would be a luxury she could only wish for, right up there with clean socks and a toothbrush.
Gus dropped into the seat beside her, startling her. It wasn’t fair that men could pee so fast. “What’s hurting?” he demanded in Spanish, spying the little pills in her hand.
She had discovered the other night that, yes, Gus now spoke fluent Spanish, but with a slight American accent that hopefully none of the European UN team members would detect. Carlos had suggested he tell everyone he had a Danish grandmother. That would also explain his height and coloration.
“I have a headache,” she lied, tossing back the pills with the remainder of her Sprite. Truth was, the spot where her microchip was planted, on the back of her right hip, was throbbing.
Gus’s protective hovering set her teeth on edge. Through prescription-free lenses, similar to the glasses he’d worn before the navy paid for corrective laser surgery, he studied her with grave concern. The glasses were part of his cover, meant to downplay his over-the-top physical condition and make him look more like a geek. Thanks to his intelligent demeanor, he managed to pull off the illusion.
Since taking off from Dulles on this nonstop trip to Bogotá, Colombia, he’d surprised her by showering her with the gentle affection of a new husband, treating her much the way he had when they were dating, not at all like the SEAL who’d tried scaring her off this assignment two days ago.
“Are you sure it’s not your hip?” he murmured, annoying her with his acuity.
“Positive,” she retorted, jiggling the ice chips in her cup.
“Can you look at me and say that?”
Turning her head, she sent him a hard glare, but lying straight to his face wasn’t easy. “I’m positive,” she repeated.
“You know, it’s not too late to turn around, Luce,” he mentioned quietly.
In Spanish, her shortened name came out as luz, meaning “light.” Lucy sucked in a tight breath. “My parents are having marital problems, okay?” she hissed, bringing up a situation that had weighed on her thoughts since she’d limped into her apartment after her microchip procedure and discovered her mother had moved in with her.
His expression of dismay would’ve been comical if the subject wasn’t so touchy. “Damn,” he muttered. “Sorry to hear that.”
Lucy popped an ice chip in her mouth and pulverized it between her teeth.
“How long have they been married?” he asked her quietly.
“Twenty-nine years,” she replied, peering into her cup for another ice chip.
“They’ll work it out,” he reassured her. “It’s probably just a bump in the road of life.”
“I don’t know.” She sighed with worry. “My mother’s living in my apartment.”
“So that’s what’s bothering you,” he said with a thoughtful nod.
“Yes,” she retorted.
“You’re sure you’re being honest with yourself.”
Lucy’s temper simmered. “Yes,” she repeated. “Would you drop it already? We’ve already been through this. I am not backing out,” she added in English.
Without warning, his mouth covered hers, muffling further words.
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of his smooth, warm lips against hers. Memories, unsettling for their blinding sweetness, caught her off guard.
The pressure eased. “Cuidado,” he whispered against her lips. Careful. They were supposed to remain a hundred percent faithful to their covers, speaking only in Spanish.
Did he think he could manipulate her at will? Offended by his heavyhandedness, she kissed him back, wresting the reins of control away. He stiffened as she slipped her tongue between his teeth. He met her stabbing tongue with a gentle, sensual parry of his own, and pleasure rippled through her.
Alarmed, she drew back. His taste and texture were still familiar, but his confidence bespoke sexual experience that sparked an immediate and powerful response. With the feeling she had unwittingly opened Pandora’s box, she drew back.
For a moment they gazed warily into each other’s eyes.
“Just curious,” she whispered, explaining her impulse with a shrug, using the same explanation he had used the other night.
With a tight look, he straightened in his seat and sat back, thoughtfully quiet.
Lucy turned her warm face toward the window and peered down, dismissing her actions as an aberration.
Far below them, the coast of Venezuela drew a skirt of sand out of the tourmaline waters of the Gulf of Mexico. It was down there that she’d been stripped of her confidence in the first place.
She was coming back to reclaim it—not in Venezuela, exactly, but in neighboring Colombia. As tough as it was for her to admit, she couldn’t do this without Gus. She would have to