Entangled (Serendipity Adventure Romance Book 2) (3 page)

A chicken pecked the dirt next to her foot. A rooster crowed for the fifth time in three minutes. He’d been going for most of last night, too, but she’d long since moved past fantasies of wringing his neck. She took an imaginary photo with her eyes for her mental album and scribbled a caption in:
The end of my career.

The distant sound of voices filtered into her mind. They grew steadily louder — louder even than the constant background music of a thousand jungle insects chirping away. The excited chatter of half a dozen children filled the clearing, and she looked up. Someone was coming up the mountainside.

Two heads bobbed over the rise: one, a wiry old man who made the return trip every other day, and the other, his irritable counterpart, a mule loaded high with supplies.

Then a few more figures appeared behind them — a veritable crowd in this neck of the woods. A clutch of village men accompanied the old man, along with someone else. Someone taller, paler. The kids jumped down, blocking her view. It had to be an outsider, because who else could incite such a stir?

She stood up for a better look at the newcomer, trying not to hope too much. Maybe her company had finally sent someone for her! Maybe this was it — she could finally get out!

The minute she caught a glimpse of him, though, her knees wobbled and she sat down hard enough for her tailbone to cry in protest. But that was nothing compared to the wail coming from her heart.

Not him. Not now. Not here. This couldn’t be happening.

“Gringo! Gringo!”
The kids surrounded him like the messiah, and she could hear his good-natured reply.

“Hola! Hola!”

There was a happy lilt to his voice, which figured, because Tobin was kind and sunny and a kid at heart. Her girl parts were already fluttering in a Pavlovian reaction because they knew that voice, too. Intimately. It had been a long time since they’d last made love, but she could still feel him whispering into her lips, humming naughty promises in her ear.

The kids parted like the water in front of Moses, and there was Tobin, smiling and laughing like today was just another great day. Striding toward her like…like an Olympian stepping up to the podium to get his prize — and the look on his face said
she
was the prize.

Every signal in her brain scrambled; all her nerves fired at once. God, he was just the same. Same wave of thick brown hair that said he didn’t give a damn how he looked — guaranteeing that he always, always looked like a girl’s best fantasy. Same chiseled build, same sparkling eyes that said life was a champagne he could get drunk on, every morning and every night.

Six years and Tobin hadn’t changed a bit. The blue of his irises danced, hinting at some joke he couldn’t wait to share.

And yet he was different, too. Something about him was too bouncy, like he had to convince himself he was having a great time. The way his eyes cast around — not for an easy flirt, but for a friend.

She snorted. Lonely was not a word that fit in the same sentence as Tobin Cooper. The man drew women like grain drew geese, all of them squawking and preening and pecking one another the hell out of the way.

“Hi, Cara.” His voice was even, but his chest heaved.

She opened her mouth but couldn’t get anything out.

The chief’s nephew broke in, jabbering at the men who’d brought Tobin in. He spoke in the local indigenous language, but the message was pretty clear.
What were you thinking, bringing this stranger here? How could you trust him?

Tobin flashed Rodrigo a winning smile.
“Argentina dos, Brazil uno.”

She blinked. Was that some kind of code?

A ripple of recognition swept through the crowd, and a few even cheered. Soccer results? Sure, soccer was king in Latin America, and the smaller countries cheered Spanish-speaking Argentina over Brazil every time. But she hadn’t expected these villagers to care.

“Who is this?” Rodrigo pointed an accusing finger as high as he could reach on Tobin’s chest, which was at about the level of his pecs.

The flat, hard pecs she used to lay her head against before she fell asleep.

She gave herself a mental slap and forced her mind back into gear.

How Tobin had gotten here, and why — she couldn’t figure out. But right now, he was her only hope.

Jesus Christ.

A crazy impulse of an idea rocketed through her mind and she sprang to her feet.

“Mi marido!”
she squeaked, and only half that sound was faked. A second later, she threw herself at Tobin and smacked him with an openmouthed kiss.

“Marido! Marido!”
The word went through the gathering villagers like a hum.

