him the privilege of sliding his fingers through her silky hair in one of their stolen moments—in the heat of a hungry, searching kiss.
Once Ann was beside him, he continued toward the terminal. Even at this time of morning, Lima airport was busy. Mike wasn’t surprised. Peru’s capital was a twenty-four-hours-a-day city. It was cosmopolitan, upscale and surging ahead because of the influence of Japanese investors and the huge population of Japanese people who had left their island home to settle here. They brought money into the economy, and over the years Lima had become the third largest enclave of Japanese in the world. Only São Paulo, Brazil, had a larger population outside Japan.
As he stepped into the terminal, he saw a huge crowd of people waiting for folks to disembark from their flight. Too bad he didn’t have a special somebody waiting for him. Someone like Ann. Hell, he had too much of the romantic left in him. Or maybe being with a woman he was so drawn to had stirred up that vat of loneliness he’d stuffed deep down inside of him. No, the army was his only wife, and this was one time he was regretting that dictate. Well, it didn’t matter anyway, because Ann didn’t want him. And if she hadn’t before, she sure as hell didn’t now after his stupid, stupid remarks to her in the heat of their argument on board the aircraft.
At customs Mike dropped easily into Spanish, Lima’s main language. Japanese was a close second and one that he’d mastered with a lot of difficulty over the years because of his position with the Peruvian government. He remained on guard, always looking around. Now that he was back on Peruvian soil, he had to be alert or he could be killed. The young lady behind the desk, obviously Castilian Spanish with her golden skin, thin proud features, black eyes and shining black hair, smiled at him. Mike felt a little better just seeing a pleasant expression on someone’s face for a change.
At the check-in desk, he launched into conversation with the ticketing agent about a van that was due to bring the medical supplies, to be carried in on the next flight. In the meantime, he saw Ann halt a few feet away and observe the busy, crowded terminal. She didn’t look like a doctor in that moment. No, just a very thin, tired woman. His conscience ate at him big-time. Thanking the agent, Mike turned and sauntered over to where she stood just outside of the streams of people coming and going in the terminal.
“I’ve never been to Lima,” Ann confessed without looking up at him. “This airport reminds me of the Chicago terminal—huge, bustling and busy twenty-four hours a day. I just never imagined it.” Mike’s presence, especially in the fog of her exhaustion, was overwhelming to her. Ann felt herself seesawing between going with him to the clinic and remaining at the terminal to catch the next flight back to the States. She saw the anguish in his dark eyes, the fatigue clearly marked on his own hard features, and felt a wonderful blanket of protection and care settle around her. She knew that feeling came from being with him. She tried to tell herself that his care didn’t mean anything. However, she was too tired to fight the truth of what she felt emanating from him. And she knew the rawness she felt in her chest was her own longing for him.
She’d had a long time on their flight to feel her way through her jangled feelings, her confusion, her fear and her needs. Although she lay in her chair, her eyes closed, Ann hadn’t slept because she’d been too upset. How had she come to feel so much for Mike while at the ranch? How? No matter what she did, the answer didn’t seem forthcoming. Ann had sworn never to fall for a man again…not with her bad track record. How had Mike eased himself into her life? Was it that boyish smile he flashed at her in unexpected moments, always catching her off guard? Was it his obvious passion for living life fully and for the moment? That dancing glint in his eyes that broadcast such warmth and tenderness toward her every time he looked at her? His hot, searching kisses? The way he touched her, fanning coals of passion into wildly flaring flames? It was more than sexual, Ann admitted darkly. She liked Mike. His integrity. His continued efforts to help the poor and defend them. She approved of his morals and values. There was nothing, really, not to like about Mike Houston, she sourly admitted. Absolutely nothing. Except for the mystery she felt around him—that mystical quality she couldn’t pinpoint with her razor-honed intellect. Not all the academic degrees in the world could outfit her to deal with someone like Houston.
“Maybe,” Mike growled, despite his attempt to take the sting out of his tone, “if you give Peru half a chance, she’ll seduce you like she did me when I came here more than a decade ago.” He heaved an inner sigh of relief. At least Ann was talking civilly to him once again. But then, she hadn’t slept, either, so he knew she was probably feeling more like a walking zombie right now and the blame game was low on her list of priorities.
Pointing toward where they had to walk to get to the baggage claim area, he added, “They call Lima the Jewel of the Pacific. The city sits up on the slopes of the lower Andes and looks out over the dark blue Pacific Ocean. The first time I came here, I didn’t know what to expect. My mother had told me many, many stories of Lima, and how beautiful it was—the apartments that had flower boxes on their balconies and the trees that made the city look more like a park than a maze of steel-and-glass sentinels. She loved this city.” Mike risked a glance down at Ann. Even though she was a good five feet nine inches tall, she was still short in comparison to him.
She refused to look up at him. The way her full lips were pursed told him that he’d hurt her earlier with his nasty, spiteful comments. Ruthlessly, Houston absorbed her aristocratic profile. She had high cheekbones, like his Indian ancestors did. With another sigh, he dropped his gaze to her pursed lips once more. To hell with it. Somehow, he had to change things so that they parted on good terms at least. He took a deep breath, reached out and gripped her arm gently, forcing her to look at him.
“Listen,” he muttered darkly as her expression changed to one of shock as he touched her, “I’m sorry for what I said to you on the plane. It wasn’t right and—”
A cry for help halfway down the terminal ripped through the early morning air. People began to slow down or hurry a little faster.
Scowling, Mike dropped his hand from Ann’s arm, instantly alert. “Now what?” he growled.
Ann looked in direction of the sound. She could hear a woman sobbing and screaming for help. She saw Mike Houston peering above the heads of the crowd. “You’re taller than I am,” she exclaimed. “What do you see? What’s going on?”
Grimacing, he glanced down at her. “Someone’s in trouble. Medical trouble. Come on….” He took off in long, loping strides.
“Mike! Wait!” Ann hurried to catch up. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man and he cut a swathe through the crowds in the airport terminal. She wasn’t so lucky and was stopped repeatedly. As she hurried along in his wake, she found herself admiring the way he ran, with a boneless, swift grace that reminded her of a large cat. Perhaps a cougar loping along silently, yet with remarkable power. Other people seemed to sense it, too, for Houston was never elbowed, stopped, nor did he have to change direction. No, the masses parted for him like the Red Sea had for Moses. Ann realized she was witnessing that impenetrable mystery about him in action now. No wonder they called him the jaguar god.
Mike’s eyes widened as he made his way through the large circle of people that had formed. In the middle was a woman crying hysterically. A young woman, very pretty, well-heeled and dressed in a purple business suit. He knew her well. It was Elena Valdez, wife of Antonio Valdez, one of the most prominent and powerful businessmen in Lima. What the hell was happening?
“Step aside,” Mike growled, opening a path to where Elena stood sobbing, her fists against her mouth. She was from one of the old aristocratic families of Peru, of pure Castilian blood. Normally aloof and serene, her mascaraed eyes were running dark streaks like war paint down her cheeks, her red lips contorted as she stared down at the floor. Mike followed her wild, shocked gaze.
“Antonio!” he rasped. Houston suddenly
