Free Obsession by Sharon Buchbinder Page B

weapons of Miss and Mrs. Destruction? The man was, without a doubt, a humongous danger to anyone with a vagina.
    At last she tore her gaze away from the man’s groin and up to his smirking face. She hadn’t even worked up a sweat, and she was already breathing hard. What the hell was wrong with her? Did she have altitude sickness?
    “Are you following me?”
    “No.” He frowned and gave her a slow once over. “Are you following me?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She tossed her head, and her ponytail smacked her in the face. For God’s sake, even her hair was attacking her now. She grabbed her eye.
    He touched her wrist. “Need first aid?”
    “No.” She swatted him away. “I need you to leave me alone.” She turned to get away from him, from his smarmy good looks, and his teeny-weenie swimsuit.
    “Hey.”
    She turned. “What is it? I really need to get some exercise.” She jogged in place, then stopped when she saw his eyes moving up and down in sync with her bouncing breasts. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You have my full attention.” She struggled to keep her eyes on his face and not below the belt. She pretended he had a giant python in his pants. That helped. Sort of.
    “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you before. I had your best interests in mind. If your father’s cult is in the mountains or valleys of the Sierra Madre, we’re going to be traveling over rocky terrain, some of it at high altitudes and steep grades.”
    “And?” This was not news to her.
    “Goats have no problem making their way around there. Well, goats and the Tarahumara.”
    “Pardon me?” What the hell was he saying?
    “Indigenous people, here way before the Spanish arrived. Subsistence farmers, goat and sheep herders, tireless runners. As in they can run thirty to fifty miles a day without breaking a sweat.”
    “Cut to the chase. What does this have to do with me?”
    “You’re not a goat. Or a native of the area. I’m worried about your stamina. The days are hot, the nights cold and windy. It’s a desert in areas, wooded in others, and generally uninhabited except for a few thousand hardy Indians, Mexicans, mixed bloods, and Mennonites.”
    “Skip the travelogue. Here’s what I hear you saying. You think I’m going to slow you down and be a burden. Is that right?”
    He had the grace to look sheepish.
    “Okay, Mr. Hot Shit. Put on some clothes.” Please put on some freaking clothes and cover up that snake . “And your running shoes. I challenge you to a race.”
    He put his hand up. “That’s really not necessary.”
    “I insist. And, how about a little friendly wager to make it fun?”
    “Sure.” He grinned. “What’s the prize?”
    “Loser gets to ask Isabel where we can find Raul’s body parts.”
    His face fell. “That’s not a good idea.”
    “What are you? Chicken?” She flapped her arms and clucked.
    He laughed. “No, I’m more of a rooster. But that was an impressive imitation.”
    “I grew up on a chicken farm. I also do roosters and lawnmowers, but that’s only when I’ve been drinking, and I don’t do that anymore. Aw. C’mon, let’s go for a little race.”
    He tossed her a puzzled look. “Give me five minutes. I’m going to whip your ass.”
    In her dreams. She enjoyed the view of his nice tight buns as he walked into the changing room. Her feet itched to take her in the same direction. Stop, woman . A two-year dry spell didn’t give her permission to hop into a bathhouse with the first cabana boy she met. She ordered herself to do some stretching exercises. Mid-lunge, Alejandro appeared. In khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and sneakers, he still looked too freaking hot. The shorts did a terrible job of hiding his pet python. She swore the damn thing looked larger released from its Speedo captivity.
    She cleared her throat and licked her dry lips. “You know the area, you go ahead of me.” A reasonable suggestion. Plus, she’d get to see that nice