Just Trust Me…

She laughed, a sexy, smoky sound that resonated through him and vibrated all his nerve endings to attention. “I thought you might be American,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“Your shirt.”

He looked down at the colorful, short-sleeved tropical-print shirt he’d left unbuttoned over his T-shirt. “Are you saying my Hawaiian print screams American tourist?”

“Loud and clear. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Based on your accent, I’m guessing you’re from the northeast.”

“New York.”

Her smile widened and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the small, round ceramic table. “Really? Me, too. I live in Manhattan.”

He huffed out a surprised breath. “Small world. So do I. Lower West Side.”

“Upper East Side.”

He didn’t doubt it for a minute. He couldn’t see much of her, but what he could see-the bright smile, the toned arms and shoulders to match her obviously toned legs, the glasses, hat and sandals he guessed bore designer logos and were the height of fashion-looked pampered and expensive. Definitely high-maintenance. Just the sort of woman who wasn’t his type. Just the sort of woman who’d been fawning over him lately at every cosmetic company function he’d attended. Just the sort of woman who represented everything he was trying to avoid.

Yet even as his better judgment reminded him of that, along with the fact that he had enough trouble in his life right now trying to focus on the biggest career decision he’d ever faced without throwing a woman- any woman-into the mix, his libido had him asking, “So what brings you to Cusco?”

She made a breathy noise that sounded self-conscious. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m here because of an article I read in this magazine.” She held up the copy of U.S. Weekly Review. “It’s about rebalancing your life.”

Brett’s brows shot up. “No Change, No Gain?”

There was no mistaking her surprise. “That’s right! You’ve read it?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t looking for female companionship, but how could he possibly ignore a woman who was not only smokin’ hot, but also clearly a kindred spirit? “Would you believe that it’s part of the reason I’m here?”

She laughed. “Considering the fact that it induced me to come here and hike up the Andes to Machu Picchu-something that’s so outside my comfort zone as to be laughable, yes, I’d believe it. You weren’t kidding when you said ‘small world.’”

Before he could reply, the waiter returned with her bottle of water. After setting it down, the young man approached Brett’s table.

“Another, senor?” the young man asked, picking up Brett’s empty bottle.

“Please.” After the waiter moved off, Brett studied her for several seconds and couldn’t deny he liked what he saw. A lot. Her unmistakable uptown aura rendered her Ms. Wrong, but the sex appeal rippling off her and grabbing him by the throat-and groin-rendered her Ms. Right Now. So, while she wasn’t what he needed for the long term, the tightening ache in his boxers strongly indicated she was definitely what he wanted for the short term. The fact they were on the same no change, no gain wavelength just sealed the deal.

“Would you care to join me?” he asked.

She hesitated for several seconds, and he figured she was debating whether or not he might be a serial killer. Clearly she decided he wasn’t because she said, “Sure. No point in talking across the tables.”

She rose and, after picking up her magazine, tote bag and bottle of water, wove her way around the trio of tables separating them with the same sinuous grace with which she’d crossed the plaza. His eyes shielded by his own sunglasses, Brett’s gaze skimmed down her shapely, feminine form, from her tank top to the flat sandals decorated with colorful jeweled flowers that adorned her feet, and awareness jolted through him. No doubt about it, she’d lit his fire without even trying. She slid into the chair opposite his and set down her things.

“Thanks for the invite,” she said with a half smile, drawing his attention to her full lips which looked even better up close and glistened with a touch of something glossy. Holding out her hand, she said, “I’m Kayla Watson. Stressed, out-of-balance New Yorker hoping to be rehabilitated.”

He shook her hand, noting her firm, businesslike grip, along with the fact that her skin felt remarkably soft. “Nice to meet you, Kayla,” he said, holding on to her hand a fraction longer than was necessary before releasing her. “Brett Thornton. Another stressed, out-of-balance New Yorker.” He inhaled and her scent wafted across to him, all but intoxicating him.

“Your fragrance,” he murmured. “Coconut. And a hint of lime…” He inhaled again. “Some sort of flower.” And something else that was uniquely her.

In spite of her large glasses, there was no missing her surprise. “The flower is gardenia. So what are you-some sort of perfume tester?”

“No. Just have a keen sense of smell.” He smiled. “Especially when it comes to women with beautiful smiles who smell like delicious tropical drinks with flowers floating in them.” As he spoke, he found himself wishing she’d remove her glasses and hat so he could see her face. He wanted to know if the rest of her packed as powerful a wallop as her smile.

And her transparent skirt.

“Thanks, but I’d think most men would describe a tropical drink with flowers floating in it as girly or frou-frou. Delicious? Not a chance. Makes me wonder what you do for a living-since it’s not perfume tester.”

A sense of relaxation eased through Brett. Damn, but it felt good to be with someone who didn’t know. Who didn’t want something from him. Leaning back in his chair, he grinned. “Guess.”

The waiter arrived with his water, and after he’d departed she said, “Hit man?”

“Because I look like a murderer?”

“No. Because I think it’s important to rule out occupations like that, especially if we’re going to share a cafe table.”

“Not a hit man,” he assured her, “although I’d hardly admit it if I were.”

“Noted. How about a chef? They need a good sense of smell.”

“I can barely fry an egg.”

He felt her gaze roam over him. “Your hands look strong. And clever. Artist?”

Blood shot to his groin at the thought of showing her just how clever his hands could be. “Can only draw stick figures.”

“Wine-taster?”

“No, but that sounds like a great job. Where do I apply?”

She laughed. “Bartender?”

“Because they’re known for their keen sense of smell?”

“No, because you’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks, but seeing as how I’m the only one here to talk to, I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

“I bet you say that to all the out-of-balance New Yorkers you meet in Cusco.”

She grinned. “Caught.” She tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Fisherman?”

“Do I smell briny?”

“Not that I can tell. But I figured a fisherman would need to differentiate between cod and salmon and mahi mahi. That sort of thing.”

“I wouldn’t know a mahi mahi if it jumped up and bit my butt.”

“I didn’t know mahi mahi had teeth.”

He laughed. “They probably don’t. I wouldn’t know. Give up?”

“Not yet.” She appeared to give him the once-over. “Your obvious fondness for Hawaiian shirts rules out any career in the fashion industry-”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I bought this from a guy selling clothes out of the back of a truck on Madison Avenue.”

“I like your shirt just fine. I’m just saying the folks over at Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein probably wouldn’t. Back to my guessing-you appear to be in good shape…carpenter?”