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  He threw his head back and laughed. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed against the thick column of his neck, framed by those big shoulders on either side. It made her conscious of his masculinity.

  When his mirth subsided, he adjusted his shades on the edge of his nose. “You really are something, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave her a sexy, boyish grin but instead of answering, he lifted an eyebrow. “Giselle?”

  “Who’s that?” She’d gotten carried away by his enticing mouth and lost track of the conversation.

  “Well, it’s not you.” He assessed her again, more deliberately. “Pity. You look like a Giselle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His eyes roved slowly up and down her body. From the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. Her skin tingled from the impact of his heated gaze.

  Gretchen’s throat convulsed. Did this man with the thick, juicy lips actually want her? Like for real?

  Dream on.

  “Giselle brings to mind someone who’s delicate, soft, and smooth.” His voice dropped an octave. “Reminds me of chocolate whipped cream and caramel sauce.” He licked his lips and Gretchen thought her clothes would go up in smoke!

  “You sure your name’s not Giselle?”

  The frank stare behind those shades almost dared her to naysay him. If she could go back in time right now, she’d tell her adoptive mother to rename her Giselle just so he could be right.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak so she shook her head instead. No man had ever made her tongue-tied before.

  “Gabrielle?”

  At the mention of that name, she relaxed some, although the heat of his gaze ignited some sort of inner kindling within her. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to be called Gabrielle. I think it’s a pretty name.”

  “Well, it is the name of an angel.”

  Gretchen laughed. “First ‘girl’ and ‘boo’. Now ‘angel’. Your game is starting to get bad.”

  Though he grinned at her words, his eyes narrowed. “There are other things I’m good at.”

  She could believe it. A man with his confident, superior looks was bound to be good at a few other things. Expert, in fact. Gretchen glanced at his hands. Large and blunt tipped. Did the things he was good at include soft caresses and—

  Whoa! She gave herself a mental jerk. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t know his name. For that matter, he was trying to guess hers, so why were these kinds of thoughts going through her brain like some sixteen-year-old girl with a first crush? She was a twenty-seven-year-old woman with two degrees and a career she enjoyed. Her love life may be abysmal but there were other things enriching her life.

  The man licked his lips again. Gretchen wondered if he’d call the police if she jumped him and made him kiss her.

  Disturbed by the absurd direction of her thoughts, she cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not interested in those things you consider yourself good at so you can stop trying.”

  “Not yet.”

  Gretchen found herself ensnared by the magnetic pull of his knowing eyes. It was like being caught in the powerful, intense gaze of a white jaguar. It both excited and unnerved her.

  “You’re overly confident,” she finally said after a brief silence bubbled with undercurrents of thoughts better left unsaid. “But no. Not happening.”

  The man gave a small nod. “I’m a patient man. Let’s continue with the game. For now.”

  Why did those last two words sound like a promise for more?

  He went on for another few minutes. In spite of the weird knot of panic in her gut that wouldn’t go away, she giggled at his antics.

  The aroma of spices combined with the buttery, sweet scent of fresh baked goods worked to infused this moment in her mind. It felt good to be in this place, enjoying a man trying to get under her skirt. It was nothing but a veneer of attraction but she needed to feel like she was worth the effort. From villages of tribal priestesses to the glittering balls of elite socialites to the boardrooms of powerful women, she’d yet to meet a female who didn’t like the pleasure of being chased.

  “You’ll never guess it, you know,” she said after he tried an outlandish name.

  “What? Your name isn’t ‘Gorgon’?”

  She folded her arms and gave him a mock glare. “Are you saying I looked like a woman who would have a hair full of snakes and turn men to stone?”

  “That was her power. It wasn’t because of her appearance. The Gorgons were quite lovely.”

  “There’s an alternative theory about the Gorgons and why—”

  “All right,” Jeb’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I’ve got two Java Blend teas—well, hello, Gretchen. How is my sweet, chocolate-dipped princess today?”

  She suppressed a groan.

  The man’s eyes widened as he looked at her. “Gretchen! No way it’s Gretchen!”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Jeb placed two steaming cups on the glass top. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it, man.”

  Jeb darted his brown eyed gaze back and forth between them. Then he smiled slyly. “Oh, I see! You were trying to talk to her, amir ite?”

  “I wasn’t trying to do anything,” the man retorted back.

  Gretchen was disappointed to see their time of play was at an end. How strange to connect so quickly with someone she didn’t know.

  The warmth of the cup traveled along the expanse of her hand and flushed her arm with residual heat in a pleasant way. She greeted her favorite barista with, “Jeb, I hope you’re doing well?”

  “I’m doing really good since I’ve seen you. So, you were the other Java Blend Kwasi asked me to make.”

  Gretchen stiffened as a hot poker stroked down her back. “Kwasi?” The panic which had died down knotted her stomach painfully. “Your name is Kwasi?”

  He nodded once. “What’s wrong with that?”

  The cozy heat went away, replaced by a sudden chill. How could the name bearing so much guilt and regret be manifested in this man before her?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Not at all.” The lie slid rocky between her lips. After all, just because his name was Kwasi, it didn’t mean he was the Kwasi.

