Chapter 2
Jax stood at the entrance to the opulent private dining room and marveled. It was hard to decide which was more beautiful—the lavish interior or the extraordinary paradise visible through the open walls of the resort. Jax was accustomed to extravagant surroundings. He had stayed in magnificent hotels and resorts across the globe. But the owners of the Reefside Resort had outdone themselves. Clearly they’d decided that no mere high-end architect could approach the sumptuous natural beauty surrounding the resort. Rather than try to compete with Mother Nature, they had wisely let the omnipotent designer do her work. Unrestricted by walls and windows, the dining room was open on three sides to the tropical panorama endemic to the prepossessing beauty of the Belize countryside. The fragrance of exotic flowers contorting with the sound of waves lapping against the barrier reefs added to the mystery of the gorgeous, starlit night.
Glancing across the room, Jax didn’t acknowledge his teammates, who were sprinkled throughout the assembled gathering. In any other setting, the muscled, granite-eyed men might have raised questions about their profession. But surrounded by dozens of dark-skinned, shifty-eyed men as tall and fierce-looking as his team, Jax didn’t have to worry that their disguise would be blown. Even the bulges under his operatives’ jackets, confirming they were armed, weren’t a cause for concern. Indeed, a lack of weapons would have been more compromising. It would have been clear evidence his guys didn’t belong. Hell, the cartel members likely strapped on their guns every day before they took their morning piss. They no doubt slept with at least one gun or knife under their pillows. Jax did.
Still standing at the entrance to the dining room, Jax nodded to the beefy, blond-haired man lurking in the far corner of the room. Brent Peters, his second-in-command, returned his nod, as did Serge Striker, the tall, lean, sharp-eyed Denzel Washington–lookalike who was lounging next to Peters. Jax had introduced both men to the cartel reps he’d met in preparation for the conclave. Jax hadn’t hid their association. It was a given that he would travel with armed men. No self-respecting drug dealer would arrive at a meeting hosted by one of the most dangerous cartels in Central America without bodyguards. If not bodyguards per se, they were men who were clearly as dangerous as Jax was.
Moving through the crowded room toward his partners, Jax didn’t acknowledge the inauspicious servers carrying trays of appetizers throughout the crowd, nor the smiling bartenders who ensured that nary a glass would be empty tonight. None of the uniformed servers or valet parking attendants surrounding the resort revealed in mannerism or speech that they were, in reality, highly trained operatives in Jax’s multi-disciplinary team.
As he approached his partners, Jax was waylaid by the lovely woman holding court in the center of the room. Breaking away from the men clustered around her, the gorgeous Latina woman held out her hands in welcome.
“Ah, there you, Mr. Dubois. I have been waiting for you. I was concerned you might decide that the dinner tonight was too plebian for a man of your worldliness.”
Jax reached for the exquisite woman’s hand and bowed over it, brushing his lips against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. He’d chosen the French identity from his various aliases to coordinate with his dark hair and blazing green eyes. He’d eschewed his obvious Emerald Isle heritage and relied on his fluency in French. Gazing down at the smiling woman, he said with a tinge of a French accent, “Please, madam, don’t ever diminish perfection. One could travel the lengths of the earth and not meet a more beautiful, more elegant woman than you. I’m honored to be in your presence.”
The dark-eyed woman’s eyes gleamed with appreciation, then sparkled with ill-concealed amusement. “Really, Mr. Dubois, how do you Frenchmen learn your gracious manners? Are you schooled at your mother’s knee? Spanked if you show the least bit of rudeness?”
At her naughty insinuation, Jax allowed a grin to tug at his lips. “Ah, Madam Lopez, how well you tease. I must confess that my mother never spanked me, although she did seem to appreciate the use of corporal punishment in the right hands. And, of course, for appropriate occasions.”
A peal of luscious laughter flowed from the gorgeous woman’s plump lips. She shook her head and leaned closer to Jax, apparently intending her words for his ears only.
“Ah, Lucas—if I may call you by your given name—I can only imagine the ‘appropriate occasions’ a man like yourself could conjure up. But please, forgive my forwardness. It’s just that I am surrounded by unschooled men who haven’t been taught the niceties of wooing women. Much less understand how attractive a sense of humor is when coupled with gracious manners.”
She threw a withering glance at the beefy men hovering close by, clearly not intimidated by their size or the scowls knotting their furrowed brows. Her obvious disdain underscored that, as the longtime paramour of the head of the Muñoz cartel, Francesca Ortiz could be as disparaging to the hulking gangsters as she pleased. From what Jax had learned of the beautiful woman’s reputation, the only thing sharper and more dangerous than her contempt was her anger. Particularly toward any man or, God forbid, woman who dared to infringe on her exalted position with Carlos Muñoz—el Jeffe, as he was known.
The frown darkening Francesca’s lovely face evolved into a sneer. In a voice she didn’t try to muffle, she said, “And then, of course, there is the penchant so many of our uncouth men have for women like that.”