Electricity coursed through her as Tobin’s hands cupped her waist. His lips twitched against hers, then pushed closer. She could taste the surprise there, along with the barest whisper of hope.

“Marido?”
Rodrigo echoed, his voice dripping suspicion.

“Marido?”
Tobin mumbled once she’d come up for air, gasping like a fish.

It wasn’t often you caught a guy like Tobin off guard, and the look on his face was priceless. Except her words had caught her as off guard as they did him, and she was finding it hard to breathe.

“Marido.”
She nodded. “My husband.”

Chapter Four

Tobin figured it would hurt to see Cara again, but it didn’t. It just made his body sing.

His heart hammered from more than just the uphill climb. And the minute he spotted her, a whole chorus broke out in his soul, singing “Hallelujah” and “Crazy Love” and “Girl Be Mine.” Every step in her direction was a step out of a dream — the one where she called to say she’d made a terrible mistake and begged him to come back.

Cara. The first person he’d ever met who made him want to do everything right instead of proving everything he could do wrong. The last woman he’d ever promised anything to. The only woman who made him want tomorrow as much as today.

“How’d you get here?” she hissed.

He shrugged. “The international language of brothership. Sports. Soccer.” One minute they were aiming blowguns at him; the next, they were slapping his back and cheering. Crazy place, Panama.

“But what about the bridge?”

“What about it?”

“How did you get across the bridge?”

“Um…” He hesitated. It didn’t seem like the best time to elaborate. “The usual way?”

He looked around. The guys down at the bridge had walkie-talkies and machine guns. Up here they were small, bare-chested guys with loincloths and blow darts. Climbing that mountain trail seemed to have stripped centuries away.

But time didn’t matter, not when it came to him and Cara.

“Husband, huh?” he managed once the roar in his ears settled down.

“Run with it, hotshot,” she grunted in his ear.

His lips curled into a grin so wide, it hurt. She’d called him that on their very first night together, which came a couple of hours after they’d met for the very first time. Him, the ski instructor, thinking it was just going to be another frigid day in Vermont; her, the client, on a pair of skis for the very first time.

That day had been a dream, and that night… Wow. A prelude to what he was sure was destiny. The best thing that had ever happened to him: having her in his life. Preferably, forever.

She wanted him to run with the husband thing? He’d run with it, all right.

He closed his teeth over her right ear and gave it a tiny nip, just the way she loved. “Missed you, honey.”

Which wasn’t a lie. Not in the least.

Cara let out a tiny hint of a moan that put his cock on high alert, then and there. She shoved him away with a glare.

She was beautiful as ever, of course, with long black curls straight out of a portrait of an Italian princess, locked in a tower high on a hill. Coal-black eyes that glittered and shone, even in the slanting light of this mountaintop. Thirty years looked even better on her than twenty-four, and he couldn’t keep from snuggling closer to her neck.

She stiffened. “Don’t overdo it.”

“It’s true! I did miss you.” Every day. Every night. He hid his nose in her hair for a minute, not to play the image up, but to hide. Because crap, it was totally true, and the truth made his eyes sting. It took a good dozen hard blinks before he could come up for fresh air.

She shot him a look before taking his hand and leading him away from the crowd. “I’ll just show my husband where we’re staying.”

“Staying?” he whispered, making sure his lips got a good taste of her ear. “I thought you wanted to get out of here.”

She looked at him, doe-eyed in wonder. “Is that why you’re here? To help me?”

He picked his words carefully, because Cara didn’t like to need help. “Meredith told me you were stuck out here. And so I came.”

“From where?”

He wished he could say he’d dropped everything at his high-powered corporate job to jet down to Central America just for her, but hell, driving fifteen hours across the length of Panama had to be worth something, too. “Santa Catalina,” he said. “On the Pacific coast.”

“Catalina?” She gaped. “What were you doing there?”

“The question is, what are you doing here?”

Here
being a twelve-by-twelve hut on the edge of the clearing in what looked to be a cluster of guest cabins set apart from the village.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” A wiry young man trotted up and stuck an accusatory finger at his chest. The man’s eyes screamed jungle warrior; the black lines painted on his face angled with the frown he wore. Tobin expected a guttural indigenous language to come out of his mouth, but he spoke perfect English. “Who is this?”

