As soon as the elevator doors closed behind her, Kailyn knew
she’d made a mistake.

Music blared in a mind-numbing, ear-deafening pulse from the
penthouse suite stereo. Clutching her beaded purse, she
placed her hands over both of her ears. A Latin beat,
coupled with a heavy, chest-pounding thumping bass, jangled
her nerve endings.

Where was Dex?

Scanning the crowded party, she wrinkled her nose at the
pungent odor permeating the room. An aroma once smelled—as
any college student could testify—never forgotten. Bodies
writhed and gyrated.

Kailyn’s lip curled, the lyrics penetrating her
consciousness. Gangsta rap.

Spanish gangsta rap.

Couples lounged on the couches, twined into each other. She
pursed her lips at the faint lines of a chalk white powder
on a coffee table.

Dex had warned her to wait in the car. But she’d refused. No
way she wanted to hang out in a deserted parking garage once
night fell.

He said he’d be gone only a few minutes. Told her his
biggest client wanted him to do a meet-and-greet with an
out-of-town business associate. Promised they’d be on their
way to the charity ball soon.

It came to her attention of all the occupants in the room,
she was the only blond. Probably the only native English
speaker, too.

The only woman whose décolletage wasn’t cut to her navel and
whose hemline wasn’t hiked to her thighs. Self-conscious,
she smoothed a hand across the ice blue floor-length Vera
Wang she wore. She didn’t belong here.

Her skin prickled the way it does when you feel someone
staring. Someone across the sunken living area. Against the
glass-enclosed walls overlooking the twinkling lights of
downtown Charlotte, she locked onto the penetrating glare of
a thirty-something Latino man. His black hair scraped back
from his sharply cut features, a pencil-thin mustache and
goatee framed full, sensual lips.

Gold studs glittered in both his ears. He’d been dancing—her
brow arched—a euphemistic word for what she’d never describe
as dancing. He’d gone stock-still. His dark chocolate eyes
narrowed.

She lifted her chin, noting his skintight black pants, the
gleam of gold chains against his well-muscled chest. And the
smaller silver turquoise cross in the hollow of his throat.
His white silk shirt hung open all the way to his—

Her feelings must have shown on her face for he moved,
dodging the other revelers with the grace of a jaguar. Her
mouth went dry. Out of her peripheral vision, she noted
three other men from the corners of the room advancing.

With a flick of his hand, he motioned the other men away.
But he kept coming, his face unreadable. Her chest hammered.
She reminded herself this was America, not Columbia. She was
an American citizen. She had every right to—

# # #

“You don’t belong here.”

The blond stiffened. She stared for a moment at the cross he
wore about his neck. He fought the urge to touch it for
reassurance.

Aaron folded his arms across his chest. “Go back to where
you belong, chica.”

She squared her shoulders. “I belong where I say I belong.”

Aaron scowled. “Not here, you don’t.”

He’d spotted her as soon as the elevator doors parted. One
look at her designer dress and smooth, flaxen chignon, he’d
strode over thinking to provide a lifeline to an innocent
who’d wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

Time she got a move on. Perhaps a new tactic was called for.

“Ah.” He allowed his shoulders to rise and fall. “Perhaps if
I upped your hourly rate.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Her lips parted, her mouth opening
into a round O.

In a reflex move he admired for its swiftness, she raised
her hand. He caught it in a hard vise inches before she
could make contact with his face. She twisted, yanking her
hand free.

He loomed over her. “Such passion, señorita. Bueno. I think
you and I, we could work out some arrangement.”

She took a step backward against the closed elevator doors.
With deliberation, he positioned one hand on the space to
the right of her head.

“Get away from me,” she hissed. She pushed at him, her palm
cool against his bare chest. Strained with all the
consequence of a gnat straining to shift a burro.

Silently, he applauded her courage, her spunk. While he
bewailed her stupidity.

He allowed his lips to curve. He leaned into her, her short
gasps of breath fluttering against his cheek. “Let me
introduce you to Latino-style love. I promise, once you’ve—”

“Can I never leave you unchained for a moment around the
women, mi amigo?”

He closed his eyes at the sound of Esteban’s smooth tones.
He’d hoped to get the woman out of here before his boss
emerged from the conference room at the rear of the suite.

If this woman was half as intelligent as he read in her
eyes, she’d realize Aaron was her only friend in this room.
Her only chance.