It was one thing to vow, when they were apart, never to allow Derek to touch her again; it was quite another to resist him when he held her in his arms. The fierce independence she had cultivated so carefully during the past three years was a weak opponent for the sensual hunger that drove her now.
Staring at her with desire-filled eyes, he said, "I promised to teach you about passion at the right moment. We have all the time in the world now. I've been waiting for hours for you to come back to the hotel."
"You go out in the evenings, why shouldn't I?" she asked, looking at him through her lashes, her senses stirring at the smoldering hunger in his face.
"Only you almost went too far tonight, didn't you, Terri?" he asked mockingly. "You deliberately led Jack on." His eyes blazed. "Were you trying to get back at me?"
"Why should I want to do that?" she retorted, angered by the accusation. "If you wish to chase after Margarite Lopez—if you wish to move in with her— what is that to me? I couldn't care less."
He was very still for a moment, staring down into her eyes. "But you do care, don't you, Terri?" The triumphant note that had crept into his voice sent shivers down her spine.
"No," she denied. "I think you are selfish and cruel and about as capable of faithfulness as a rabbit."
Her sneering words made him stiffen for a few seconds, and then a knowing smile touched his lips. Terri felt a warning tremor and tried to sit up. But he pushed her backward onto the bed and his hands began a warm exploration of her body.
Her head moved from side to side in futile denial of the ache that was filling her, clamoring for assuagement. His fingers closed over one half-exposed breast and caressed her slowly, causing an involuntary arching of her body that thrust the soft fullness harder against his palm. Her own soft moan mingled with his satisfied whisper. "How lovely you are, Terri—when you are not insulting me."
His fingers slipped a thin strap off her shoulder. For a moment his burning gaze devoured the firm young flesh, and then his head came down slowly until she could feel his warm breath on her skin. His mouth began a sensual exploration, seeking out the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe, tasting the secret hollow at the base of her neck, blazing a trail of fire in the valley between her breasts. The deep sensuality so long pushed down by Terri simmered dangerously, spreading a near-ecstatic pleasure to every part of her body as it trembled with a rawness that was like silk being drawn across exposed nerves.
A tormenting desire flooded through her, as her mind whirled with conflicting emotions. No man had ever touched her like this before. The shattering new yearnings he evoked were sweet—and terrifying. She remembered how he had caught Margarite Lopez in his arms earlier that day, that he had spent the evening with her. Had he lain with her like this? Had his hands and lips reduced the Mexican actress to a willing vessel for his domination? The image that rushed into her mind—of Derek and Margarite together like this— caused her to struggle to reach the lost ability to deny him.
Gasping, she pushed at the experienced, intimate hands and lips that were drawing such bittersweet responses from her body. "No!" she said fiercely.
"Stop fighting your feelings," he said between his teeth. "You don't really want to deny me."
"What's the matter?" she said bitterly. "Did Margarite kick you out without satisfying your—appetite? Well, you can't take out your sexual frustration on me! My contract with your publisher doesn't cover this sort of thing!"
He looked down at her angrily, his eyes hardening. Then, abruptly, he let her go and sat up, running his hands through his hair roughly, still staring at her.
His jaw tensed as he fought for control. "What kind of game are you playing, Terri?" he said, breathing harshly.
She shook her head. "I'm not playing, Derek. I won't deny that I was tempted. But my good sense will always win out over momentary emotional impulses. I won't go to bed with you because it isn't worth the price."
He smiled mirthlessly. "Don't knock it unless you've tried it."
She watched the angry color flush up under his dark skin, and she met his furious gaze without flinching. "No sale, Derek. I can be as stubborn as you are."
He got to his feet and, swearing savagely, ripped back the bedspread and threw it over her. "Keep your precious favors then! You are the coldest, most calculating female it has ever been my misfortune to meet!" His face contorted with bitterness.
"I think you'd better go, Derek," she said quietly, drawing the spread protectively up to her chin. "As you are so fond of reminding me, tomorrow is another working day."
Derek stared down at her and his face slowly drained of color. Harsh lines carved themselves into the stone of his face. He secured his bathrobe with a jerk of hands that shook, sent a dismissing glance over her, and walked to the door.
Hand on the knob, he said, "I will expect you in my suite at eight in the morning—ready to work. That will give you almost five hours of rest—plenty, I am sure, for a dedicated professional like you."
Surprisingly, Terri did fall asleep quickly, too exhausted—both physically and emotionally—to sift through the tumble of her thoughts. She slept deeply and awoke with a nagging headache, undoubtedly the result of the unaccustomed drinking she had done the night before.
Mumbling protestingly, she felt for her wristwatch, which she had placed on the bedside table, and held it in front of her half-open eyes. It was nine o'clock. Drowsily, she snuggled back into the enticing softness of the bed. It was early yet…
But with the persistent throbbing of the vein at her temple, reality intruded. It was nine o'clock, and she was already an hour late for her appointment with Derek. She sat up, pressing her palms against her aching head.
"Oh, wow," she muttered. "Never again."
