Mexican Nights

by Jeanne Stephens

  He grinned devilishly. "What is your definition of civilized, Terri?"

  "You're making fun of me, aren't you!" How dare he look at her with that suggestive leer.

  "Not at all. I'd like to know what you think. We ought to get to know each other better since we will be working so closely for some time."

  "Well, I certainly wouldn't call a society based on human sacrifice civilized!"

  "Ah, yes, there's that one thing."

  "That one thing! Tearing out people's hearts while they're still alive—" She was almost overcome with feeling. "How can you admire a culture that engaged in such acts?"

  His grin broadened. He was enjoying her disgust! "There are those who say they particularly liked to sacrifice virgins." He shifted so that his hand rested lightly against her sheet-covered leg. Was it accidental? "Fortunately, the Aztecs are no longer in control in Mexico." She was staring at his hand, but she could feel his eyes burning into her and realized suddenly the mocking implication in his last remark. A long, silent moment spun out between them, a moment vibrating with possibilities. She could not bring herself to meet his look. "But," he went on after a moment, "you must see the Aztecs in their own environment. This is a harsh land. Life—especially in those days—was precarious at best. Precarious and short. The sacrifices were a desperate attempt to gain a reprieve from whatever gods that be. Generally, the Aztecs had a sensible attitude toward their lot."

  "What?" Terri had stared at his brown hand on the white sheet so long that it began to blur. She blinked, knowing that she had to get him out of the room somehow—had to get him out before something happened that she would learn to regret.

  "They lived whatever life they had with vigor—with passion, Terri." The words were spoken softly, insinuatingly. "We could take a lesson from them. Life is still uncertain and fleeting." His hand moved slowly on her leg. "You are young and probably do not believe that yet, but you shouldn't waste such youth and beauty." The strong hand was lifted then and came to rest on her face. Supple fingers caressed her cheek, her neck, the sloping line of her shoulder.

  She sat unmoving as if she were hypnotized. His other hand went to her chin, tilting her face up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. She felt paralyzed, or perhaps bound by invisible cords so that she could not move—perversely, did not even want to move.

  Wings of fear fluttered inside her—and something else—a wanting. Wanting? What did she want? She didn't know. But she had to stop him. She moved suddenly, raising one hand to brush away his caressing fingers, which were straying toward the scooped-out neck of her gown.

  He caught her hand and held it, not tightly but securely nevertheless. He gazed deeply into her eyes until she felt as if she were drowning in brown depths. "Relax, Terri. You can learn many things from me."

  She caught her breath. He was still talking about the Aztecs, wasn't he? No, he wasn't! All at once she recognized the wicked light in his eyes.

  "No!" She struggled to break his grip on her hand. "I don't want to learn anything from you." Her hand came free and she grabbed hold of the sheet, puffing it up to her chin. "Leave me alone!"

  Still, he did not move to leave. Instead, he leaned closer, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her knees. "What are you so afraid of?"

  "I'm not afraid!" Hah! That was a laugh! She was absolutely petrified.

  Suddenly, he gripped her shoulder with one hand, and Terri had no strength to break free. Then one finger of the other hand traced the outline of her lips.

  Somehow Terri managed to gather breath enough to croak, "Don't. I don't like you touching me."

  "Really?" He pulled her toward him. "You're a terrible liar, Terri."

  They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed to Terri an eternity, their faces only inches apart. "You want me to touch you. Admit it, Terri. Say that you want it as much as I do."

  She would not! She would tell him to get out, never to come near her again! But the words stuck in her throat. She was mesmerized by those dark eyes. His face was coming closer. She hated being so helpless. How could she allow a man she despised to touch her like this? His hands were roaming over her back now, exploring where her bra would have been, had she been wearing one. Then one hand moved up to cup the back of her head, and the other moved lower to pull her against him. She closed her eyes as his lips came down on hers—but lightly, exploring tentatively, moving gently against hers like feathers that sent shivers down her spine.

