Synopsis


Join Quinn Summers as he continues his world-traveling, lady-loving ways. But Quinn may have met his match in Irish-born, straight-laced journalist, Emma McDonnell.

The two are paired together for a writing assignment and sparks fly upon first sight, as the couple takes an instant dislike to each other. What happens in the jungles of Peru, however, ties them together in a way neither would ever have dreamed.

Just when each determines to move on and put the unusual experience in the past, editors step in to partner the two again. To add to the tension, someone threatens Emma; more than once. With a strong sense of deja vu, Quinn contacts his FBI friend, Ian Martin, requesting his help in finding the person who seems to find Emma regardless of where she and Quinn are working.

Is it fate or divine intervention that continues to throw them together? Will the two unlikely partners overcome their differences and find in each other a soul mate? Can they unveil the sinister threat to Emma before it's too late? Find out in Third Time Around.

                                                                                       Enjoy a Sneak Peek...Chapter 1 
                                                                                    *Unedited*

                                                                                     Frustration

Peru, present day

The man was infuriating! Emma clenched her hands into tightly controlled fists, her short nails gouging into the tender skin of her palms, turned away from the shoot, and walked off before she said something she would surely regret. She was supposed to be in charge, this being her first independent assignment. National Geographic had granted her the rare opportunity to observe the Machiguenga tribe in the forests of eastern Peru. She had already spent a week interviewing various members of the ancient people, logging their wonderful mixture of old culture and modern survival techniques. The editors in New York had sent her a photographer, some hotshot named Quinn Summers, to take pictures of daily life in the village, because her original partner, Jason, had been too ill to take the job.

Mr. Summers had arrived yesterday, given her an insultingly patronizing smile, and then proceeded to ignore both her and her instructions. 

Emma prided herself on maintaining a professional demeanor regardless of how easy or difficult her co-workers were to get along with. She very rarely lost her temper on a job and had built a reputation for being professional to a fault. She took another moment to collect herself, looking not at the extremely handsome, dimpled, blonde who was most likely messing up her shot, but out into the surrounding forest.

The mixture of seemingly untouched nature, lush green and vibrantly hued flora coexisting side by side with tiny wooden huts, covered with thatch enthralled her. She walked toward the edge of the village and within a very few steps was encompassed by the rainforest. Knowing better than to walk any farther on her own, Emma stood quietly, absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells around her. Everywhere she looked the greenery was punctuated by bold colors as hibiscus bloomed amid bromeliads and kapok trees. The chirping of cicadas and exotic birds blended with the sounds of daily life in the village.

Emma had been to a few remote places in her short career, but the uniqueness of each one never failed to touch her. The tropical landscape here was a dramatic change from her childhood memories of growing up in Ireland, and certainly had no similarities to her current apartment in New York City.

Shaking her head, Emma brought herself back to the aggravating present. Taking one deep, fortifying breath, she turned back to Mr. Summers. He squatted with one knee on the ground, his khaki pants hugging tightly to his muscled legs, his loose white shirt wrinkled and damp from the sweltering heat. He peered through the camera at the little girl who sat in the dirt, playing with a dented and deformed metal bowl. He smiled at her, and trying to coax her into looking at him, his dimples showed abundantly as he winked at her. The child looked to be about four and quickly overcame her apparent shyness; was now looking at his blonde self with wide-eyed adoration.

Emma sighed, doubting that any of the shots would be authentic if he continued to flirt with all of his subjects. Maybe she should suggest he get some pictures of the men. A soft giggle escaped before she could stifle it, causing the photographer to glance around. His eyes were soft and sparkled as he met hers, then hardened and narrowed when he realized who had laughed. 

Quinn had never met a more infuriating female. He had arrived in Peru, a place he had worked before, ready and excited to be back on the job after taking a break for his sister Avalin’s wedding. Almost as soon as he had met Ms. Emma McDonnell, he had felt at odds with her. He’d tried to lighten the atmosphere, make her more at ease, so they could enjoy the experience of working together. But she would have none of that. She had smiled coldly at him, tried to give him orders about what she expected from him, and then had interfered with almost every shot he had taken.

He was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Maybe she didn’t like men. But he had decided last night as he tossed in his mosquito net-covered cot that if she wanted cold hard professionalism, that’s what he would give her. So he had awakened this morning determined not to let her chilling ways stop him from getting some great pictures.

And now she stood laughing at him. 

He lowered his camera as he slowly stood up, holding her in his stare. She wasn’t bad on the eyes, he thought idly, wondering what she had found funny. Her long hair was a rich brown color with lighter highlights and reminded him of mahogany. She currently wore it in a tight braid that fell halfway down her back. She had a pleasing size for a woman, not too tiny, a nice height, and sported some very tempting curves. Her eyes, at first glance had reminded him of warm honey, but the coldness that emanated from them quickly disabused him of that notion. The sound of her laughter, however fleeting, had been quite musical. He almost snorted at the absurdity of that thought. He couldn’t imagine her loosening up enough to laugh much at all.

