Accidentally...Over?: Accidentally Yours 5 (5 page)

January 25, 1993. Save Ashli. Take Two

A day off! A day off!
Ashli stretched in her warm bed, savoring her soft, velvety pink sheets. The morning sunlight sieved through her wispy white curtains. It was heavenly to get up after the sunrise for once. Granted, Mexican winters were pretty nice compared to most places, but the shorter days and rising before dawn took its toll on her spirits.

She rolled over and looked at the clock—8:00 a.m. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and stared at the thing.
No, Ashli. You promised. Fernando can handle one day by himself. It’s just making coffee, not performing brain surgery.

She blew out a steady breath, knowing how badly she needed this. She hadn’t had a day off in over a year, and that day didn’t really count. She’d been in bed with the flu and simply hadn’t opened the café.

Fortunately, however, her workaholic tendencies had little to do with money. Her parents’ insurance had seen to the basics, but keeping that café alive felt like keeping them alive.

She and her parents had come to Tulum for a family vacation when she was eighteen. They lived in Miami for years and the beach had always been a part of their lives—playtime, summertime, exercise time. But her parents instantly fell in love with Tulum’s rustic charm and virgin white beaches. Then her parents did the unthinkable. They quit their high-paying jobs as lawyers, moved to Tulum, and opened a café. Café Cielito Lindo or “Beautiful Little Sky.” Ashli had gone off to college that year at the University of Michigan to study marketing, but she came for visits every chance she got, and the café became her second home. When she graduated, she planned to spend the summer there, then return to the States where she’d already landed a job in Chicago. That was three years ago. Three long years ago when everything changed in a heartbeat. Her life, her future, everything.

Tulum was her home now. Always would be.

Ashli slipped from bed and pulled back the curtains, gazing appreciatively at the view of the tropical turquoise waves and soft, powdery white sand. No. She’d never leave. Not for anything.

A jog sounds wonderful.

Máax arrived at Ashli’s café to inconveniently discover she was off for the day. Seemed many of her regulars were also disappointed by the news. Nearly every godsdamned male who passed through the door asked for her.

Máax stomped out his spark of jealousy.
You idiot. You do not want her. Even if you want her. That’s the bond speaking.

Máax waited until the young man working the counter went outside to deliver a cappuccino. He slipped behind the register and dug around, quickly finding Ashli’s home address on a sheet of emergency contacts, along with her phone number.
Bingo.

Máax silently made his way out the door and started down the palm tree–lined, dusty, narrow road that ran for miles along the beach. Yeah, that road. The one where Ashli was to die in about a week. Of course, he would change all that today. Just as soon as he found her. Not that it should be hard. There wasn’t much to this tiny beach community except for a few small—

“Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora! Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora!”
A small, beat-up truck with a megaphone strapped to the roof sped down the dirt road, blaring, “The end of the world is coming. Repent now!”

Thanks, assholes. Like I needed the reminder.

Anyway, where was he? Oh yeah. There wasn’t much to the tiny community apart from a few eco-resorts, the kind with huts instead of hotels, and—

“Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora! Ya viene el fin del mundo! Arrepiéntanse ahora!”
The truck had made a U-turn.

“Oh. Come on!” Máax yelled. “I’m on it, okay?”
Motherfuckers.

So instead of hotels, there were several small communities of private vacation homes on the beach. How’d he know? Let’s just say, he’d been suckered into “helping”
Cimil with another one of her little schemes. One that took him to these parts, and one that he now questioned having participated in.

A little too late now.

Máax was almost to the first house along the road when he spotted a young woman with
café con leche
skin wearing the tiniest pair of shorts and an even tinier little top, running down the beach.

Ashli…

His body began to heat immediately, and it wasn’t due to the searing morning sun beating down on his naked body or the balmy tropical air lacking even the slightest breeze. It was her large, plump breasts and small, athletic body. It was her wild, dark hair whipping against her back as her aggressive stride carried her down the shore. He couldn’t help but hunger for her. Even if he didn’t. But he did. Wait. No, he didn’t.

Sonofabitch! Get yourself together, man. You. Do not. Want her. You do not want a mate.
There was no reason in the world for him to get sucked into some ridiculous, sappy, tragic love story. Romeo and Juliet. Lancelot and Guinevere. Tristan and Isolde. Those were stories written by fools about fools. Those stories were for humans, weak and driven by impracticality. He was a god. Strong. Defiant. Loyal. And very practical, he might add. Most certainly, he would not allow himself to suffer for an eternity simply because the Universe—cruel-hearted bitch that she was—decided to create an ideal female. One specifically designed to make him feel complete. One that would give him the most euphoric pleasure a male could ever know—

Idiot. You’re not helping yourself here.

With Ashli out on a jog, Máax decided this was the perfect opportunity to explore her home. If he were to protect her, he’d have to learn her surroundings, her routine, and he’d need to prevent her from getting in a car, where it would be difficult for him to follow.

