Hot on the Trail

by JoAnn Ross

  Davina's body burned and so did Sam's as he continued to fondle her, loving the way she held nothing back. She seemed to bloom under his loving touch, her skin flushed with a soft pink glow. Sam knew that he had never seen anything quite as lovely as Davina at that moment. The pins had come out of her hair, and he buried his face in the flowing golden waves as he thrust forward, unable to hold back another moment.

  Davina cried out as he claimed her, unaware that she was saying Sam's name over and over as their bodies moved in unison. They were ruthless, driving each other to the brink of madness with an urgency unlike anything they had ever known. A flood of passion stormed over Sam, sweeping away the last vestiges of his control, and he closed his eyes as he gave himself up to its power.

  Davina felt Sam's body stiffen, then shudder. An instant later he touched her and she followed him over the edge.

  They lay together, legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other as their breathing returned to normal. Now what? Sam asked himself as he unconsciously pressed his lips against the top of her head. Where in the hell did they go from here?

  Although it was true that he had wanted Davina from the first, Sam had never planned to feel so strongly about her. For the first time in five years he found himself involved in something over which he had no control, and he didn't like the feeling. She had invaded the most intimate reaches of his mind; he couldn't think of an instance in the past four days when he had been able to completely shut her out of his thoughts. Even now, even when he should be experiencing a feeling of satisfaction, Sam discovered that he wanted more.

  Davina felt Sam's sigh and dared a cautious glance upward. His mouth was set in that all-too-familiar grim line, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in his eyes.

  "I told you we'd get the sheets wet," she said with a soft, encouraging smile.

  She was too damned trusting. If she was left to her own devices, there was no telling what trouble the woman would get herself into. Sam told himself that was the only reason he was agreeing to see this insane search to the end. He couldn't allow himself to believe anything else.

  "So we'll spend the day in my bed." He tilted her chin up and kissed her mouth.

  "All day?" she asked against his mouth.

  He tangled his fingers in the soft waves trailing over her shoulders, luxuriating in the soft scent, the silken texture. "We agreed that this was going to be Pamper Davina Lowell Day, remember?"

  Merry lights danced in her eyes. "All day? Are you sure you're up to that?" she challenged, trailing a provocative finger down his torso. . "Try me."

  His strong, wide hands moved down her back as his lips nibbled hers and Davina found herself being seduced by him all over again. She wanted him—now. But first there was something she had to know.

  "Did you mean it?"

  "Mean what?" As her satiny skin warmed under his touch, Sam's loins stirred with renewed hunger.

  She trembled as he traced a seductive path up the inside of her thigh with his square-cut fingernail. "That you'd stay with me. Until I found Naj Taxim."

  "Until Naj Taxim," he agreed, pulling her onto him in one smooth, deft motion.

  Well, it wasn't forever. But it was enough—for now. As their bodies joined, Davina stopped thinking.

  9

  "If we keep this up," Sam groaned a great deal later, "I'm going to make one lousy guide. You'll have to carry me to Naj Taxim."

  Davina's fingers were playing in the ebony curls covering his chest. "You sound as if you believe it really exists," she said carefully.

  "I wish I did—for your sake."

  Davina didn't know whether to be pleased that Sam had just revealed that he cared for her, or depressed that he still didn't believe in her mission.

  "Would you like to see the map? So we can plan our strategy?"

  Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, he hitched himself up in the bed, bringing Davina with him. "Since you're paying me all that dough in order to be your guide, I suppose the map might be in order."

  She pressed a swift, hard kiss against his lips. "Even if we never find the city, Sam, you've been well worth the money."

  She left the bed to retrieve the map from the dresser. When she turned around, Sam's expression was anything but encouraging.

  "I don't think I like the idea of being a gigolo."

  Davina couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing.

