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self-conscious and angry. She had come here on a simple business mission, to deliver the airplane, give the flying lessons and return home. Being put on display and made a subject of gossip for Jorge Del Toro's friends was not part of the deal.
    As soon as the meal was over, JoNell fled from the room, through double doors to a veranda. Tears were stinging her eyes. She felt homesick, humiliated and angry. There had been a clash of personalities between her and Del Toro the first moment they met, and it was not getting any better. She found him insufferable. How was she going to give lessons to a man like that?
    A large hand grasped her elbow. "What's the matter, Pet?" Uncle Edgar drawled.
    She was so grateful for his presence, she almost melted into his arms and cried on his shoulder. But she stopped herself in time. It would never do to let Uncle Edgar know how miserable she felt. As protective as he was of her, he might insist that she forget this whole unpleasant business and return to the States with him at once. That she could not do. For one thing, she couldn't take the chance of failing to complete the sales agreement of delivering the airplane along with flight instructions. The sale was too important to her parents' business. And in addition, she had too much pride to let Del Toro's arrogant nature send her whimpering home. She had stood up to him in the beginning and she'd continue to do so in spite of how uncomfortable she might feel around his snooty friends, in spite of how they might gossip about her, and especially in spite of Del Toro's infuriating, mocking manner.
    "I think I have a lash in my eye," JoNell explained to her uncle. "It really hurts. I'd better find a rest-room and see if I can get it out."
    JoNell fled gratefully into the security of a bathroom off the main hallway. She was glad to see she had a vanity room to herself. A look into a mirror revealed moist, dark lashes, but fortunately, the brown mascara hadn't run. JoNell dabbed carefully at her eyes so as not to ruin her makeup.
    Suddenly, the door opened. JoNell turned and recognized Consuelo Garcia, the quiet, beautiful, extremely shy girl who had been seated on the other side of Del Toro at the dinner table. JoNell tried a friendly smile. "Hello, Consuelo."
    The lovely young Peruvian woman did not smile back. Instead her black eyes narrowed coldly and her lips pursed. "Leave Jorge alone!" she snapped.
    JoNell was momentarily speechless. What a remarkable change had come over the pale-skinned, dark-haired girl! At the dinner table, she had been utterly demure, hardly saying a word, and apparently painfully shy. There was nothing shy or reticent about her now. Her eyes were blazing with a primitive challenge. There was metal in her voice.
    "I saw the look on your face when your eyes turned to Jorge," Consuelo continued. "You might as well get those thoughts out of your head, because he's mine!"
    JoNell recovered from her initial surprise. "Well that's fine with me!" she exploded. "I certainly don't want him, and I can't imagine why you think I would."
    Consuelo tossed her head back, her chin raised haughtily. "I've seen that look before—that look on your face. Many times. With many women who have gazed at Jorge Del Toro that way. You think Jorge is a big challenge. You want to prove to yourself that you are woman enough to ensnare him. That's what all the women think. And he loves it. Latin men judge their masculinity by the number of women they can make fall in love with them. But it means nothing to them. It's just an ego trip to see if they can woo you and win you. And when they have you, they don't want you. They want somebody new who has yet to fall under the spell of their charm."
    "I'm sure you know Latin men better than I," sighed JoNell. "But I can assure you that I have absolutely no interest in your seňor Del Toro, other than giving him flying lessons."
    "Maybe you
think
you don't, but I repeat—I know that look. You tell