  Her brain spun with a feeling that she imagined must be close to drunkenness. Without her even knowing when she moved, somehow her arms had crept around his neck. He raised his head to look down at her. "You see how nice it can be to let go?"

  Her lips tingled and she realized with horror that she wanted him to kiss her again—and again and again. She wanted him to! Her reeling senses suddenly snapped back into focus and she snatched her arms from around him, clasping the traitorous hands together tightly in her lap. He could take her breath away with his hands and his lips—and he felt nothing! He couldn't have felt anything or those dark eyes wouldn't be twinkling with amusement like that.

  He smoothed the tumbling waves back from her forehead, an enigmatic smile curving his lips. "Let's get to work now."

  Just like that? Work now—and later what? Terri was suddenly overcome with self-loathing. How easily she had melted. He only had to touch her, kiss her once. Well, it wouldn't happen again. Henceforth their relationship would be strictly professional. She would do her job—within sensible limits—but he might as well learn right now that she had no intention of being at his beck and call, even professionally, at whatever hour struck his whim.

  "I've made plans to spend the afternoon with Jack and Mike," she announced. "We're going sightseeing."

  A scowl drew two black brows together. "That will not be possible." The big-shot author was back, issuing orders. "I've sent Jack to the library and Mike is typing up some of my notes. It's a good time for you and me to go to Teotihuacán de Arista."

  Her chin jutted defiantly. "A good time for you, maybe. I have other ideas."

  He stood beside the bed, looking down at her with monumental condescension. "Of course, if you're not up to working today, perhaps yon should stay in bed and try to get your strength back."

  She threw aside the sheet and scrambled to her feet, blue eyes flashing. "I can work as hard and as long as you can—any day in the week!"

  "Good," he countered, striding for the door. "I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour."

  He was gone. Terri snatched up the plastic tray cover and threw it at the closed door. "I won't be there for at least forty-five minutes!"

  Belatedly, she was amazed at herself. She was behaving like a shrew! No man had ever caused her so totally to lose her composure. No man but Derek Storm. She turned to stare at her rumpled reflection in the dresser mirror. It was as if a stranger stared back at her.

  Chapter Three

  She tried on several outfits before she found one that seemed right. After what had just happened, shorts and halter left too little to the imagination. Besides, Derek would probably conclude that she chose them because he said he liked what she'd worn the day before. He would probably take it as an invitation to stare at her all day.

  On the other hand, a dress or even a skirt and blouse seemed impractical for climbing pyramids. Derek might think she was trying to impress him. The last thing she wanted was to give him any more ideas along those lines than he already had. After all, this was to be a working day and her relationship with the eminent doctor a working relationship.

  After discarding the third outfit, it dawned on Terri that some perverse corner of her mind seemed actually to be looking forward to the trip to Teotihuacán with Derek. Why else was she so concerned with what to wear when ordinarily she threw on the handiest halfway suitable attire? This traitorous thought was quickly banished, however. How absurd! She was no glutton for punishment!

  In the end, she wore light
weight khaki jeans with an elastic waistband and a bright orange knit shirt with cool scooped-out neck and tiny cap sleeves. Because she suspected they'd be hiking over dusty terrain, she decided against sandals in favor of rope-soled canvas shoes the color of straw.

  Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw that it had been forty-five minutes since Derek left her room. It would do Dr. Storm a world of good to cool his heels in the lobby for a while longer, she thought with a smile of satisfaction. Unhurriedly, she strolled into the bathroom.

  Before leaving her room, she transferred her billfold, comb, compact, and gloss stick to a corner of her camera bag so that she wouldn't have to carry her purse around all day as well as her photographic equipment. As a final delaying tactic, she called the hotel desk and left a message for Jack Ledbetter to contact her that evening.