  "I don't find anything so damn funny about our situation," he complained.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears of laughter. Sam—her strong, virile, magnificent Sam—resembled a sulky little boy who had just gotten his shiny red Christmas bicycle taken away from him. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed at the nerve jerking ominously in his cheek with her fingertip.

  "I was only teasing, Sam."

  He eyed her dubiously. "That isn't anything to joke about. My God, Davina, don't you remember how you felt when I thought you were nothing but a hooker?"

  "Of course I remember. I was flattered."

  "What?"

  She smiled at him. "Though I'll admit that I wasn't thrilled with you thinking that I'd ply my trade in a dump like the cantina—"

  "Dump?" he interrupted, arching a challenging black brow.

  "Well, it isn't exactly The Ritz, Sam. Anyway, I'll have to admit it was rather nice of you to believe that I could actually make a living selling my body."

  His eyes took a slow, intimate tour of the female body in question. "You're a little skinny," he said truthfully, running a rough palm down her side. "But every ounce is prime."

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Why, Sam McGee, you certainly know how to sweet-talk a girl off her feet." She gave him a long, lingering kiss.

  "I don't know why I agreed to this expedition in the first place," he complained as they came up for air. "You're going to drive me crazy, Davina Lowell."

  "I'm certainly going to try." Her hands skimmed down his back.

  Sam's irritation melted under the warm, laughing lights in Davina's eyes. "Let me see that map," he said with obvious reluctance. He gave her a rakish grin. "After that, I refuse to be held responsible for any naughty ideas you come up with."

  Davina watched silently as Sam studied the map. Frowns carved deep furrows in his brow, and every so often he'd mutter a curse under his breath. All in all, she considered, his attitude was anything but encouraging.

  "There's a good-size airfield at Palenque," he said finally, pointing at the location on another map, one of the entire peninsula and adjoining area that he'd retrieved from his own room. "We'll fly in there tomorrow."

  "And then?"

  He exhaled a deep breath. "I don't suppose there's anything I can say or do to get you to change your mind." One look at Davina's face told its own story. "I didn't think so," he muttered.

  He spread out the larger chart on the mattress between them, placing her map next to it. "All right, here's the Usumacinta."

  Davina repeated the name, unfamiliar with the accent that was not quite Spanish. "What does it mean?"

  He shrugged. "Who knows. It's an Indian name—the meaning's been lost in antiquity. Perhaps you can find the answer in that ancient text of yours that described Naj Taxim so well."

  "There you go, being sarcastic again," Davina said huffily. "I only asked a simple question. Would it have been too difficult to give me a simple, civil answer?"

  "Nothing's simple about you, sweetheart."

  From his tone, Davina couldn't quite tell if she'd been insulted or not. She opted not to challenge the statement; last night's argument had left her afraid that Sam would wash his hands of the entire mission and return to Chetumal. She didn't want that to happen—for many complicated reasons.

  "And this is Yaxchilan," she murmured, returning her attention to the map, pointing to an archaeological site not far from where Naj Taxim supposedly was built. "I've always wanted to visit those ruins."

  Sacred to the local Lacandon Indians, who believed their Mayan ancestors lived
there, the temples of Yaxchilan had weathered twelve centuries of tropical rains. The forest in the region was also named for the Lacandon; over the centuries the name had become synonymous with impenetrability. Sam wondered which of them was crazy—Davina for thinking up this wild-goose chase, or himself for agreeing to go along with it. He decided they both were.

  "I wasn't aware that this was a sight-seeing trip."

  She glanced up at him, curious as to the reason for his gruff tone. The blatant concern in his eyes had her immediately dropping her gaze back to the pair of maps.

  "I just thought that if we were in the vicinity—"

  Shaking his head in a mute display of disgust at himself for upsetting her again, Sam covered her hand with his. "We'll try to fit it in."

  "Only if it won't take up too much time." She was quick to qualify. Despite the fact that she didn't want their time together to end quickly, she could not discount his daily fee. She didn't want to think of what today was costing her.

