Hot on the Trail
Page 11
He touched her cheek, his strong, gentle fingers just brushing over her skin. "Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for a change?"
A simple enough question, but Davina realized that it was staggering in its implications. When had been the last time anyone had taken care of her, catered to her? Her father had always been busy—locked in his study, or halfway around the world leading his archaeological teams to exciting new discoveries.
Her aunt, Jordan Lowell's elder sister, had taken in her brother's child as an act of sibling obligation. But even though she had tried, Davina's aunt could not change her own nature. Harriet Lowell had never been a demonstrative person, and the arrival of a seven-year-old child at her venerable Louisville Square home had not lessened her reserve.
As a result, Davina had learned at an early age to be strong and emotionally self-sufficient. It had been clear that her father preferred her that way. And Davina had always done her best to be a model daughter to her beloved, larger-than-life parent. She was still trying, she had to admit to herself.
"I'm quite used to taking care of myself," she said at length.
Sam nodded. "I'm sure you are. But I've never had an opportunity to pamper anyone, Davina. What would you say to trying it for twenty-four hours and seeing how we like it?"
"Twenty-four hours? That's all?"
"Unless those hands get infected. Then we'll have to renegotiate."
Actually, despite her desire to reach the city as soon as possible, the idea of a single day to do whatever she pleased, without deadlines, schedules or obligations, sounded like nirvana.
"I think you're a bad influence on me," she said with a shaky little laugh. "Because I'm tempted to do exactly that."
Humor came into his eyes. "That's my girl."
"Woman," she corrected absently, automatically.
"My woman."
Sam's tone was light and easy, but there was something about those particular words that caught them both by surprise. Sam looked as surprised to have uttered the possessive statement as Davina had been to hear it, and for a moment they simply stared at each other while the implication hovered in the air between them.
"I think you'd better show me the map now," Sam said finally.
Davina's eyes remained on his shuttered face, searching for secrets. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So what else was new? She handed him the tissue-thin piece of parchment without a word.
He swore. "The Usumacinta River? Give me a break, Davina."
"I'll admit it isn't the most accessible place—"
"What the hell are you trying to do?" he broke in roughly. "Get us killed? Wasn't that little escapade this morning dangerous enough for you?"
"Really, Sam," Davina said soothingly, "aren't you exaggerating? Just a little?"
"Are you calling boiling rapids and dangerous currents exaggerating?" he shot back. "How about so many armed guerrillas running around that jungle that you need a scorecard to keep track of who's shooting at you? And let's not forget the bandits from the refugee camps. Which of those little items do you consider an exaggeration?"
He was standing over her, gripping her shoulders more firmly than necessary. "This isn't a game, Davina. It isn't some fraternity scavenger hunt. We're talking about life and death here, lady."
"I know that!" she shouted back, pushing ineffectually against his chest. "In case you've forgotten, it's my father's life I'm trying to save!"
Sam was seconds away from shaking her until her teeth rattled. Unwilling to surrender control, he snatched his hands from her shoulders, shoving them with violent force into his pockets.
"For once in your life," he suggested between clenched teeth, "why don't you stop putting your father first and think of yourself?"
He'd struck a raw nerve with that one. Vowing not to cry, Davina tossed her head furiously. "I suppose I should expect that advice from you. Since it's more than obvious that you don't ever think of anyone but yourself. And probably never have."
Watching a dark color rise under his tan, Davina realized her reckless shot had hit the mark. Sam appeared on the brink of exploding, and she knew that the prudent thing to do would be to back away from this now. But fury and frustration conspired to make her more daring than usual.
"That's what you're doing down here in this pesthole of a place, isn't it?" she inquired scathingly. "The real world requires a little cooperation, some thoughtfullness—even love. But you wouldn't understand any of that."
Her eyes frosted as they raked over him. "You've been away from civilization so long, McGee, that you wouldn't recognize a decent human emotion if it was staring you in the face,"
Sam was absolutely rigid, utilizing every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from losing his temper and doing something he'd regret. Davina wasn't telling him anything he hadn't told himself a million times. But hearing such accusations from her hurt more than he could have ever imagined in his most brutal nightmares.
"Are you finished yet?" he asked finally, as she stopped to take several deep, calming breaths.
There was something about those amber eyes, hard yet strangely wounded in his stony face, that proved to be Davina's undoing. She turned away.
"For now."
"You're right, you know."
She stared unseeingly out the window. "I overreacted."
"No. You said exactly what you were feeling, what needed to be said. And you were right. I have been away too long; I probably have forgotten the right things to say, the way to say them. All those little pleasantries people—women— expect."
She slowly turned toward him, her aquamarine eyes filled with contrition. "Sam—"
He had his hand on the doorknob, prepared to leave. "You're free to get yourself another guide. But there's something you should know first."
Shaking her head, Davina tried again. "I don't want—"
"When I said the river was too dangerous, I was only thinking of you. I'm not a man to pretty things up with poetry and flowers, Davina, but since we seem to be speaking our minds, you should know that I haven't stopped thinking of you since I first saw you."
