Entangled (Serendipity Adventure Romance Book 2) (7 page)

Long enough to make it look like something else entirely. She closed her eyes at the familiar wave of shame. God, if only she hadn’t jumped to her own conclusion, like everyone else.

“That’s all I did.” He didn’t have a hand over his heart, but he didn’t need one. The crack in his voice was promise enough.

“I know,” she said, but it barely came out above the chorus of crickets outside.

It had taken Meredith and Seth a week to track down the girl, her roommate, and the neighbor, and another two weeks to set the story straight. Every day of it, an eternity of tears and pain, then shame.

Tobin rolled to face her, his head propped on a hand, his elbow on the mattress, so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “If you know I didn’t do it, why are you still mad at me?”

She wanted to jump up and insist she wasn’t mad, but she was. Mad at him for letting her go so easily. Mad at herself for being stupid enough to believe he would ever hurt her. A mistake that ruined everything, and even though it wasn’t his fault, he was the one who came away tarnished. No, he hadn’t cheated, people whispered, but one day he probably would. A man not to be trusted, a party boy.

By the time she got the real story, Tobin was gone. Far gone — on a surf trip to Australia where the rumormongers had him shacked up with a different surfer girl every night. A man that good-looking wouldn’t be lonely for long. Not on a ski slope, not on a beach, not on the other side of the world.

Every muscle in her body wanted to follow him and haul him home, but she’d stopped just short of booking a flight.

Where’s your pride, girl?
Her sister’s words had been a slap in the face.

Damn pride. That and an awful, gnawing doubt. Even if he hadn’t cheated on her this time, one day, he just might. Life was a game to Tobin; why wouldn’t he want to play around?

You can’t trust a man like him,
her mother said.

Why can’t you find someone like his brother?
her dad had thrown in.

Her eyes stung and salty and she lay stiff as a log, trying to hold it all in.

She didn’t want his brother. She didn’t want any of the dull, straitlaced men she’d tried dating over the years. She wanted him.

Still wanted him, deep down in her heart.

“Maybe it was a good thing.” Tobin shrugged, settling onto his back again. He tried to make it sound light, but she could hear the defeat in his words. “If you were ready to believe I’d be interested in anyone else, then maybe we weren’t ready to get married.”

God, the truth hurt.

“Your dad was right,” he added, and when she looked, she saw that the face that wasn’t capable of anything but joy was suddenly lined with sorrow.

Her dad called him a no-good bum and a lot of other things right before he started throwing chairs to chase Tobin away.

Tobin, who’d never let her down. Who never would have.

And here was the proof. Of all the people in the world to come to her rescue, it was Tobin here in the jungle, promising to find a way out.

He rolled away, and all she could see was the hard wall of his back. When he spoke, it was in a choked whisper.

“Good night, Cara.”

Chapter Eleven

Cara didn’t sleep a wink. The previous nights, the unfamiliar jungle noise had kept her up, but now it was worse, as if each of the rain-forest dwellers had taken on one of her emotions. The haunting hoots of an owl echoed her regrets. The resonating song of the cricket amplified her shame. And the sweet calls of songbirds embodied everything she could have had, but lost.

Tobin was awfully quiet on his side of the bed, but leave it to the big lug, he started the next morning fresh and chipper and sunny as ever. He stretched and smiled and ducked under the mosquito net to splash water on his face.

“Morning,” he called, as if he knew it was going to be the world’s greatest day. The man always woke up like that. “Gotta pee!”

Always ready with a smile and a funny line. That was Tobin.

He pulled on his shorts and headed out the door, where he was immediately intercepted by a host of giggling children.

“Morning!” he said.
“Buenos días,
to you, and you, and you.”

His fan club erupted into happy sounds. Typical Tobin, spreading the gospel of simple joy and happiness wherever he went.

Maybe she could learn a little from him.

Cara stretched out under the sheet, contemplating the thatched roof. Then she frowned. What was that, pressing on her leg?

She lifted her head to check…and nearly passed out.

Two beady eyes watched her closely, and a forked tongue darted out.

Every muscle in her body twitched, fighting the instinct to flee.