Tobin stuck his hand out and flashed a huge smile. “Tobin Cooper. And you?”

The man’s frown deepened.

“Tobin, this is Rodrigo, the chief’s nephew,” Cara said. It was more a sigh than an introduction. “Rodrigo, meet Tobin. And now, if you’ll excuse us…”

Firm, polite, no-nonsense. Cara in business mode. Tobin smiled. The woman hadn’t risen through the corporate ranks for nothing.

“Yes, if you’ll excuse us.” He put a little naughty in his smile. “I just can’t wait for a little private time with my wife.”

Cara froze with the door half-open.

Tobin pretended he didn’t see. “It’s been too long.” Six years too long, but the guy didn’t need to know that.

Her jaw clenched as she pulled the door the rest of the way out, and she motioned him in with a vicious swipe at the thick jungle air. A couple of curious kids had tagged along, and he peeled away gently and waved goodbye.
“Hasta luego,
kids.”

The second he went in, his eyes landed on the four-poster double bed, draped with netting. Elegant, in a bush-camp kind of way. Suggestive, given the messy sheets. Like she’d just rolled him out of there instead of pushing him in.

Cara came in behind him, slammed the door, and the whole cabin shook.

Yep. It was Cara, all right. His Cara.

Chapter Five

He turned, squaring his shoulders. Cara was going to chew him out, he knew it. Let him have it for screwing everything up six years ago with one stupid act. Take all the frustration evident in her stiff body out on him. And he was ready to take it like a clueless puppy, because damn it, his imaginary tail was wagging wildly just to be allowed back in her life, even for a short time.

“So, your husband, huh?” he started before she could blow up.

“I was desperate.”

“Clearly.”

She glared.

“I did kind of like it, though.” He risked a grin.

“You would.”

“So, Mrs. Cooper, what brings you to—”

She batted his arm. “It’s Leoni. Ms. Leoni.” She drew out the
Mizz
.

“Coulda been Cooper,” he teased. It was a reflex, like breathing. Blinking. Sleeping. Loving her.

And teasing. So much fun.

“I was going to keep my name, remember?”

Of course, he remembered. Loved her all the more for it.

“Then I could have been Leoni.” He meant it as a joke, but his voice betrayed him and it came out all cracked and warbly. Sad. He covered up with a broad smile. That usually worked.

Not on Cara, though. She shook her head, and he braced himself for an onslaught. A full-on outburst of that Italian temper she unleashed every once in a while, with raging hands and fiery eyes and syllables that would come tumbling out on the end of a verbal battering ram.

Sure enough, she threw up her hands. “This is why we were never good together.”

“We were always great together,” he growled.

“You don’t take anything seriously.”

“You take everything too seriously.”

“Marriage is a serious thing, Tobin. You shouldn’t joke about it.”

“It was never a joke.” It came out in a rough whisper, and he covered up with a shrug. “You can joke or you can cry.” A fine line he’d crossed more often than he’d care to admit.

She took a deep breath, then suddenly lost steam. Maybe she was listening, after all. Because she stood there with shaky hands and a shaking head, one breath away from falling apart — or slugging him.

Then her gaze caught on something on the right side of his face and she softened. Her hand cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes to focus everything on the sensation of Cara, touching him again.

The rose petal scent of her filled his lungs. The soft pad of her thumb brushed over his cheek, and if it stung a little, he couldn’t care less.

“What’s this scar?” she whispered through quivering lips.

He didn’t answer right away, because first he had to digest that proof. Cara noticed. She cared.

“Tobin?”

He was taking too long, but this minute might have to last him a lifetime, so he wanted to drag it out. The scar and the bruise that was still showing a little yellow after six weeks didn’t matter. But it mattered to her, and that sent a flock of butterflies through his stomach.

“Tobin, what happened?”

Lying would be easier: he could say he got hit by a surfboard at work. But he’d never lied to Cara and wouldn’t start now.