She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't force the words past the sudden lump in her throat.
"I'm not saying that all those thoughts have been flattering," he added with that brutal candor that she was beginning to respect. "Sometimes I wanted to wring your neck. But there hasn't been an hour—hell, there haven't been five minutes—when thoughts of you haven't taken over my mind."
He turned then, opening the door to leave. "Lock this behind me," he instructed. Then he was gone.
Davina sank wearily onto the bed, for the first time aware of the stinging pain flashing across her palms. She was suddenly very tired. And frustrated. And more than a little discouraged. But she knew it was one of those things that made her want to weep.
The knock at the door woke Davina from a restless slumber. Exhausted by her misadventure that morning, followed by the heated argument with Sam, she had fallen asleep on top of the woven bedspread. The room was deep in shadows, giving evidence of the fact that it was evening.
If she was upset by their argument, Davina was appalled at how her spirits lifted at the thought that Sam had returned. She flung open the door, her welcoming smile instantly fading as she viewed a young woman carrying a dinner tray.
"Buenas tardes," the woman said with a smile.
"Buenas tardes." The aroma rising from the tray reminded Davina that she hadn't eaten yet today. "That smells wonderful, but I didn't order anything," she said regretfully.
The waitress looked past her into the room, as if asking permission to enter. Davina belatedly realized that she obviously didn't speak English. Her own Spanish a little rusty from years of disuse, she tried again to explain that the woman obviously had the wrong room, but the waitress stood firm.
"El senor," she said, followed by a rush of words that although Davina could not translate precisely left no doubt as to who had ordered the dinner.
"Eat every bit of this meal. We've got a rough trip ahead of us; you're going to need all your strength."
Despite the gritty tone of the directive, Davina couldn't help but smile. She supposed, in a way, this could be considered pampering. As Sam himself had admitted, he hadn't had a great deal of practice. Succumbing to the tantalizing aroma, she settled down to the dinner of grilled whitefish, fruit and rice, finding the taste every bit as delicious as the aroma.
Despite a light sleep filled with discomforting thoughts of Sam McGee, Davina woke with a renewed sense of optimism about her quest. She had the map. And she had Sam. She would not allow herself to consider the unpalatable prospect of failure.
She was taking a bath in the ancient, claw-footed tub when she slowly became aware of someone else in the room. Lifting her eyes, she was not surprised to view Sam leaning against the doorjamb. It had not escaped her notice that in his aggravation he had failed to return her key last night. Although she hated admitting it, she had spent the better part of the night waiting for him to return.
"I knocked, but you didn't answer."
She tried to match his even tone. "I probably didn't hear you over the running water."
He nodded gravely. "That was probably the case." He hesitated the slightest heartbeat of a second, as if considering his words carefully. "I was afraid you'd left."
Her lashes swept down and her fingers tightened on the bath sponge. "I couldn't do that."
He felt a vague desire for a cigarette and ignored it. She was right about one thing. He smoked too much. One of these days he was going to have to face that fact. But not today. Today his mind was on other things—such as ignoring the ache swelling inside him at the sight of Davina sitting amid those fragrant bubbles.
"So you're still determined to go through with this."
Davina's only response was a slight nod of her head. She decided that it was better that he'd misinterpreted her words. What she had meant by her softly stated admission was that she couldn't leave him. Not now. Not until they'd resolved whatever there was between them.
She picked up a bar of soap from the tiled holder and worked up a thick, creamy lather between her palms. "You were right about the aloe vera," she stated in a feigned, conversational tone as she worked the lather up her arms. "My hands are much better this morning."
Sam recognized the scent immediately and was surprised to learn that the evocative perfume that had been driving him crazy for days was nothing more than Ivory soap. Ivory soap and her own inimitable feminine fragrance. Another desire rose hot and tenacious, overriding the vague need for a cigarette.
"This is impossible, you realize," he murmured.
"The expedition?" she asked, knowing better.
He managed a smile as he shook his head. "No, not the expedition."
He entered the bathroom, breathing in the warm fragrant mist that brought to mind a tropical rain forest. Bubbles covered the surface of the water, but they couldn't entirely shield her from his slow, appreciative gaze. Rosy nipples jutted through the frothy suds covering her breasts. Her hair was piled precariously atop her head. He had a sudden urge to press his lips against her slender throat.
"You look delicious." He squatted beside her.
Unbidden, the desire that was never far away sprang up between them, so palpable that Davina felt as if she could reach out and touch it. She swallowed.
"Really?"
Sam glanced down at the creamy breasts, satisfied as he watched the ripe little buds harden in response to his softly drawled compliment. "Really. You remind me of something they serve up at Dairy Queen."
A flush moved over the soft flesh visible above the bubbles. "I'm not blushing," Davina said firmly, hating the warmth she felt flowing under her skin.
"Of course not," Sam agreed easily.
