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Seduced In Seoul
Seoul was humid.
Beads of perspiration formed on Allison Sanchez’s forehead as she walked from the plane to her gate at Incheon International Airport. Coming from Arizona, Allison was used to dry desert weather. Whew. She swiped her forehead with her hand, hoping she wouldn’t break out in a major zit fest during her two week vacation. Her brother Michael had said someone would be waiting for her. He wasn’t able to meet her himself because he had two classes scheduled at the Taekwondo school—do jang—where he worked with another American, Dylan Johnson. Both were fourth degree black belts and had met while training in Seoul a couple years ago.
For the last year, Michael had been pestering Allison to visit. So here she was. In muggy Seoul, where she didn’t speak a word of Korean, looking for God knew who. Thankfully, the signs were in English as well as Korean, so she had no problem finding Baggage Claim.
Then she saw him. An Asian god. Six-feet-three at least, with wavy ebony hair brushing his shoulders. And what shoulders they were. Broad and toned, and Alli could make out all the beefy muscle groups under his tight blue T-shirt. His skin was the color of an iced mocha. Dreamy. And he held a sign that said “Allison Sanchez” in block letters.
Damn you, Mike. Did you have to send the Korean Mr. Universe after I’ve been cooped up in a plane next to a screaming baby for the last ten hours? She raked her fingers through her mass of dark hair. God, it was hopeless. But she needed a ride, so she’d deal.
Alli swallowed her shyness and approached him. She gazed into his almond-shaped eyes, and her breath caught. Damn, he was gorgeous. His eyes were a light brown and lashed with a curtain of thick ebony.
“Hi, I’m Allison.” She held out her hand.
He stared at her, his eyes heating her skin.
“D-do you speak English?”
Nothing.
Okay, now what? “I guess we don’t need to talk then.” She pulled her passport out of her purse and opened it. “See?” She spoke slowly. “I’m Allison.”
He smiled, showcasing an adorable dimple on his right cheek. Allison fought the urge to touch it. He murmured something in Korean and held out his arm to her. After they had collected her luggage, he escorted her to a purple minivan. Allison blinked. Yes, it was definitely purple, with Korean characters written on the side, along with a cartoon tiger in a taekwondo suit—it’s called a do boke, Mike had told her repeatedly—executing a flying side kick. Whoever this guy was, he must be into taekwondo too. Not difficult to imagine given his physique.
Allison sat in the passenger seat while—what was his name?—loaded her luggage into the back. When he took a seat next to her and turned the ignition, she tried communicating again.
“What is your name?” she asked, enunciating.
Nothing.
She pointed to herself. “Allison.” Then she pointed to him.
“Ah,” he said, and then something that sounded like “Dee.”
“Ah, Dee,” Alli repeated. “I’ll just call you Dee, okay?”
He smiled. She had no idea if he understood her. As much as she knew she’d enjoy gawking at his male perfection for the rest of the day, she hoped the ride to Mike’s apartment would be short. Shy though she was, she was damned uncomfortable not to be able to communicate with the person next to her. She had never imagined herself in a position where she would actually want to talk.
Within a few minutes, she had another reason for hoping the ride would be short. The guy drove like a maniac. “Uh, Dee?” She gripped to the armrest, her knuckles white with tension. “I’d like to get there alive, okay?”
He smiled, his gaze drifting to her chest. Clearly, he hadn’t understood a word she said, as his driving didn’t change.
“Damn,” she said under her breath. “You might try looking at the road instead of at my tits.”
Allison thought she heard a soft chuckle, but Dee’s gaze was focused straight ahead. Within
minutes, the reason for his erratic driving became apparent—everyone in Seoul drove like a maniac. The traffic moved along like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Fortunately, they arrived at their destination within fifteen minutes, and he led her into a high rise building, up an elevator to what she assumed was Michael’s place.
Yes, this was Mike’s place all right. She walked into a sparsely decorated man-pad, complete with two leather recliners and a big screen television. On the mahogany coffee table were several Taekwondo magazines and a T and A magazine. In Korean. Interesting.
Dee carried her luggage into the bedroom. Mike had said he’d sleep on a roll away cot while she was visiting. She noticed another door. “Where’s that lead to?” she asked, and then laughed. “Oops, sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.” She sat on Mike’s unmade bed and yawned. “Jet lag’s a killer.”
Dee stood in the doorway, a lazy grin on his handsome face.
“Well, thank you for the ride. I…” She sighed. Why was he still hanging around? Was he waiting for a tip? She reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. A tip. Yeah, she’d like to give this stud a tip all right. She fumbled for a few dollar bills and laughed aloud. “I guess these won’t do you too much good here, huh? I haven’t had a chance to exchange money yet.” She stuffed the bills back in her wallet. “Damn, I wish you could understand me.” How easy it was not to be shy when it didn’t really matter what she said. She looked into his light chocolate eyes. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Heat scorched her cheeks. Had she really just said that? Told an utter stranger he was gorgeous?
