The Flyboy's Temptation (9 page)

A deadly sidewinder arrowed straight to its intended target and everything went boom.

Except...the intel had been bad.

And J.T. had blown up a small village, killing everyone in the dead of night.

The ensuing investigation had cleared J.T. of any wrongdoing, but that hadn't absolved his conscience. J.T. finished up his tour and hung up his dog tags for good.

Collateral damage, they'd said.

His buddies couldn't understand why J.T. was so shaken up by the mistake.

“Shit happens,” Rocco “Rooster” Gianni had said with a shrug. “There had to be some reason that the intel put us there. Maybe they weren't so innocent after all. Let it go, man. You know what they say—war is hell, right?”

“They were innocent people,” J.T. said, feeling sick to his stomach. “I didn't sign up to kill women and children.”

“I'm telling you, they couldn't have been all that innocent. For all we know, they were harboring that SOB and if that's the case, they got what they deserved.”

In the end, J.T. just couldn't get right with it and had to end his military career earlier than he'd planned.

Hell, he'd always thought that they'd have to pull his cold, dead fingers from the throttle to get him to stop flying. The thrill of zero-G had always been a bit of an addiction.

But fate was a bitch that way.

Guess she'd had different plans for the Carmichael boys.

Why was he thinking of that night? He'd long since put that incident in a locked box and tucked it away.

Maybe because he'd been holding on to Blue Yonder for selfish reasons and should've listened to Teagan from the start when things had begun to sour for their small charter business.

And now he was lashed to a tree in the Amazon jungle with a fairly high probability that he was going to die within the next twenty-four hours and his brother, Teagan, was caught in his mess, too.

Why couldn't he have been gifted with a smidgen of Teagan's levelheaded foresight? No, he was always the one doing something reckless and stupid.

Like taking on a client that his gut plainly told him to steer clear of—and then sleeping with said client.

He supposed he deserved the lecture that was coming.

If he survived.

11

H
OPE
GAPED
AT
the filmy gown that she was supposed to wear to dinner and wondered if this was some kind of joke.

It was practically see-through.

And looked like something from the 1940s.

Did this madman think she was going to become part of his jungle harem?

Two alluring Brazilian women wearing next to nothing on their curvaceous bodies entered the room and frowned when they saw that she had not dressed yet.

“Master DeLeon will not be pleased to see you are not appreciative of his gift,” the older woman said with pursed lips. “Come, we must dress you quickly. He does not like to be kept waiting.”

“He can wait until the parrots start singing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight' because I'm not wearing that,” Hope said, shaking her head emphatically. “It's nearly see-through, and besides, I'd rather
not
dine with
Mr.
DeLeon.” There was no way in hell she was calling him
master
. “I'll have my supper in my room, thank you.”

The woman narrowed her gaze and shared a look with the younger one. “You are supposed to be very smart, but you seem very stupid to me. You will allow us to help you or Master DeLeon will have someone else come help you, and I doubt they will be as gentle as myself and AnaMaria.”

Hope opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She shuddered at the thought of being “helped” into her dress by DeLeon's thugs. She lifted her chin and said, “Fine, you can help me into that ridiculous dress, but I want to go on record as saying that I think this is absolutely archaic. Women are not property or toys to be dressed up at someone's will. I have a PhD, for crying out loud. I'm not a Barbie doll.”

“Your credentials mean nothing here. You are far from America and your American ways. Here, Master DeLeon is king and it would be better for you to recognize this fact before your pretty white skin is whipped from your bones.”

Hope tried not to show her fear at the idea of being whipped, but she surely felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to the hateful bit of sparkly cloth and gulped down the lump lodged in her throat to stiffly ask, “Will you kindly help me into this dress?”

“Perhaps you do learn quickly.” AnaMaria giggled and they flowed around Hope, making quick work of slipping the dress over her shoulders and tugging it over her hips.

Good gravy! The dress clung to every curve, even accentuating the V of her thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

AnaMaria worked a bit of magic on Hope's hair, twisting it into an elegant knot on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to tease her jaw, and the other woman applied makeup with an artistic, though heavy, hand.

“When you are clean and dressed, you are not ugly,” AnaMaria said as if surprised. “Pale as milk, but not ugly.”

“Gee, thanks,” Hope said with a faint glower, still shocked over how the dress clung like a second skin. For a woman who spent most of her life in a lab coat and comfy slacks, this was as far from her usual garb as it could be.