Rather than address her and start another argument, he walked on down the dirt path looking for other possible photo opportunities. He thought he heard a frustrated growl coming from behind him. Without turning around to find out for certain, he smiled crookedly, hoping he had heard correctly.

“Mr. Summers.” 

Quinn muttered an oath under his breath, and thought, So much for avoiding an argument. He stopped and turned back toward her, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

“Yes, Ms. McDonnell?”

“I was wondering if you’ve had an opportunity to shoot any of the men yet. They have a unique way of working and hunting that I would love to see captured on film—if you’re able to do that.”

His eyes narrowed at the not so subtle dig. Who did she think she was to question his ability?

“Actually, I was out early this morning, and got some shots of a hunting party as they left. Since I didn’t know your agenda, I didn’t go into the bush with them. But you’re welcome to have a look at the photos once I upload them to my computer.” He paused, then added with only a hint of sarcasm, “Anything else?”

She sauntered toward him slowly, her hiking boots making little noise on the worn path. If Quinn had not been frustrated with her highhandedness, he would have admired the way her hips swayed in an unconscious grace as she moved closer. As it was, the fact that he noticed at all just added to his aggravation. This was one woman who seemed immune to his usually irresistible charm. When she was only a foot away, she stopped. Looking up at him, she smiled a tight smile that in no way reached her eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to fill me in on what exactly you have already shot? That way we won’t waste any more of each other’s time.”

Part of him wanted to take a step back from her rigidity; another wanted to take that last step forward and intimidate her with his size. But then again, he didn’t think this woman could be intimidated, and that wasn’t his style. So he elected to do neither. He cocked his head slightly, gave her his best dimpled grin, and began to list the places he had already been since that morning, giving her a description of the pictures he had made before seeing her.

Emma was having difficulty maintaining her poise. She had gotten too close; she knew it. The admittedly spur-of-the-moment plan had been to invade his personal space, causing him to back away from her, which would in turn give her the upper hand in this power struggle. But he had poured on the charm instead. His smile really was breathtaking, his blue eyes sparkled, and she was going to have a crick in her neck from looking up at him. But she wasn’t about to back away now. She’d let him finish, then would tell him what else she wanted photographed.

The problem was she couldn’t seem to concentrate on what he was saying. Those dimples were maddening. They came and went as he talked, like they were winking at her. 

Or more likely mocking me, she thought. 

Emma finally noticed he had paused in his recitation, and was looking at her questioningly. Blowing out a slow breath, she ran a hand over her brow, frustrated with herself for losing her composure, even if it had only been internally.

“Thank you, Mr. Summers. That sounds fine. If you’d be so kind as to let me see the pictures when you’re ready, I would appreciate it.”

With that, she turned to walk on down the dirt path, hoping that answer made sense in light of what he had said.

Quinn watched her go with a frown, his eyebrows drawn down in confusion. Had she even been listening to him? Apparently not, because she hadn’t answered his question. He wondered if that had been a deliberate slur on her part, and his eyes narrowed at the thought. 

Arrogant woman. 

Well, he wasn’t about to let some surly woman ruin his day. Quinn decided to take some shots of the local scenery to add to his own collection if nothing else. Turning back toward the forest, he marveled again at the innocent beauty here. Some of these trees were ancient, sprawling upward through the canopy in majestic silence, housing untold numbers of insects and other animals. He wondered if he would be able to spot an ocelot or coatimundi. 

A smile flashed across his face as he remembered his last trip to Peru. It had been last year, before Christmas. He had been working with another indigenous tribe, and one of the ladies had found a baby ocelot. She had taken it in, trying to feed it smashed up cassava root. The small spotted cat had been adorable, but didn’t much like the vegetarian diet. Eventually, they had given it scraps of meat, which it of course preferred. 

He had yet to see one of the mischievous coatimundi. He had read about them and knew he would recognize one if he spotted it. They were cousins to raccoons and apparently could be just as aggravating. 

That thought brought to mind his current aggravation. It didn’t help at all that Ms. Emma McDonnell was such a contradiction. If she had been some old biddy, Quinn could much more easily have ignored the lady. But she was such a pleasure to look at, it made the fact she didn’t respond normally to him that much more frustrating.

He snapped some pictures of plants, saw a few lizards and tiny frogs, but nothing really interested him beyond that. Truly, he preferred live subjects to landscapes. He turned back toward the village, just as he heard the sounds of what must have been the hunting party returning. Quickly, he set up in a spot he hoped would be advantageous for capturing their arrival on film.

