Terms Of Their Costa Rican Temptation

‘Skye Soames.’

He hadn’t expected her handshake to be firm, nor for the touch of her skin to cause a snap of unwanted awareness in him. As she removed her hand from his, using it to shield her eyes from a shaft of sunlight he could see the lithe strength in her body, toned yet not overly, naturally healthy and not paid for like some of the women of his recent acquaintance.

‘Do you have a phone?’ he asked, even though he’d already calculated the chances of having a signal out here very slim. He looked away when Skye bent back into the car, her blazer and shirt rising a little over her backside, gritting his teeth against the shocking spark of a most definitely unwanted arousal.

‘No signal,’ came the response from behind him.

‘Okay. Then we’d better—’

‘And you? Does your phone have any signal?’

‘I don’t have one,’ he said, bracing for her rather obvious and utterly expected response.

‘What do you mean, you don’t have a phone?’ she demanded. ‘That’s shockingly irresponsible.’ It was like getting told off by his elementary school teacher.

‘I don’t have to, nor will I, explain myself or my decisions to you,’ he said, walking round what had been his favourite car and prising open the boot. ‘Besides, we don’t have time,’ he said, reaching for his canvas bag and filling it with what they’d need. ‘The roads out here are dangerous at night. Our best and only hope is to go. Now.’ First aid kit, water, matches, the food he’d picked up at the market that morning. He eyed the bottle of whisky and decided it was necessary. For medicinal purposes, obviously.

He’d known when he’d started to leave his phone behind on these trips that accidents could happen. While part of the attraction was that he would be completely unreachable—no emails, phone calls or anything to do with Chalendar Enterprises—the other part was that it was a test. Of himself. To prove that he didn’t need anyone. To know that he could survive using his own skills and his own mind. Of course it usually wasn’t a hardship, with his home fully stocked with all his favourite foods and wines. And if he had to walk ten hours through the jungle to get there? He knew he was more than capable. It was Skye he wasn’t so sure about.

He turned back to Skye, taking her in as her eyes swept up and down the road. ‘Is that all you have with you?’ he asked, nodding to her handbag. ‘What’s in it? Water?’ Her face fell. ‘Food?’ he asked, and it fell a little more. ‘Anything?’ he demanded.

‘No, I... I left my suitcase at the airport before checking in to the hotel because I wanted to see you before you...left,’ she said as if she hadn’t just hidden in his car to go off to some unknown destination.

‘Okay then. Let’s go,’ he said, hauling the packed rucksack onto one shoulder.

Skye frowned, feeling distinctly unbalanced and unsure. ‘I don’t... I don’t think I should go anywhere with a stranger,’ she said, instantly cringing against her own words. Had she really just said that? Maybe she had hit her head.

‘So you want to stay out here on the road and just hope that a different stranger comes to your aid?’

‘I have pepper spray,’ sh

e said defiantly and then realised she probably shouldn’t have admitted it, if he was actually someone to worry about.

‘Good for you. But this isn’t England, the animals here bite and when they do they’re poisonous. And that tightly buttoned shirt isn’t going to keep them away.’

She couldn’t help but self-consciously play with the button of the collar at her neck. ‘What’s wrong with my—’

‘If you don’t lose that blazer and undo a button you’re likely to lose at least half your body weight in sweat in the next five minutes alone.’

Skye thrust her shoulders back as if readying herself for a fight. ‘I don’t know you. For all I know you could be an axe murderer!’ She’d definitely hit her head and she definitely needed to stop talking. Because she was in complete agreement with the way Benoit was looking at her right now. She was crazy.

‘You have no water, no means of making a fire, you have no means of signalling for help and no real means to defend yourself.’ Her heart was dropping with each and every failing he found in her situation. ‘You’re dressed like a nun—’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you required a dress code,’ she interrupted, glad to find something to be angry with him for because then she might not be so angry with herself for getting into this mess. There was nothing wrong with her clothing, she assured herself. But she was beginning to get quite hot. ‘Would you have preferred sequins, a skirt that barely covers my behind and a pair of stilettos?’

‘Personally? Yes. But for now? I would have preferred not to have a stowaway who caused me to crash my car!’

‘It wasn’t intentional!’

‘Oh, so you accidentally fell into my car?’

‘Yes! No. Sort of?’

‘If you can’t decide how you got into this mess, how on earth do you plan to get out of it then?’

‘Walk,’ she said, hating the way her shoulders raised into a shrug and her voice trembled, making it sound like a question.

Benoit stalked towards her in just two strides, took her by the shoulders and spun her so that she was facing up the road in the direction they had been heading in the car.