“I’m here for the same reason you’re here, obviously,” he said with a wink. Like it was a secret mission.
Which, come to think of it, wasn’t an incorrect assessment.
“You mean, you’re here for”—she brought her voice to a whisper and checked her surroundings—“the dig?”
He laughed. “It’s not MI6, Corrie. Yes, I’m here for”—he shifted his eyes back and forth and crouched a solid foot to reach her level—“the dig.”
It was just like Ethan to tease her and her suspicions. Blame Abuela Mejía and all her warnings about motives and catches for that. But after thinking she was going to be kidnapped less than fifteen minutes ago, she’d take Ethan’s teasing any day. That still didn’t stop Corrie from punching him in the arm.
“Glad to see you’ve still got spunk. You’re gonna need it for this one,” he said.
“Why all the secrecy?” she asked.
“They’re worried about dig robbers. If anyone knew what we were doing here, we’d be screwed.”
Grave robbers were nothing new. Every high-profile dig had to contend with them. “No, I mean with bringing me down here?”
Ethan’s eyebrow quirked. “Er . . . we wanted it to be a surprise.”
A surprise? She’d been on top-secret jobs before, but she’d never been in the dark like this. And they certainly didn’t keep things from the archaeologists as a fun “surprise.” But, then again, Ethan had always had an interesting sense of humor.
“So where are we going? Aren’t the locals curious?”
“It’s about two hours east of here. Heavily jungled, no locals to keep an eye on us. We all stay in tents, with a shipment of food and supplies every week.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Corrie said, bringing up her hand and shaking her head. “I thought the dig was just starting. How long have you been here?”
“Since May.”
“May?” Not that Corrie had any information to go on, but something wasn’t adding up. Why was she being brought on now if they’d already been digging for more than three months?
“I thought you knew that. Didn’t Calvin explain everything when he asked you to come?”
Calvin? Who the hell was Calvin? Oh . . .
“You mean that bald dude with the glasses?”
Ethan raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Oh boy. Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Well, Calvin didn’t tell me shit. He only said it was a Chimalli expedition with an anonymous investor and that there would be a plane ticket to an unknown destination waiting for me at the airport.”
His eyebrows lifted even higher. “And you actually came based on that description? I’d heard about that whole makeshift-paragliding incident on that expedition in Thailand, but you’re more adventurous than I thought.”
Corrie jostled her head and opened her palms face up. “Well, what the heck, Ethan? You’re the one who wanted me to come here.”
“Um . . . no,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and scrunching his face. “That wasn’t me.”
Never mind. Maybe this was a practical joke. Corrie’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to ask yet another clarifying question when another voice came from behind her.
“I asked Calvin to send for you.”
Her entire body clenched as she sucked in a breath. That low, sweet, delicious timbre sent an unwanted fiery blaze across her skin. She knew that voice, too. Even better than she’d known Ethan’s.
No, no, no, no, no, she silently repeated as she slowly turned to confirm the speaker, her stomach swirling with a strong brew of contempt mixed with lust.
“You,” she growled, and narrowed her eyes at the disgustingly handsome man standing tall before her in his army-green cargos, hiking boots, and an untucked white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Time had been fucking unfair when it came to him. After having spent countless hours staring across the lecture hall at him during class, Ford Matthews’s attractiveness never ceased to amaze her.
He also never ceased to irritate the crap out of her, which had nothing to do with his emerald eyes, always perfectly tousled sandy-blond tresses, and obviously chiseled six-feet-something physique.
She’d never wanted to hate-fuck someone so badly in her life.
But she could never give him the satisfaction or allow herself to be another notch on his certainly already full bedpost. Especially not after everything he’d done to her.
And to think, at one point she might have actually considered it.
A warm tingle fluttered through her core at the memory before she quickly tamped it down and took a step back, bumping into Ethan’s chest. Great. Trapped. Her body was far too close to Ford’s for comfort.
“It’s lovely to see you too, Corrie,” he retorted with a sly, enigmatic smile. A smile that was the complete opposite of the scowl lodged on Corrie’s face.
“It’s Dr. Mejía,” she demanded through her sneer.
A slight chuckle escaped from the corner of his mouth. Goddamn did she want to smack that smirk off his perfect face. “Well, you don’t need to call me Dr. Matthews. I’m fine with Ford. Or boss is okay with me, too.”
Boss?
Her mouth started to fall before she pulled it into a snarl as her eyebrows snapped together. Smug motherfu—
She should have suspected Dr. Ford Matthews would be the lead archaeologist on this dig. Leave it to Ford to take yet another thing from her. It wasn’t enough for him to steal the fellowship that had been all but offered to her eight years ago after graduation. Now he wanted to stake claim to her passion project? To have his name written in all the history books about the discovery of Chimalli’s grave. Chimalli, her ancestor, not his.
She rolled her eyes and looked away as she folded her arms. “I’m sure it is. Un-fucking-believable,” she grumbled under her breath.
“I see you’ve missed me,” he said with his charming sarcasm. He took a step closer, and she eyed the gap closing between them. What was he doing?
“The only thing I miss about you is your absence. What is this? Some sort of joke?” she snapped at him as she stepped to the side to back away.
“Far from it.” Another step. What the—？
“Then what am I doing here?”
He tilted his head and squinted those brilliant eyes at her from behind his thick, black-framed glasses. Oh please. He couldn’t possibly be surprised that she was confused. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re searching for Chimalli. Thought you might want in on this, you know, given that he was the subject of your dissertation. And rumor has it you’ve been searching for funding for the past few years . . .” His know-it-all voice trailed off.
She wasn’t buying the ole good-guy act. No, Dr. Ford Matthews hadn’t invited her out of the goodness of his heart because he thought she might want in on this. Ford didn’t do anything for anyone but himself.
As he’d more than sufficiently demonstrated throughout their four years together in grad school. But it would be a cold day in hell—or, rather, the Mexican jungle—before Corrie got burned by him again. Chimalli or not, she couldn’t work with Ford.