They emerged through the trees onto the path about twenty yards from him. The small, scrawny hunting dogs ran back and forth from the men to the village, announcing their triumphant return. Two men carried trussed up peccaries, the small, hairy boars indigenous to the region, on their backs. Smiles spread across the men’s wide faces, lightening their usually stoic expressions. 

Quinn started shooting the moment he saw them, taking some pictures of the dogs, and some of the men; their camaraderie apparent in their actions toward each other. He also managed to get some good pictures of the kill, which he thought would make a great addition to their feature, showing how the men transported the animal after the hunt.

A slight whiff of perfume alerted Quinn to her presence. He knew Ms. McDonnell was observing the scene and probably judging his position as well. But he wasn’t about to stop taking pictures to find out. They might not get the opportunity to capture this event on film again.

Emma heard the commotion and turned just in time to see the first of the hunting party step out from the thick undergrowth. From the expressions on their faces she could tell they had been successful. Smiling, she quickly joined the procession of villagers who swarmed around the hunters to welcome them home and get a look at the kill. She stood back and allowed the children and other members of the village to go on ahead. She had to keep in mind that she was the outsider here. She casually went to stand behind Mr. Summers so that she would not interfere with the homecoming or any pictures he might be able to get. 

She smiled again as one of the men reached down to pat a young boy on the head. He handed the boy his weapon, a hollow tube they used to blow poisoned darts or arrows at their prey. The boy beamed with pride as he held the long blowpipe over his head and began to cheer as he ran alongside the men.

The villagers moved beyond her quickly as they made their way into the heart of the village. She knew from talking with several members of the tribe that the two peccaries would be roasted and the meat shared by all. One of the facets of this village’s life she admired most was the way they shared everything; each member worked to help out his neighbor. 

Her view was suddenly filled with white shirt and muscled shoulders. Quinn had risen from his squatting position and was continuing to take pictures of the procession. She took a quick step back, not realizing she had been that close to him. As she did, she backed into a fallen tree, lost her balance and ended up flat on her back. 

Her breath whooshed out of her as she felt shards of bamboo scratch at her arms and back. Emma closed her eyes as much at the pain as from the mortification of being caught in such an ungraceful position. Before she could rise up however, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Quinn bending over her with a concerned expression.

“Are you all right?” 

He held out his hand to help her up. She looked at him suspiciously, searching for any sign of mockery. Detecting nothing but concern, she placed her hand in his. Almost immediately she was hoisted into a standing position, and his other hand was resting at the small of her back. She stood still for a second, trying to regain her equilibrium, then glanced again into his mesmerizing eyes. She had to look away before she could form a coherent thought.

“Yes, I think so. I tripped over the log there. I didn’t want to bother you while you were taking the pictures and meant to get out of your way. But I was watching the villagers and not where I was going.” 

She hissed in a sharp breath and jerked away as his hand grazed over her back, and she felt the sting of a cut there.

“You’re bleeding.” 

With a frown, he carefully pulled her shirt away from her back, where it had ripped and something had given her a nasty scratch. Emma stepped away from him but he held onto her shirt with one hand and then took her wrist with the other.

“Hold on a minute. Let me just get a look at how bad it is. You’ve torn your shirt here¬¬—”

“Mr. Summers—”

“Call me Quinn. Hold still!”

Emma couldn’t breathe. She felt as if his light grip on her wrist was a cold vice holding her in place against her will. Icy panic drove her to wrench away from him as she cried out, “I’ll be fine. Just let go!”

Blessedly, he released his hold on her. As soon as he let go of her wrist, Emma could breathe again. She was still trembling from the cold fear that had assailed her at his unexpected touch. She didn’t want him to sense that, so she took a deep breath, and tried to step away again.


“Mr. Summers. Thank you for trying to help. If you’ll just let go of my shirt, I can get one of the ladies to look at it. I have a first aid kit in the jeep, and I can tell her how to treat it. I’m sure it’s just a scratch anyway.”

Quinn stood staring at her in stunned confusion. At her continued squirming, reminding him of a child about to get a shot at a doctor’s office, he had stopped trying to assess the damage to her back and looked into her eyes. He had seen aggravation, shame, and…fear? That unnerving emotion and the unknown reason for it had caused him to slowly straighten and let go of her wrist.

As the cold control now returned to her eyes, he let go of her shirt as well and raked his hand through his hair. Did she dislike him so much that she couldn’t even accept his help? The lady must certainly have problems; women just didn’t respond to him the way she did. He mentally shook his head at the confusing feelings she evoked in him. Though the fear he had seen in her expression was gone now, the fact that it had been there at all bothered him. What could she have been afraid of?

She limped away from him, holding her shirt out from her back. He watched her with hooded eyes until she entered her hut with another woman and the first aid kit. Then he bent over to pick up his camera and walked to his own meager accommodations. He figured he might as well take a look at the pictures he had taken and get them uploaded onto his laptop.

