Beth Ciotta: Into the Wild

Like the man coming straight toward her.

European or American. Late thirties or early forties. Hard to tell from this distance. But his stride and posture telegraphed the confidence of a mature man. A sexy, secure man.

Wow.

Cropped sandy-brown hair and vivid green eyes contrasted greatly with his sun-bronzed skin. His mouth was…to die for. And the crinkles around his eyes suggested he smiled often, sort of like now.

Good Lord. Was he smiling at her?

He was still a few feet away and she was fuzzy around the edges. Even so…he looked familiar. If he wasn’t a male model, an actor or a rock star, he should be. Tall, fit and rugged. Even his cargo pants and baggy layered T-shirts couldn’t disguise his muscled physique. Maybe he was a sports celebrity.

She’d seen him before. Where, dammit? A magazine? A commercial?

If she could move, she’d nab her 35mm from her rolling bag. Her fingers itched to photograph male perfection.

River blushed head to toe. Or maybe she was feverish. She was definitely woozy. The visceral attraction nearly brought her to her knees.

He was the most handsome, most virile, most charismatic man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

She knew him from…somewhere….

The edges of her vision blurred as she struggled to catch her breath. Dizziness. Disorientation.

Oh, God.

Those green eyes twinkled. “River Kane?”

His deep voice both soothed and ignited her soul. How strange. And scary. How does he know my name? she wondered, just before the world went black.

“SHIT.” SPENSER caught the swaying woman just as her eyes rolled back in her pretty little head. Kylie hadn’t been exaggerating. River Kane wouldn’t make it one day in the jungle. Hell, she hadn’t even gotten out of the airport without fainting. Not only that, she wasn’t even in the right airport. If her boyfriend was in Peru, why the hell had she landed in Ecuador? He’d only learned her actual destination when he’d tried to check her arrival status. The information she’d given Kylie didn’t line up with any of the incoming flights to Lima. He’d had to ask a favor of a flight attendant he’d been “friendly” with in order to track the woman.

He’d tracked her to Quito. What the hell? Bad enough he’d promised his sister he’d look out for the vulnerable photographer, but it had meant flying to fucking Ecuador, a country he’d sworn he’d never set foot in again. Not that they’d be here long. Still. Fuck.

Enlisting a security guard to follow him with River’s rolling bag, Spenser easily carried the young woman to a row of padded seats. He guessed her at five one, weighing less than one hundred fifteen. A strong Andean wind would blow this little bit over a ledge. She wasn’t bone skinny, just petite. And ghostly pale.

“Should I call a doctor, señor?” the guard asked in accented English.

“No need. We’re fine.” She was already coming around. Spenser smoothed baby-soft curls from her damp forehead as her thick lashes fluttered open. He was appreciating her flawless skin and pretty features when she nailed him with eyes as large and green as the legendary Maximilian Emerald.

His heart ricocheted off his ribs. Christ, she was beautiful, in a frail, angelic way. According to Kylie, she was also smart and sweet, though intensely private. One thing was certain. She brought out the protector in him. Hell, she probably had that effect on most men, except for the ones who took advantage of her. No doubt her waiflike aura attracted the best and worst of people.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

The question took him by surprise. Most people recognized him right away. Into the Wild had been a top-rated show for five years. He still couldn’t believe Necktie Nate had him and Gordo, who was presently a hundred bucks richer, on ice. “Working on details,” Necktie had said this morning. “Cool your heels while I do some fancy footwork. By the way, have you been immunized for yellow fever?”

Regardless of Gordo’s Twitter campaign, Spenser had a bad feeling about the future of their show, similar to the feeling he was starting to get about River. Being sexually attracted and protective of a woman who was intent on winning back her fiancé was definitely bad.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, still gazing up at him in confusion.

“My sister told me.”

River’s Kewpie doll mouth curved into a dazed smile and suddenly all Spenser could think about was kissing. Oh, hell.

“Oh, good,” she said, moistening those plump lips. “You speak English.” But then she frowned. “Your sister? Wait. You can’t be… Please. Tell me you are not Spenser McGraw. You are!” she blasted before he could answer. “The billboard,” she rasped.

She’d gone from pliant to rigid in his arms. Spenser was beginning to tense himself.

“I knew I’d seen you before. That stupid billboard on Route Thirty-one. The one Eden posted last year right before the Apple Festival, featuring the booked talent and highlighting a promo shot of you. As if you’d really show up,” she muttered under her breath.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I never promised—”

“No wonder I didn’t recognize you right off,” she rushed on in a brittle voice. “That photo was airbrushed.”

Stunned by the unprovoked insult, Spenser merely raised a brow and stared. The studio had been digitally manipulating his publicity shots for over a year now, erasing crow’s feet and smile brackets, whitening his teeth, enlarging his already muscled biceps. He wasn’t happy about it, but figured it went with the territory. Nature of the beast, he’d told himself. The entertainment industry obsessed on sex and youth. He got that and usually he took it in stride. However, he was still smarting from Necktie Nate’s “over-the-hill” reference. And now this woman, this impossibly attractive, young woman, just implied he was a disappointment in the flesh. Well, hell.

Visibly mortified by his silent regard, River bolted upright and squirmed off his lap onto the adjacent seat. “I just meant…” Cheeks flushed, she looked away. “That photo didn’t do you justice.”

His lip twitched. “Apology accepted.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said with a weary sigh. “You’re supposed to be in Peru.”

“So are you.”

“What? Oh, right. How did you know I was here?”

“I’m resourceful.”

“I told Kylie I didn’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.” Although the sooner they got out of Ecuador, the happier he’d be.

“I’m sorry you came all this way, Mr. McGraw—”

“Spenser.”

“—but, I don’t need you.”

A lie on multiple levels, but he admired her independence. “You sure as hell need someone, angel. You’re ill.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You fainted.”

“I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in thirty-eight…” she squinted at her watch “…thirty-nine hours. I haven’t eaten much either. Then there’s the jet lag.”

“You’re massaging your chest.”

“I’m short of breath. Stress, I guess.”

He got it then. “It’s the altitude.”

“But we’re not in the mountains.”

“Ecuador is a high-altitude country. You went from below one thousand feet to above nine thousand feet in less than a day. Some people bear it better than others.”

“I can bear it,” she said, looking annoyed. “I’ll get used to it. Right?”

Why the hell was she mad? “Eventually.” He snagged a bottle of water from the side pouch of his backpack. “Drink this. You need to hydrate.”

She used the end of her sleeve to wipe down the nozzle. “Kylie was right about you,” she said after draining a quarter of the bottle. “You’re bossy.”