"I never blush," she insisted, glancing around, satisfied that the bubbles were still providing some modesty.
"I believe you." He plucked the sponge from her nerveless fingers and dunked it under the suds. "Turn around."
"What are you doing?"
His eyes didn't move from hers. "Washing your back."
"I don't remember asking you to do that."
"Of course you did."
He squeezed the sponge over her shoulder, watching as the perfumed water ran over the slope of her breast, taking a wide swath of frothy bubbles with it.
"You ask me to touch you every time you look at me with those wide, turquoise eyes; whenever you smile at me with those soft, inviting lips."
He trailed a finger down the path the water had made. "Every time your skin flames when I touch you—here—and here."
Shaken, Davina dropped the soap. "Now you've made me lose it," she complained, searching around under the water.
"That's the advantage of this stuff," he countered smoothly. "It floats."
Before Davina could utter a word of protest, Sam's hands had dived under the layer of bubbles, capturing the plump white bar of soap. A moment later, he casually lifted her leg out of the water.
"Have I mentioned that you've got great legs?" He ran the slippery bar from her ankle, over her calf, up her thigh.
Davina was melting under his tantalizing touch. "No."
"You do; they're firm, shapely. You must be an exercise fiend."
"I ride a bike," she managed with a gasp as his fingers skimmed treacherously close to that secret point that throbbed with aching need. "There's a group of us at the university." Arousal simmered, making coherent thought difficult. "We put on bikeathons to raise money for charity."
"I figured it was something like that." Sam lowered her leg to the water, repeating the same tantalizing torture with the other. "Do you really have a black belt in karate?"
Did the man know he was driving her crazy? Of course he did, Davina decided, vowing that she'd pay Sam McGee back for every nerve he was presently shattering.
"No," she said raggedly as she began to squirm, reaching for that taunting hand. "I lied."
"I thought as much." Underneath the water, Sam obliged her to a point as his fingers brushed through the soft blond curls at the apex of her thighs.
Frustrated beyond belief, Davina captured his hand. "You're right, this is impossible." She tilted her chin ever so slightly as she studied the desire burning like molten gold in his eyes.
"You want me," she diagnosed softly. "But you don't want to want me."
She was not only lovely, but perceptive, as well. Sam wondered how willing Davina would be to make love with him if she knew the truth about his past.
"Does it matter?"
To Sam's surprise, she appeared to be seriously considering the question. Desire pounded within him as he waited for her answer. He knew that he would adhere to Davina's decision if she opted to stop things here and now, but he also knew that walking away from her would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"It should," she admitted finally with a slight, barely perceptible inclination of her head. Although his eyes were locked onto hers, Sam could sense the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed a slight, somewhat regretful sigh. "But it doesn't."
Confusion warred with need in the aquamarine depths of her eyes. "Why don't I feel as if I have any choice about this?"
She had always mapped out her life carefully, to the last detail. It was coming as an unpleasant surprise that some things—and some men—could not be planned for.
"Because you don't," he said simply.
At his matter-of-fact tone, Davina felt a flush of anger. A moment later his hand was gentle as it touched her face. "There's never been any choice, Davina. For either of us."
With a tenderness that was at direct odds with the dark passion on his face, S
am lifted Davina from the velvet cling of water, carrying her to the bed.
"The sheets," she murmured distractedly, "they'll get wet."
"Forget the sheets." His fingers traced a line of fire down her throat and around each breast, leaving sparks on her skin.
Davina reached up and slid her arms around his neck and smiled. "Consider them forgotten." She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, pulling his head down to her lips. "Kiss me," she demanded in a soft, throaty voice.
He brushed his lips teasingly against hers. "With pleasure."
She tightened her grip on the back of his head. "No," she protested against his mouth. "Really kiss me."
He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her nipples as he gave her a long, deep, open-mouthed kiss that escalated the throbbing ache in his loins. She tasted delicious. Sweet. Tempting. Forbidden.
Unable to resist, he trailed his lips down her body, plucking at her warm skin, exploring her pliant body with sexy, moist kisses. He was rapidly discovering that Davina affected him as an aphrodisiac would; the more he tasted, the hungrier he became.
Davina felt as if she were floating, unable to deny Sam anything as he turned her in his arms to press stinging little kisses down her back. Electricity danced between the delicate bones of her spine. When his fingers curved on her firm buttocks, massaging her flesh, she moaned into the soft down pillow.
Desperate to feel her body against his, Sam managed to dispense with his clothes with one hand; the other never stopped its seductive caresses, moving from her neck to the back of her knees.
"You're incredible," he said huskily, lowering his body carefully onto hers. The flames that had been flickering between them flared at the heated contact. "Where have you been all my life?"
"Boston," she whispered, turning her head so she could recapture those wonderful lips. "I've been in Boston."
"I think I've finally found something to love about Boston." As his hands slipped between them, Sam found her warm and wet, ready for him. His fingers deftly parted the soft pink flesh, gently stroking her petaled softness until she was crying out for fulfillment.