Quinn spent the next couple of hours working on the computer. He was pleased with many of the shots he had taken, and spent some extra time in the editing application so they would look their best when he showed them to Emma. His hands froze on the keys as soon as that thought flashed through his mind. Why did he care what she thought?

He tried to remember the last time he had been overly concerned with someone else’s opinion of his work. It had been years. So why did this one, cold woman’s thoughts matter?

Because she had questioned his ability, he decided. She had tried to take over his job by instructing him, and that ticked him off. He wanted her to have to eat her words when he showed her these incredible pictures! He grinned at the thought.

Technology was a wonderful thing, he decided as he printed off some of the best ones using his portable printer. He didn’t know how people in the old days handled all the inconveniences of primitive life and photography. He shrugged, thinking people just dealt with things as they had to, but he was certainly glad he didn’t in this case. Even though there was no electricity in this village, he had multiple battery packs and could recharge them if necessary by hooking them up to the jeep.

Putting the pictures in a manila envelope, he stepped out of his dim hut and into the bright light of midday. He squinted as he looked around, getting his bearings, and spotted Emma toward the center of the village, where the gathering circle was located. The village women had already skinned the pigs and had them tied to a spit over an open fire. Emma was sitting on a log, writing in her journal. She had changed shirts, he noticed. He grabbed his camera and slung the strap over his head as he strode over to join the action. Taking some film of the women cooking the spoils of the hunt wouldn’t be a bad idea.

He plopped down next to Emma, causing her to gasp as she jumped slightly.

“Sorry,” he grinned unrepentantly, handing her the manila envelope. Before she could say anything, he added, “I thought you might like to have a look at some of these. I didn’t print off everything, just a sampling. But this should give you an idea of what I have.”

With an arched eyebrow she took the envelope and carefully opened the clasp. As she pulled out the pictures, her eyes widened. As she looked at each photo carefully, Quinn’s grin widened. She finally glanced up at him.

“These are really good, Mr. Summers,” she managed, with only a twinge of resentment.

“Thank you. Call me Quinn.”

“Yes, well. I must admit that this is some of the best work I’ve ever had the privilege of being a part of. Thank you for showing them to me. I look forward to seeing the rest.” She paused for a second, then continued, “Do you mind if I keep these for a while? They may help as I’m writing to keep the images fresh in my mind.”

“Knock yourself out, lady.” His dimples were in full force now, since she had admitted his genius. 

She even managed to do it gracefully, he thought, if still a little coldly.

“How’s your back?” 

Nothing like a quick change of subject to keep the conversation going, he thought.

She turned to look at the fire the women were tending, then gave a small shrug before she spoke. 

“It’s fine. Just a couple of abrasions, really. Nothing to be concerned about, but thank you for asking.”

So that’s what it feels like to be dismissed, Quinn thought, frowning at her profile. Well, two could play that game. He stood up and walked around to get a good position for shooting the village women. 

There were three of them. The oldest looked to be in her seventies, her brown skin wrinkled deeply, but Quinn figured she was probably much younger than that. Life was hard here and caused those who made their lives in this forest to age prematurely. She was squatting flat-footed by the fire, cutting cassava root with a machete. Several papaya, pineapples and pomegranates lay in a loosely woven basket beside her. The youngest, not yet a grown woman, wiped a sweating brow as she turned the roasting meat on the spit. Both pigs had been tied by the legs to the long rod and were slowly turning above the fire as the young girl rotated the makeshift handle. The third woman, perhaps the mother of the young girl, sat nearby, tending the fire. They talked idly as they prepared the meal that would feed the whole village. Quinn took several shots then glanced back to where the ice queen was still sitting.

She seemed to be engrossed in her writing again, every so often looking at one of his pictures carefully, then adding something else to her journal. He wondered how good a writer she was. He figured she must have some talent, to be able to work with National Geographic. And for all intents and purposes, she was alone out here, so the editors must trust her take on things. He just wished she had a little more personality. She made him edgy, and he didn’t much like that feeling. He certainly wasn’t used to being at odds with a member of the opposite sex. They usually loved being around him. This lady didn’t even seem to want to work with him, much less carry on a pleasant conversation.

He sighed, thankful that this job was a short one. He was scheduled to be here only two more days. He and Emma would drive out together, but they had separate flights, he thought. He realized he didn’t even know where she was from. Of course her soft brogue gave away her heritage, but he didn’t think she continued to hale from Ireland, not with National Geographic’s main offices being in New York. 

She glanced up suddenly and met his contemplative stare. They looked at each other for several seconds, and he thought he caught a faint blush in her cheeks before she looked back at her journal. She quickly gathered her things, stood, and walked stiffly back to her hut. He noticed she was still limping slightly. Then he frowned at himself for noticing.