She sat up slowly, reached for her purse, and found the bottle of aspirin. Then she shuffled into the bathroom for a glass of water to wash down three tablets. After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she felt slightly better.
She had a vivid mental picture of Derek fuming in his suite across the hall because of her lateness. Well, she didn't care, she told herself as she got into a cool cotton jump suit with matching elasticized waist-cincher. What right did he have to order her around, anyway? After all, she was working with him, not for him. The publisher was her employer; that little detail seemed to have slipped Derek's mind. He thought his best-selling status gave him the authority to organize her working hours, even to give her instruction in photography. In fact, she was surprised he hadn't been banging on her door at 8:01. She was over an hour late now, and there hadn't been a peep out of him.
Deciding against her regular morning shampoo ritual, she ran a brush through her tousled hair, creating some semblance of order, while she puzzled over Derek's failure to put in an appearance at her door. He was probably saving up all his insults to unload on her the minute she stepped into his suite. Maybe she wouldn't give him the chance. She was quite capable of going about her work without his help.
Suddenly, she had a wickedly gleeful idea. She'd been wanting to visit the National Palace, where the famous Diego Rivera murals, depicting Mexican history, adorned the walls. Today seemed an admirably suitable time for it, particularly since it would remove her—temporarily, at least—from Derek's anger. On the way, she would drop off film for developing at the photographic shop around the corner that promised twenty-four-hour service.
Quickly, she picked up her purse and camera bag and, going to the door, opened it quietly just far enough so she could see into the hallway. The door to Derek's suite was closed, and she saw no one in the hall. Tiptoeing into the corridor, she closed her door softly behind her and made her way stealthily toward the elevator.
When she reached the main floor, she cast a wary eye about before venturing across the lobby. She gained the sidewalk with a deep sigh of relief. Hurrying around the corner she dropped off her film, then got into one of the taxis that waited outside the hotel.
Upon reaching h
er destination, she paid the driver and stepped out into Mexico City's central plaza, turning to view the huge building facing the square, which she recognized from photographs as El Palacio Nacional. The National Palace, occupying the entire east side of the plaza, covered four large city blocks, having been built on the ruins of Montezuma's Palace, originally by Cortes, in 1523. It had, however, undergone twenty-six reconstructions, so the present palace was probably very unlike the original.
For three hours she wandered about the palace, studying the murals with the aid of a guidebook purchased on the spot and shooting three rolls of film. Surely Derek would want to use some of these in his new books. She was certain they would reproduce beautifully.
It was after one when she left the palace and took a taxi back to the hotel. Inside, she headed, straight for the coffee shop, hungry after the morning of working without breakfast. Her mind still half-occupied with the beauty of the murals she had left with much reluctance, she glanced about for an empty table and was brought up short when her gaze came to rest on Derek.
Their eyes met and he gave a cool nod and gestured for her to join him. Knowing she would have to face him sooner or later, Terri lifted her chin and made her way to his table. Surely he would control his temper in a public place.
"Good afternoon, Terri," he said calmly. "Won't you join me?"
She sat down across from him. "Where are Jack and Mike?"
"Working," he said curtly. "The three of us have been working very hard all morning."
"Well, I—I have been working, too." Terri stumbled over the words. "I've been to the National Palace. I filled three rolls of film with shots of the Rivera murals."
A waitress appeared and they ordered club sandwiches and iced tea. When she left, Derek settled back in his chair and regarded Terri with an insolent sort of interest. "Did you enjoy your morning, Terri?"
"Oh, yes," Terri replied with a nervousness that made her breathless. It also caused her to speak with unnatural speed, running her words together. "I've rarely seen anything so awe-inspiring as those murals. Rivera's attention to detail is incredible, not to mention the scope of the work. Did you know he painted the highlights of Mexican history from sometime around eight hundred A.D.? Such a chaotic history, too! And the colors, Derek—they're simply beautiful."
"I know," he returned dryly. "I've visited the National Palace numerous times."
"Oh." She tried to mask her confusion by taking a bite of her sandwich and chewing slowly, her eyes averted. Derek did not help her by taking up the conversational gauntlet. "I should have realized, of course, that you've already seen the murals." Meeting his gaze again, she rushed on, "They'll photograph beautifully—I'm sure of it. You should be able to use several of my shots in your books. I—I really think this morning was the highlight of this trip—so far. Of course, I couldn't begin to absorb it all in one visit. I want to go again."
Derek finished his sandwich, dabbed neatly at his mouth with his napkin, and said, "That will have to wait, I'm afraid."
She looked at him quizzically, sensing a certain satisfaction in the nonchalant manner with which he was looking at her. "What do you mean?"
"We are leaving for the Yucatán tomorrow." Yes, there was a definite smugness behind the lazy smile.
"The Yucatán—but I don't understand—I mean, didn't we plan to stay here for another week?"
"Something has come up. A friend who owns a sisal plantation near Chichén Itzá has offered me the use of his guest house. The location is ideal—and we'll be far more comfortable than in a hotel in Mérida, which is the nearest city of any size."
