opinion of Mr. Tuiali’i have to do with the favor he wanted her to do?

Leery of his question, and how to answer it, she asked, “My initial impressions?”

Spencer was tempted to tell him the truth. Her initial impressions were tall, muscular, good-looking, and sexy as hell. She wanted to say I got wet just looking at him. But Ben probably wouldn’t even give her the satisfaction of being jealous.

 
“He seemed very willing to solve the issue with the casita,” she said. “I think he’s going to give me the honeymoon casita at a reduced rate.”

There was silence on the other end, an odd, sinister lack of sound.

Just when Spencer thought the connection had somehow been broken, Ben said, “That is rather accommodating.”

“Is that what you wanted to happen?” Spencer asked. “You wanted to get the honeymoon casita at a cheaper rate, is that what
Step One
was about?”

“
Step One
was sweet girl meets the resort owner.”

“Why did you have me lie about being booked in the wrong casita just so I could meet the resort owner?”

“So you could evaluate him,” Ben said. “So you could determine what kind of man he is, which will help you figure out the best way to get close to him, because that’s
Step Two
. Sweet girl gets close to the resort owner.”

“What makes you think I can get close to him?” she stammered. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Remember how you got close to me and tricked me into thinking you liked me just so you could get into my closet and steal from me?”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” she told him. “I did like you, Ben.”

“You didn’t like me enough not to steal from me, did you?” Ben asked. “You didn’t like me enough to trust my feelings for you or to believe that I would have given you whatever you wanted. You didn’t have to go sneaking into my closet.”

Sighing, Spencer shook her head, wishing she could explain why she’d decided to “date” him. She wanted to tell him she’d stolen from him because she was afraid of his feelings and even more afraid of her own feelings. She’d been afraid she would lose herself if she fell in love with him. But would he understand that?

“So,
Step Two
is get close to the resort owner,” she said, rubbing her eyes, trying not to cry. “And then what? Get into his closet and steal from him?”

“I told you the favor won’t be anything criminal,” Ben said, an edge in his tone. “There’s no law against getting close to someone.”

“Just how close do you want me to get?”

“Close, but not too close,” Ben said. “When it’s all over, you have to be able to walk away and not look back. You have to be able to turn your back on him, even if he’s bleeding on the floor, begging you for help.”

He seemed to be unable to resist trying to get under her skin, and this time, he’d gone too deep. Deeper than the knife she’d plunged into his gut.

“What happens after I get close to him?”
 

Spencer stood and walked to the dining area, waiting for his response, wary of what he would say to her, maybe even afraid of what he would tell her.

“I’ll tell you what to do next once you complete
Step Two
.”

“I need some clarification about
Step Two
,” she said. “You said I need to get close to Sione Tuiali’i, but not too close. But what the hell does that mean? Why do you want me to get close to him?”

“Sweet girl, don’t worry, okay?” Ben said. “I have faith in you. I know you will be able to get close enough to him.”

“But not too close, right?”

“You only need to get just close enough.”

Irritated, she said, “How will I know when I’m just close enough?”

“You’ll know you’re close enough, sweet girl,” Ben said, “when the resort owner asks you out to dinner and then invites you back to his place.”

Her heart slammed and she froze. The clarification of
close enough
seemed too damn much like “dating.” But she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Ben had promised she wouldn’t have to do anything criminal, and she had to believe him. She had to trust he hadn’t lied to her.

“Once you’ve gotten close to him,” Ben went on. “I’ll give you
Step Three
.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get close to him.” She struggled to marshal the thoughts swirling in her head. “What if I’m not his type? Maybe he doesn’t trust beautiful women.”

“You don’t need him to trust you, sweet girl,” Ben said. “And you don’t need to do anything different than what you did when you tricked all those men you stole from. Just flirt with him and look pretty.”

“Flirt and look pretty?” she repeated, offended by his patronizing sarcasm. “And what if that doesn’t work?”

“If the resort owner doesn’t respond to your beauty and false charm,” Ben said, “then maybe you could sit on a park bench and pretend to cry.”

His words were a sucker punch out of nowhere, right in the gut.
 

“Maybe that will work on him,” Ben told her. “After all, it fooled me.”

Spencer found it hard to breathe, found it almost impossible to recover from his verbal attack. Somehow, she found her voice and said, “I know you’ll never believe this, but I wasn’t trying to fool you when we first met. And I am sorry I stole from you. I know you’re never going to believe that either. But maybe one day, you could find some way to forgive me.”

Ben said nothing; there was only a long stretch of silence.

“Ben?” Spencer said. “Ben? Are you still there?”

Frustrated, she glanced at the phone’s display.

CALL ENDED.
 

“Sonofabitch!” Irritated, she hurled the burner phone at the wall.

“Everything okay?”

Gasping, Spencer turned. “How did you get in here?”

