It must have been about midnight when Lisa could no longer fight the compulsion to rest her eyes—just for a minute, she told herself. She let her lids drift closed, and was asleep almost instantly.
She awoke to the feel of hard arms curving around her body. Stretching sensuously against the solid shape that held her, she sighed and opened her eyes. It was dark. . . . It took her a few seconds to work out exactly where she was and whose arms enfolded her. Sam . . . Lisa knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was angry with him, that she should be pushing him away instead of snuggling against him. But she was so sleepy, and the night air was so cold. . . .
Dreamily she realized that he was lifting her. Her arms curled automatically around his neck. He had taken off his shirt. . . . Her fingers stroked the iron muscles of his neck without conscious thought; her chilled little nose buried itself in the thick, curling hairs that covered his chest. He smelled so good, warm and faintly sweaty and all man. She pressed her lips against his chest, letting her tongue taste the saltiness of his skin.
He was carrying her. She didn’t know where or why, but she certainly wasn’t going to worry about it. It felt so good to be cradled in his arms. . . . Her toes curled in anticipation of what would happen when he finally put her down again.
He was lowering her onto a cot—whose cot?—that seemed to have sprung up on the opposite side of the tent from his. As the thin mattress took her weight, Sam’s arms released their hold on her body, and he made a move as if to straighten. Lisa’s arms clung protestingly around his neck. She didn’t want him to go. . . . Why did he want to, anyway? This was surely what he had had in mind when he had asked—no, ordered—her to move in with him. Ahhh. Lisa smiled faintly as the solution to the puzzle presented itself. He had to finish undressing. . . . And then he would undress her, before . . . Her whole body tingled at the idea.
Her hands slid reluctantly down the front of his chest, her nails trailing through the crisp, slightly damp hairs. The curling strands rasped lightly against the sensitive pads of her fingers, and she gave in to a compulsion to tug on them. His breath sucked in in a satisfying little grunt. . . . Lisa had an uneasy suspicion that in the morning she would regret what she was doing, but at the moment she just didn’t care. All she could think of was the melting warmth between her legs. . . .
As her hands reluctantly released their grip, Sam straightened. Lisa could dimly make out the dark bulk of his big body as he moved a little away from her. With some small part of her consciousness she registered that he had apparently put out the lamp before awakening her. . . .
She heard the clink of metal as he unfastened his belt, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. Breathlessly she waited for him to remove his pants and return to her. He seemed to be taking forever. . . . Her eyes strained through the darkness. She could no longer make out exactly where he was.
“Sam?” His name was a husky whisper.
“God, you really are insatiable, aren’t you?” he demanded tersely. Lisa heard the words with shock. Her breath caught in an audible gasp.
“Sorry, Mrs. Collins,” he added when it became clear from the stricken quality of the silence that Lisa wasn’t going to answer. His voice was harshly mocking. “You’ll have to rock yourself to sleep tonight. I make it a rule never to shack up with married women.”
V
LISA awoke the next morning almost in spite of herself. She surfaced groggily, her eyes blinking against the unwelcome fact that she was indeed facing another day. Her body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller, and her spirits weren’t in any better shape. Horrible, detestable man! was the first coherent thought to enter her brain. Then: God, my throat hurts!
One eye finally stayed open long enough to survey the interior of the tent. It was empty. Lisa felt a wave of relief so intense that all her muscles sagged with it. If there was one thing she could do without this morning, it was the knowing looks and snide remarks of a man who plainly considered her some kind of slut. That he might have some little justification for his belief, Lisa had to acknowledge, mentally reviewing her behavior since he had first laid eyes on her. To be absolutely fair, he was not to know that she didn’t come on like a barracuda to every man she met. On the contrary . . . It was just something about him! And that was something that she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.
If possible, Lisa felt even worse after making that humiliating admission to herself than she had upon awakening. Of all the men in the world—all the handsome, wealthy, respectable men in her social circle at home, all the intelligent, talented men at the paper where she worked, even the cute blond college boy who did odd jobs around her house—why in the world had her long-repressed sexuality chosen to batten on him? He was as hard-bitten as they came, tough and cynical and a male chauvinist pig to his toes. He wasn’t even handsome, for God’s sake! And she didn’t like him—on his good days; at other times she actively hated him. But she craved the touch of his hands on her flesh like the Western world craved oil. She must be crazy! Which brought her thoughts back full circle. Horrible, detestable man!
Lisa sat up, not wanting to remember the events of the night before. She swallowed automatically, then winced in pained surprise. The inside of her throat felt as red and raw as hamburger. When she had tried to swallow, it had been pierced by a little stab of acute pain. Unwillingly she remembered the short, stubby hands of her attacker closing about her throat. . . . If Sam hadn’t come when he had, the brute might have killed her. Lisa grimaced wryly. There was no might about it. He would have killed her, and by this time her body would have been picked clean of flesh by the carrion eaters of the jungle. There would have been nothing left but a skeleton. . . . Lisa shivered. Reluctantly she admitted that she owed Sam her life once again.
