Only that old shaman, his white hair sticking out around his head like a hen’s nest, seemed to know exactly what had happened. Mike had been too weak to question him. Inca, the young Indian girl from Brazil with the willow green eyes and long black hair, had fed him nourishing soup, kept him warm and tended him hourly in a hut near the shaman’s dwelling in the village. For that entire week, Inca had cared for him like he was a newborn baby. She was only eighteen years old, an orphan who had been adopted by Adaire and his wife, Alaria. Every time Adaire dropped by to see how well Mike was recovering, the old shaman would laugh the laugh of a man who knew an inside joke. Only Mike didn’t know the joke and the shaman didn’t seem particularly desirous of letting him in on it.
After washing his hair, Mike quickly rinsed, shut off the shower and climbed out. Rubbing himself briskly with a thick, white, terry-cloth towel, he reveled in the sensations it created across his goose-bump-covered flesh. Funny, but since that incident nine years earlier, he’d become far more aware of his body than ever before. He had walked away from his experience in the jungle with a sense of pleasure about his tall, strong physical form that he’d not had previous to his brush with death. Sometimes he felt like a great, giant cat stretching. And if he ran, he could feel the joy of blood pumping through him, the incredible power in his muscles. It was a euphoric sensation, one that he’d come to enjoy.
Hurrying through the rest of his morning duties, Mike quickly dressed in his camouflage fatigues, put his spotless, shining boots on and placed his beret in the left epaulet of his blouse. Taking one more look in the steamy mirror, he saw staring back at him a man who looked like one tough hombre, in his opinion. His blue eyes were large, though more often they were narrowed, focusing on something that would catch his wary attention. Tiny white scars stood out against his recently shaved jaw. The many lines at the corners of his eyes and the slash brackets on either side of his pursed mouth shouted of his military hardness. He was a major in Special Forces and damn proud of it. He’d survived thirteen long years in the Peruvian jungle, where life was often snuffed out in a heartbeat by vengeful drug lords.
Glancing at the watch on his hairy wrist, he realized he’d better get a move on. He’d just hurry out to the kitchen, grab his very necessary cup of espresso and gulp it down before meeting Morgan. And he was anxious to get to that meeting for another reason beside the fact that he was late. Though Mike had enjoyed the peace and quiet of this ranch, he had discovered other, greater benefits to staying there—such as spending time with the good doctor. Dr. Ann Parsons had been assigned to tend to Morgan and his wife’s recovery, while Mike had been assigned to keep guard. And he certainly hadn’t minded working with the pretty M.D.
Even better than seeing his boss today, Mike decided as he opened the door to his bedroom, he’d get to sit and look at Ann once more. Smiling to himself, he realized he was looking forward to that pleasure most of all. Even though she also worked for Morgan at Perseus, a high-level, supersecret government entity, he wouldn’t see her after today. Houston wanted to take every opportunity to absorb her beauty before they parted ways. Sighing as he walked down the gleaming hallway, he knew he could easily fall in love with Ann. If he allowed himself to. The price that they’d pay, however, would be too high. Besides, his keen interest in her was only one-sided. Yes, they’d shared a number of heated, promising kisses over the last two months, but she wasn’t really interested in him as much as he wished she were. Ann was afraid of commitment, Mike realized. Why, he didn’t know.
The memory of her sweet, soft mouth beneath his made him go hot with yearning all over again. Ann enjoyed their stolen moments together, there was no doubt. So why did she keep pushing him away? He’d seen the desire in her thoughtful blue-gray eyes after one of their torrid, hungry kisses. Had felt her tremble deliciously in his arms. The hunger in her eyes went all the way through him. So what had stopped her every damn time? Mike was confused. He’d tried to get Ann to open up, to talk about it, but she wouldn’t. It was like hitting a damn brick wall. But he didn’t press Ann any longer. Because although this was the first time in a long time he found himself wanting a woman, being with Ann wasn’t a game with him, either. Mike didn’t see her as a one-night stand or someone to amuse himself with while he was here in Arizona. He, too, was wary of having a relationship and he knew he couldn’t have things both ways. But what really did he want with her?
The realistic side of him told him that even though he could fall hopelessly in love with her if he threw caution to the wind, their relationship could go nowhere anyway. Not with his jaded past. Not with his dangerous present and future. His heart ached. He reluctantly admitted that he’d felt a lot of things for Ann over the past two months and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Maybe, Houston ruminated sadly, it was just as well she kept her distance from him—for whatever secret reasons she held. Anyone he had ever loved had died. It was that heartbreakingly simple. A fact. And he had no desire to see Ann die. Hell…
More than anything, Mike respected Ann. She had started out as an Air Force flight surgeon and her training also included work as a psychiatrist. Now a medical doctor for Perseus, she was very good at what she did. Her work with Morgan had often placed her in danger; she was frequently assigned to fly in and pick up wounded mercenaries when they got into more trouble than they’d bargained for. Mike decided that maybe Ann had made a pact with herself a long time ago not to get involved with military types. Oh, he didn’t blame her there. Hell, a military man could be alive one moment, dead the next. And where did that leave the woman who loved him? Alone, without the man she’d hoped to have around for a long, long time. Her lover gone—forever.
Too bad. She’s a looker. Tall, leggy, self-confident, she had a gutsiness he admired. There was nothing about the thirty-two-year-old doctor that didn’t appeal to him. Pity she didn’t see him in the same light. Maybe her womanly instincts warned her how different he really was. Maybe she was picking up on his secret life and it was scaring her away from him….
Mike turned the corner and headed to the kitchen. Hell, any woman who took one look at his hard-bitten, scarred countenance and heard of his fearsome reputation would run the other way. He was one mean son of a bitch and he had his actions in Peru to prove it.
Down there they called him the jaguar god because he seemed to have nine lives like the most powerful hunter in the South American jungle—the dreaded, mystical jaguar. The drug lords feared Mike and they damn well should. Those bastards had destroyed his mother’s helpless people, and as long as Houston could take a breath into his body, his whole life would be geared to eradicating them from Peru.
Maybe that’s why no women wanted to become involved in a long-term relationship with him. They wouldn’t be the focus of his life or his attentions. Houston couldn’t blame them. Still, he’d miss Ann Parsons like hell. Her soft, exploratory kisses, the hunger she sparked in him would be no more. It was a damn shame. For she was a woman who could not only turn his head, but even make him consider devoting a little time to her instead of the one-man war he waged continuously against the cocaine lords….
When Houston reached the kitchen, he heard voices. Groaning inwardly, he realized it was Ann’s honeyed, cultured tone and Morgan Trayhern’s deep, probing voice. Mike was so late the meeting was already underway. As he headed for the espresso machine, he heard them in the living room talking animatedly, like the good friends they were. Ann had worked for Morgan almost from the time he’d created Perseus many years ago. It was then he saw the note beside the tiled sink, next to the espresso machine. “In case you oversleep,” it said in Ann’s “doctor scrawl.” No one could read her writing but him, and he’d teased her about it mercilessly during the eight weeks they had been at the Donovan Ranch babysitting Morgan and his wife.
Mike hurriedly snapped on the machine. Ann had ground the coffee, put it in the small basket and filled the steel container with fresh water that would soon be boiling, ready to percolate his desperately