“The door wasn’t closed all the way,” Mr. Tuiali’i said. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t I look all right?” She glared at him and then went to retrieve her phone.

“Sorry, that’s none of my business.” Mr. Tuiali’i cleared his throat and then continued. “I may have a way to solve this problem with the casita. I don’t know why there was a mix-up with the reservation.”

“There was a mix-up because you hired incompetent idiots.”

“I don’t agree with that assessment of my employees.”

“Of course, you don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Because then you’d have to admit you don’t have sense enough to hire people who know how to get a reservation right.”

“I’ll give you the room at a reduced rate,” he said.

“Which will be?”

“Six hundred a night.”

She made a face. “Six hundred?”

“That’s what you would have paid for a regular casita.”

Spencer shrugged. “Guess it’s the least you could do.”

“I think I’m being more than fair.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Deal.”

They shook, and as he was starting to pull his hand back, his fingers closed over hers and slipped between them, becoming inexplicably entwined.

Spencer looked at him and then at their fingers, laced together, and before he could pull his hand back, she yanked hers away, frowning at him.
 

“Okay, well.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve got the room rate settled.”

“If there’s nothing else,” Spencer said, “I’d like to unpack and try to relax.”

Nodding, Mr. Tuiali’i said, “Of course.”

Seconds later, she slammed the door in his face. Standing in the middle of the living room, Spencer wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have been so rude. After all, she was supposed to be getting close to him. The next time she saw him, she could apologize. Maybe tell him she’d had an uncomfortable plane flight. Blame her cranky attitude on economy travel. She really wouldn’t be lying to him.

She’d struggled to endure two hours in a middle seat, ruminating and rehashing her mistakes, squished between a sweaty, corpulent man who snored as he slept and a hyperactive eleven-year-old who made strange beeping noises while he mumbled to himself.

Heading into the bedroom, Spencer walked into the small alcove and through the opened double-door entrance. The beautiful bedroom suite mocked her when it should have welcomed her into its tropical luxury. Like the rest of the casita, it screamed romance and love. Concepts that had thus far in Spencer’s life exclusively eluded her. Romance and love had given her the cold shoulder and turned their backs on her, letting her know she wasn’t good enough for either of them.

Whatever.

Wasn’t as though she was interested in romance and love anyway. She wasn’t interested in anything that would put her on a trajectory toward becoming “that wife.”

Right now, she was interested in going for a run.
 

It was still light outside; the sun wouldn’t go down for a few hours. A nice jog through the jungle might be good and might take the edge off. Ben’s demands had her on the verge of a psychotic break. A slamming heart and labored breathing might get rid of the nervousness and anxiousness.

Running usually cleared her mind, but she had a feeling the endorphin high wouldn’t banish the irritating thoughts, worries, and doubts about
Step Two
.
 

Getting close to Sione Tuiali’i.

Ben wanted the favor done, or else. If she couldn’t do it, then what?

Spencer tried not to think about it as she walked to her suitcase. The bellman had left her carry-on on the settee at the foot of the bed, and he’d placed the full-sized one on the floor, near the bedpost.

Unzipping the Louis Vuitton luggage, she opened it. Spencer shook her head. The clothes she’d painstakingly packed were slightly jumbled. Things shifted during flight, she supposed. Digging through her clothes, Spencer searched for a pair of shorts and a tank top, wondering if—

Something came toward her, a blur of movement from nowhere. Just as she realized what it was, the opened hand crashed against her face.

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort

Heading away from the honeymoon casita, Sione felt off-kilter, disjointed.

But he didn’t understand why. Couldn’t be because of Ms. Edwards, could it? No, that didn’t make sense. Usually, he wasn’t rattled by a good-looking woman.

Continuing down the path, Sione forced himself to shake off the uneasiness. Probably had nothing to do with Ms. Edwards anyway. The strange feeling was most likely anxiousness about the land deal for the resort expansion. The negotiations hadn’t stalled, but things weren’t moving as quickly as he’d hoped.

His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.

“Sione Tuiali’i,” he answered, distracted.

“It’s about time you answered the phone and stopped ignoring my calls!”

Sione stopped dead in his tracks, confused, his heart slamming. Arrested by the voice, a silky, velvet purr he’d once found sexy and alluring, he stepped off the path and made his way toward a large hibiscus bush.

Cursing under his breath, he kicked himself for not checking the damn caller ID. He would have recognized the number—a woman’s correctional facility in Guatemala—and then he could have ignored it and blocked it.

The last person he wanted to talk to was his damn ex-fiancée. Or, as he often thought of her, the biggest mistake he’d ever made. She had a name, but Sione didn’t like to speak it aloud or even think it.

His cousins, Truman Camareno, his lawyer, and Micah Jones, Truman’s bookkeeper, thought his unwillingness to say his ex-fiancée’s name was some sort of indication of unresolved, undefined feelings for his ex. And his cousins were right. Somewhat.