Six months later, La Paz, Bolivia

Paige Sinclair pulled up the booking for the guest who would be arriving today. Ashe Wilder. He was going to be here with them for a week on various bike trips around the area. His flight had already landed, and he would be taking his trek down the most dangerous road in a couple of days. He hadn’t planned out the rest of his trips. He said he wanted to be spontaneous. Not something Paige was used to in her life, but to each their own, she supposed.

The tour company brought in the adrenaline junkies by the boatloads. Some talked about climbing Everest or visiting an Incan temple on a mountain top in Machu Picchu. Paige got plenty of adrenaline with her real job as a Special Agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service or NCIS. She was in La Paz undercover with the tour company, investigating the theft of a large cache of military weapons out of Naval Amphibious Base Coronado or NAB Coronado. It was a huge naval installation across the bay from San Diego, California. Paige worked out of the West Coast Headquarters for NCIS located in Oceanside, California at Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps Base.

One of the armories on NAB Coronado had been robbed, two military policemen murdered. It was a well-thought out, highly-executed job, but one of the robbers had been shot. The weapons hadn’t been recovered, nor had they showed up on the international market.

The DNA of the blood found at the scene matched Corporal David Duffield, a former marine, but he had disappeared along with the weapons. The only other evidence found at the scene was the flight manifest to La Paz, a key piece of evidence the wounded man must have dropped during the robbery. After exhaustive research, Paige discovered that Duffield had connections to a former CIA officer, Bryant Anderson who was part owner in a tour company based out of La Paz. He was co-owners with a Bolivian native, Cris Oyola. Anderson was rumored to also be a mercenary for hire as well as a provider of arms and ammunitions. It was enough to convince the Director of NCIS to allow her to go undercover at the tour company to surveille Anderson and investigate the connection.

She’d been here for two weeks and no sign of any illegal activity, the guns, or Duffield had materialized. This made her wonder if the wounded marine had been unable to complete the flight and crashed in the Andes. The rugged terrain around here could easily have concealed the downed wreckage. That was a daunting task and it would involve more than just her undercover. She’d need proof before the Director would contact the Secretary of the Navy or SECNAV and start the wheels rolling for a search of approximately thirty-four thousand square feet of mountains, not to mention it was possible the plane could have dropped into the ocean, then those weapons would never be recovered. The pilot wouldn’t have sent out any kind of mayday or turned on a beacon to follow. No, he’d wanted to fly under the radar, but his wound could have been fatal…. Still all speculation on her part. She wasn’t going to involve any kind of official channels until she had something concrete to go on.

Especially with her promotion hanging in the balance. She was on the cusp of getting her own team. She’d put in the years and the time, given up everything to her job, including her personal life. So, she had few friends, and she spent all her time working. Her father had done the same and he had been her role model. Her dedication had made her stand out at NCIS and she fit into the team seamlessly.

The bell over the door rang as a group of people came into the office. She looked up to see it was one of the tour groups from the US. She smiled and started to check them in, confirming their reservations. After the last person, she made the necessary adjustments to the record. Just as someone came up to the counter, she dropped her pen, bending down to retrieve it. When she came back up, her breath backed up in her lungs. Wow was all her brain could come up with at the moment. Just wow.

He was tall, six two at least and lean that hinted at the kind of muscular described as “ripped.” He was insanely good looking, boyish, but those eyes of his told her that he was much older than he looked, closer to thirty maybe. He had a well-formed nose and beneath that a rebellious mouth, the bottom lip fuller than the top. But it was those piercing eyes that gave her the warning that he was dangerous, with the kind of stare that was usually reserved for interrogations—intent, potent. It was just a natural extension of his personality. He had on a baseball cap, the brim shadowing his features, but couldn’t conceal his strong, angular jawline.

He looked like he’d just come off a climb. He was dressed in olive green cargo pants, a gray T-shirt, top of the line hiking boots, and a black jacket tied around his slim hips.

Who was this guy?

“Ashe Wilder,” he said, as if he’d read her mind, his voice low and melodious, a pretty sound out of an arresting man. “I have a reservation.”

He gave her a half-smile from that sexy mouth and leaned forward extending his hand toward her.

“Yes,” she managed, placing her hand in his. “Paige Sinclair.” She was bombarded by disturbing new impressions. There was a compelling attractiveness about him, an appeal that was unfeigned and indestructible. His eyes were a deep cobalt blue and the long, thick lashes accentuated their hypnotic intensity.

