In Too Deep (9 page)

“Not unless you hoped to be back in New York before the end of the month.”

“The end of the month?” she repeated slowly, as his words sank in.

“Yep,” he said, turning toward the jungle.

She stared after him. Two more weeks alone with Rod. Two more weeks with some cowardly, trigger-happy maniac stalking them. Her heart thumped uneasily.

Worse, she wasn't exactly sure which prospect disturbed her more.

B
y sunset Rod had been worn down by Cara's unusually agreeable if slightly silent demeanor. He'd been waiting for more badgering, but it hadn't come. Instead, to his complete bafflement, it seemed she'd all but forgotten about the archaeological site that had been so all-fired important to her only a few hours earlier.

She'd taken a solitary swim when they'd returned to camp, then left her spare set of clothes dangling provocatively from tree branches to dry. He'd had to avert his gaze from the lacy bra and skimpy panties to keep his desire in check. He had the darkest suspicion it was a deliberate taunt, but her reserved behavior had mocked his thoughts.

She had helped with dinner, but said no more than was necessary, although she had jumped and averted her eyes each time their hands had brushed accidentally. By the time they'd eaten and settled back with coffee, his own nerves were stretched so tightly they would have snapped at the slightest touch. As evening fell, he was forced to bow to her impressive skill at psychological warfare.

She hadn't pouted or yelled or argued. She knew by then that he was fully aware of her position about seeing the archaeologists. She had waited with extraordinary patience for him to capitulate. With a sigh of resignation, he did, cursing Scottie for having taught her so well.

“We'll start for the archaeological site in the morning,” he said at last.

She nodded, but didn't gloat. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “For what? You're the boss.”

A shadow passed across her blue eyes and her lips tightened, but again she said nothing.

Not fully understanding why he felt the need, he did a little intentional goading of his own. “With any luck Maria Herrera will be there, too.” He injected a warm note of enthusiasm in his voice. It was not entirely feigned. Maria was fascinating. “She often goes to visit and work as a volunteer.”

“Who is she?”

“I suppose you'd describe her as an environmentalist, a bit of a colorful maverick, really. She's well known in Mexico City. She's been working for the preservation of the rain forest. She's also a staunch advocate for the Lacandones and maybe something of an archaeologist as well. She knows more about the Mayans than anyone I've ever met, including the archaeologists working this site. She's an incredible woman.”

Cara regarded him shrewdly. “Do you know her well?”

“Well enough.” The equivocation was intentional. He had to admit he enjoyed the little gleam of curiosity it aroused in Cara's eyes, the slightly jealous undertone in her voice.

“Where does she live? In Palenque?”

“Yes.” He twisted the knife. “You'd like the house, I think. It has a beautiful courtyard, filled with flowers. It's so peaceful there in the evening, when the air is soft and the sunlight is fading. I think it's the first time I've ever seen so many hummingbirds. It's—”

Cara interrupted him. “Tell me about the others who will be there.”

He restrained the desire to grin, yawning widely instead. “It's late. Don't you think we should be getting some sleep, if we're going to set out at the crack of dawn?”

“It's barely nine. I don't need that much sleep. Do you?”

This time their eyes met and awareness sizzled between them. One game ended and another began. He swallowed hard and wondered if he could get by on no sleep at all. The tantalizing images that suddenly flashed through his mind assured him of a restless night.

“No,” he said, but his voice was choked. Blast the woman! Never before had he had quite so much trouble concentrating. Nor had any woman seemed more appealing by far than work. Even this little jaunt he'd agreed to make was absolute foolishness, something he would never have done for anyone who didn't have big blue eyes, a winning smile and an irritating way of setting his blood on fire when he least expected it.

“Fine,” she was saying to him with cheerful innocence. “If you don't have to go to bed now, you might as well tell me about the others. I like to know the people I'm dealing with.”

“Actually, I don't know them all that well myself. I met with one of them a couple of times in Palenque and then visited the site once. Rafael Riva is the archaeologist in charge. He's articulate, intelligent and dedicated. The Mayan culture is something of an obsession for him. I think the thought of seeing ruins lost forever makes him physically sick. He mounts an effective argument against the dam, but he's not nearly as hostile as some of the others. At least not openly,” he amended, wondering how far Rafael would actually go to save the ruins.

“Does he have a big team there?”

“No. He has an assistant, a young man named Jorge Melendez. I got the feeling he's not all that experienced, but he also seems eager and dedicated. There are a few college students, even a couple of Americans from one of those vacation explorer programs. That's the whole team.”

“Do you think Riva's opinion is representative of the general view that archaeologists have of the dam, or will I need to talk to the others in Palenque, as well?”

“They vary only by the degree of their outspokenness. Wait till you hear him. You'll understand what I mean. He can discuss both sides of the issue perfectly rationally and still win you over.”

He watched Cara's face as she absorbed this information. From what he'd observed so far, she was an amazingly quick study. He suspected that by morning she would already know exactly how she wanted to approach Riva and that her instincts would be exactly right. It was an impressive skill in a businesswoman. What he knew he hadn't discovered yet was how adept she was at putting those same intuitive skills to work on him. If she could, then she knew that right now he was far more interested in tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, in caressing the satin texture of her bare shoulders than he was in discussing archaeologists, Mayans or this blasted, troublesome Usumacinta dam.

As if she'd read his mind, she lifted her gaze to meet his. The pulse at the base of her throat leaped and an attractive shade of pink stained her ivory cheeks. Her fingers ran through her hair, fighting the tangles, then nervously playing with a curly strand.

“What else can you tell me?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.

“Do you really want to talk about this?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a frantic plea.

“Why, Cara?”

“Because...” She squared her shoulders. “Because that's what I'm here for.”

