Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar. Lindsay McKenna

though Ann was only in her early thirties, she was a top professional in the field.

      Ann didn’t know why he was sending her to Peru to be near Houston. Morgan didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her. Besides, from everything he and his wife could see, there was a mutual attraction between the by-the-book doctor and the hotheaded, passionate major whose Indian blood kept him running headlong into dangerous scrapes with Escovar. Yes, Ann’s cool, calm and collected personality would be a good match for Houston, whose zealous attempts to destroy every drug dealer he could find in Peru could be his undoing.

      Morgan admired Houston tremendously, and he’d just gotten information from the highest government sources that Escovar had recently renewed his efforts to take revenge on Houston. In fact, Escovar had just doubled the price on his head. Morgan had no doubt Mike had his own network of spies to warn him of Escovar’s movements, but Morgan wanted a safety net for him. And Ann, who was all science and facts, was a good chess piece to put into play down there. She could keep tabs on the footloose major and save his neck, if necessary. No, it was best that Ann go there thinking she would be slaving away in a small clinic. Morgan didn’t want her flying in those drug-raid copters and getting shot at. He knew that Houston’s network of helicopters could ensure that he was within an hour’s ride of Lima should anything terrible happen to him. And Ann would be there waiting, ready with her surgical skills to save his sorry life.

      Smiling to himself, Morgan sipped more of his coffee. There was no one better than Houston to go up against Eduardo Escovar. But Morgan wanted insurance for him of a different sort. He felt intuitively that Houston liked Ann—a whole lot. And maybe, just maybe, the hotshot jungle fighter would ease off on the throttles just a little bit, take a few less risks if he knew he had someone to return to in Lima after one of his bloody raids deep in the mountains. Maybe… Morgan admitted his plan was risky in itself. It was obvious Ann thought Houston had maneuvered things to get her on this assignment. And in Houston, she had more than met her match. Chuckling to himself, Morgan marveled over the attraction he saw between the cool, level-headed scientist and the passionate jaguar god of Peru. It was the molten steel being thrust into a bucket of icy water. What a combination! Morgan knew the sparks would fly. Secretly, his money was on Houston to endure her scalpel-like reactions and slowly but surely wear her down. Beneath Ann’s genius mind, beneath that cold, scientific rationale that fed her intellect, was a hot-blooded woman who was afraid to step out of her ivory tower and experience being wild and free in a man’s arms. And these weren’t just any man’s arms Morgan was pushing her toward…. He was betting that Houston could handle her. Time would tell, though.

      “The flight to Peru will be a good shakedown cruise for both of you,” he told Ann in his rumbling voice. “A nice chance to talk over how you want to run the clinic for Houston.”

      Ann glared at Morgan. “I’m not happy about this assignment. At all.”

      He lifted his hand. “Just be patient,” he urged gently. “Mike isn’t the monster you make him out to be. He’s all-heart if you give him a chance.”

      That was exactly what Ann was afraid of—Mike Houston’s passionate, wild heart. He frightened her. More so than any other man. And in less than three hours, she’d be forced to sit beside him on that airplane. How was she going to deal with her fearful emotions?

      Ann tried to contain her feelings as she sat in the first-class section of the Veracruz flight. Mike Houston, dressed in a pair of dark brown slacks, a short-sleeved, white silk shirt and camel hair sport coat, sat across the aisle. She studied his rugged profile. It reminded her of the harsh granite of the Andes beneath them. They’d been in the air for hours since picking up fuel in Mexico City for the long flight to Lima.

      Her conscience prickled. She knew she was being grumpy about this assignment and she didn’t like herself for it. Generally, she was unflappable in every situation. Nothing ever caused her to swerve from her focus on saving lives, not even bullets flying around her. This man, this army major, had really unsettled her in ways she’d never thought possible. How could she be so drawn to Mike? How? It scared her to even think of him in that way. Ann thought herself incapable of ever falling in love again since— She slammed the lid shut on her memories before she felt the pain of them. Somehow being around Mike made her feel vulnerable once more. He was mysterious; there was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on and it bothered her immensely. He was unlike any man she’d ever met—or had been attracted to. Her gut told her that dealing with him would be like handling nitroglycerine—one false move and the attraction between them would explode into something more.

      She was a coward, she admitted to herself. A certifiable coward. Mike had been honest and aboveboard in his genuine interest in her. He hadn’t manipulated her in this regard. After all, she’d enjoyed his kisses, his incredibly tender explorations, as much as he obviously had. There was no fault in this, really. She was an adult. She had willingly kissed him and wanted his continued caresses. Even now, she felt her lower body tighten with such need of him that she wanted to cry. The past was too strong for her to overcome, though. If she knew Mike for a longer time, those walls might dissolve. And that’s what Ann was really afraid of. Six weeks in Lima with him around on a daily basis would surely unlatch a door in her heart that she’d thought would remain closed forever.

      Anxiety raced through Ann. She felt bad and wanted to apologize to Mike for accusing him, though she wasn’t so sure he was completely innocent of getting her assigned to Lima. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he sipped some amber-colored whiskey. He’d barely spoken a word to her for hours now and he only communicated when she asked him a question. He was still angry with her, despite the fact that he seemed to have cooled down considerably after his outburst in front of Morgan. He’d even apologized to her later as they were packing to leave the ranch. She’d stiffly accepted his apology, but she’d seen the sadness in his eyes, and had fought the tears in her own.

      Ann didn’t want to hurt Mike, but she knew she had. She could barely stand herself as a result. He was a man of incredible courage, an officer and a gentleman. The kind of man she could fall in love with, if she allowed herself. That’s why going to a foreign country and being under Houston’s protection was unnerving. She would have to rely on him because she was unfamiliar with Peruvian culture. Her rational mind didn’t like being out of control like that. Ann had always relied upon herself, all her life. If she got into a scrape, she managed to get herself out—alone, without help.

      Yes, she’d dreamed of Mike, of their kisses, of being with him completely. Her emotions unraveled when she was around him, and she felt needy, hungry in a way that she’d never felt before. The thought of six more weeks in his powerful and persuasive presence scared her more than bullets or bombs exploding around her.

      Manipulation was something Ann despised. It brought out every conceivable dark emotion within her. But then, she’d been manipulated once, by a master similar to Houston, so why shouldn’t she be wary of him? She’d fallen for an Air Force pilot after the one love of her life had died in a plane crash. Robert Crane had said every word, given her every look and done everything she’d ever dreamed that a man might do for the woman he was falling in love with—and she’d fallen hopelessly for him. Now she knew that what she felt for Robert had not grown out of love, but out of the grief and loss of her one true love. At the time, Ann hadn’t realized that, of course.

      The realization came soon after Crane had lured her into bed. Once he’d “caught” her, he’d up and left. When Ann confronted him about it a week later, he’d laughed at her and told her the awful truth: he was a hunter, she was the hunted. His quarry. She’d been prey to be taken, used and then thrown away. The humiliation and shame of that disastrous time in her life had branded her forever. Never did Ann want to be manipulated like that again. Yet somehow Houston had gotten beneath her considerable armor. It must be his South American blood, his passion for life, that had breathed hot, molten desire into her heart. Daily, she fought her feelings for him. Daily, she tried to shrug off his heated looks, his gentle teasing, and yes, those wonderful kisses that opened her up inside and made her bare her vulnerability.

      Ann closed her eyes and sighed raggedly. What was Houston’s real intent? At thirty-two years old, she wasn’t