turned toward him, faces lighting and then falling when he moved past without noticing them. The men shifted to let him through while they kept their eyes on the sky, subordinates giving way to the alpha. Then he was squaring off opposite her with his weight evenly balanced, leaving him ready to move in or away with equal ease. A fighter’s ready stance.
Her pulse kicked higher. Oh, yeah. Thanks to growing up with Hannah, she was culturally programmed to want herself a warrior. Not for keeps, of course. She’d promised her winikin she wouldn’t commit to anything until after the end date. She hadn’t promised not to sample the wares, though. And thank the gods for that.
He held out his hand. “Brandt White-Eagle.” His voice was as rocking as his face and bod, smooth and masculine, with an orator’s resonance.
She pressed her palm to his. “Patience Lazarus.” How odd that, of the two of them, he was the one with an animal in his name. Hannah had modernized her bloodline name from “iguana” to “lizard,” and from there to “Lazarus”; the winikin was a Heinlein fan. But White-Eagle . . . if he’d been a Nightkeeper, his bird bloodline would’ve outranked her terrestrial one. As it was, the name—and his looks— suggested Native American blood, which was pretty damn sexy in its own right. She’d take Dances with Wolves over Heinlein any day.
“Are you here with someone?”
Casey and Amanda had noticed the exchange and were openly gaping. When Patience glanced in her friends’ direction, she got a quadruple thumbs-up. She looked back at the guy. Brandt. “What if I am?”
She got a long, slow smile with lots of eye contact. “Then he’s out of luck.” A pause. “Unless you’re not feeling it?”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s something.” In fact, the air seemed to be buzzing with that
“something.” Her skin tingled almost to the point of itching, making her want to rub herself, touch herself, do something to ease a sudden surge of restlessness.
“You want to get out of here?” He tipped his head away from the water. “We could head up to El Rey.”
Yearning tugged at Patience. Gods, yes, she wanted to go there with him. El Rey was the only major Mayan ruin located in the Cancun hotel district. Its original name and most of its history were unknown; the modern name, which meant “the King,” came from the discovery of several royal artifacts. The small site encompassed the ruins and footprints of some forty structures, including a large pillared palace and a high, flat- topped pyramid . . . which nowadays offered views of the boat-
clogged lagoon and the entire hotel district, and overlooked the Hilton’s golf course.
El Rey wasn’t as important—or impressive—as the ruins of Tulum or Chichen Itza; it had held Casey’s and Amanda’s attentions barely long enough to justify the thirty-peso entrance fee. Patience, though, had visited the site every day since the three girls had arrived the week before, until it’d turned into a running joke among them, how she was hoping the magic pyramid—that was the rumor, anyway, that it was magical—would grant her three wishes.
The friends had discussed those wishes with sotted intensity, finally deciding that she should wish for wild success in her yet-nebulous career aspirations, a long, healthy life, and true love. They had figured if she had those three biggies covered, she could handle the rest. Privately, she’d amended one —maybe all—of those wishes to an inner prayer that the barrier would stay closed, that she would never need to know most of the things Hannah had taught her.
“Too fast?” Brandt asked when she didn’t answer right away. “Or are you wondering if I’m a Creepy Stalker Guy?”
She didn’t—couldn’t—tell him what she’d really been thinking, but she’d had a lifetime of practice avoiding some questions, outright lying in response to others. “The park closed at dark.”
“I paid one of the guides to show me the back way in.”
So had she. That he’d done the same made her take another, longer look at him. “Are you trying to get me alone?”
A challenge glinted in his eyes. “Is that a problem?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not for me. But then again, I’m a fifth-degree black belt.”
“Figured something along those lines.” He tugged on the hand he hadn’t yet let go of. “Come on.”
Behind him, fireworks burst in chrysanthemums of red and yellow, and cometlike arcs lit the sky.
She was dimly surprised to see that the show hadn’t ended yet, that they’d been talking for only a few minutes. How was that possible, when she felt like they’d known each other for way longer than that?
Don’t try to make this into more than it is, she cautioned herself, hearing an inner echo of Hannah’s warnings, which contrasted with Casey’s and Amanda’s recent lectures urging her to cut loose. He’s hot, you’re horny, and it’s spring break. Go with the flow.
“El Rey it is, then.” She let him lead her through the crowd. Again, the men moved aside to let him through and the women turned their heads to appreciate the way he looked, the way he moved. Only this time, they noticed her too, with varying degrees of resignation, envy, and bitchy glares.
Eat your heart out, girls, she thought in triumph. He’s mine tonight.
As they let the moonlight and fireworks guide them along the faint pathway used by the few who cared enough to sneak into the park, she was acutely aware of the leashed strength in his muscles, the heat of his body. His strides were powerful, almost gliding, except for once or twice when she noticed the faintest hitch of a limp.
The small imperfection of an otherwise perfect package made him all the more interesting— what was his story? Who was he?
A liquid shimmy radiated from low in her abdomen outward to her fingertips and toes, making her hyperconscious of the gritty surface beneath her sandals, the weight of her clothes against her skin, the touch of the moist, cool air, and the breathlessness that hadn’t come from the fireworks, after all.
Pyrotechnics boomed at regular intervals, making the earth below their feet tremble as their bodies brushed together at shoulder and hip. Nerves flared through Patience—not over the advisability of sneaking off alone with a stranger who didn’t seem at all unfamiliar, but over whether she’d be able to hold her own with him. She’d dated plenty of guys who were far more into her than she was into them .
. . but this was the first time she was on the other side of the insecurity, the first time she’d found herself wondering if she was aiming at someone out of her league.
The sensation was disconcerting . . . and oddly exciting. Was her hand sweating? She’d showered after the beach, and crunched a couple of Altoids after her onion- and spice-heavy dinner, so she should be okay on those fronts, but—
Her mental train derailed as they passed through the last of the low trees that surrounded the site.
The ruins spread out in front of them, washed blue white in the moonlight and cast with splashes of color when the fireworks briefly brightened the night sky. They had approached from the back side of the pyramid, which was the size of a split-level ranch, flanked by a pillared temple platform on one side and a long building—possibly a market—on the other.
Always before, in daylight, Patience had felt a buzz of reverence, a sense of connection that she hadn’t had at any of the other ruins. Now, in the darkness, the sensation of being someplace both ancient and sacred was heightened by the heat of sexual anticipation, and her awareness of the equinox.
Back before the massacre, when the magic had worked and the Nightkeepers flourished, the cardinal days had been times of celebration and sex. Now, as fireworks painted the ruins yellow orange, making