There was something very intriguing about his face, something that touched her in the most profound way. It revealed a depth of character, an inner strength, but it also revealed an imperviousness that had been carved by experience. Paige felt an immediate affinity for him that she had never felt for another human being. Her keen awareness of him as a man had an immobilizing effect on her, and she was conscious of nothing except the warmth of his touch and his unwavering gaze.

“Don’t tell me you can’t find it, ma’am? I didn’t just fly almost five thousand miles to be a tourist,” he said, the look of irrepressible mischief in his eyes. “It’s not my thing.”

His words broke the spell, but Paige was unwilling to break physical contact with this man, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand from his grasp.

He stared at her for a second longer. She realized he was waiting for her answer.

She looked down, typing in his name. The record popped up, and she just stared at it, trying to regain her shaken composure. Right, the American from San Diego.

She looked up and got flustered all over again. She never got flustered even when she worked with some of the biggest jerks on the planet who thought a female agent was a pushover. Especially now when she had a job to do and didn’t need any gorgeous distractions.

His brows rose as he stared at her waiting for her answer. He pulled off his baseball cap, revealing a shock of dark hair, heavy with just a tad too long bangs, but short in the back. He ran his hand through the silky strands.

“No, we’ve got your reservation. No bazaar shopping sprees for you unless that’s something you want to do.”

He flashed her a smile that was pure charm. “I have some things to buy for friends and family, so I guess I can work the shops a bit.” Oh, God, this man could charm the pants off a nun…that’s if nuns wore pants…did they?

She handed him his welcome package.

“I didn’t make a hotel reservation. Can you recommend one?”

“Oh, that was risky.”

The change in him was immediate. It was as if some vital link had been broken, and his expression was suddenly shuttered as he scrutinized her. “I live on the edge.” It was obvious that he had, for some reason, withdrawn behind a wall of cool politeness, and that bothered Paige more than she liked to admit. Her voice was uneven when she responded. “That’s why you’re here.”

Their eyes connected, and for a split second his guard was down, and Paige experienced a sudden galvanizing rush that set her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. But beneath the electric undercurrent of sexual chemistry, there was a distinct push-pull dynamic. Whatever initial attraction there was between them, he wasn’t sure about pursuing it.

“The hotel?” he asked. Bending down, he picked up a worn leather duffel and set it on his impossibly broad shoulders, his biceps pulling into a thick, hard bulge.

“Yes. I could recommend Hotel Petite Hacienda. It’s close by and has all the amenities.”

“Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Of course.” She came from behind the counter and went to the front door, conscious of every move he made. What the hell was wrong with her?

The bell tinkled as she went outside into the cool air of June where it was winter in the Southern Hemisphere. He didn’t seem to mind the chilly air even in his short sleeves. A light drizzle coated the streets. A long line of mountain bikes that would be loaded for the trip tomorrow stood by the front door. He came up beside her, leaning down slightly as she pointed down the street.

“Right down to the end of the block. You can’t miss it. It has an arched entrance and is a tan colored stucco building. It’s next door to a quaint church.” She turned and brushed her hand across his chest when she gestured down the street. He was too close.

He went stock still, taking a breath. She did her best to ignore his reaction. “That way is where the bazaar is and all the shops are and you can shop until you drop. Just don’t wear high heels.”

Oh, Lord. Why did she provoke him? He was too damn close. A warped grin appeared, and there was a touch of humor in his voice. “Well, ma’am, I’ll have to pass on that. I left them in my other duffel.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Now what will I wear with my pretty dresses?”

She laughed and the spark of humor in his eyes faded. “You have a nice laugh, Paige Sinclair.”

She experienced a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach. His voice had a peculiar huskiness to it that jangled her nerves.

He backed toward the street, his eyes on hers. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Seven-thirty sharp at Café El Mundo. Hope you enjoy your stay.” He kept backing up, his eyes glued to hers. “Oh, wait—” she called out, but it was too late. His butt hit the first bike and the rest of them fell like dominoes with a crashing clash of metal and leather.

He landed on his back on top of them in a heap. She rushed over. “Oh, my God. Are you all right?”

He looked up from the chaos he’d made of the bikes and grinned like a fool. “Nothing hurt but my pride.”

