Despite the feelings that had begun to stir moments ago, her palms itched to slap his all-too-handsome face. She tried to calm herself, but realized what a mistake it was to stand so closely to him. The scent of his provocative musky cologne surrounded her, and she wished a strong wind would kick up and blow it away.
She lifted her chin a little higher. “The only reason you delegate to your crew is to cover up that you overslept this morning, probably because you were up late last night drinking tequila and carousing with a female companion.”
His eyes widened and then a relaxed expression came over his face and he grinned. “Actually, the drink in Brazil is not tequila but is calledcachaça. And although it’s really none of your business, I wasn’t drinking nor was I with a woman.”
Embarrassment washed through her, but she tried not to show it. Instead, she arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless... uh, you are late.”
He took a step closer, and his pants brushed the material of her dress. Flutters danced in her chest. Up this close she couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his open shirt. Just like she’d thought, his bare chest looked entirely too smooth with only a small patch of hair sprinkled across his skin.
Oh, good heavens.It wasn’t wise to stand so close or to look at him this way.
He tilted his head to the side. “Miss Landon, you weren’t trying to get me to tell you if I was with a woman last night, were you?”
“Oh! How dare you insinuate—”
“Sweetheart, the proof is written on your flushed face.” His knuckles brushed her cheek.
She quickly swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she growled. The heat from his fingers burned her skin and made butterflies dance in her belly. This feeling wasnotacceptable. How could she continue to play the part of a spoiled rich girl if she couldn’t think straight?
He raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute then bowed. “Your wish is my command,my lady.”
My lady? Why did he keep calling her that? Unless the only rich girls he knew were from titled families. But it didn’t matter. The name didn’t sit well with her at all.
She threw him a glare and then turned toward her trunk. “Here are my things.”
His gaze moved from the trunk to her before he howled with laughter. “You cannot be serious. Do you actually think I’ll allow you to take this on our trek?”
“But of course.”
“We’re going through the jungle, Miss Landon, not to a weekend picnic at the estate of one of your high society friends.”
Once again, she felt the urge to correct him, to let him know she was poorer than most people he’d met, but the awakening demon inside her couldn’t resist teasing him. It would certainly become more entertaining by just playing along and pretending she was someone different.
“But I need everything I packed,” she said with a slight whine.
He tilted his head and scratched his chin. “Did you not receive the list I had sent to your hotel room yesterday?”
“Of course, I received it.”
“Did you pack everything on that list?”
She shrugged. “Well, not exactly—”
“What is in your trunk?”
“My clothes and some personal items.”
“What kind of personal items?”
Her cheeks burned from his improper question. “That, Mr. Knightly, is none of your business.”
“Fine. What kind of clothes did you bring?”
His gaze skimmed over her attire from the round neck of her blue day dress, down to the hem that barely covered her woman’s boots. She shivered from his close scrutiny.
“I brought my dresses—”
“Your dresses?” His voice rose. “How foolish can you be? Fancy dresses do not belong in the jungle.”
