Page 40 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
As the sun rose higher, I removed my jacket and tied it around my waist, comfortable now in my tank top and shorts. Birdsong filled the air, and the entire path smelled like flowers—we were surrounded by them. At one turn in the path, I stopped short because I could hardly believe my eyes.
A cluster of plants, about four feet high, were covered with tiny red and yellow blooms and…
“Butterflies,” I exclaimed.
There were hundreds of them. Some were black with what looked like a blue-green boomerang on each wing. Others were smaller and bright yellow with brownish tiger stripes. There were a few other varieties mixed in, some orange, some bright green and black, some with vibrant red wings that had blue and black spots.
“This is incredible,” I said to Wilder. “No wonder you like hiking. You’d never see anything like this in ‘civilization.’”
“It’s like a little Garden of Eden here. There are nineteen-hundred species of butterflies in Indonesia,” he informed me.
“Wow,” I breathed. “I’ve seen some on the plants near your house, but this is amazing. What are these flowers? They’re so pretty.”
I leaned toward a cluster to smell them, but Wilder stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Careful. That’s tropical milkweed. The sap is a skin irritant.”
“Oh.” I backed up. “I’ve had quite enough skin irritation for one week, thank you very much.”
Wilder laughed. “Here.” He picked a much larger flower from a nearby bush and pushed it behind my ear. His hand lingered near my face for just a second, his finger brushing my cheek.
Almost immediately a butterfly left the milkweed plant and landed on my nose.
“He thinks you’re a flower,” Wilder said with a grin.
“Well, I know I don’t smell like one—I’ve been sweating like crazy with this humidity.”
“You never smell bad.”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes.
“No seriously. It’s kind of weird. You literally smell goodallthe time. I think something’s chemically wrong with you.”
I pushed at his shoulder, and my butterfly friend took off, returning to his feast on the milkweed plant.
“Still… I’m looking forward to a shower when we get home,” I said then quickly corrected myself. “I mean when we get back.”
It’s notyourhome, Jessica. It’s Wilder’s. Even though it feels like you could stay there forever and be happy.
The waterfall was gorgeous. Surrounded by pre-historic looking jungle worthy of a Jurassic Park movie, it was huge with a triple-step cascade that flowed into an inviting green pool.
Wilder slipped the pack off his shoulders and sat on a large rock near the base of the falls. Unzipping the pack, he withdrew two water bottles and offered me one.
“Thanks.” I took it and drained it quickly.
“You hungry?” He pulled two sandwiches from the pack and bit into one, holding out the other to me.
“A little. I’ll eat in a minute.”
I pulled off one of my hiking boots then the other. Grabbing the bottom hem of my tank top, I drew it up over my head, leaving me in just my sports bra and shorts.
The outfit was completely modest compared to that ridiculous bikini I’d worn on Sunburngeddon day. But when I looked at Wilder again, he’d gone very still, his attention riveted to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Going in. We don’t have to wait for a shower—there’s one right here.”
I waded into the pool, looking back provocatively. “Aren’t you hot?”
