Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (30 page)

“John?” Ms. Edwards stared at him, confusion in her brown eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Sione stared at her, amazed at how innocent and vulnerable she seemed in a pair of pajamas and slippers. She looked much younger without the makeup and her hair swirling around her shoulders, loose and wavy, free from the severe hairstyle she usually wore.

“I was just …” Sione wondered if he’d made a mistake, showing up at her casita unannounced. “I was worried about you.”

“You were?” She gave him a skeptical look.

“I mean, the girls were worried,” he amended. “Because of what happened this afternoon.”

“They shouldn’t be worried about me,” she said. “I told you to tell them I wasn’t feeling well.”

“They didn’t believe that,” he said. “And I didn’t either.”

Smiling a little, she leaned against the door and stared up at him. “I’ll be fine. So don’t worry, okay?”

“Well, since you’re okay,” Sione sighed. “I should probably leave. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Do I look bothered?”

Was that a trick question? Wary, he said, “I don’t know …”

“Come on in.” Ms. Edwards sighed, then turned, and headed into the living area, allowing him to follow her. Against his better judgment, Sione crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.

“Want some wine? Compliments of the resort.” Ms. Edwards walked into the kitchen and headed to the refrigerator. “Which means you paid for it, so …”

“Sure.” Sione went to the couch and sat.

She opened the pinot noir and poured them each a few ounces into wine glasses.

“Here you go.” She handed him a glass, joining him on the couch. Ms. Edwards tapped her glass against his, took a healthy gulp and then asked, “Were you really worried about me?”

“Yes.” Sione put his glass on the coffee table.

“Why?” Staring at him, she held the rim of the glass against her mouth and then took a small sip of wine. “You don’t even know me.”

“Well, maybe I want to get to know you.”

It was probably a good time to talk about the contents of those Xanax boxes, to find out if she would come clean or if she would lie to him. But Sione wasn’t in the mood to take her through some sort of “Belizean Inquisition”. He still had every intention of asking her about the fake passports and money, but maybe not tonight. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy some wine with a beautiful woman he wanted to know more about.

She took another sip of wine and put the glass on the coffee table. “What do you want to know about me?”

Smiling a bit, he asked, “Have you ever been in love, Ms. Edwards?”

She glanced at him, and he saw the slight panic in her eyes before she reached for the wine glass again. “Why would you ask me that?”

“You told me that you weren’t going to fall in love and waste your time on someone just to have it blow up in your face,” he reminded her. “So, I thought, maybe you had been in love before, but it ended badly.”

“No, that’s not it,” she cut him off, her tone curt. “I mean, I don’t think I really know what love is, so I doubt I’ve ever been in it.”

“Then why are you so sure that you don’t want to fall in love?” He angled toward her, eager to move closer. “Have you ever thought that if you ever did fall in love, you might like it?”

Frowning, she finished off the pinot noir, then put the empty glass on the coffee table, and looked at him, a slight challenge in her stare. “Have you ever been in love, John?”

“No,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “But I am looking forward to it.”

She stared at him, with the same doe-in-the-headlights look she’d given him out by the pool. It was almost as if she was dealing with some internal struggle, waging a war against herself that she would never win, and yet she had to fight.

Sione could relate to her discomfort. He was regularly beset by his own internal struggles, moments where he fought to make sure the secrets he kept hidden didn’t spill out all over the place.

She grabbed the empty glass and then stood. “I’ll tell you what I’m looking forward to.”

“What’s that?”

She smiled. “More wine.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

“You believe in love at first sight Ms. Edwards?” John asked.

Leaning against the throw pillow from the couch, Spencer stared up at the ceiling, her eyes following the crown molding along the perimeter of the room. She and John had already finished one bottle of wine and were sprawled out on the floor in the living area of her casita, working on the second bottle.

Perplexed, Spencer looked at John, lying inches away from her, hands behind his head. “Are you serious?”

“Do you?”