AnaMaria, feeling generous, paused before leaving, saying, “Give Master DeLeon what he wants and you will be treated like a queen. He can be quite a generous lover.”

Lover!
Oh, hell no.
Had she dropped into the twilight zone or a different dimension where women were traded for goods and services? Oh, wait, no, she was just walking a tightwire of danger and intrigue over something she'd invented that could destroy the world!

But there was no use in trying to disabuse the two women of their assumptions, because clearly, it didn't matter. They thought she was an idiot for not encouraging Anso's advances.

From their vantage point, they were pampered princesses and Anso was the king, doling out diamonds and privilege in exchange for their bodies and dignity.

Well, that wasn't going to be her.

But as she glanced down at herself, she realized she was without too many options at the moment seeing as that coward J.T. had run off and left her to fend for herself.

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes and she dashed them away, her finger coming away with a smudge of black. “Crap,” she muttered, going to the mirror to fix her makeup. “No man is worth ruining your makeup for,” she reminded herself with a slogan that she'd read in a magazine while waiting at the dentist's office for a new crown.

But the worst part was that J.T. had seemed like the kind of man who would go to the ends of the earth to protect his woman.

Well, you're obviously not his woman. Duh.

And she was okay with that, she countered stubbornly. “You didn't graduate top of your class to aspire to be some guy's
woman
.”

The door opened and two men appeared—not the same men who had transported her, but apparently Anso shopped at the same thug shop because they all seemed to share similar traits—and she followed with her head held high, holding on to her dignity with both hands.

If she ever saw J.T. again, she'd do two things: first, pop him in the mouth for leaving her and, two, kick him in the shins for putting her in the hands of a man who thought to make her his brainy harem girl!

* * *

A
NSO
D
E
L
EON
WAS
used to having things his way. He accepted no obstacles and that included excuses framed in the vernacular of an “environmental impact survey.”

He also had no use for “moral” and “ethical” quandaries.

Not that he'd ever suffered any.

Ahhh, there she is.
His prize. Dr. Hope Larsen. He rose and gave a subtle bow in deference to the radiant beauty standing warily before him and graced her with a benevolent smile. “You look ravishing,” he said, and kissed her cool hand. “This look suits you.”

“It's not exactly my style and not what I had in mind for a dinner invitation,” she said, allowing him to seat her at the lavishly appointed table. Hope locked eyes with him, her keen mind and fiery spirit everything he'd thought they would be. “Are you going to tell me what's in store for me or do I have to guess?”

Anso chuckled and took his seat, amused. “You are not one for idle chatter. I like that. A woman who knows when to close her mouth is a rare treasure, indeed.”

“Yes, well, as is a man who knows that women are not chattel and haven't been for quite some time now.”

“You are naive if you believe that,” he said evenly, pouring wine for them both. “Women will always be owned in some fashion as long as the men rule the world. But it does not have to be unpleasant for the woman. Some chains are desired, even sought after.”

“Not by this woman,” she returned with a steely glare that he found incredibly arousing. “I am a scientist, not some silly sorority girl who is wowed by your obscene show of wealth and this ridiculous gown... Sorry, but did you get this out of a porn star's closet? There is barely enough fabric to cover a baby, much less an adult.”

He laughed at her scorn, his smile widening as his gaze roamed her curves and valleys, noting with pleasure how her nipples were clearly visible in the hand-chosen garment. “I find it most pleasing.”

“I do not,” Hope countered, her chin lifting in a mutinous gesture. “I'm not ashamed of my body, but I don't believe in showing it off to someone who hasn't earned the right to see it. And you, sir, have not earned that right. Nor will you
ever
.” She drew a breath and continued, saying, “Let's get to the point. Why am I here?”

Anso smoothed his hair and smiled. “You know why. I have need of your particular skills. You alone can help me achieve what I desire most, which makes you the most important person in my universe right now. Does that not please you? Who in this world would do anything for you in exchange for what you are trained to do? You paint me as a villain, but I am simply a man—a businessman—who will do anything to see that my business thrives.”

“Running me down like an animal isn't the best way to compel me to help you.”

He shrugged. “I'm an impatient man. It is one of my faults. When your friend was...
averse
to helping me achieve my goals, I was not about to make the same mistake twice.”

Hope's eyes glistened as she swallowed. “You killed my friend.”

“Unfortunate,” he agreed. “She, like you, had a brilliant mind. I weep for the loss we all suffer for her untimely end.”