  Gretchen turned back to Jeb. “How much do I owe you?” Her voice wobbled.

  “Not a thing,” Kwasi answered as Jeb opened his mouth. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She frowned. “But you lost the game.”

  “I want the enjoyment of your company,” Kwasi said, to her shock. “What man would give up an opportunity to sit and talk with a beautiful woman?”

  If this was the Kwasi, how he would react if he knew of their past connection? A past so fraught with pain she still had a hard time thinking about her early childhood. Would he still consider her attractive?

  “Come on, Gretchen. Sit with me. Let’s talk for a few.”

  That was the problem. His allure made her long to succumb to the invitation in his eyes. That and his big juicy lips she had a hard time dragging her eyes from. But if this was the Kwasi and if he knew who she was, the last thing he’d want to do is talk to her.

  He’d want to kill her

  “Please?’ He batted his eyes in a mock, coquettish way.

  Her eyes scanned him anew. This specimen of sexy was so different from the pale, gangly boy of her past. She stared at his smile. Those pink grapefruit lips. They looked like the kind that, once latched onto a woman’s body, they wouldn’t leave it until he was good and ready.

  But if he was who she hoped he wasn’t, he’d already fastened that plump mouth onto her with devastating results.

  Was he the Kwasi? The one she almost killed when they were children? There was only one way to find out.

  He held out a hand and let it hang in midair. She gazed at the well-formed hand and decided to throw all caution to the winds. Taking in it her own, an electric shock bolted through her. She gave it a little squeeze. “Sure, why not?�
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  CHAPTER TWO

  Kwasi wondered where the apprehension dominating Gretchen’s face came from. Surely it couldn’t be from sharing a tea together. With his characteristic nonchalance his twin brother hated, he dismissed it from his mind. No matter. As long as her nerves, or whatever it was lurking behind those wide eyes, didn’t impede his desire to be in her presence, he wouldn’t let it worry him.

  Releasing her soft, cool hand, he tapped her cup with his in a mock toast. “Cheers.”

  She grinned, albeit the corners of her mouth were shaky. “Cheers.”

  Meandering their way over to a table drenched in sunlight from the giant glass windows framing the parking lot, he paused when he heard Gretchen gasp.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Her eyes were glued to a table where a couple sat with a small group of ladies. “Oh, my gosh! That’s R. G. Donovan and his wife, Aurora!”

  He looked over at a nearby table. Not knowing what the big deal was, he responded with a curt, “Okay.”

  She whirled around like a ballerina. “Surely you must have heard about it? Some psycho nut had tried to ruin his relationship with his girlfriend so he went on Facebook and had his followers all trying to get her to forgive him. It was so romantic.”

  Kwasi glanced over at the guy again. “What does he do?”

  “He’s a romance novelist.”

  “I see.” Having lost all interest when she said that, since there wasn’t any chance he’d ever read a book of fiction, much less a romance novel, he steered the conversation away. “What is it you do?” he asked as they sat down.

  Gretchen took a sip of her tea. “Umm. This is so good. That hint of chocolate essence and vanilla is really hitting the spot.” Her tongue darted out across her lips. Kwasi’s stomach muscles tautened in reaction. The brief flash of pink reminded him of the fruity center of a dark chocolate wrapped candy.

  What would it be like to taste—

  “To answer your question, I’m the head director of aboriginal and tribal acquisitions for the Whitehead Museum.”

  Her answer broke off his fantasy about tasting the sweetness of her inner mouth but intrigued him nonetheless. “I’ve no idea what that means.”

  A surprised high-pitched sound of laughter bubbled from her. “I like your honesty. Most people would just nod their head and act as if they know.”

  Kwasi took a sip of his own tea. It was good. “Not me. I’d rather be ignorant than pretend to be smart. Ignorance is something you can fix, after all.”

  She nodded. “Well, it’s sort of like a curator. Whitehead has a lot of different collections they showcase, but my field of interest and specialty is tribal cultures with an emphasis on African and aboriginal artifacts.”

  “How did you get interested in that?”

  She hesitated for a moment and a fleeting expression of wariness entered her eyes. Before he could question it, she replied.

  “I found an arrowhead decorated with tribal markings.” Her eyes stared at a memory only she could see. “I remember holding the arrowhead in my hand, and being awestruck at ten years old. It was a piece of the past in my hand. Some warrior had once held this in their hand hundreds of years ago.” She emphasized her words with an errant wave of her arm. “This warrior, whoever he or she was, didn’t have the technology or the advanced knowledge of our modern times and yet, the arrowhead survived.”

  She hunched her shoulders. “Ever since I’ve been hooked.”

  The passion for her chosen field was evident in her voice. He liked that. “Sounds like an Indiana Jones type of job.”

  Her full lips twitched in amusement. “I left my whip and cowboy hat at home.”

  An image of Gretchen’s lithe figure holding a whip, tilting back a cowboy hat while wearing nothing more than a gun holster and a smile burned his brain. He almost broke out in a sweat.

