Page 5 of Wicked Ambition

“And second?”

“Second, we’ll have a conversation when we don’t have to worry about either of us taking a knife in the back.” His tone was dead serious.

That sobered her. He might be big and have a gun, but he was only one person. What if those gang membershadattacked? He’d have no hope of defeating a dozen men. Ayla remainedquiet and worked on keeping up with him. They were moving briskly, but she knew he moderated his pace for her.

It took a while before the surroundings improved, but her rescuer didn’t slow. She was about to ask him again where they were headed, but then she saw a park up ahead. There were spokes of concrete leading into a hub that held a statue. She saw benches, a handful of trees surrounded by red and white flowers, and a smattering of people. There might be more hidden from her view, but as they entered, she counted half a dozen.

He stopped at a bench near the statue, far away from those few other people, and set down her suitcase. For a long moment, he studied her and Ayla returned the favor.

Since she’d seen him, he’d gotten his dark hair cut. It was a drastic haircut, taking his hair from below his pecs up to his shoulders. He’d also shaved and had stubble, not a full beard. He was better looking without it. No doubt about that. Without thick facial hair to hide it, she could see his firm jaw and the slight cleft in his chin. It seemed to make his lips appear fuller, his aqua-blue eyes more piercing.

As if he needed to look more gorgeous. He’d been devastating enough with all the extra hair.

“How’d you know I was in Trujillo?”

His question stunned her before anger replaced her surprise. The arrogance was outrageous. Ayla didn’t have time to put him in his place.

With a menace in his voice, he demanded, “How’d you find me down here?”

Chapter 3

“You think I’m here because of you?” Sparks flew from her blue eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”

Her reaction made it clear that her presence in Puerto Jardin had nothing to do with him. The intensity of her response was pure adrenaline. Oz should have considered that. He could have asked the same question in a way that wouldn’t have triggered her. “Relax, Pollita,” he said. “I couldn’t think of any other reason for you to be in this country.” And it was one hell of a coincidence.

Instead of calming her, she bared her teeth. The gesture was wasted when the brim of her hat fell over her face. Oz hid a grin. She wouldn’t appreciate it, not in her current state. At least she wasn’t crying. Her adrenaline release easily could have come as tears and he’d rather deal with anger than sobbing.

She whipped the hat off, holding it in one hand, and Oz stared. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Her light ash-blonde hair was pulled into a messed-up bun on the top of her head. Tendrils fell into her face and along her cheeks. He’d seen it loose, knew she had curls, and wore it past her shoulders. Heknew how soft it was, and that she liked it when he’d buried his hands in it, holding her still for a kiss.

Shaking off the memory, he took in her perfectly arched eyebrows, the angry blue eyes, and the sharp, pointed chin before his gaze landed on her full lips. Oz knew he should look away, but an image from that night left him locked up. He pushed it aside. This wasn’t the time to lose focus.

Trying for a neutral tone, one he hoped wouldn’t set her off, Oz asked, “Why are you in Trujillo? And why a bus? Why didn’t you fly down from Rio Blanco? The airport is in a reasonably safe location.”

“I don’t like airplanes.”

It took a moment to understand what she meant. “You’re afraid of flying?”

The glare returned. “I never said I was afraid. I just prefer the bus.”

Oz opened his mouth to pin her down before he realized it didn’t matter if she admitted she had a phobia or not. He knew she did. “You know, you never told me your name that night. Who are you?”

She bit her lower lip.

“I’m Oz,” he offered, hoping it would ease her mind.

“Oz? What kind of name is that?” Her tone was confused, not angry.

“It’s short for Oziah. What should I call you?” he prompted.

“Ayla.” Her voice hesitated, likely because she was reluctant to share the information but didn’t want to be rude. They’d have to work on that. He wanted her to be able to tell him—or anyone else—to stuff it when necessary.

“Pretty name.”

She appeared startled. “This is an odd conversation.”

He shrugged. “I suppose it is, given how intimately we know each other.” Oz watched red spread across her cheeks. A blush,not anger. “Since your presence has nothing to do with me, why are you in Trujillo? Hell, Ayla, why are you in Puerto Jardin at all?”

“My sister—” Immediately, she cut off her words.

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