“Untimely? Yeah, I'll say. Funny how that happens when you end up shot on the street.”

“The world is a dangerous place,” he murmured as if they were simply discussing world events and not the most horrifying shock of her life.

Losing Tanya had been like losing her best friend. They'd started out as a colleagues, but had quickly turned into confidantes.

“You're a monster,” she said, wiping at a tear as it tracked down her cheek. “I won't help you.”

“Please, do not make a rush to judgment,” he said, gesturing to the servants. “You are hungry and overwrought from your perilous journey. We will eat, enjoy each other's company and then perhaps we shall retire for more pleasurable pursuits before we talk business.”

“I'm not going to sleep with you,” she said point-blank. “So unless your pleasurable pursuits include reading quietly or playing backgammon, you'll just have to amuse yourself with one of your Brazilian blow-up dolls.”

“Redheads have always fascinated me. Such fire, such spirit. I imagine you are a hellcat in bed. The thought pleases me greatly, but I am not one to force a woman. However, I feel you will come to seek me of your own accord. I can offer much to a woman like you. It would be my honor to shower you with your greatest desire. You would make fine sons. A woman such as you should be treated as the rarest treasure.”

Hope balked at the mention of bearing his children. “S-sons? Listen, I don't know what kind of time warp you're stuck in, but I am not some baby factory and I definitely don't consider it an honor that you would like me to be your biological receptacle!” She pushed her chair back with indignant fury and stated in a low tone, “I've lost my appetite after all,” before attempting to leave the room, but she was promptly returned to her seat with a rough push by his guards.

“You have much to learn, Dr. Hope Larsen, but I am eager to teach.” He snapped his napkin and smoothed it over his lap, his appetite roaring as loudly as his libido. The servant placed a plate of rare steak exquisitely prepared with baby red potatoes in front of him and he inhaled the aroma with relish. He selected his knife and fork, addressing Hope as he cut into the bloody meat. “I am a man who is accustomed to having the best. The best chef in the world, the best architect for my castle, the best people in my employ. I am generous to those who are loyal to me and ruthless to those who betray me.”

“And how do I play into all this? How did you know Tanya?”

“I've been very blessed to have many things work in my favor, but there is something that has stymied my every attempt to circumvent, and as you can imagine, it does not please me.”

“Welcome to the real world. Can't always get your way.”

“Perhaps for ordinary people that is true. Not for me.”

“And what makes you special?”

“Money, Dr. Larsen. Lots and lots of it. I have more money than some small countries. And I put it to good use. However, there are some things that money cannot influence, much to my annoyance.”

“Which would be?”

“There is an indigenous tribe deep within the Amazon, very difficult to find, very suspicious of Western influence. They shun all contact with modern civilization and defend their territory most vigorously.”

“I guess it's hard to buy off people who don't deal in any concept of currency,” she said with a smirk, which he allowed to slide. There would be time enough for correction later.

“Yes, indeed. And when the environmentalists discover that your company is trying to move the tribe out of their native land to a different section of the jungle, it's suddenly a crime against the Indigenous Culture Act.”

“Well, it is,” she agreed with open scorn for his dilemma. “An indigenous culture without any previous involvement with the outside world is protected. You can't do anything to them or their land.” Suddenly, she paled. “But if they are to die due to natural causes...”

“The obstacle of the indigenous people would become moot.”

Hope gasped and her hand went to her mouth as she processed his meaning. He smiled more widely at her quick reasoning. “You want the virus to kill the tribe in your way.”

“I call it the Hand of God virus. Is there anything more perfect than a virus that can mimic any known pathogen in the world with deadly efficiency? Your brilliant mind solved the riddle and created deadly perfection. The Hand of God virus will remove the obstacles in my way and I will be free to move forward with my newest acquisition.”

“You're insane if you think I'm going to help you destroy an entire tribe of innocent people.” She looked aghast and disgusted at the same time. “You can't just eradicate an entire tribe of people because you want to make more money.”

“Why not?”

She sputtered, “Because you can't! It's immoral, against all rules of nature and just plain wrong.”

“You created the virus. Were you concerned with the application when you were pushing to find the missing links in the chain? No. You were hungry, driven to create something magnificent. The science aroused you in a way that you cannot deny. I understand that drive. I celebrate that quality in you. Where others would pass judgment, I admire your skill. We are not so different, you and I, Dr. Larsen.”

He smiled at the sudden tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.