“Not exactly.” Spencer grabbed the nearly empty bottle of pinot noir on the floor between them.

“Why not?”

Spencer took a healthy swig from the bottle and said, “Love at first sight never happens.”

“Never?” He glanced at her.

“Never.” She put the bottle down. “Love at first sight is just wishful thinking.”

“So, you don’t think,” John started, his tone hypothetical, “that you could see someone and fall instantly in love?”

Spencer laughed. “Fall instantly in love? John, you are so way beyond drunk! No more wine for you.”

“You had more than I did,” he insisted, sitting up and grabbing the bottle. “And there’s hardly any left in here. You drank all of this one.”

“I did not,” Spencer protested. “I drank all of the last bottle, but we shared that bottle in your hand.”

Sighing, John put the bottle down. “So, you don’t think you could see someone, and just know, someway, somehow, that you belong with that person, you want to be with that person, and no matter what it takes, you’ll find a way to be with them.”

“Love at first sight is a silly myth,” she said. “Besides, I already told you, I don’t plan to get caught up in love.”

“What’s wrong with getting caught up in love?” Sione asked, resting his head on a corner of Spencer’s pillow.

Moving her head to give him a bit more room, she sighed and then said, “Nothing, except …”
 

“Except?”

“What about you?” she said, desperate to change the subject. “Are you ready to get caught up in love?”

John moved so that he was lying on his back and just a bit too close to her than she wanted him to be.

“I am,” he said. “I want to fall in love with someone and spend the rest of my life with her.”

She turned her head toward him. “The rest of your life is a really long time.”

John laughed.

“So, what kind of woman would Mrs. Tuiali’i be?”

“Hopefully, she’ll be a compassionate, loving woman who cares about other people, selfless and sincere,” he said. “She’ll be smart and have her own opinions, but she won’t be judgmental. She’ll be honest, someone I can trust, someone who will help me be a better person.”

Spencer sighed softly, thinking about what he wanted in a woman. He’d described the exact opposite of her, and it bothered her, knowing the kind of woman she would have to be if she wanted to be with John. She could never be that woman. She would never live up to his expectations. The realization angered her and made her long for something she had convinced herself she didn’t want.

“You think that’s too much to ask?”

Spencer turned to face him, not entirely surprised to find him facing her. There were only scant inches between them. “You won’t have a problem finding a Mrs. Tuiali’i.”

“Really?”

“I know you won’t,” she said, aware of the inches between them disappearing as she moved closer to him. “Because you’re very charitable and accommodating.”

“Charitable and accommodating.” He frowned. “You think I’m nice?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Spencer said, her words a bit slurred, and the amusement in his gaze worried her because “beautiful” was probably the wrong word choice, but she would blame it on the wine.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said and slipped an arm around his waist, moving closer, getting rid of what remaining space was left between them.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said, planting a whisper-soft kiss against his eyelid, something she couldn’t do if she weren’t totally drunk. And beautiful skin,” she said, trailing kisses along his jaw. “And a beautiful mouth.” Without thinking of the ramifications, she leaned forward until her mouth was inches from his.

“Ms. Edwards,” John whispered against her lips.

“Spencer,” she whispered back.

“What?”

“You can call me Spencer.” Gently, she placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him again. With a lot less reluctance. And a lot more tumult.

A bit frantic, she moved on top of him and kissed him as though her life depended on it, as if she were thirsting for him.
I have to stop this.
She knew that. But his mouth was so delicious, sweet and ripe.

John stopped the kiss and asked, “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

Breathless, she shook her head, gazing at his full lips. “No.”

“Then why are you kissing me?”

“Maybe I’m drunk.” Spencer kissed him again.

An intense urgency to have him inside her took over, consumed her, and she slid her hand along the front of his pants, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband. Without warning, John grabbed her wrist, yanked her hand away, grabbed her other hand, and pinned her to the floor on her back.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her heart racing in anticipation.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, much too serious.