“Let me help you up,” she said as she reached out and clasped his hand.

There was that jolt again as if she’d been zapped with lightning. He came up a little faster than she expected tangled up as he was in the wreckage of the bikes. His dexterity surprised her, caught her off-guard and threw her completely off balance. She was the one now in jeopardy of falling. She wasn’t exactly sure how he did it, how he kept them upright. But he did, and before she knew it, she was jammed up against all that hard muscle.

She clutched his broad shoulders as he gave her a solid base to cling to. Once her mind was free from keeping her on her feet, her responsiveness to him as a man jumped up a million notches. She went still rather than move away, every cell in her body throbbing.

They stared at each other and everything but the sound of her heartbeat faded away, her world narrowing down to his face, those eyes, something expanding between them, the air thickening until she could barely breathe around the awareness locking her…them…in place. He was just as affected as she was and that sent a frisson of warning down her spine. Her normal guardedness when it came to men who had an interest in her seemed to desert her here. She was all about working hard and that meant long hours and no personal life. Getting ahead in her job was worth every long, hard hour, every minute it took away from pursuing…she gulped…pleasure.

She found it hard to maintain direct eye contact in the face of his rather intense focus. There was a wealth of vibrancy, a man who rushed at living as if it would be his very last chance to wring every ounce of exuberance, a man who couldn’t be contained.

Oh, man, don’t go down that road, Paige. That road led to a loss of control and rules and discipline would get her where she wanted to go. She had a plan and getting hot and bothered with adrenaline junkie, Ashe Wilder wasn’t a good move or a smart one. She was working. But did he have to look so good, so alive as if he could infuse her with the kind of energy that would fuel her, take her places she had never gone, energize her beyond her imagination?

Maybe if she just got physical with him, it would take the edge off everything, a fling in beautiful Bolivia with a very intriguing man. What could be the harm? She could see what it would be like to juggle sex and her job. Maybe it wasn’t as difficult as she thought. Her body craved the weight of him instantly.

Once her mind went there, she couldn’t stem the images of touching him, every inch of the body that was so intimately pressed against hers. This close the intensity of the blue of his eyes seemed as wide and deep as the ocean, and, boy, did she want to swim. His skin was incredibly smooth, despite the hint of five o’clock shadow with such a downright dark richness to his skin, it made her fingers and palms itch. He had such a cute, boyish look to his face, but those eyes told her that he was no boy and he knew exactly what to do with a woman.

Without warning, longing washed over her, and she recognized the feel of it from the years she’d spent helping to raise her brothers with her overworked and tired father. He had praised everything she’d done to keep their family together. But loneliness, that was something that pulled at her now. He blinked a couple of times as if he’d seen the vulnerability in her. She swallowed and her heart lurched, the dynamic changing between them as if he’d identified with the emotion in her eyes. That gave her the impetus to push away. A fling with him? What the hell was she thinking? He would suck her in like a vortex and the distraction could cost her everything, her promotion, her job, her very life.

“Is everything all right out here?”

She looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Oyola, the co-owner come rushing out. “Damn, I’m sorry.” Ashe said, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Mr. Oyola gave her a knowing sidelong glance. “That happens around Paige.”

She nudged him and the mischief maker only grinned.

“Yeah, I bet it does,” Ashe said, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth—a beautifully sculpted mouth.

A mouth she had no business looking at.

There was a tremendous pull between them, the kind of pull that was almost impossible to ignore. “At least I didn’t end up on my ass.” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, and they were filled with a teasing breathlessness that she was unaccustomed to hearing in her own voice.

He laughed and the sound of it tightened around her like gentle, but tough vines. Flirting with him came much too naturally.

“Thanks to me.” The husky inflection to his voice only made her tingle more and that wasn’t what she wanted. She could still feel the imprint of his arm around her waist and his hand tight around her arm to keep her from falling to the street.

Mr. Oyola reached out his hand and said, “Cristopher Oyola.” She was thankful for him breaking up this flirt-fest.

“Ashe Wilder. Nice to meet you.” Reaching for Mr. Oyola’s hand meant he had to let go of her. She stepped back, and they shook briefly.

“Mr. Oyola is part owner of Going Down Wilderness Excursions,” Paige said, taking another step back, then going around Ashe bending down to haul Ashe’s duffel from among the fallen bikes.