  His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly. "We'll fit it in," he promised. "My treat."

  Her response was a breathtakingly brilliant smile. "Thank you, Sam."

  "You know," he felt obliged to point out, "the fact that your map shows Naj Taxim to be somewhere between the Planchon de las Figuras and Yaxhilan only serves to discount the entire legend. People have traipsed all over that part of the jungle. How do you explain them overlooking an entire city?"

  "Rio Azul was built in the eighth century and covers 750 acres," she said. "And it wasn't surveyed and excavated until this decade. And don't forget Tikal. It was locked in the thick of Guatemala's jungle for a thousand years before it was discovered."

  "But it was known about for years," Sam argued. "Anyone flying over it could see those five stone roof-combs protruding above the forest. There have never been any sightings of Naj Taxim."

  "It's obviously not as tall."

  He threw his hands in the air, signaling defeat. "You're a dreamer."

  The look Davina gave him was immeasurably solemn. "I don't have any choice."

  Sam studied her for a long, silent moment. "No," he said finally, "I don't suppose you do."

  He continued to map out the plan, pointing out villages along the river that formed the border between Guatemala and Mexico that they could use as base camps for expeditions on foot into the jungle.

  "We'll start up the river at Baco Lacantun," he decided. "It's the only place where we can get to that part of the river by roadway. From there we'll travel the Lacantun to where it merges with the Usumacinta by raft." Then, as if as an afterthought, he asked, "You can do more than tread water, can't you?"

  "Want to see my Red Cross badge?"

  "I'll take your word for it. I just don't want to have to go diving into the river to pull you out of the jaws of some crocodile."

  Davina repressed the sliver of fear that skimmed up her spine. "Don't worry," she said with a calm assurance she was a long way from feeling, "you won't have to."

  He nodded his acceptance. "Good."

  Sam's expression softened, and he reached out and twisted her hair around his finger. He started to speak, then stopped himself. Davina waited.

  He could see the unspoken question on her face. She had given herself to him today—unhesitatingly, eagerly. With a passion he had suspected all along she possessed, Davina had held nothing back. He owed her a great deal. Although he could never be what she deserved, he could at least give her something in return. He could, in some small way, let her know how important she had become to him in such a short time.

  "I would, you know."

  The strange, serious look in his eyes tore at some delicate fiber deep inside Davina. She pressed her palm against his cheek. "I know," she whispered.

  They held each other then and for a time, it was enough.

  If Davina had considered Sam at all lazy, the next three days were to prove her wrong. Gone was the unenterprising cantina owner, and in his place was a dynamic, no-nonsense man who flew the rental plane himself to Palenque, bartered mercilessly for supplies and brooked no argument from underhanded government officials as he arranged for the papers that would allow them to explore both banks of the river—the Mexican side and the Guatemalan bank.

  At night, alone in their hotel room, Sam was the same ardent, considerate lover capable of taking her to unexplored heights of passion. But now that she had seen him in action, Davina found herself even more curious about his past life—before the Yucatan; before her.

  "Oh, look!" Davina exclaimed, stopping at a craftsman's booth outside the hotel on the morning they left for the river.

  "We've got everything we need, sweetheart." Right now, Sam wanted nothing more than to get to Boca Lacantun and begin the absurd scavenger hunt.

  "But, Sam," she argued, unable to resist the hopeful look on the face of the young vendor who couldn't have been more than eight years old, "surely just one more thing wouldn't swamp the raft."

  Her hurried gaze swept over the display of brightly lacquered trays and bowls. "This one," she decided, picking up a gourd that had been transformed into an ornate bowl by repeated rubbings with oil, earth and pigment. A wonderworld of nature embellished the crimson and ebony exterior.

  She held it up for Sam's perusal. "Isn't it perfect?"

  "Perfect," he muttered. "Davina, we really need to be going."

  She flashed him a brilliant smile. "Just one more second," she promised.

