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The bartender’s eyes gleamed at Delaney with that unapologetic appreciation that never failed to give her a little buzz. "Hola, senorita." “Hola, Rodolfo,” she read off his badge. “Quatro margaritas, dos piña coladas, y uno…” How did a person say virgin daquiri in Spanish, she wondered. “Y uno daquiri, no…rum, por favor.” “No rum?” he repeated in English. “No fun.” “Oh, we have fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “We always have fun.” “I see, senorita. I always have fun, too. Maybe you and I, senorita, we have fun together.” “Are you hitting on me, Rodolfo?” He frowned, even as his hands moved from bottles to blenders in an efficient blur. “What is hitting on you?” “Inviting me to have fun.” “Ah.” His teeth gleamed. “Senorita, only a dead man does not invite a woman like you to have fun. And I am not a dead man.” Delaney winked at him. Flirting. It made her feel alive. How could she settle in with just one guy and give that up? Give up the excitement of a first date? The anticipation of never knowing how a night might end?or with who? The tap on her shoulder had her sniffing. “About time,” she said, turning. “I thought I was going to have to?” The words died in her throat. And all she could do was stand there, staring at the man before her. He was, purely and simply, gorgeous. He had one of those faces that was all intriguing planes and angles, the kind of face a sculptor might chisel for a statue of some dangerous god, Ares, perhaps. Or Eros. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach. He was tall, tall enough that she found herself tipping her head back to look at him, and close enough that all it would take was leaning forward a fraction to have her mouth on his. His brows were dark and straight, the same color as the hair that flowed thick and unruly to his collar. His jaw was darkened by a rather overgrown Van Dyke. His eyes were so black that in the dim bar she couldn’t see the pupils. As she watched, some spark of humor flickered in them. “Your drinks are here,” he said helpfully. Oh, and it was a bedroom voice, low and a little rough, perfect for late night promises and demands. Anticipation buzzed through her. She paid the Rodolfo and turned back. “Were you trying to get to me or the bartender?” she asked lightly. He looked her up and down, his gaze warming her. “You. Definitely. How am I doing?” Her mouth curved. “You’ve got my attention.” And that of her hormones. “That’s a start. Small world, huh?” Gorgeous, maybe, but not so great in the brains department. And Delaney required brains. “Gee, you’re right. You’re American, I’m American, both of us in Mexico.” She widened her eyes. “What are the chances?” He studied her a second and laughed out loud, a sound that sent something vibrating deep inside her. “Pretty low. I’d call it fate.” “You think?” “Absolutely. What brings you down here, vacation?” “No, I work down here.” That seemed to surprise him. “What do you do?” “Oh,” she cast about, “I’m a, uh, professional agouti wrestler.” “Agouti?” “You know, those little brown jungle animals that look like rats on stilts? No tails, just these underprivileged-looking behinds?” “An agouti wrestler.” Delaney’s lips twitched. “They’re a lot tougher than you’d think.” “That must mean you are, too.” Before she realized his intent, he reached out to run his fingertips over the curve of her bare shoulder. “I guess I’d better watch out.” It shouldn’t have sent heat flushing through her. A little banter, a smile, a quick touch was all it was. It shouldn’t have set her heart to thudding. So why was she standing there without a thought in her head, she who always had a comeback for everything? She moistened her lips. And if possible, his eyes got even darker. “You know, you have a great mouth. I bet you played flute or something in school.” “Flute?” she repeated blankly. “Yeah. You’ve definitely got the lips for it.” It was a guess, she told herself, a lucky one. “Now there’s a line I haven’t heard before.” “Not a line.” “No? So what are you, an orchestra director on the lam?” He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t see you in an orchestra anyway. Band, I think. And every time you put that flute up to your mouth, I bet you broke some poor kid’s heart.” “You’re betting a lot tonight.” His smile widened. “I’m feeling lucky.” He watched her closely, his eyes unsettlingly intent. Amusement glimmered in his eyes, something that suggested an inside joke?on her. And suspicion dawned. “My friends put you up to this, didn’t they?” she demanded, rising on tiptoe to stare back at the rest of the gang. They were watching avidly, though, not a grin among them. “Nope, no help,” he confirmed when she glanced back. “Why, am I right?” She raised her chin. “Who’s asking?” “You really don’t know?” He grinned. “Come on, don't tell me your memory's already going at thirty." "If you wanted to flatter me you’d have said twenty-five.” “If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed twenty-four.” And like a seismic vibration, the beginnings of recognition quivered through her. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. A younger face, rounder, peach smooth with adolescence. Not him, but someone shorter, blonder. Someone who was… “Oh my God…” “What?” “It can’t be.” She stared. “I know you. It’s Jake, right? Jake from South Junior High School. Jake?” “Gordon,” he finished. “Hello, Delaney.”
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