It was heavier than it looked, and even as she went to move it, Ashe took it effortlessly out of her hands.

“I’m looking forward to the trip down Camino El Muerte,” he said as he propped the duffel against the office wall.

Road of Death. It was no joke. She drove the van, and she could attest that the narrow road was harrowing at the very least and in bad weather, downright treacherous. But there was genuine challenge and pleasure in Ashe’s voice. She shook her head. Adrenaline junkies and their crazy ways. She reached for the first bike and righted it, moving onto the next. Ashe and Mr. Oyola went further down the line and began to pick up the other downed bikes.

“I’m really sorry about this. If there’s any damage, I can take care of it.”

“That’s generous of you, but it looks like there’s no harm really done here,” Mr. Oyola said.

“We can take care of this,” she said, wanting him to move along. She had work to do. “We’re sure you must be tired and hungry from your long trip. The hotel is just down the street, like I said.” She pointed in the direction of the quaint, well-regarded hotel.

He looked at the bikes as if he felt responsible for helping them. “Really, Mr. Wilder. No harm done.”

“Mr. Wilder?” he asked, walking to his duffel and hefting it once again to his shoulder. “It’s Ashe, ma’am.” He took a few steps and then turned back, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” But he was looking at her the whole time. There was that intense gaze again. She was in for some kind of day tomorrow. It didn’t have anything to do with the Road of Death and everything to do with Ashe Wilder.

She watched him walk away, that broad back supporting the duffel. She couldn’t help thinking that the man looked just as good from behind as he did from the front.

Mr. Oyola nudged her. “Something distracting you?”

She dragged her eyes from Ashe’s retreating form and gave him a sidelong, don’t go there look.

“Not anything I can’t handle,” Paige said. She reached for another bike.

“I have no doubt about this,” her boss said. “You might stop being so controlled and give yourself permission to let loose every once in a while. What’s the worst that could happen? You get your heart broken. It builds character.”

“What would you know about broken hearts?” she smiled. “You and your wife still act like newlyweds.”

“This is also true, but faint heart never won hunky man.”

She laughed out loud. “You let me worry about my love life—and hunky men.” She picked up another bike and gave him an affectionate look. “I’ve got this, Mr. Oyola.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Paige, to call me Cris?”

“It doesn’t seem professional to call someone I work for by his first name, but if you insist—”

“I do.” He gave her a warm smile. Mr. Oyola—Cris had the warmest brown eyes and he was always teasing his employees in that soft, earnest voice of his. Working for him was so completely different from working for NCIS where the atmosphere was always tense and driven. Of course, Mr.—Cris had the kind of business that was conducive to relaxation. This was what people did when they were on vacation.

He inspected the bikes very thoroughly. She had no doubt he wanted to make sure they were sound for tomorrow.

“Okay, Cris it is.”

“Then you need to start calling me Bryant.”

She stiffened at the deep, commanding voice behind her. She turned to find the other co-owner, Bryant Anderson, the man she’d come to investigate. He looked every inch of what he was—a mercenary. Big, honed, thick muscles bulging everywhere. But unlike Ashe Wilder, he was arrogant and smug, giving off a vibe that told her he was more dangerous than she could imagine. She had disliked him from the get go and nothing had changed. She couldn’t understand what had possessed Cris to go into business with such a man, convincing herself that Cris just didn’t know what was going on. He was a family man, strong supporter of his community, ran his business with the kind of joy that showed he loved what he did. He was the people guy and Anderson, well he was the hard-ass who took the bikers down the side of a mountain. So maybe he was the necessary evil.

He gave her a once over like he always did. So the opposite of Mr. Oyola who had eyes only for his wife, Ariane. Together they embodied true love and had two kids, Riky and Jhosselin whom Paige adored.

“What happened here?” he asked, coming to stand next to them.

“Nothing serious, just a little mishap with one of the customers.”

“Doesn’t bode well for him riding down a mountainside. What a joker.”

“It was an accident,” Paige said more harshly than she meant to, retreating toward the front door as three men entered.

His eyes narrowed as he tracked her toward the office.

She’d always been respectful of Anderson only because her job was to get him to trust her, but she couldn’t help defending Ashe. Damn, he was already getting her into trouble. She smiled to lessen the impact and then ducked inside to handle the new clients.

Ashe Wilder. Yeah, some trouble, indeed.