“That’s what I love about you.”
“That I don’t ask you to wait for hours while I get ready?”
“That you just stepped from the ocean and look like a goddess.” He kissed her hand again. “Let’s go.”
They took Tim’s beach buggy. Instead of turning right through the lodge gates for town, Tim turned left.
“Where are we going?” Maya asked over the noise of the engine, clasping her dreadlocks in a ponytail at the base of her neck.
Tim only smiled at her.
They drove for a short while. When he took a turn-off toward the beach, Maya knew they were going to his condo. At the gate, Tim pressed a button on the keypad. She took note of the security cameras and the fact that Tim didn’t use a code. Someone had to open for him from the inside.
When the gates swung open, they entered a lush terrain of cultivated gardens in the middle of the beach jungle. He brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the modern, white house Maya had seen in the photos in his file.
Tim jumped from his side of the buggy and came around to help her down. “Welcome to my weekend home.”
He led her up three steps to a covered veranda where Lee leaned against a pillar with crossed arms, and another man sat on a garden couch with a newspaper in his hands. How did Lee get here before them? She noticed a second buggy parked in the shade on the side of the house. He had to have come via the beach.
Lee straightened when they approached. His arms fell to his sides, his fingers relaxed, but the set of his shoulders was tense and his gaze alert. He was still dressed in the same swimming trunks from the beach. The other man had dark eyes and black hair. A scar ran from his left eyebrow down to his cheek. He was Tim’s other bodyguard, Cesar King. Cesar set the newspaper he was reading aside and stood, his expression both curious and measuring. The men’s eyes moved over her, Cesar’s stare fixing on her curves, but when Tim cleared his throat, Cesar averted his gaze.
“Lee, Cesar,” Tim said, “this is Miss Martin.”
Maya smiled at the men. Lee’s questioning glance didn’t go unnoticed. Cesar nodded, but didn’t look at her again. Lee and Cesar excused themselves and walked into the house, leaving Tim and Maya alone on the veranda.
Tim sat and pulled her down onto the couch next to him. “My bodyguards.” His thigh pressed against hers. “They’ve been with me for years.”
“They must be good then.”
“They’re two of the only three people in the world I trust.”
“Who’s the third?”
He brushed his fingers over her knee, making her skin contract. “My secretary.”
She looked around. So far, she’d counted five men parading around the garden with Beretta 93Rs.
“Have your guards ever come in handy?” she asked, cocking her head toward the two men patrolling the border of the garden. “Or are they just for show?”
Tim gave her a patient smile. “Sometimes, I wish it was just for show.”
“Being an ambassador is a dangerous job?” She traced the line of his jaw.
He took her hand and gently moved it back to her lap. “It’s protocol.” He shrugged. “Comes with the job.”
That was bullshit. Tim’s security detail was in his personal employ. Tim paid their salaries, not his government.
“Why?” She reached out again, this time to brush her fingers through his curls. His hair was thick and soft. She imagined knotting her fists in the strands as she held onto him while he loved her body. She gave a gentle tug.
He inhaled audibly and caught her hand. “Why what?”
“Why does the Australian government deem it necessary to equip you with bodyguards?”
He tensed further when she laced her fingers through his. “Because of the kidnappings, mostly. Latin America is a dangerous place.” He pulled away and got to his feet. “What can I offer you to drink?”
Taken back by his withdrawal, she got up too. “Surprise me.” She needed to explore the house. “May I use the bathroom?”
“I’ll show you.”
He led her to a restroom off the entrance. She’d memorized the floor plan of the condo. The master bedroom was upstairs with a Jacuzzi on the balcony and a study next door. Downstairs were the open-plan kitchen, dining room, lounge, and at the back the three bedrooms Frida, Cesar, and Lee used.
“Here you are.” Tim opened the bathroom door for her. “I’ll meet you back outside.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek at which he froze again. She closed the door, opened the faucet, and regarded herself in the mirror. Call that peck on the cheek a test. Sure as hell, every time she touched Tim, he looked as if he was going to turn into stone. She closed the tap, opened the door, and peered around the frame. The hallway was empty. Like a cat on cushioned paws, she made her way down the cool corridor.
The condo was spacious and open. The inside smelled of lavender. She moved to the lounge first. A white L-shaped, avant-garde style couch dominated the room. The only other furniture were a low glass table, a hi-tech sound system next to a modern reclining chair, a wall-mounted flat screen television, and a Bauhaus desk in the corner. There was no sign of a phone or laptop.
She continued to the kitchen, but stopped in the frame. The room was large with stainless steel shelves, the kind that had no backing. Tim stood in front of a counter, mixing a cocktail. Next to him stood a tall, slim, woman—Frida Adolfsson. The Swedish beauty wore a fitted, blue dress with matching stilettos. She had a waterfall of straight blond hair that cascaded to her waist. With her pink lips, pale skin, and flushed cheeks, she was the epitome of a peaches-and-cream complexion. Her blue eyes were wide, almost too big for her small face, giving them an eternal-innocent quality. Her lips were slightly parted and her head tilted, as if she was posed for a kiss. Some women were like that, innocence and sensuality all mixed up. Desirable, but unobtainable. These were the women men chased the hardest.
She was about to slip back down the hall, but Frida turned her head and spotted her. The other woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Under Frida’s scrutinizing stare, Maya became aware of the crassness of her own appearance in comparison. Men couldn’t keep their eyes or hands off of Maya, but hers was a sexual kind of allure. She was curvy and toned and tanned, nothing like the feminine goddess who measured her with a cold, steel light in her eyes. Frida had frozen in mid-sentence, and at her silence, Tim followed her gaze.
His lips curved into a sexy smile. “Maya, come here.”
He looked hot with his hair falling messily around his face and the linen shirt he’d left unbuttoned. She sauntered over to the counter and leaned against it, her hip brushing against his.
“I’d like you to meet Frida, my secretary.”
Frida’s stance was observant and cool. “Miss Martin. Tim was just telling me about you.”
“Call me Maya.”
Tim pressed the button on the blender, and in the noise that followed, making further conversation impossible, the women held each other’s gaze.
After the blending was done, Tim took martini glasses from the fridge and poured two cocktails. He glanced at Frida. “Would you like one?”
She crossed her arms with a fluent movement, her long fingers and manicured nails resting elegantly on her upper arms. “Not while on duty.” She smiled. “But thank you. You’re always considerate, Tim.”