He walked along the road until he came across a house with a gated driveway and tall stucco walls. He peered through the bars and spotted her little red car parked on the gravel driveway. A lush, tropical garden obscured most of the Spanish-style bungalow, and impressively tall palm trees shaded the roof. It was a charming, cozy home, but it irritated him to see her in such a modest dwelling. She was his mate. She deserved a grand, modern house with—

Sonofabitch. She is not yours. You must resist the urge to shelter and care for her.

Snarling at himself, he made his way around her property via a small trail that led to the sloped beach. He found the back entrance to her yard—a tiny patio with a low wall that butted against the beach without much protection from intruders. He hopped over the wall and tried the back door.

Unlocked.

“Damned woman is asking for trouble.” He’d have to talk to her about that later. If he talked to her. At this point, he didn’t know if he’d ever speak with her.

He entered the kitchen and was hit with a delicious scent—sweet, floral, and fresh.

Ashli.

Must ignore how good she smells. It is simply chemistry. A physiological reaction. Are you weaker than chemistry? No! You are not. You are a god. Chemistry is your bitch.

He looked around the kitchen, inspecting for any obvious dangers. It was cheerful and tidy with white-and-blue Mexican tiled counters. A bowl of mangos and papayas topped the little wooden table in the center of the room.

Nothing overtly perilous.

Máax continued to the living room. Typical for these parts, the floors had that reddish-brown tile and the walls were made of rough plaster. On the coffee table, a bright blue, hand-painted ceramic water pitcher sat next to a small potted plant and a little Mayan statue of his sister Akna, the Goddess of Fertility. The statue depicted her with a giant round belly, gritting her teeth as she prepared to give birth. Máax instantly found himself imagining Ashli with a big round belly, carrying his bab—

Sonofabitch! No. You will not have babies with her. You are going to be entombed. Forever. And if that doesn’t happen, it’s because there’s an apocalypse. There is no future for you and her.

Grumbling profanities at himself, he finished inspecting the room. Beautiful black-and-white photographs of the ruins of Tulum hung on the wall. He leaned in toward one of the frames to inspect the signature. “Ashli Rosewood.” She’d taken the pictures. He didn’t know why, but imagining her traipsing about in the ruins with her camera made him smile. Then there were her stunning photos of the beach. She seemed to love the ocean as much as he did.

Not that it mattered.

That’s right. Means nothing. Millions of people love the ocean. It’s not like she’s a fucking unicorn.

He continued down a long hallway and found a study
without much to see: desk, chair, bookshelves filled with those god-awful romance novels. The next room was a dusty guest quarters with a private, enclosed patio.

He pushed the last door open and saw the large unmade bed. Her sweet, tropical scent filled the air.

Her room.

He inhaled deeply. A wave of heat flooded his groin, triggering his male anatomy to thicken.
Exactly how fucking old are you, man? Pathetic.

But he could no more stop his arousal than he could that sliver of satisfaction he felt from finding no trace of any male. None at all. But why was a woman of such beauty, who clearly had a rabid following of eligible men as he’d seen when he went to her café, without a man?

Perhaps she has been waiting for you.
That thought pleased him.

Why? She is not yours. In fact, you should be hoping and praying she moves on. Finds a male worthy of her.

Ignore vicious pangs of jealousy. Must ignore.

Máax completed his inspection of the entire home—bathroom, laundry room, closets. It was clean, well cared for, and had no obvious dangers about with the exception of the easy access to the beach. He’d have to make sure her doors were always locked.

Now for the next task. He grabbed Ashli’s car keys from a clay dish by the front door, went outside, and ripped out her battery cables.

That should prevent her from driving for a while.
She could walk to work, and he would follow closely behind to protect her.

Yes, but not too close.

Ashli panted hard, her sweaty body burning with heat while she stretched. The run had felt amazing, and her muscles now trembled from the exertion. She hiked up the steep, sandy embankment to the back of her home, but as she was about to enter the enclosed patio, she noticed large footprints in the sand, disappearing where the cement slab started a few feet from her back door.

She froze. Someone was inside. She and her neighbors paid for a security service to patrol the beach, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t sneak by.

She backed away from the door and sprinted toward the shoreline for a better view of the beach.

There he is. “Oye! Oye, Señor Luis!”
She waved at the short, older man wearing Bermudas and carrying a baton. He waved back, and she pointed at her house. He immediately understood and charged toward her back porch, disappearing inside her house.

Ten minutes later, Luis emerged.
“Nadie. No hay nadie. Qué pasó?”

She explained about the footprints, but Luis swore he’d checked every inch of her house and found no one. Nothing missing. Nothing disturbed.

She thanked him and went inside, but the moment she crossed the threshold, an eerie sensation nearly sacked her. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Dammit, Ash. Luis told you the place is empty.
But what was that strange scent? It was faint, but she did smell it. Like a sweet, exotic spice of some sort. Not Luis. Luis smelled more like last night’s tequila and rancid ocean.

She grabbed a large knife from her kitchen drawer
and tiptoed into her living room. Although her home had those natural clay tile floors (kept things cooler), the rest of the house was bright and cheery with lots of windows and light, tons of fun Mexican
artesania
—little clay statues, handwoven tapestries, and hand-stitched pillows with bright red flowers.