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yourself you're different from other women, that you won't fall for him. But I've seen it happen over and over again. Jorge and I grew up together. In that time I can't count the number of his conquests. No woman is immune to his charms. Not even you, though you may tell yourself you are."
    The conversation was becoming tedious. "Look, you're wasting your breath and your time—" JoNell began.
    But Consuelo interrupted, "I'm warning you. Jorge has romanced many rich and famous women. He's bored with them. But you—you're something new. You're from the common class."
    JoNell felt her anger rising.
    Consuelo continued, "That makes you enticing to a man like Jorge. You're a new challenge, a new type of plaything for him to have his fun with."
    Consuelo's words carried an open insult. Back home, such a verbal attack would have meant nothing since the United States was a classless society. But in Peru, class distinction separated the wheat from the chaff. By referring to her as from the "common class" Consuelo implied that JoNell was far beneath Del Toro and his friends on the scale of humanity, that JoNell was mere scum from the streets. JoNell felt a mixture of anger and humiliation.
    "Jorge and I are of the same breeding," Consuelo went on. "We are both from rich, established families. When we marry, our combined fortunes will start an empire in this country. You can't really think he would take a common, poor girl like you seriously?"
    "Oh, you think not?" JoNell retorted. "You could be wrong—"
    "Everyone's laughing at you," Consuelo smirked. "You couldn't possibly fit in with real aristocrats. You don't have the class, the polish."
    JoNell thought that any moment Consuelo's pupils would lengthen into thin slits. "I may not have your money seňorita," JoNell exclaimed. "But I have something you don't have. I have independence. I'm not afraid of Del Toro's charms. I have my own life to live. I'm not dependent on Del Toro to make my life complete. But you obviously are. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, I'm still me!"
    Consuelo's pale cheeks were now aflame. "You think you're so smart—so independent! Just you wait. You will be alone in that airplane with Jorge. You think you can have a casual flirtation with him and go home unscathed. But he'll break your heart, just the way he's done with all the others. And you'll regret it later, when it's too late, because you'll find that no man will ever measure up. No man will ever again be able to make you happy. I'm warning you. He'll make you fall in love with him. But he will marry me!"

Chapter 3

    JoNell awoke with a start. Where was she? The bright red hue of the canopy over her bed danced dizzily before her eyes. She felt groggy and strangely disoriented. A curious sense of panic began tightening her stomach. Brown eyes darted quickly around the room. When they saw a denim travel bag with a pale blue jump suit draped over the top, JoNell's momentary fright gave way to relief. Of course, now she remembered. She was in Peru.
    No wonder she had reacted so intensely. In two day's time she had been transported from the United States to a foreign country, from a modest middle-class existence to the bosom of opulence. On top of that, she had had to convince the arrogant Jorge Del Toro that she was a qualified flight instructor, only to find that her utterly practical motives were being misconstrued as romantic designs on the man. It was almost enough to make her give up and return home. But not quite.
    JoNell had a certain determination of heart that was not easily budged. "Stubborn," her father often called her. "Persistent," she had labeled herself, believing there was a difference. Stubbornness refused to yield to reason. But persistence—ah, that was stubbornness based on reason. In the present instance, she assured herself, she was merely being persistent. She certainly had every practical reason to stay in Peru and conclude the sales contract for her father. Even her