Proposition: Marriage

His pants were dry now. They should have been too baggy to be sexy, but watching him move did funny things to her breathing. He was as lithe as a dancer, but it was a deadly sort of grace—one that spoke of both survival and danger.

Moves like an athlete or a martial-arts expert, she added to her mental list.

That list kept growing. He had known about General Ruiz. He’d done something violent and serious to the two soldiers when he rescued her. He didn’t like roads, or even well-traveled footpaths. He knew about this village that was, apparently, the only place he considered safe; and that, in itself, didn’t make sense.

“Why is this village the only safe spot for us to go?” she asked. “Why didn’t we go west?”

He didn’t bother to look back. “Generalissimo Ruiz has his camp set up a few miles west of the village where our bus stopped. I doubt that it needed repairs, by the way. The driver had probably been bribed to deliver the norteamericanos to the village. Ruiz has done this before, grabbing any foreigners who wander near what he considers his territory. He’s after ransom.”

“But I don’t have any money!”

He shrugged. “If he couldn’t get money from your family, he’d try to get it from his government, which can’t afford to be embarrassed by his little tricks. The cruise ships will stop docking here if they start losing tourists to Ruiz’s plans for redistributing the wealth.”

They’d reached the bottom of the gully, where a trickle of water pretended to be a stream. He headed south along the would-be streambed.

Jane scrambled after him. He had to be either a spy or a criminal, didn’t he? Who else would know the kinds of things he did? She shuddered at the possibility that she might be at the mercy of someone who sold drugs or guns—a man with no morals and no conscience.

But would a man like that have saved her? She couldn’t believe it.

Of course, this whole situation veered between the incredible and the unbelievable. Here we are, she thought, John and Jane, tramping through the jungle, pursued by rebel guerrillas.... She frowned. “What did you say your name was?”

“John.”

“Now that’s original. John Doe, maybe?”

He turned around. The gleam in his eyes might have been amusement. Or a warning. “I should remember that naïveté isn’t the same as stupidity. Let’s make it Smith.”

Her heart beat faster. “What a coincidence. My name’s Smith, too.”

His mouth thinned. “Sure, it is. Look, you don’t need to know who I am. Just do what I tell you, and don’t ask questions.”

Shutting up sounded like a good idea, except now that she’d gotten started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t see what difference it makes. You’re just going to lie about the answers anyway.”

“The less you think you know, the better. There are people who wouldn’t let you leave the country if they suspected you knew me.” He paused. “Pay attention, Jane. This is what really happened. You were frightened by the gunfire and ran. You got lost, but kept going because you didn’t know what else to do. You don’t know how you wound up near a village where a nice man found you, and offered to escort you to the capital. You never saw me after the bus stopped for repairs.”

She bit her lip. “Are you a spy?”

For a second his face went blank. When he smiled, it looked as graceful and intentional as everything else he did. “Sure. I’m a spy, Jane. Just like James Bond and all the other good guys.”

She was pretty certain he was nothing like James Bond, maybe nothing like any of the good guys. But he had rescued her. Surely that meant he had a conscience.

“So worried,” he murmured, his gaze sliding down from her face. “If you’re frightened of me, why do you stay with me?”

He was looking at her again. At her breasts. And his eyes weren’t cold now, not at all. As for her traitorous body... She resisted the urge to cross her arms in front of her and hide its reaction.

He came toward her. “Jane—”

She took one quick step back so she wouldn’t throw herself up against him—and tripped, landing hard on her bottom.

Now his smile was genuine—and amused, damn him. “I was just going to ask what your real last name is.”

“Smith,” she muttered, and stood with far less grace than he used to just stand there and breathe. She rubbed her sore bottom.

“I’m glad you have a sense of humor, Jane, but I need your real name.”

“Well, John Smith, we don’t always get what we want, do we? But in this case you did. My real name is Smith. Jane Smith. From Atherton, Kansas.”

“Your parents actually named you Jane Smith?” He grinned.

Oh, Lord, when he grinned like that he became yet another person—this one, lively and compelling. “It’s my curse,” she said weakly. It wasn’t fair that all his personas were so blasted sexy. “I always have to show ID. People don’t believe anyone is really named Jane Smith.”

He held out his hand. “In any case, I’m glad to meet you, Jane Smith of Atherton, Kansas.”

She hesitated only a second before accepting his outstretched hand. They shook. “And I’m delighted to meet you, John Smith of... wherever.”

“Never-Never Land, do you think? Or maybe Oz.”

Startled by how he’d echoed her earlier thoughts, she laughed.

“Ah, Jane,” he said, and closed his other hand over hers. The light in his eyes wasn’t amusement now. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, are you?”

It was the oddest feeling, having her hand trapped between both of his that way. Odd, and...stimulating. Her pulse thrummed in her throat. She swallowed. “No. This definitely isn’t Kansas.”

He stood there without speaking. His fingers played with hers, stroking one, then another, but she had the impression he wasn’t paying attention to what his hands did. She was, though. His casual claiming of her hand sent tingles zipping through her system like the air-drawn streamers trailed by a Fourth of July sparkler. But he seemed entirely focused on her face.

On her.

It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced. Her lips parted and her breathing grew shallow, because he wanted her. It wasn’t fair. Men seldom noticed her. Certainly she’d never expected this frightening man, this cold-eyed liar of a man, to notice her. Her fantasies should have stayed safe, private....

He smiled a quiet, knowing smile, as if he’d seen right inside her head to where those fantasies were lodged; as if he knew exactly what they were—and intended to do something about them. Then he blinked. His eyes lost their focus, and he went still, like a cat just before it jumps on a mouse. His head lifted.

“What?” she whispered, looking around in alarm. “What is it?”

He dropped her hand and held his finger to his mouth as he had hours ago, signaling her to silence. They stood motionless, and she strained her ears for a long moment before she heard what he had heard—a voice.

No, several voices. Distant still, but coming this way along the streambed.

Three

There was nothing lover-like about the way he grabbed her hand this time. He dragged her back up the side of the gully with him, but he was confusingly arbitrary about how he moved, zigzagging all over the place. When he snatched her back from a bare patch of ground, she realized he was staying on the grassy patches so they wouldn’t leave tracks.

That did nothing to quiet the frantic alarm signals her heart was pounding out.

They reached a thicket of tall grasses and weeds shadowed by the trees behind them. The voices were nearer—much nearer. He tugged her down with him, so that they lay flat on their stomachs. She felt giddy, her breath coming fast and shallow. He scooted forward, so she did, too, and she saw why he’d chosen this spot Here, the shadows of the trees fell over them, dense and concealing. They could peer through the cover offered by the weeds, but no one below would be able to see them—not as long as they were still.

Jane knew she could hold still. She’d proved that much in the lake. This should be easier. She had dry ground beneath her, and his warm body beside her. Unfortunately, his body was every bit as distracting as the monster bug had been—but in a different way.

She stared down at the little trickle of a stream, her muscles tight with fear and the need for stillness. Two men came into view. They wore uniforms, familiar uniforms that made Jane go limp with relief. These were federales, members of the semimilitary national police. The cops, she thought, giddy with regained safety. The good guys. She started to turn to John, to tell him they were safe, but her head never finished the motion.