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checking his bearings.
    “There are ruins very near here,” he murmured. “With luck, we should be able to get to them before dark.” He looked up at the skies, which were darkening with the threat of a storm. “Rain clouds,” he mused. “We shall more than likely be drenched before we reach cover. Your father is not at home, I assume?”
    “No,” she said miserably. “He’ll be worried sick. And furious.”
    “Murderously so, I imagine,” he said with an irritated sigh. “Oh, Melissa, what a situation your impulsive nature has created for us.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “Really I am.”
    He lifted his head and stared down into her face with something like arrogance. “Are you? To be alone with me like this? Are you really sorry,
querida?
” he asked, and his voice was like velvet, deep and soft and tender.
    Her lips parted as she tried to answer him, but she was trembling with nervous pleasure. Her gray eyes slid over his face like loving hands.
    “An unfair question,” he murmured. “When I can see the answer. Come.”
    He turned away from her, his body rippling with desire for her. He was too hot-blooded not to feel it when he looked at her slender body, her sweet innocence like a seductive garment around her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman, but to give in to his feelings would be to place himself at the mercy of her father’s retribution. He was already concerned about how it would look if they were forced to bed down in the ruins. Apollo and the others would come looking for him, but the rain would wash away the tracks and slow them down, and the guerrillas would be in hot pursuit, as well. He sighed. It was going to be difficult, whichever way they went.
    The rain came before they got much farther, drenching them in wet warmth. Melissa felt her hair plastered against her scalp, her clothing sticking to her like glue. Her jeans and boots were soaked, her shirt literally transparent as it dripped in the pounding rain.
    Diego’s black hair was like a skullcap, and his very Spanish features were more prominent now, his olive complexion and black eyes making him look faintly pagan. He had Mayan blood as well as Spanish because of the intermarriage of his Madrid-born grandparents with native Guatemalans. His high cheekbones hinted at his Indian ancestry, just as his straight nose and thin, sensual lips denoted his Spanish heritage. Watching him, Melissa wondered where he had inherited his height, because he was as tall as her British father.
    “There,” he said suddenly, and they came to a clearing where a Mayan temple sat like a gray sentinel in the green jungle. It was only partially standing, but at least one part of it seemed to have a roof.
    Diego led her through the vined entrance, frightening away a huge snake. She shuddered, thinking of the coming darkness, but Diego was with her. He’d keep her safe.
    Inside, it was musty and smelled of stone and dust, but the walls in one side of the ruin were almost intact, and there were a few timbers overhead that time hadn’t completely rotted.
    Melissa shivered. “We’ll catch pneumonia,” she whispered.
    “Not in this heat,
niña,
” he said with a faint smile. He moved over to a vine-covered opening in the stone wall. At least he’d be able to see the jungle from which they’d just departed. With a sigh, he stripped off his shirt and hung it over a jutting timber, stretching wearily.
    Melissa watched him, her gaze caressing the darkly tanned muscles and the faint wedge of black hair that arrowed down to the belt around his lean waist. Just looking at him made her tingle, and she couldn’t hide her helpless longing to touch him.
    He saw her reaction, and all his good intentions melted. She looked lovely with her clothing plastered to her exquisite body, and through the wet blouse he could see the very texture of her breasts, their mauve tips firm and beautifully formed. His jaw tautened as he stared at her.
    She