LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      “OF ALL names, my new boss had to be a Vidal.”

      Cassandra St James winced. She was talking to herself out loud, sounding like a hissing cobra, no less. No wonder the woman ahead of her in the queue had given her that funny look.

      What was really funny was that just his name still raised her hackles this way. Brought every sort of fierce nastiness she thought she’d outgrown bubbling to the surface again.

      So their mission leader, the man they were transiting in Madrid Airport to pick up, was blighted at birth with ‘the name’. Him and a million other men in Spanish-speaking communities. Her Vidal was an Arroyo Martinez. He must be in some hyper-advanced surgical center, performing million-dollar esthetic miracles. Her new boss was a Santiago, and he was devoting three months to a grueling, payless humanitarian mission.

      She shook her head, paid for her breakfast, tossed her mane of curls back. Better focus on something else. Her life’s much-needed new direction, for example. That began today. Her plans to explore new medical frontiers, to break the monotony and the dead ends, were in motion at last. And from the way she saw—saw...

      Eyes. Steel and silver. They slammed into her across the huge, bustling cafeteria and held her prisoner. Wouldn’t let her look anywhere else. Not even at the face they belonged to.

      Her heart lurched and the next scheduled breath just wouldn’t come.

      Whoa! What was that? She didn’t do that. Didn’t do instant overwhelming attraction and X-rated thoughts. Or delayed ones, for that matter. Didn’t go hot and gooey when a man looked at her. And the man was just looking at her.

      OK, so no one had ever looked at her that way—ogled her blatantly, sure, especially since she’d set foot in this land of self-appointed Latin lovers—but this...this devouring was something else altogether.

      People passed in front of her, blocking her vision, severing the connection.

      Oh, thank you! She made use of the time out, reached one of the elegant plate-glass tables, swore softly when she splashed cappuccino over her French pastry.

      Don’t look. She did. She had to, to find out just what that bolt of chemical reaction was all about. Bodies still blocked her view. Then suddenly she had a clear shot of him again and...he was no longer on the other side of the cafeteria!

      He was cutting his way through the packed crowds, head and shoulders above other people. Coming to her. Oh, wow!

      Her mind stuttered to a standstill as his purposeful stride eliminated the gap between them, then kicked off again, in a jumble.

      He was going to talk to her. He wanted to talk to her. Oh, yes! But what would he say? What would she say? She must look hideous. Her hair was a worse-than-usual mess. Not even lip gloss. She must still be puffed up with that horrible deathlike sleep on board the plane—not that those lethal eyes said anything, but—

      A bloodcurdling shriek went through her like a scythe.

      Cassandra jerked around, but not before she saw his eyes snapping from consuming to concerned as they refocused behind her, searching out the source of distress.

      The shrieks continued, rising to a manic pitch. People were running, some away from the source of disturbance. That added to her confusion until she remembered where they were. In an airport screams might easily be interpreted as some sort of danger. Her first impulse was to rush to help. It must be all her medical training, and probably her knight-to-the-rescue genes as well.

      Shouts in many languages echoed. She made out enough to know there’d been an accident. Someone—a child—was injured, unconscious.

      She was running by now, towards the milling crowd. He was ahead of her, his growls cutting a clear path to the victim in seconds.

      It wasn’t as easy for her. The crowd closed up again in his wake, didn’t part for her as it had for him. She had to shove and elbow away layer after layer of onlookers, trying to get to the object of their horrified fascination.

      Her shouts of, “Let me pass. I’m a doctor,” didn’t make any impression

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