“Why not?” She glanced down below his waist again.

“Because …” He frowned a bit.

“Never mind.” Humiliated, disappointed, Spencer looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

John released her and then stood, grabbing the empty wine bottle. “I’m going to put this away.”

Confused and mortified, Spencer jumped up and wobbled over toward the table in the kitchen nook. God, what the hell was her problem? Why did she ask him “why not?” It was obvious why not. He didn’t know her and he didn’t trust her. He was suspicious of her. He’d followed her to the Mayan ruins and took photos of her that he was probably going to give to the police.

“Spencer.”

Her stomach flipped and then flopped.

John’s presence behind her embraced her even before his arms encircled her. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to be with you because I do …”

She leaned back against his chest, enveloped in his warmth.

“It’s just …” Sione tried to continue.

Turning in his embrace, Spencer stood on her toes, winding her arms around his neck. “It’s just what?”

Sighing, he said, “I didn’t come here to try to get you into bed.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you had.”

His gaze a bit regretful, John removed her arms. Worried he might see disappointment in her gaze, Spencer half-walked, half-staggered over to the refrigerator, opened it, and grabbed the last bottle of wine.

“Three’s the charm,” she said, upset because she was disappointed.

“Maybe we’ve had enough for tonight,” John suggested.

Spencer sighed, thinking about the way his mouth felt against hers, wondering if fermented grapes would make the intense longing go away. “John, I haven’t had nearly enough.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

Spencer’s eyes opened, slowly. With confusion and shock, she realized her left cheek was resting against John’s chest, which was hard and warm, his heartbeat strong and steady. Spencer felt his thumb glide gently along her thumb, and when she tilted her head down, she stared at their intertwined fingers.

“You awake?” John asked.

“Um … I think,” Spencer said, pulling her hand from his and wiping her mouth. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About nine hours,” he said.

Frantic, she stared at him, hoping he wasn’t serious. “Nine
hours
?”

“It’s ten thirty-seven ... in the morning.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you let me sleep that long.” Raising up from the pillow, she stared at him. “Wait a minute. Why are you in my bed?”

“That last bottle of wine knocked you out,” he said. “And I was a bit drunk, too, so—”

“A bit?” she challenged, raking fingers through her tangled hair.

Sheepishly, he laughed softly. “Okay, I was very drunk. We both were and I couldn’t remember how to get back to my casita. Then you said I shouldn’t venture out into the jungle and risk being attacked by a jaguar, and I’m glad.”

“Because you might have been attacked by a jaguar?”

“Because I might not have been here when you woke up this morning,” he said, gazing at her. “Next to me.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest and she stared at the ink etched into his brown sugary skin. “And yet, you were sober enough to take your shirt off?” Spencer asked, examining his chest, trying to make sense of the tattoos.

John shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

She looked at him. “Excuse me?”

Smiling, he said, “You’ve already seen me with my shirt off.”

Spencer sighed. “What do all those tattoos mean anyway?”

“It’s a story,” he said.

“A story?”

“Come here.” John reached for her.

Wary, Spencer leaned away from his grasp. “Why?”

“I’m going to tell you the story.” He took her hand, pulling her into his personal space, so close she could feel the warmth from his skin.

Honestly, she was too close, but she couldn’t seem to figure out how to move away.

“See the tattoo on my neck,” he said. “The story starts there. Long, long ago—”

“How long ago is long, long ago?” Spencer asked, gazing at the parabolic-shaped whorls swirling down his neck and over his shoulders.

“I’d say a pretty long time ago,” he said, quite serious, though she had a feeling he was trying not to smile. “Way, way before you were born, definitely.”

“That long, huh?”

John laughed a bit, boyish and adorable, and Spencer felt her stomach gearing up for the onslaught of a thousand butterflies.

“Okay, so, a long time before you were born,” he started again, “a good and noble man, who cared very much for his people, was betrayed, tricked into giving up the most precious thing to him.”