Pushing the tangled mass of her hair back from her face with one hand, Lisa sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the cot so that her bare feet touched the floor. Aside from her throat, the rest of her body seemed to be in reasonable shape. She was a little sore here and there, and probably had quite a few colorful bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. If nothing else, she thought wryly, this little—adventure—had certainly increased her tolerance of pain.
Lisa sat stiffly on the edge of the cot, not yet having summoned enough energy to stand up. She was still fully dressed except for her shoes, she registered idly, and remembered lying down on Sam’s cot without doing anything more than kicking them off. Her attention shifted to his cot. It was still there, in the back right-hand corner of the tent. The little table littered with his papers was in the back left-hand corner. Her own cot was placed nearer the entrance, almost catty-corner to Sam’s. A good four feet of space separated the two. . . . Apparently, from the presence of the extra cot, he had meant to let her sleep alone all along—with sleep being the operative word. If he truly had scruples about making love to married ladies, she was willing to bet that they had never troubled him before last night. She was quite, quite sure that he had said what he had merely to shame her. . . .
A bronzed, strong hand parted the tent flap. Lisa started, her head swinging around to confront the intruder, her eyes wide with instinctive fright. Then she recognized the black curly hair and relaxed.
“Still in bed?” His voice was faintly amused. As he straightened and looked down at her, Lisa met those blue eyes. They were mocking.
“As you see.” She meant the words to be coolly aloof, and was surprised at the dry croak that emerged from her throat.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. He bent and took her chin in his hand before Lisa could move away, tilting her face up so that he could get a better look at her neck. He studied the slim column for a moment, unspeaking, but his darkening face spoke for him. Finally he brought his other hand up to stroke her throat, his touch surprisingly gentle. Lisa winced. Immediately he let her go.
“Your throat hurts.” It was a statement, not a question. He was frowning heavily as he looked
down at her.
“Yes.” Her answer was faintly defiant.
“They really did play a little rougher than you had bargained on, didn’t they?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lisa muttered angrily, closing her eyes and then opening them again to glare at him. To her surprise, he smiled at her. She was transfixed by what that slow smile did for his face.
“All right,” he said, his tone placating. “I believe you about what happened down by the creek. I had a little—uh—talk with Lutz and Brady—the men who grabbed you—and they finally came clean.”
“Did you send them away?” Lisa asked eagerly. It was good to know that Sam believed her, and it would be even better to know that the men who attacked her had left the camp.
Sam looked surprised. “I need them,” he said, as if this explained everything.
“You mean that you’re going to let them stay here, in this camp, after . . . after. . .” Her voice failed her.
“I told you, I need them.” He sounded mildly impatient.
“But what if they . . . they . . .?” Her voice faltered, and she chewed anxiously on her lower lip without being aware that she was doing so.
“Try it again?” Sam finished for her. “Don’t worry, they won’t. I spent this morning putting the fear of God into them.”
Lisa had to smile at that. “The fear of you, you mean.”
Sam grinned. “You could put it that way.”
“But I really would feel better if they weren’t around. Can’t you fire them, or whatever it is you do?” Her eyes, as she raised them to Sam’s, were shadowed with remembered fear. He looked at her, his eyes running almost unwillingly over the tousled mass of ash-blond hair, the creamy skin of her face, which had been kissed to gold by the sun, the wide green eyes, and the soft, tremulous mouth. She looked femininely defenseless—which was a joke. She was about as helpless as a she-cat. Then Sam’s gaze moved down to the livid black-and-yellow bruises that marred the long column of her throat, and he mentally corrected himself. She was out of her element in this man’s world of war; for the moment, she needed his protection. But he was willing to bet a considerable sum that, on her own ground with her own female weapons, she was as devastating as a bazooka at twenty feet.
“I can’t ‘fire’ them,” he explained with more patience than he had shown previously. “We’re here to do a job, and Lutz and Brady—however offensive they may have made themselves to you—are a vital part of this team. They are not expendable. None of my men are. I don’t think you realize what a sacrifice it is for me to leave Riley hanging around the camp all day. I can’t spare anyone else on your account.”
Lisa was taken aback by this forthright speech. She had been so sure, now that he knew for certain that those animals had tried to rape her, that he would get rid of them. Apparently his “need” was more important than her safety. A measure of hostility showed in her eyes as she looked at him.
“I see,” she said coolly.
“Good.” The single word was brisk. “Now, if you’ll stay put, I have some ointment that will make those bruises feel better. Hang on.”
With that he turned and left the tent. Lisa stared after him, a mixture of anger and chagrin on her face. She was largely silent when he returned with the ointment, smoothed it impersonally into her throat, and went on about his business. It was only after he had left her again that Lisa realized she was suffering from a strong sense of injustice. He had admitted that she had been telling the truth all along. She had been right, he had been wrong. At the very least, she thought resentfully, he owed her an apology!