  Poor Jack had been scuttled off to the library with such haste that he hadn't even had a chance to inform her of the change in the day's schedule. She didn't want him to think she was angry over the disruption of their plans for the afternoon, for she knew it had been all Derek's doing. He would have to bring her back to the hotel at dark, when it was no longer possible to take pictures; and she had a feeling that, after a day with the arrogant, volatile writer, she would welcome an evening with someone as soothing and safe as Jack Ledbetter. If Derek thought he could keep her and Jack apart for the entire four weeks by working them unmercifully, he was very much mistaken. Unless he planned to watch them every waking minute like a hawk, and he couldn't do that and attend to his beautiful Mexican actress. Granted, the pompous, egotistical Dr. Storm was very resourceful and clever, but he couldn't be in two places at the same time!

  At last, Terri slipped the strap of her bulging camera bag over her shoulder and headed for the elevator. It was exactly an hour since Derek had left her room.

  When she stepped off the elevator in the lobby, Derek was lounging against the nearest wall, his weight on one foot, the other foot crossed over with the toe of the shoe resting on the carpet. His hands were plunged deeply into his denim trousers' pockets. His posture could not have been more relaxed and calm, but the scowl on his face indicated that inside he was boiling. When he saw her, his careless pose abruptly vanished as he jerked upright and strode deliberately toward her.

  "What, in the name of heaven, took you so long?"

  She lifted cool gray-blue eyes to his angry face. "I told you I couldn't be ready in half an hour. I am not a robot equipped with a timer." She thought her tone contained just the right shading of poised aloofness.

  He glared down at her with suspicious scrutiny for a moment. "If you were trying to irritate me, you succeeded. Are you happy?"

  "Why should I want to irritate you, Derek?" she inquired sweetly. "You really should learn to control your temper a little better. I'm told a state of constant agitation causes ulcers and all kinds of unpleasant physical maladies. Besides, it's so immature to get mad every time your plans are upset. The whole world can't move according to your personal schedule."

  "Don't push me too far, you little vixen!" he snarled, and then he grabbed her arm and propelled her rudely toward the sidewalk, the hard angles of his face set in rigid fury.

  Terri decided it would be wise to keep silent for the moment, but a smug smile played at the corners of her soft mouth. She had managed to unsettle him for a change. Wonderful!

  In the car they headed out Insurgentes Norte, following the Cuota highway. The archaeological site was twenty-eight miles away.

  After a few minutes of strained silence, which Terri was determined not to break, even if it meant she uttered not a word for the rest of the day, Derek spoke.

  "The complex at Teotihuacán is ancient. The original structures predate the Aztecs and were probably built by the Toltecs, who held sway in this area beginning about eight fifty A.D."

  The cool, pedantic tone was back. Evidently he had decided to stick to business today, which was exactly what Terri wanted. Wasn't it? She relaxed a little, determined to be as professional as he. "Did the Aztecs take the city away from the Toltecs?"

  "It's thought the site was already abandoned before the Aztecs arrived on the scene."

  "Where did the Aztecs come from?"

  "No one knows for certain. One of the Aztec codices records a pilgrimage of the tribe from a place called Aztlán in the north around the year eleven sixteen. The location of Aztlán is unknown. According to the story, they were searching for a land promised to them by their gods. Their new capital city was to be built upon the place where they saw an eagle sitting on a cactus and devouring a snake. Legend has it they saw the eagle where Mexico City is now located. Since the eagle was on a tiny spot of land in the middle of a lake, they undertook the enormous job of hauling earth to fill in the lake bed. The city they built was surrounded by water and there were three connecting causeways to the surrounding countryside. As time passed, groups settled in other areas, and one of the sites taken over from earlier civilizations was Teotihuacán."

  "I remember running across something about that in one of the books I read before coming here," Terri said. "Haven't parts of Mexico City settled over the years?"

  He nodded, casting her a brief approving glance.

  "Some of the most important historical structures have had to be condemned because of it—the Shrine of Guadalupe, for example. I hope we can work in a visit to the shrine while we're here."

  The remainder of the drive passed quickly, with Derek providing more background on the Aztecs, which he said would give her a perspective from which to view the famous archaeological site they were approaching.

