made an impatient sound. “Please just get in and stop arguing.”
She opened her mouth to insist, but saw his set jaw and his intent blue eyes and found herself sliding into the seat, though why she let him tell her what to do she wasn’t sure. It must have something to do with the man’s overwhelming mojo.
She wasn’t surprised that he proved more than competent at the wheel, despite the deepening mud and low visibility through the torrential rain. Even in good weather, this thinning road was barely more than a track through the bush. It couldn’t really be called a road at all at the moment.
A group of crooked, heartbreakingly dilapidated zinc shacks appeared through the misty sheets of rain, and the distinctive smell of coal fires used for cooking touched Charlie’s nose.
“It’s up here. That one,” Anna said, pointing.
The car slid to a stop. “Sit tight for a sec,” Trent said. He again grabbed the umbrella and brought it to their side of the car before opening Charlie’s door.
“I’m not made of sugar, you know. I won’t melt,” Charlie said, repeating what he’d said to her earlier as she climbed out to stand next to him.
“You sure about that? I remember you tasting pretty sweet.” Beneath the umbrella, he was so close she could feel his warmth radiating against her skin. The smell of the rain, mud, coal fires and Trent’s own distinctive and appealing scent swirled around her in a sensory overload. His head dipped and those blue eyes of his met hers and held. She realized she was holding her breath, struck by a feeling of the two of them being completely alone in the world as the rain pounded a timpani concerto on the fabric above their heads.
Her heart did a little dance as his warm breath touched her face. Blue eyes darker now, his head dipped closer still until his lips slipped across hers, whisper-soft, clinging for a moment. “Yeah. Like sugar and honey.”
His lids lowered in a slow blink before he straightened, turning to open Anna’s door.
The child led the way as they trudged up to a group of metal shacks, giving Charlie’s heart rate a chance to slow. Why had he kissed her when they’d agreed not to go there? Probably for the same reason she’d wanted him to—that overwhelming chemistry between them that had caught fire the first day they’d met.
They approached a shack that looked as though it must be Anna’s home. A cooking pot sat over a coal fire with what smelled like cassava simmering inside. The shack’s crooked door was partially open, and Anna shoved it hard, scraping it along the muddy ground until they could step inside the dark interior.
A young child lay sleeping on a mat on the dirt floor and another was covered with a blanket, exposing only his or her outline. An older woman with a brightly patterned scarf on her head sat on a plastic chair, stitching some fabric.
“Mama Grand, I bring a doctor to see Prince.”
The woman looked at them suspiciously. “No need, Anna. I use more healing herbs today and Prince will be fine soon.”
Anna twisted her fingers and looked imploringly at her. “Please. The doctor is here, so let him see if Prince is getting better.”
Trent stepped forward and gave one of his irresistibly charming smiles to the woman. “I’m sure you’re doing a fine job taking care of Prince. But the boss lady, Miss Edwards here, will be mad at me if I don’t have work to do today. She might not even pay me. Can I please just take a look at your fine little one while I’m here?”
The woman’s stern expression softened slightly, and after a moment she inclined her head. Charlie had a hard time suppressing a smile. Trust Trent to turn it around to make Charlie look like the bad guy, and to know exactly how to twist it so his being there was no reflection on the older woman’s treatments.
Trent crouched down and looked back at the woman. “Is this Prince hiding under the blanket? May I look at him?”
She nodded again, and Trent reached to pull the blanket from the small, huddled shape. He quickly jerked back when he saw the exposed child.
“What the...?” Trent’s face swung towards Charlie, his eyebrows practically reaching his hair.
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