Page 3 of Wicked Ambition

Oz muttered a curse. He’d bet a month’s pay she was searching for a taxi.

The man he was assigned to tail was nearly out of sight. Oz needed to move, needed to go after him, and he couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave any woman in this predicament, but especially not this one.

Because underneath that floppy straw hat she had on, Oz knew her hair was blonde. He knew the way her blue eyes looked when she was aroused and the way she sighed when he entered her. Knew the little noises she made when she came.

Patting his pocket, he felt the familiar outline of the gold-hoop earring she’d left behind.

She walked to the west, away from the gang members. They followed her.

His assignment disappeared around the corner, but it didn’t matter. Oz couldn’t let anything happen to her. She was the woman he hadn’t been able to forget for seven long weeks.

Striding across the street, he went to protect his prissy little blonde.

Chapter 2

Ayla Desmond didn’t want to disembark. Not here.

The roads were filled with deep ruts and potholes. The dilapidated buildings were even dingier. Power lines hung dangerously close to the sidewalks.

It wasn’t only the neighborhood, although that was bad enough. It was the gang members waiting nearby. They terrified her.

Ayla was glad she didn’t know Puerto Jardinese Spanish slang. Desperately, she looked for a taxi.

There wasn’t one.

She might not understand most of what the gang was saying, but she didn’t need to know the meaning of the words when their tone made them clear. Ayla had to get out of there. She turned and began walking away from the men. It took all her willpower not to run.

They followed her. Crowded her. Touched her.

Don’t show fear. Don’t show fear.

Ayla tried to walk faster, but they surrounded her. She didn’t know what to do. A hand grabbed her ass, and she batted it away.

Another hand grabbed her, the fingers sliding between her legs. She wassoglad to be in pants. Ayla pushed the man’s arm away, but as soon as she did, another man touched her. Frustration welled alongside the fear.

“Hey! Get your hands off my wife,” a man called in Spanish. It sounded as if he were walking across the street toward the gang.

The groping stopped. The voice held a threat, and Ayla was so grateful someone was helping her, she didn’t care who it was or what he said to keep them from molesting her. With the gang members standing between her and the man, she couldn’t see him, but she nearly cried in relief.

She didn’t understand every word but deciphered enough to know the gang was calling his claim into question. His response was slightly easier for her to translate. Something about why else would he sit at a café for hours, waiting, if not for her?

His next words were in English and directed at her. “Come over here, honey.” An American. The man was American.

Ayla tried to squeeze between the gang members blocking her, but they didn’t move.

The man helping her let loose with a barrage of Spanish that came too fast for her to decipher. Suddenly, a path opened up. Without hesitation, Ayla hightailed it toward safety. Her step nearly faltered when she got a look at the guns her rescuer held, but he pointed them at the gang members, not at her. She hustled toward him, the suitcase bumping along wildly. She kept her gaze focused on the street, afraid she’d step into a rut, break her ankle, and make everything worse.

As she neared him, he said quietly, “Stand behind me.”

His voice was familiar, and Ayla glanced up. She might have stopped in her tracks if one of the assholes who’d threatened her didn’t holler something that sounded like an obscenity.

Gripping her suitcase handle tighter, she did as her rescuer instructed.

She was the practical twin. Everyone told her that. The smartest thing to do was to follow orders. The relief she felt when she had him between her and the gang was intense, and she had to blink back tears again. They might not be out of trouble yet, but she couldn’t dismiss the sense of safety that filled her, knowing she had his protection.

It wasn’t his size, although he was big. A few inches over six feet with broad shoulders and lots of muscle.A lotof muscle. He seemed like a bulwark against danger. No, what had her feeling secure was sheknewshe could trust him.

She already had once before.