"But tomorrow!" Terri resented the high-handed manner with which she was being presented a fait accompli. They were associates, weren't they? Why hadn't she been consulted? "I think we should talk this over," she continued. "There are still several places I want to visit in this area—"
"Nothing to talk over," he said with maddening finality. "Mike has already made the plane reservations."
"Oh, really?" Terri fumed. "You shouldn't make a reservation for me without first checking my schedule. I've made plans for the next few days. I have to work my own way, Derek. Mike and Jack may have to trail after you to the Yucatán—or wherever—but I don't!"
"Mike and Jack aren't going. They still have work to do here."
"What!" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you telling me that you've made plans for you and me to move into somebody's guest house—alone?"
"It's in the middle of a vast plantation," he said irritably. "There are servants and field hands all over the place." He smiled cynically, taunting her with his eyes. "Furthermore, the guest house has several bedrooms, so your honor will not be threatened."
She clutched nervously at her napkin while her heart hammered a warning against her ribs. "I know we have to go to Chichén Itzá eventually, but I must say it seems highly impractical without Mike and Jack. I don't like the idea one bit, Derek. I'd prefer not to go under these conditions."
He motioned for the waitress to bring their check. When he had it in his hand, he took out a bill and placed it with the check on the table. Then he shoved his chair back and looked across at her, his face unreadable.
"Suit yourself, Terri. You can grow up and accompany me to the Yucatán tomorrow—or you can give up the assignment and go back to New York." His tone held a finality that frightened her, and for a moment she stared at him, unable to speak.
At length, he got to his feet. "Think about it. I am sure your good sense will win out over this momentary impulse. If I don't hear from you beforehand, I'll expect you to meet me in the lobby at nine tomorrow morning." He stood, looking down at her. "Don't be late this time, Terri."
She sat there for several minutes after he had gone, wondering whether he really would stand by his ultimatum. Cringing inwardly, she rejected any idea of softening on Derek's part. Her effort to assert her independence by failing to meet him in his suite that morning had backfired. He had managed to put her quite firmly in her place. She was certain he was, at this very moment, savoring his victory.
Chapter Five
Terri was standing in the lobby at ten till nine. She had had breakfast in the coffee shop at eight and had then gone to the photography shop and picked up the large film packet that was waiting for her.
At exactly nine o'clock Derek came sauntering in, looking rested and cool in pale beige knit shirt and slim-cut duck trousers. Terri was certain that by comparison she looked rumpled in jeans and a sleeveless cotton shirt. Really, he was quite striking, she thought as she watched him speaking to the desk clerk. If only he were someone else—anybody else—if she didn't despise him for ordering her about like a servant and ruining her first trip to Mexico, which she had anticipated so eagerly.
Derek strolled over to Terri and set his suitcase and portable typewriter beside her luggage. "All ready?" he asked, his eyes dancing with lively mockery.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"So you are, and on time, too. You're improving, Terri."
She glared at him without reply. He bent and lifted a suitcase in each hand. "If you'll bring my typewriter, I believe our taxi is waiting." She followed him from the lobby and looked silently out the taxi window at the passing bustle all the way to the airport.
When they had found their seats on the plane and buckled themselves in, Derek said, "Whatever is on your mind, Terri, you might as well spill it here and now. I don't relish being given the silent treatment for the next week."
She turned to look at him coolly. "Since when are you interested in what I think?"
"Of course, I'm interested. We have to work together." His tone was matter-of-fact.
"I resent your high-handed attitude, Derek," she said with definite emphasis. "You don't care one iota that I didn't want to make this trip alone with you. You don't even seem to realize that the whole setup is highly improper—at least, it will seem so to other people."
He sighed impatiently. "We're not here on holiday, Terr
i. You're here to provide photographs that meet with my approval for my Mexican books. I intend to see that you live up to your obligation." He looked into her angry eyes calmly. "I haven't the time nor the inclination to deal with your prudish ideas of what is proper. I can't concern myself with how you feel about me personally, either." His flat tone sent a chill up Terri's spine. "We have a job to do, and we will have to tolerate each other until it's completed."
Terri cocked her head and said defiantly, "I'm getting a little tired of your insinuations that my work is not up to your high standards."
"Do you really think there isn't room for improvement here and there?" he asked coolly. "Are you going to sit there and tell me that you've already achieved perfection?"
"Nobody's perfect!"
"At least, you admit that much." He shrugged. "Maybe there is hope for this collaboration yet." Speculative eyes regarded her in silence for a long moment. "Have you visited the Yucatán before?"
"No," she admitted. "I—I was looking forward to it…"
"Until you learned you would see it with me? Terri, let's stop these childish squabbles. I want you to absorb the atmosphere of this part of Mexico. You'll find it's very different from the sophistication of Mexico City. The land itself is a totally different world. It's barren and desolate and yet the Mayas built a magnificent empire in this environment. For hundreds of years they lived and worked and worshipped in the Yucatán, and then one day they left—disappeared mysteriously. No one knows why they left or where they went. We are going to breathe the same air they once breathed, walk where they walked, see the elaborate ceremonial centers they built, look out over the endless desolation as they did—and perhaps, after a while, you will begin to understand them a little."
Mexican Nights Page 7