The head was flat and evil, the eyes black. Glittering scales on a body as thick as her arm. A diamond pattern rippled and blurred as she focused on the eyes.
Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God…

The snake lifted its head, clearly thinking more along the lines of
Lunch, lunch, lunch.

If she flung the sheet over its head, would it still bite? Would the venom go through the bedding? Would she die a horribly slow and painful death?

A shadow darkened the doorway, and Tobin pranced back in. “Rise and shine, princess.” He went to the washbasin and started brushing his teeth.

Tobin!
she screamed wildly inside.

He started humming “Bare Necessities” from
The Jungle Book.

Tobin!
Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. It was just like being a kid, when she’d imagined monsters in the shadows and called out for her mom — quietly, so the monsters couldn’t hear.

But that snake was no trick of her imagination. She’d seen enough pictures in her guide books to recognize one of the most venomous snakes in the Americas: a fer-de-lance.

“Tobin!” A tiny croak came out, and the snake advanced with a sickening ripple of yellow scales over her leg. The head hovered over her hip, and its eyes never left her face.

Call him,
those eyes dared her.
Call him and I will bite.

“How did you slee—” Tobin turned and froze. “Whoa.”

Whoa was right. She was staring death in the face.

Tobin stabbed the air with his toothbrush. “I’ll be right back.”

He dashed out the door, and she could have wailed,
Don’t leave me! Not now!

Not ever!
another part of her wailed.

Tobin rooted around outside, rustling and swearing, but all she saw were the two tiny nose slits and two reptilian eyes.

“Okay.” Tobin loomed in the doorway with something long and silvery in his hand. A machete? He was going to hack the snake to death — on her body?

“Tobin!” she squeaked.

He flicked his wrist, turning the blade this way and that, trying to figure out an angle that would work. “Um…okay, so…”

“Tobin!” she shrieked.

And just like that, Tobin went from indecision to pure action. His body blurred, metal flashed, and the cool, flat slide of steel slid along her leg. Tobin flung the snake backward and pounced, machete raised. He brought it crashing down to the cabin floor, out of her sight, and there was a dull thunk. The blade came up bloody before crashing back down.
Thunk! Thunk!
By which point she was screaming and out of the bed and behind Tobin, jumping from leg to leg as if the floor were crawling with scorpions. And who knew? Maybe those were next.

Tobin stood in front of her, armed and mighty and practically baring his teeth. A minute ticked by before he pointed with the machete.

“Breakfast, anyone?”

His voice was joking, but the hug he caught her in a second later was serious. Dead serious.

“Jesus,” she whispered, closing her eyes to the mess. “I have to get out of this place.”

A broad hand stroked her hair, and his lips flitted over her forehead. The man was steel and cotton at the same time, all hard plates of muscle with a soft, soothing touch.

“I’ll get you out of here, Cara. I swear I will.”

And for the first time in days — maybe even years, it felt like somehow, everything might just turn out all right.

She waited for the funny comment Tobin was sure to make. The tease. Something about snakes and bites and sex, maybe. Or something about princesses stuck in the jungle, followed by a flash of his perfect teeth and knee-melting smile.

But he didn’t. He looked at her long and hard, as if a whole speech was perched on the tip of his tongue, dying for him to work up the courage to set it free.

The words never came, though. He closed his eyes briefly, let her get dressed quickly then quietly shooed her out the door.

Maybe it wasn’t the same old Tobin as before. This one was a little older, a little wiser. A little quieter, too.

He came out silently, the snake looped over his machete.

His machete.

Holy shit.

He tossed the carcass in the bushes then came back to her side.

“See?” He kicked aside leaves, clearing a trail. “The coast is clear.”

The man was a prince.

No one in the village seemed to bat an eye at the sight of the snake. One man, though, sat on a tree stump across the clearing, watching them closely. Lefebvre. Looking like he’d been waiting for them to come out — or waiting for them to never come out. Was that a scowl of disappointment or just his usual disdain?

“Señora! Señor!”
A woman beckoned them over for breakfast. It had been like that every morning: with no ado whatsoever, someone would smile and wave and offer a plate. In fact, there were often a couple of people vying for the honor of feeding her.