  Sam resisted interfering as Davina asked the cost, then immediately paid the price.

  "You're supposed to barter," he said as they drove toward the river.

  Davina was tracing the elaborate design with her finger. "I know. But I never can do it."

  "I still contend you're a chump," he said, the smile softening his words. "A lovely one, granted, but a chump just the same."

  "It was a ridiculously low price," she argued. "Besides, you have to admit, I was right about the map."

  "You were right about the guy having a map to sell," Sam agreed. "However, we've yet to establish proof that it's anything but an elaborate hoax—one the guy's managed to pull off two times that we know of."

  "By the way," he said, not giving her a chance to argue that point, "while the map is probably counterfeit, the man just happened to be for real. I don't think he had anything to do with your fall into the cenote."

  Davina's irritation evaporated. She looked over at him curiously. "How on earth do you know that?"

  Sam waved to a small, ragtag group of Indians on their way to Friday market. The farmers trudged along, as they had since the days of antiquity, the traditional net bags swinging from tumplines around their foreheads.

  "Luis has a cousin, Alejandro, who works for the government, tracking down stolen artifacts. According to him, your map salesman had more aliases than he does scruples. But although he dealt regularly in smuggled artifacts, he wasn't known for killing off his customers."

  "Then you believe it was just an accident?" she asked hopefully.

  "I don't think so, since Luis called me this morning with the additional news that the guy was found dead only a few hours after he handed the map over to you."

  Davina felt the short hairs at the back of her neck bristle at the unsavory news. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me he died of natural causes."

  "He was lying facedown in an alley with a knife in his back."

  "This is dangerous country," she insisted. "There are probably lots of people who'd kill for a handful of pesos— let alone five thousand dollars."

  "Granted," Sam acknowledged grimly. "But I still think it's too much of a coincidence. Don't forget your Indian with the angry eyes."

  "The part about his eyes could have simply been my imagination," she argued.

  "And he could have been trying to kill you."

  Davina felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. Under normal conditions, she hated any talk of killing. When the subject concerned herself, it was doubly unpalatable.
/>
  "Why would he want to do that?"

  Sam shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps he had a buyer of his own for the map—one who was willing to pay more."

  An idea that had been flickering at the far reaches of her mind for the past three days suddenly became crystal clear. "Or he could be trying to keep me from reaching Naj Taxim."

  Sam had admittedly thought of that one. But it didn't make any sense—since the city was nothing but an appealing fable in the first place.

  "I think that fall must have damaged your brain," he muttered, wishing he could find the key that would enable him to keep Davina safe for the rest of this ridiculous trek. "We should probably stop at the nearest doctor and have your head examined for holes."

  "You're just mad because I thought of a better reason than you did."

  "I'm not mad."

  "You could have fooled me," she mumbled, her voice cooling slightly.

  "I thought you were an educated woman. Dogs get mad. Coyotes get mad. Even squirrels. But not me."

  Davina arched an argumentative blond brow. She was in no mood for a vocabulary lesson. "So what do you call your all-too-frequent lapses into ill temper?"

  "I'll admit that from time to time I get annoyed," he said. "Irritated, perhaps."

  She had to laugh at that. "And you're also the master of understatement."

  Sam's crooked, acknowledging grin demonstrated how far they had come in the past week. Seven days ago, her light accusation would have earned a blistering glare. Today, he merely shrugged.

  The trip to Boca Lacantun was uneventful, save for the interesting fact that many of the Indians in the region appeared to know Sam intimately. They greeted him with shouts and waves as the Jeep bucked along the dirt roadway. They brought him baskets of fruit, showed off babies obviously born since his last trek into the jungle, and posed proudly for pictures.

  As Davina realized that Sam had developed a strange sort of kinship with these people, she began to accept the fact that he belonged here. If it had been difficult for her to picture Sam McGee in Philadelphia or Boston or Manhattan before, it was now an impossibility.