Okay, okay, so lying to get an interview wasn’t exactly honest, but she wasn’t above a little deception in order to crack a big story.

“So you won’t have the article in by next week?” Greg sounded disappointed.

“I’m guessing not.”

Greg mumbled a curse word. “Call me as soon as you get the scoop.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Her boss grunted and hung up.

Macy stuck the phone back in her knapsack and started walking again. Birds flitted through the trees. Critters rustled in the undergrowth. Insects buzzed.

It took a lot to unnerve Macy, but she was unaccustomed to the exotic sounds and the noises echoed uneasily off her eardrums. Not to mention that the verdant cloak of foliage blocking out the noonday sun cast suspicious shadows over the forest floor.

“Buck up, keep going. This is it. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of is in the palm of your hand,” she said out loud, wishing she had the chrome pistol in the top drawer of her bedside table back home in Norman, Oklahoma. She’d feel a lot safer with it strapped to her hip.

Macy trudged through humidity so heavy it felt like she was pushing against an invisible revolving door. Sweat pearled at the hollow of her throat. Her legs drooped as heavy as if she had ten pound ankle weights strapped to her feet. Why had she thought coming out here under the façade of a bird aficionado was such a stellar idea?

And then she heard it. The thing she was searching for.

Heady rushing.

The San Pablo Waterfalls.

The local landmark signaled that she was on the right course. She parted two large palm fronds and spied the waterfall in the distance. Supposedly Armando Cutler’s cabin was near San Pablo.

Macy raised the binoculars for a closer look at the waterfall. A flutter of wings, a flash of red. Was that the red-throated Costa Rican swallow?

What do you care? You’re not here to bird watch.

Still, she couldn’t help tracking the swallow’s flight as it soared and dipped around the waterfall, playing in the spray. And then she spied something that made her forget all about rare birds.

A man.

Underneath the waterfall.

Totally naked.

Spontaneously, Macy sucked in her breath and felt a thick lump of unexpected pure animal lust knot up her throat. She brought the binoculars to her eyes. Her gaze raked down his body, starting at the top of his dark head and sliding over the sharp angles and honed muscles of his exquisite frame.

As a reporter she was trained to notice details and notice she did. His shoulders were as broad and straight as an ironing board, the control of his rigid posture belying his freewheeling nudity. An enigma. Immediately, Macy was intrigued.

Who was this guy? Could it be Cutler?

She crouched, shifted her knapsack off her shoulders and searched inside for her camera. She found it, flipped off the cover, attached the zoom lens and peered through the viewfinder.

Her heart thundered, galloping faster as she studied the hard planes of his broad sinewy back only slightly veiled by the curtain of falling water.

He was tall and ripped; a true mesomorph in his perfectly balanced athletic body. There was nothing soft about him. He was a rock, rooted in place, untouched by the blasting force of water.

The evidence of his physical strength and power caused a shiver to blister down her spine. He had his head dipped. Dark strands of sleek midnight black hair plastered against his neck.

Torn between desire and guilt over spying on the guy, Macy pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth and let out a long, slow sigh. Her blood burned. Her stomach churned. She felt trapped inside a pressure cooker and someone had just turned up the heat.

And when her gaze strayed to the curve of his bare butt, Macy lost all capacity to breathe. Her head spun from the sheer joy of looking at him. She’d never been one of those women who openly ogled good-looking guys, but by gosh, she was ogling now.

Who wouldn’t? Who couldn’t? With a physique like his on display, all wet and shiny?

Compelled and hungry to get clearer photographs, Macy crept closer, tiptoeing through the thicket of greenery, escalating excitement skittering her pulse.

She trod a thin path along the soft ground. The gurgling water grew louder. A piquant taste filled her mouth as she imagined how his tanned skin must taste.

The desire to see more gripped her like a fist. She stepped into a clearing, spied a small wooden footbridge, drenched in spray, leading to the falls. She treaded cautiously.

He moved beneath the waterfall and she simply couldn’t drag her gaze away.

Magnificent, exquisite, divine—there weren’t enough superlatives in the English language to describe him.

Then, head still down, he turned and she caught a full frontal view of the man in all his glory and she almost lost her footing.

The swelter of the Costa Rican tropics dripped down her face. She swiped a hand over her lips, felt lustful passion—as hot and humid as the air—pool low in her abdomen.

What in the hell was the matter with her?

Macy shook her head, trying desperately to scatter the spell he’d woven over her. She shouldn’t be, couldn’t be feeling like this. It was unprofessional. She had work to do and she refused to be distracted by a compelling sideshow. Besides, she’d sworn off gorgeous men. They were far more trouble than they were worth.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” she muttered, but still, she didn’t glance away. She couldn’t help noticing this man had been blessed in ways her ex-husband had not.

Then he raised his head and she saw his face clearly for the first time.