The Flyboy's Temptation by Kimberly Van Meter

out what to do with him.”
    Hope breathed a secret sigh of relief, but as the thugs opened the trunk to retrieve J.T., a sudden flurry of motion, blood spattering and cursing ensued as J.T. sprang from the trunk like an avenging demon, swinging a tire iron with the intent of cracking skulls.
    The driver shoved her to the ground and charged J.T., deflecting a swing of the tire iron with his forearm and landing a punch to J.T.’s jaw.
    J.T. recovered and swung out with his left foot, connecting with the man’s kneecap, driving him straight to the ground.
    It was like watching gladiators pummel each other in the ring. Hope could only gape as they grappled, tossing each other around, landing punches and knocking each other sideways until J.T. cracked a good hit across the thug’s face, sending him straight to the dirt.
    Elated by his bloody victory, she scrambled to her feet to run with him, but he stopped her with a terse, “You stay,” which instantly baffled and hurt her.
    â€œWhat are you talking about? You can’t leave me here!”
    Bleeding from the nose and lip, J.T. shocked her when he shouted, “I’ll be back! Trust me!” and bolted for the perimeter like a felon evading the guards.
    For a long moment, Hope continued to stare with incredulous shock in the direction J.T. had disappeared, unable to comprehend what he’d just done.
    He’d left her!
    That rotten son of a bitch! Here she was worrying about his safety and he went and bailed on her like a coward?
    â€œI hope you get eaten by an anaconda!” she called out, her indignation blotting out the fear of being left on her own with the scary thugs and only God knew what else.
    The driver rose, limping from his abused knee, and then, after his fellow thugs had risen slowly, holding their heads and bitching about their injuries, he barked orders. “Find that bastard and bring him back to me!”
    They cast dirty looks, but did as they were told, leaving the driver and Hope alone.
    â€œYour friend is going to die for that,” he promised Hope with a glower, then jerked his head and growled, “Start walking.”
    He pushed her and she stumbled, refusing to let him see her tremble. She was smarter than this Neanderthal. Lifting her chin, she threw him an icy glare that she hoped promised a grisly, torturous death and walked into the cool confines of the huge main house.
    Ceiling fans pushed around the humid air, while native flora hung from huge pots, lending a wild look to the cultured and opulent surroundings. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a monkey pop out from behind a huge potted fern or a snake wind itself free from one of the vines and loop itself around the banisters.
    The man pushed her into a large office, the walls decorated with animal trophies that immediately made her queasy, barked, “Wait here,” and then he left.
    The room was richly appointed with a definite masculine touch—above and beyond the dead animal heads, of course—so when a sharply dressed man with hair that was lightly graying at the temples walked in with a glittering smile that made her want to hide, she knew she was looking at the man who had likely killed Tanya.
    Maybe he hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d surely given the order.
    Actually, she thought with another glance at the animal trophies, maybe he had pulled the trigger. Maybe he was one of those sick freaks who enjoyed hunting human beings for sport.
    She couldn’t help the shudder, which he caught, prompting him to smile.
    â€œWould you care for a cool beverage?” he asked solicitously, as if her arrival hadn’t been under duress and practically a hostage situation, his voice colored with a rich Spanish accent. “The locals make a delicious tropical drink called ulubomba that’s made from the crushed cupuaçu , a creamy fruit that tastes of chocolate, banana, pear, passion fruit and pineapple. I