But breakfast, at a time like this?

Tobin, of course, dug right in.

Cara gave the ground a good stomp to chase away any lurking snakes before sitting down and accepting a plate of fried plantains.

“You think if a couple of these people showed up in your hometown, anyone would spontaneously offer them a warm meal?” Tobin mused between munches.

She snorted. The villagers had taught her a lot of things besides basket-weaving and which plants — and snakes — to avoid. Things like generosity, openheartedness, neighborliness.

On the other hand, they were keeping her captive, too.

She shook her head, not knowing what to believe. “For all we know, they could have slipped the snake into our cabin.”

“Nah,” Tobin countered, shoveling another plantain into his mouth. Totally relaxed, like he started every day by killing venomous snakes and eating with his bare hands. “I think it came in through the roof.”

Like that made her feel better.

“That, or he did it.” Tobin’s voice dropped and his eyes narrowed on Lefebvre, who glared back.

Cara didn’t want to believe the anthropologist would go that far, but still…

Tobin kicked the ground then stuck a smile back on.

“Delicious!” he announced, and all the ladies clucked in approval.

Rodrigo showed up halfway through Tobin’s third helping, wearing a green T-shirt with a picture of a bulldozer circled and crossed out by a red line. “I will organize a guide, so you can see the waterfall.”

Cara wanted to moan. The last thing she wanted was a jungle hike. She wanted out, now more than ever.

“Great!” Tobin said. “I can’t wait to see the birds.”

“You like birds?” Rodrigo looked delighted.

Cara crooked an eyebrow. Since when did Tobin like birds?

“Sure, I’m an amateur orni—” Either he got stuck on the word, or he was having fun. “A horny…an ormi—”

She lifted her eyebrows. “An ornithologist?”

He stuck another banana in his mouth and pointed at her with a look that said,
Bingo!

Rodrigo pointed uphill, but Tobin shook his head.

“Not the top of the waterfall.” He pointed down, in the direction of the valley with the bridge. The way out. “The bottom.” He said it so casually, she knew something was up.

Rodrigo eyed Tobin the way one might study a sleeping anaconda. “Why the bottom?”

Yes,
she wanted to echo,
why the bottom?

“I saw a waterfall in Honduras that people say is the most beautiful in all Central America, but when I saw the one here yesterday, I thought it might be a contender. But I’d need to see from the bottom to be sure.”

Rodrigo looked positively outraged. “Our waterfall is the most beautiful. People come from all over the world to see it.”

“That’s why I want to go. To see for myself. From the bottom.”

What was this obsession with the bottom of the falls?

“It’s very far,” Rodrigo warned.

“I love hiking,” Tobin countered.

Since when?

“And I love butterflies.”

“I thought you said you liked birds.”

She could see his mind racing. “I like birds. But butterflies are my passion.” The man even managed to say it with a straight face. “And they’re most active around now, so we need to get going.”

Tobin liked butterflies about as much as he liked the opera music her father listened to.

“It’s much closer to visit the top,” Rodrigo warned.

“How close?”

“Only about an hour.”

Tobin nodded. “That’ll be on our list for tomorrow. Today we want the view from the bottom.”

“The bottom,” Rodrigo repeated. He scrutinized Tobin’s poker face.

“The bottom is the best place to appreciate the height of a waterfall. But whatever.” Tobin flapped his hand, as if was all the same to him. “I’m pretty sure that waterfall in Honduras is nicer, anyway.”

Rodrigo muttered under his breath and stalked away in search of a guide.

She sidled up to Tobin. “A hike? And another one tomorrow?”

He nodded, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Tomorrow is Friday,” she went on. “And the presentation is at three. I need to get out of this place. I thought you came to save me.”

Tobin inched closer. Closer. Kissing close. Not a good thing, because a happy, confident Tobin did deadly things to her resolve. Just like the day she met him on the ski slope: the minute she saw him, she went hot all over. And not just because of his looks. It was more than that, like her soul already knew he was the only man for her. She’d fought the attraction all day, only to end up in bed with him that very same night. And loved every minute of it.