  They stopped first at an enormous quadrangle about a quarter of a mile long, lined with stairs, facing a court that, according to Derek, had once been entirely paved. Inside the quadrangle were the crumbling remains of various ceremonial structures.

  As they descended a staircase into the courtyard, Derek said, "This was the Temple of Quetzalcoatl—the feathered serpent, originally a Toltec god. He was later absorbed into the Aztec hierarchy of gods."

  While she walked about the ruins snapping pictures, Derek strolled nearby, examining carvings that could still be seen on some of the walls. An hour passed while Terri took two rolls of color and one of black and white. Under the blazing Mexican sun, she climbed up and down stairs and walked, sometimes with difficulty, over rubble, until she was hot and tired, her knit shirt damp with perspiration and hugging her body like a second skin.

  Derek came up to her as she was removing the third roll of exposed film from her camera, his dark eyes taking in the clinging contours of her damp shirt. If she hadn't known better, she might even have believed the slanting smile contained a touch of sympathy in addition to frank appraisal.

  "You look as if you need a rest. Let's find a cold drink and a shady spot."

  Terri followed him willingly from the quadrangle. In the car again, with the air conditioner going full blast, they followed a circular road to a spot where souvenir booths and refreshment stands had been set up. Derek bought two colas in chilled bottles and they carried them to the shade of a nearby tree.

  Gratefully, Terri dropped to the grass, sitting with her back against the tree trunk. Derek sat down beside her. "There's lots more to see yet," he said, studying her from beneath thick, dark lashes. "I don't want you to have a sunstroke on me. Just tell me when you've had enough."

  She took a long swallow of the cold drink and tipped her head back against the tree trunk. She glanced at Derek and thought she saw a suggestion of challenge in the lift at the corners of his mouth. "I can take it as long as you can."

  "She said as she passed out atop the Sun Pyramid," Derek retorted with an amused gleam in his eyes.

  Terri pushed the heavy weight of her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm not the fainting type. Your experience with women must not be as varied as I've heard if you think we're all weak, insipid creatures." She tipped the cola bottle up and drained it, then set the empty bottle aside.r />
  He was sitting facing her, his drink finished, too, his muscular brown arms clasped loosely about his drawn-up legs. There was a rakish tilt to the dark brows as he grinned at her. "So you're not the fainting type. Tell me, Terri, what type are you?"

  "Don't you know?" she retorted, bridling at the taunt in his tone. "My goodness, your advance PR has certainly exaggerated your knowledge of the opposite sex. I thought, by this time, you'd have me neatly categorized."

  Suddenly, he reached out and caught her hand, which was lying on the grass between them, lifting it, palm up, imprisoned in his strong fingers. One finger of his other hand traced her delicate lifeline slowly, sending a tremor of warning through her. She wanted to pull her hand away, but to do so would confirm the nervousness his nearness was causing in her, a condition she knew he already suspected. While her small hand felt as if it burned with his touch, she found it impossible to pull her gaze away from his lean face, the eyes that were looking intently into hers as if he were imagining her in an even more vulnerable position than she actually was. In bed, perhaps?

  "It seems," he said, "I shall have to tell you what type you are—to salvage my reputation."

  Yes, she could see why he was so attractive to women. Derek Storm had that indefinable male aura that drew females like moths to a flame. She might as well call it what it was—sex appeal. Not that he appealed to her in that way. She preferred a gentleman—like Jack Ledbetter.

  "To start with the obvious," Derek said softly, "you are young and"—the dark eyes flicked expertly over her slim figure—"beautiful." Now his thumb was caressing the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Terri managed to look away and fought to keep her thoughts in safe channels—the variety of tourists who were milling about the refreshment stands, the sun-baked landscape. But it was a battle she was destined to lose, since his thumb was causing her soft skin to tingle with a pleasurable sensation. How on earth did he manage to make such a simple gesture so sensual?