“And we have a long hike ahead of us tomorrow. You can ask all the questions you want then. But now...” He moved to sit next to her and saw her stiffen.

“Now what?” she asked with a hint of desperation. The panicked look on her face was that of a defendant awaiting the jury's verdict.

He reached out and removed her hand from her hair, then brushed the golden strands away from her face. The pad of his thumb traced the delicate skin under her wide, watchful eyes, swept down her cheek, then lingered on the curve of her lips. Her skin burned beneath his touch. Fire raced through his veins.

His gaze locked with hers in helpless fascination. “You shouldn't have come, you know. Just look at what's happened.”

“Let's not talk about that again. You know I had to. Scottie—”

“Scottie needs you there.”

“He needed answers.”

“He'll worry when you don't show up in a day or so.”

A frown creased her brow. “I hadn't thought of that. Isn't there some way to get word to him? Maybe the archaeologists have a radiophone.”

“I think they do, actually.”

She gave a tiny sigh of relief. “Then there's no problem.”

“There is one,” he said slowly. He took her hand in his and brushed his lips across the palm. “What are we going to do about tonight?”

She drew her hand away. He could see the tremor of her fingers. “Tonight?” she repeated.

“It's lonely out here in that hammock.”

She drew in a deep breath. Then, to his amazement, a faint smile touched her lips. The spark in her eyes teased, dared. “Are you suggesting that you come in or that I come out?”

His heartbeat accelerated at her direct response. He touched the curve of her neck and felt her pulse race. “Whichever you're comfortable with.”

Her breath caught in her throat. In an unsteady voice, she said, “Actually, I thought last night's arrangement was suitable.” She didn't sound too convincing.

His fingers continued to stroke. “And is that what you want? A suitable arrangement?”

Her expression grew thoughtful. The playful mood seemed to evaporate. “I want an arrangement, as you call it, with potential. This one has none.”

Suddenly the conversation had turned serious. Maybe that had been inevitable, but he regretted it deeply. It forced him to admit the seemingly insurmountable differences between them. After a final caress, he dropped his hand from her cheek. “Every relationship has to start somewhere, Cara.”

“In bed? That's a risky starting point. People who start there often find there's nothing else to keep the relationship alive.”

“But can you imagine a love affair without the passion?”

“No. But don't try playing the which-comes-first game with me, Rod. I don't like the rules.”

“What does that mean?”

“That it's a very practiced seduction technique designed to convince a woman that hopping into bed is an acceptable way of getting to know someone. In this day and age that's dangerous. In addition, I think sex—making love—is more important than that and that feelings so strong deserve more respect.”

Something about what she was saying struck a raw nerve. “Meaning?”

“That I'm not foolish enough to try to deny that I'm attracted to you, but that makes me want to get to know you, not just to sleep with you. Chemistry is an amazing thing. You should know as well as anyone that after an explosion, there's usually nothing left of value. It's only what you build in its place that has any meaning.”

It was a powerful analogy. To his regret, Rod understood exactly what she was saying. He also knew that she was unlikely to be swayed from her principles by something as capricious as her hormones. That complicated things tremendously. He'd been hoping that making love to Cara just once would rid his body of this aching desire, that it would satisfy his curiosity about the woman who'd dared so much just to be here. There would have been no danger to her. He would have protected her from all possible consequences. Now he was faced with several very long days and even longer nights in which to imagine and magnify the ecstasy that was promised in her arms.

He would survive the denial of a physical relationship, though. And the two of them would probably be far better off in the end. He had no interest in another destructive marriage. Even if he did, Cara was not the kind of woman he needed. She was too tied up in her career, too goal-oriented. He'd found that was the ideal woman to date. The demands were few. The immediate rewards in terms of companionship, intelligent conversation, even enthusiastic sex were many. But marriage? No way. He'd watched his own parents go their separate, busy ways for too long to subject himself to that kind of modern-day mockery of commitment.

Even so, he refused to acknowledge that he'd long ago found the more superficial relationships to be boring and unsatisfying. He didn't care to examine the fact that his social life in recent months had been limited to an occasional dinner with a few old and very dear female friends. Like Maria.

Cara, however, had aroused an almost forgotten sense of urgency and yearning in him. It was damned disconcerting, especially now that he knew it was unlikely it would be eased. The frustration made him feel even more cantankerous than usual. If he'd had any of those explosives Cara had used in her analogy, he'd have gone and blown something up just for the exhilaration that accompanied watching it go off.

“I'm going for a walk,” he said, abruptly getting to his feet. He needed distance. He needed time to get his rampaging libido under control. A few years just might do it, he thought with a wry grimace. He figured he had the rest of the night at best.

“Would you like company?”

“No.”

The brusque response obviously stung. He saw the swift rise of hurt in Cara's eyes, the quick effort to hide it. It wrenched his heart. Still, he walked away.

When he came back much later, calmer, ready to talk, she'd gone to bed. He muttered a harsh oath and searched his backpack for the cigarettes he'd never been able to eliminate entirely from his life. Though he'd technically quit smoking years earlier, he relied on their comfort in tense moments like these and he was never without an emergency pack. He ripped this one open and shook out a cigarette, then lit it and inhaled deeply. The first long drag of smoke burned his throat, his nostrils. The second gave the longed-for satisfaction. He lay back in the hammock, his foot pushing lazily against the ground to keep up a steady, lulling motion. He waited for relaxation to come.

He was still waiting when the first pale light of day crept over the horizon.

* * *

Rod was setting a punishing pace. Out of the corner of her eye, Cara observed the grim set of his mouth, the tensed shoulders. He'd definitely gotten up on the wrong side of the hammock. Already he'd growled at her for taking too long to brush her teeth, for wanting two cups of coffee, for asking “too damn many questions,” for stopping to tie her shoelaces.