Following her gaze to the entrance of the dining room, Jax saw Martinez Flores, the heir apparent to the Muñoz cartel. The hard-eyed man was el Jeffe’s enforcer, his hatchet man. Known for his fierce temper and violent reprisals against enemies and luckless friends who unwittingly earned his boss’s ire, Flores was as dreaded as el Jeffe. He was not as tall as Jax, but solidly muscular, and there was no question that Flores was feared for good reason. As a championship cage fighter, tales of Flores beating men to death inside and outside of the cage were commonplace. Even from across the room, the guy’s gleaming black eyes and glowering expression reeked of danger.
But it wasn’t the scowling bad boy who had Jax’s gut in knots. In truth, he barely saw the muscular menace. How could he, given the woman standing next to Flores? It was clear what had riled Francesca Ortiz. The sight had caused the huffy woman’s lips to curl in distaste as though she’d sucked on a particularly bitter lemon. For beautiful women like Francesca, accustomed to being the center of attention, it was no doubt challenging to see the reaction of the assembled group to the vision standing beside Flores. The hushed silence filling the room was testament to the singular beauty of the woman in the doorway. Unlike the angry scorn that had hardened Jax’s hostess’s face, the glow on the blonde goddess’s pale face looked almost innocent.
At the surprising silence, Flores’s grim expression darkened ominously. Glaring at the crowd of men clearly entranced by his beautiful companion, he jerked the young woman next to him, staking his claim. Knowing Flores’s violent temper, most of his cohorts tried to hide their interest in the woman standing next to their boss. A few brave men dared to sneak furtive glances at the enforcer’s remarkable guest, helpless to ignore her stunning figure, showed off to perfection in a scandalous gold lamé dress.
Jax wasn’t one of those reluctant men. Instead, he studied her closely and didn’t miss the familiar tilt of her chin as she distanced herself ever so slightly from her fierce escort or how she almost imperceptibly eased her arm from Flores’s grip, putting additional distance between the two of them.
In minutes, the sound of tinkling glasses and quick snatches of tentative conversation filled the air as Flores’s comrades hastened to resume their previous camaraderie. Certain that his rapidly beating heart was audible to the people standing next to him, particularly the forbidding Francesca, Jax made an effort to look away from the young woman at Flores’s side. But it was impossible to do. Her gorgeous, body-skimming dress, provocative high heels, long blonde hair, and summer sky–blue eyes confirmed that the vision on Flores’s arm was simply the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen. More compelling, it took him all of ten seconds to know that as glorious as she was in her provocative clothing, she was even more stunning naked.
Jax had watched with his heart in his throat as the nymph on the cliff rose in a graceful leap and dove into the glistening pool at the foot of the sheer embankment. It took a full minute of watching her frolic in the sparkling water below for Jax to acknowledge that she hadn’t been planning to commit suicide. Rather, her breathtaking high dive into the distant pool was merely an audacious stunt, a raised middle finger to the adrenaline gods. When he’d managed to get his lungs and heart functioning at semi-normal rates, Jax marveled at her daring. Christ, and he thought he was an adrenaline junkie. But what had changed his perception of the entire incident was watching her scramble naked up the side of the cliff to retrieve her abandoned clothing.
Poised on the top of the precipice before her jump, she had been surreal, Aphrodite-like. Too beautiful and too unexpected to be real. But there was nothing about her bare ass that was surreal. Hell no. Her scampering climb up the steep embankment underscored the strong muscles in her arms, legs, and most especially, her gorgeous ass. Her toned cheeks, with the enticing crack separating them, were covered with lush feminine curves that had his prick surging in appreciation. But it was when she got to the top of the hill and lazily reached for the nearly transparent cover-up that his dick went into overdrive.
As she bent over to retrieve the garment, Jax was able to fully appreciate her luscious breasts, with water beading on the tips of her peaked nipples. When she stood up, straight and tall, he saw for the first time that her mons was bare—not so much as a dusting of hair marred the mouthwatering view at the apex of her thighs. With a harsh groan, he relinquished his breath. It was simply impossible to look at her and breathe at the same time. It was then that she saw him.
Visibly startled, her eyes had widened in surprise. For a long moment, she stood still, clutching her dress at her side. And then she did something that Jax knew he would remember for the rest of his life. She smiled. Her lips curving in a cheeky grin, she met his eyes and lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. He could almost hear her expel a deep breath as she raised her arms over her head, ensuring that there wasn’t an inch of her body he hadn’t seen. With an insolent shrug, she allowed the gossamer garment to float over her naked form. She stood for a moment, holding his gaze, then turned and ran the rest of the way to the top of the hill. At the precipice, she paused and looked over her shoulder. Giving him a saucy wave of her fingers, she disappeared over the crest.
Shoving at the memory of their shared exploit, Jax pinned a hard gaze on the young woman standing in the doorway next to the warlord, willing her to look his way. It was as if the tectonic layers of the earth shifted, causing a magnetic pull to drag her gaze his way. The rosy color staining her cheeks when she saw him confirmed in that single instant she recognized him, as he recognized her. Not willing for her to ignore him or their erotic adventure, Jax excused himself from Francesca.
“Pardon me, madam, but I haven’t had a chance to greet my good friend, Martinez Flores. You will excuse me, please?”
Without waiting for an answer from the narrow-eyed madam, Jax strode across the room to introduce himself to the woman he knew had changed his life. Many weeks later, he would marvel at what an understatement that brazen claim had been.