  “It can be.” Her words interrupted his overactive imagination once again. “Over time, I’ve narrowed my focus to tribal and other similar cultures. I’ve gone on some excavations, interned with a couple of anthropologists, and other field work. I’ve even had a couple of papers published.”

  A wide smile creased her dark face with a set of brilliant white teeth.

  “When you say papers published, I take it you mean…” he let his voice trail off.

  “Scholarly papers with long titles and big words.” She waved her hand in a nonchalant way and then picked up her tea again. “Wow, this tastes so good, don’t you think?”

  Kwasi felt his eyebrows draw in. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was blowing him off. Whatever for?

  “What did your papers talk about?”

  Her large, doll-like eyes blinked. “You really want to know?” A doubtful expression came onto her face. “I know you said ignorance can be fixed but I hardly think you’d be interested in—”

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t be interested? You think I’d be too dumb to understand what you’re talking about?”

  He couldn’t keep a hint of acid out of his voice. One thing he and his brother had dealt with their entire life had been people underestimating them. A profound disappointment settled in his chest. Even this fascinating woman with her silky dark licorice skin attempted to box him.

  “It’s not that at all.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want to know.”

  Their gazes collided. Around them, the café hummed with activity but they might as well have been the only two people in the world. Could she pick up on the words he didn’t say? He wanted to know everything he possibly could about this woman?

  “My apologies.” She broke their eye contact and swirled the contents of her cup. “I’m so used to people getting bored when I tell them what I do. No one seems interested about history anymore. I’m used to saying the basics and moving on in the conversation.”

  His heart beat a little faster in his chest. So, she didn’t think he was dumb! The disappointment vanished, replaced by elation. “You’re not boring me in the slightest. If you were, I know how to change the topic to the weather with the best of them.”

  Gretchen laughed again and he was struck anew by the contradictions. Reserved but passionate, intelligent yet not snobbish. And that was just over a cup of tea. The first layer.

  “The first paper I published dealt with my call for certain governments to let uncontacted tribes have entrance into the modern world.”

  Kwasi frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve seen those documentaries on TV about tribal people, haven’t you?”

  A blurry image of a half-naked, malnourished woman with a kid by her side flashed in his mind. It unsettled him. “Yeah, I’ve seen them.”

  “Well, to me, the modern world treats these people as if they’re an oddity to be showcased behind glass walls. The government won’t allow any interference in their lives. Whole generations live each decade in ignorance of the outside world. The government’s reasoning is because their lives are simple, and true to nature. By forcing modernity on them, we’ll somehow upset the balance of nature.”

  She snorted as an irritated expression crossed her features. “What a load of bull. Blissful ignorance is not safety. Ignorance is harmful and can kill someone.”

  Her words turned Kwasi’s thoughts inward. He knew how ignorance worked. Ignorance was an ugly, tiny little monster clamping its claws into people’s fears with the determined intent to tear away their common sense and decency. The scar on his back throbbed. There were times he could still feel the tiger’s claws slice into his flesh.

  Would he ever get past the memories?

  “I remember I was in a particular country not too long ago.” She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. The movement worked wonders to distract him from his less savory memories. Kwasi tried his hardest to not gape openly at the hint of dark cleavage barely peeking over the line of her dress.

  “The tribe we’d connected with had just been contacted the ye
ar before. Until then, they lived in isolation in the forest. Well, the director of the outreach had contacted that country’s government on their behalf for assistance. They were inoculated, given clothing, food, and shelter.”

  A sudden smile lifted her mouth. “Do you know what the women of the tribe loved the most since they came out of the forest?”

  He shook his head, enjoying the animation of her face.

  “Shoes!”

  He joined in Gretchen’s laughter. “I tell you, some things are universal. Women and shoes.”

  “I couldn’t believe it.” Gretchen wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. “I mean, they didn’t say anything about learning how to read, interacting with people from all over the world, or even the new clothes, which they absolutely adored! They loved the shoes. How funny is that?”

  How many layers was there to this woman? She started off as standoffish, and polite. Now she laughed with him in conversation as if they were old friends.

  “What about the men?”

  The mirth subsided some but there was still a sparkle in her eyes. “I didn’t get much chance to talk with them. The men had very specific ideas of a woman’s place. Talking to women for things other than provisions or sex wasn’t on the table.”

  Kwasi grunted. “Some things never change.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t mind. I know one day, one of those tribal children will go to college and change the world. In my paper I called for more programs and initiatives to integrate uncontacted tribes into modern society. They will benefit from education, not some misguided attempt to keep them in ignorance.”

  Her words resonated with him. Thinking of his childhood, which he tried to do with as little recall as possible, something flickered across his consciousness. The awareness he was missing something vitally significant impressed itself onto his brain. What wasn’t he getting?

  “I’m so passionate about it.” A shy smile curved her mouth but she met his gaze with a lift of her chin. “I know how much ignorance can play in a person’s life.”

  “How do you know?” He leaned back against the chair and raised the tea cup to take another sip when he saw some writing on it. His heart thumped. Was this the mysterious cupid everyone had been talking about? Drawing the cup closer, he made out the words, “My love is the purest form there is.”