The words “hustle” and “bustle” could hardly describe the noise coming from the over-crowded eating room, John Roxton thought to himself as he took a seat at his usual table. Even after several months of working here in the Parani village (and doing a damn good job of it, he might add), the sheer volume of people in this room, clamoring for the free midday meal provided to all Parani workers, never ceased to astound him. Why, every day it seemed he could meet someone new, or at least see a few new faces in addition to the more familiar ones.

“How’s it going, Roxton?” asked a familiar voice. With a smile, Roxton turned to see Ned Malone, his friend who worked as a scribe in the Parani libraries, sliding into the seat next to Roxton.

“The same as usual, Neddy-boy. Always someone or something to guard or hunt.” Roxton smiled at his friend. “You should have seen the T-Rex we had to fight off this morning. Twenty feet if he was even an inch.”

“Yeah…” Malone said absentmindedly. His attention seemed divided between a raptor sandwich in front of him and a beautiful blonde seated three tables away. “Yeah, those Rexes can get pretty nasty.”

Noticing where his friend was looking, Roxton clapped Malone on the shoulder. “Whoa there, Ned. That’s Veronica Layton you’re staring at. She works with the hunter-guards, and I’m afraid she’s a little more than you can handle. Been living on the plateau since she was born.”

“But she looks European.”

“American, actually. At least, that’s where she says her parents were from. Apparently their expedition came here to settle, and when her parents went missing she moved to this village and started working for the Parani.”

“She’s a veritable jungle princess, I must say. And she was lucky that the Parani were here. I know you and I came to this plateau looking for work and a good home, but she was just stranded. It’s a good thing the Parani are so generous with their jobs and living space.”

Roxton nodded. “That it is, Neddy-boy…that it is.” As Roxton’s voice trailed off, Ned followed his gaze, which lingered near the front entrance of the dining hall. There stood a slim, pale woman with dark hair pulled back into a braid. As if she sensed his gaze, the woman allowed her green-gray eyes to meet with Roxton’s for a moment before she found a seat at an empty table and started to eat her lunch.

“Ha, Roxton. First you tell me not to go after women who’re out of my league, then you go staring after the likes of her.” Malone let out a wry chuckle. “That monster is Marguerite Krux. She started working in the library about a week ago. Supposedly she’s a brilliant linguist and is working on translating some ancient Parani texts.”

Eyes glittering, Roxton asked, “Monster?”

“Hardly ever talks to anyone. And if you’re lucky enough to get a full conversation out of her, she’ll never tell you anything about herself – instead, she’ll rip you to pieces. I swear she tried biting someone’s head off when they asked her out for drinks this weekend.”

Raising his eyebrows and putting on his most charming smile, Roxton continued to stare at the dark-haired beauty. “So, Ned, how much would you give me if I went to talk to this brilliant monster of yours?”

Rolling his eyes and knowing full well that Roxton would do it whether or not Malone accepted the bet, Malone named the terms. “I’ll buy your lunch tomorrow.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” said Roxton as he strode across the room in wide, confident steps. Malone suppressed a chuckle. In his haste to talk to Miss Krux, Roxton had forgotten that lunch was free.

“Is this seat taken?”

Marguerite Krux, linguist and gemologist, looked up at the dark-haired man standing before her, casually leaning on the edge of the table as if he were much more familiar in her presence than he was. “That depends,” she asserted, never quite meeting his gaze. “Who, exactly, wants it? I saw a charming man with green scales in the ration line; I wonder if he’d be interested…?”

“Scales?” the man exclaimed. Marguerite had hoped that would be enough to dissuade him; however, he was certainly not as easy to get rid of as some of the other men in her life. Particularly the one man who had…

“I’m sure you’re not in the mood for scales. Might I suggest something a little…softer?” the man jerked Marguerite from her thoughts. “I’m John Roxton,” he said.

“Your accent…British, I presume?” Marguerite continued to slice her food.

“Yes. Yours?”

“Also British. Let me guess…a dashing British lad, tired of his life in the noble countryside, thirsts for adventure and finds himself on a South American plateau, living and working with a friendly tribe. It’s every boy’s dream come true, isn’t it.”

Roxton ignored the sarcasm. “That’s about it, milady. And you? Did you also hear of the remarkable life that the Parani offer?”

“Hardly.”

This is going nowhere, Roxton thought. The woman’s reticence was astounding – so unlike the stuffy ladies back in England, who were only too eager to share their opinions on horses, dresses, and dances. He picked up a cloth napkin, and deftly folded it into a crane. Origami, learned from some friends on an adventure to Japan, had always been useful when charming ladies in society. “For you, my queen. The crane is said to be a symbol of good fortune.”

Marguerite looked at the crane. It was sweet, she supposed, but she had no time or use for any men right now. She finally allowed her eyes to meet his, and paused momentarily when she noticed how handsomely hazel they were. She snapped herself back to reality. “Thank you, Mr. Roxton. I’m sure my daughter will love it.”

Roxton was taken aback – she could see it in his eyes. “Daughter?” he asked.

“Yes. My little girl. She’s about two months old, and frankly I don’t know who her father is. Let’s just say that the possibilities are endless.” Marguerite was an expert in repelling men when she wanted to. This man, obviously brought up in England, would never associate himself with a woman who had not only had many bedroom partners but who was stupid enough to find herself with child.

Roxton stammered wildly for a moment. “I hope your daughter enjoys it…” Looking back into the woman’s eyes, and ignoring his already-lessening shock at her revelation, he vowed that this would not be the last time he talked to Marguerite Krux. “I will see you soon, Madam.” He already knew, but he felt it polite to inquire, “what is your name, milady?”

“Marguerite Krux. Good day, Mr. Roxton. I have to get back to work.”