Dax closed the room door behind them, then locked it, bolted it, and used the worthless chain, and throughout the whole security procedure, such as it was, he held on to her hand.

More telling, she held on to his-and at this point in the day, that was about all the encouragement he needed, for all the good it was going to do him right now.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got something to drink?” she asked.

“Sodas? Water?” He had a few things.

“Gin martini?”

He grinned. “Kentucky gold.”

He let go of her hand and walked over to the small duffel bag he’d set on the bedside table. Behind him, he heard her cross the room and open the balcony doors. When he found his flask, he unscrewed the top and walked over to where she was standing, looking out onto the street.

He handed her the flask, and she took a small sip, holding it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing.

“Bourbon,” she said.

Whiskey, neat.

He took a bigger swallow when she handed it back, and then he gave her the flask-and my, wasn’t this cozy, just the two of them, having a drink. He had a plan, and in a minute or two, he was going to put it in motion.

But for a minute or two, he was just going to enjoy the view.

“What did Marcella say?” the view asked. “There at the last, when she was running on?”

He could have made up half a dozen things, but went ahead and told her the truth.

“First, Marcella is a ‘he,’ not a ‘she,’ and he goes both ways, and if there were three ways to go, he’d go that way, too, for a price, and he said you have the most perfect ass he’s ever seen.”

Dax tended to agree, but he didn’t think this was the time or the place for his opinion on the subject, not when she was close enough for him to see the amber highlights in her eyes, the sheen of dampness on her skin-and something he shouldn’t have missed.

His brow furrowed.

“When did this happen?” he asked, turning her face into the light. She’d been scratched, high up on her cheek, almost into her hairline.

He carefully smoothed the auburn strands of her hair away from her face.

“When we came out of that window at Beranger’s.”

“Hell,” he muttered, sliding his thumb across her cheek, just below the injury. “I thought I was more careful with you than that.”

“It’s just a… uh, scratch,” she said, her voice breaking just a little, and yeah, he understood. They were alone, and safe, and suddenly close enough to make something happen, and he was touching her.

Sex.

That’s what he was thinking could happen.

“I’ve got some antibiotic cream in my pack.” Geezus, she was beautiful. It just wrecked him, the way she looked.

“I already put some on, at the hotel.”

Sex.

Just sex.

“Good,” he said, nodding his head like a little antibiotic cream on a scratch was rocket science.

Just soft mouths and soft…

“I had a tube in my suitcase-ah, hell.”

Yeah, her luggage. He’d kind of forgotten about that. Actually, he was having a little trouble remembering a lot of things, like his plan, the one where he walked out of here and left her all by her lonesome in this room while he scooted back to Beranger’s to get sopping wet in one of those basement cisterns.

That plan was losing its appeal faster than a lightning strike.

“I think I can get your stuff back-your suitcase, your shoes, everything you left at the Gran Chaco.” It was a long shot, but not impossible. “I know some guys… some guys who can…uh…”

The thought ran out, because she was looking up at him, her gaze softening into a languid, mesmerizing stare.

“Thank goodness,” she said, her voice sweetly sincere. “Dax?”

“Yes?” When she sounded like that, the answer was bound to be yes.

“I’m hungry, and really tired. Could you go get us something to eat?”

And there was his plan, the solution, his exit strategy, all laid out for him-except he wasn’t all that interested in going now.

Hold on, boy-his brain kicked in-let reason be your guide.

He was all for reason. Right.

“There’s a restaurant down the street,” he said. “A churrascaria, a lot of grilled meat, some different kinds of bread, fruit. I could head down there.”

He started to turn away, but she stopped him with her hand on his waist.

“Thanks.”

That’s all she said, just “Thanks,” but that’s all he’d needed, just one more moment of hesitation.

Hell.

He was such a fool. He knew it, dammit, but he went ahead and did it anyway, slid his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his mouth to hers.

Big mistake-he was so instantly lost in the warm, lovely taste of her mouth, the mindless pleasure of her kiss, so sweet, so hot, so softly, erotically female.

She melted up against him, her body yielding in all the right places, and it was such a turn-on-but at some point, she was going to realize he’d cut her out of the deal, and if she’d already gone to bed with him when she discovered his betrayal, she was going to think he was the world’s biggest bastard, or even worse-and she’d be right. She’d feel used, and he’d feel like hell, and it would be damn hard work to come back from a dirty trick like that and maybe make a go of it, make some kind of relationship-the kind that had a chance at lasting.

Lasting relationship? Now there were two words that didn’t go together in his vocabulary very often-let alone in his life.

Okay, this kiss wasn’t nearly mindless enough. He was thinking, a lot, and even with this exquisitely hot and beautiful woman in his arms, he was thinking he needed to get the hell out of the room, before he did something he was going to love and she sure as hell was going to hold against him.

Damn. Talk about bad timing for an attack of conscience.

But then she opened her mouth wider, pressed herself closer, and his conscience did a nosedive. He slid his hand down over the curve of her perfect ass and pulled her in close, where he could feel her up against him, cradling him, and he deepened the kiss.

Oh, yes, he was going to go straight to hell for this and love every minute.

Unless he stopped.

And did the right thing.

“Suzi,” he whispered, pulling back from the kiss just enough to get his brain working again, and he immediately wished he hadn’t.

She stiffened in his embrace, then turned her back to him and leaned up against the balcony door.

“I’ll just go… get us something to eat.” And with those few words, he won the Lame-Ass Idiot of the Year award, hands down, no competition in sight. “I won’t be gone very long,” he promised, but he figured she pretty much didn’t give a damn how long he was gone. Like maybe forever might be too soon for him to come back with a plate of barbecued meat and some nameless piece of fruit.

Well, perfect. Turning women down was not exactly his forte, so no wonder he’d blown it. Geezus.

He went and got a couple of tools out of his duffel bag and slipped them into the cargo pocket on his pants. He had some connections, still knew a few guys who could pull all kinds of strings, even as far south as Paraguay, and when he had the statue secured, if it was even in that damn crate hidden inside the cistern, and got back with the food, he was going to do his damnedest to get her out of Ciudad del Este-tonight, before sunrise and another day of disasters. For the kinds of guys he knew, it wouldn’t matter that the police were looking for her. Evading all and every law enforcement entity on the planet was their modus operandi-and they were the good guys.

But first, he had to get back to the gallery, before the damn basement flooded again.