Standing, I picked up my Louis Vuitton Venus bag, smoothed down my crumpled top, and took a deep breath.

Later, Captain Clynes.

IT TOOK MORE THAN an hour to find my luggage and wait on the taxi line. The heat outside was oppressive even though it was supposed to be winter in Brazil, and I felt beads of sweat beginning to form on my back. I needed a cool shower, gigantic cup of iced coffee (vanilla or hazelnut might be nice), and possibly a ninety-minute massage at a hotel spa. When it was finally my turn at the front of the line, I couldn’t wait to slip inside the air-conditioned taxi while the driver packed my bags into the trunk then joined me.

“Ola. Onde gostaris de ir?”

Shit. “No habla Portugese.” Wait…was no habla the same in Portugese as it was in Spanish?

The driver turned to face me. “You speak English, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. You tell me where you want to go, understand?”

“Oh. Sorry. Give me a second.” I quickly typed luxury hotels with spa in Rio into Google. The Internet connection was slow, but eventually I began to scroll through hotels looking for a chain I was at least familiar with. My search was interrupted by the cab door opening.

The driver began to shout something in Portuguese. The way his finger was wagging, I assumed he was telling the person that the cab was full. But the passenger didn’t listen. Next thing I knew, I was sitting next to someone in the back seat.

Someone wearing a uniform.

Captain Carter Clynes in the flesh.

He turned to face me with a wicked grin on his face. “My layover just got more interesting.”

Damn. He seemed to have grown that stubble overnight.

“How was your flight, Perky? Did you enjoy the ride I gave you?”

“My shirt’s dry. I think you can drop the Perky.”

His eyes lowered to my breasts. Of course, my nipples were standing at full attention since the sheen of sweat on my skin had met the cool air-conditioning inside the cab.

Carter scrubbed his hands over his face. “Damn. You weren’t kidding about those things. I haven’t slept in eighteen hours, and they just woke me up. I think they’re contagious, and I’m fucking perky now.”

“That’s not really an appropriate thing to say to a woman you just met, you know.”

“We didn’t just meet. This is our third date.”

“Third date?”

“I bought you dinner in an elegant restaurant for our first one and took you up for a plane ride for our second one. Those were damn good dates. Some women would kill for that kind of lavishness. Seems fitting date three we should be heading to a hotel.” He winked.

I wasn’t sure if it was the time change, my being tired from restless sleep on the plane, or if it was possible this man could say anything and I wouldn’t be offended. Why am I not I offended?

When I didn’t respond, he continued. “I’m glad I saw you. Didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“That might be because you didn’t look for me.”

“I never thought you’d actually take my suggestion and fly to Brazil.”

I mumbled. “Neither did I.”

The cab driver interrupted, looking between us to ask, “You share cab, yes?”

Surprising me, Carter answered. In Portuguese. The language that sounded choppy and frustrating just two minutes ago, suddenly sounded sexy and romantic.

He turned back to me in English. “What hotel are you staying at?”

“I was just trying to figure that out with a little help from Google. Do you have one to recommend?”

“You trust me to pick out where you’ll stay tonight?”

I considered his question for a minute. It was illogical, that much I knew, but I did trust him to pick my hotel. Lord knows why. “I think I do.”

That response earned me another sexy grin that had me more excited than I’d been in the last year.

Almost a half-hour later, we were finally off the highway and traveling into what looked like a residential neighborhood. “Barra de Tijuca.” I read the street sign aloud.

“Very good. I should probably warn you. It’s probably not the type of hotel you’re used to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You look like you’re more of the luxury chain with a spa type of woman, that’s all.”

Even though that was exactly what I’d typed into Google, when he said it that way, it sounded like a bad thing. It made me defensive. “And what’s wrong with a luxury hotel? Sometimes a girl needs a massage and a soak in a nice bathtub while traveling.”

“Well, you certainly won’t be getting either of those where we’re heading.” Carter caught my eye. “Unless I’m the one doing the massaging, that is.”

I blushed, which caused Carter to chuckle. “You really are fucking adorable. I’m not sure what’s sexier, the fact that you’re up for letting me take you on this little adventure, or that you secretly like the thought of me giving you a massage.”

“I do not!” My quick, defensive response only confirmed he was right.

He leaned to me. “Do, too.”

“You’re off base.”

“That’s a shame. I’ve been told I’m really good with my hands.” He held out his hands in front of him, examining them. Big hands. Hands that looked like he used them to do some actual work when he wasn’t flying a plane.

Damn.

I needed to be back in control of my body and this conversation. “Actually, I’ve heard you were good…with your hands.”

Carter furrowed his brow.

“Your crew. They might have mentioned something.”

“What did they mention?”

“It’s not important.”

Carter was about to push for more information, until the taxi came to a stop. I looked around. “Where are we?” We were still in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

“Maria Rosa Rio Guesthouse.”

“You mean like a bed and breakfast?”

“It’s more like a bed and dinner. Maria Rosa doesn’t usually get up before noon. But she makes the best damn feijoada south of the equator.”

He exited the car and surprised me by offering me his hand. “Fei-what?” I asked as he helped me out of the taxi.