Lisa saw very little of Sam over the next three days. She shared his tent, and that was about all. He was gone from dawn to long after night had fallen. When he finally came in, he was so tired that he fell into bed with scarcely more than a grunt in her direction. Whatever the “job” he was engaged in involved, he was working hard at it. Lisa passed quite a bit of time speculating on what act or acts of skulduggery he and his men might be perpetrating. But when she had dropped a broad hint to Riley for information, he had told her meaningfully that he—or she—who knows least lives longest. Lisa took the hint, and forbore to ask any more questions.
Boredom was her primary complaint. There was absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to read, no television, no radio—at least none that played music—nothing. She managed to scrounge up a paper and pencil after much effort, and passed some hours attempting to set down what had befallen her in a fashion that the Star could use. If she could ever get it to them, which seemed more and more doubtful. But when she reread what she had written, she nearly cringed. In every other line was a mention of Sam. She tried leaving him out of it, but without describing how he had rescued and cared for her—not to mention the other things he had done to and for her—she was left with a hole in her story big enough to drive a jeep through. And when she put him back in, the whole thing was too highly personal. Annoyed, she ripped her efforts into confetti and returned to glaring at inoffensive rocks. Grace and the Star would just have to live without her literary efforts—at least until she was home again.
There wasn’t even anyone to talk to. Sam was gone all day, and so were the rest of the men—not that she objected to that—except Riley. And having a conversation with Riley was like pulling hens’ teeth. He followed her around the camp like a surly little dog, uttering growls in response to her few conversational overtures. Lisa knew that only Sam’s direct orders made him act as her bodyguard-cum-jailer; left to himself, he wouldn’t give a damn if she was strung up by her toes and had the flesh peeled from her body millimeter by square millimeter. She finally decided that his demeanor was nothing personal: he disliked all women. But she sensed that he felt an extra dollop of resentment toward her. Clearly he considered it a waste of his time and talents to spend his days playing nursemaid to a woman who he thought was no better than she should be and had no business being where she was, in any case.
In desperation, Lisa took to cooking. There wasn’t much that could be done with the canned goo Riley reluctantly described as C-rations, but she tried. From the dehydrated eggs she fashioned an elegant-looking omelet, and was so pleased with the effect that she offered to share it with Riley. He snorted, but took a bite, which he chewed silently for perhaps a second before spitting it on the ground. Lisa was a trifle daunted. When she tasted it herself, she had to admit that it was not exactly haute cuisine, but it was certainly better than the horrible scrambled eggs that were the staple of Riley’s limited repertoire of menus. And if she cooked her own meals, at least she knew that everything that went into them was clean. Watching Riley’s casual disregard for sanitation, she marveled that the men didn’t come down with food poisoning at the very least. For a moment she considered cooking for Sam—and of course the other men—but then, with a toss of her head, she decided against it. She wasn’t going to wait on him—them! But she continued to cook her own meals and doggedly ate most of what she prepared.
Living with Sam and yet not really living with him was bad for her disposition, Lisa acknowledged silently on the morning of the fourth day since he had blackmailed her into moving in with him. During that time he had made no move that could even remotely be classified as a pass; Lisa hated to admit it, but she was piqued. He undressed and dressed in front of her as casually as if he had been doing it for years. She ostentatiously averted her face, but she couldn’t help the awareness of him that occasionally ran through her body like an electric shock. Since he was out of the tent so much, she had no need to worry about privacy for her own toilette. Not that she needed to worry about it in any case. She could have been a bundle of old rags for all the notice he took of her, she told herself waspishly. If she stripped stark naked in front of him she doubted that he would even notice, so intent was he on whatever work had brought him to Rhodesia. And if he did notice, she concluded with a darkling look in her eye, it would probably be only to tell her to get dressed before she caught a cold; he couldn’t spare the t
ime to nurse her.
Lisa’s attitude toward Sam cooled until, if he had been aware of anything except the task at hand, a single glance from her would have given him frostbite. He wasn’t even conscious of her displeasure. Lisa knew this, and the knowledge made her long to slam something satisfyingly unyielding against his thick skull. At least then she would have his attention!
Early that afternoon, Lisa perched moodily on a rock near the perimeter of the camp while Riley squatted nearby. He was fiddling with the interior of a malfunctioning two-way radio and hadn’t said a word for the past couple of hours. Lisa flashed him a resentful glance, then turned her attention back to watching the birds that wheeled and cried overhead. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in the middle of October, which was the start of Rhodesia’s summer; the sun was hot and the sky was as blue as Sam’s eyes. As soon as she made the comparison, Lisa was annoyed at herself. The color of the dratted man’s eyes meant less than nothing to her, she told herself crossly. She had just used the simile because it was apt.
A jeep rattled into camp, causing her to turn her head with an expression of mingled interest and apprehension. When she recognized Sam as the driver of the vehicle, surprise took over. What was he doing back at the camp at this hour? she wondered bemusedly. He usually didn’t return until long past dark. . . .
Riley had stood up at the approach of the jeep, and now as Sam brought it to a smooth halt some twenty feet away he walked toward it. Lisa hesitated a moment, then followed his example as Sam unwound his long body from the driver’s seat and got out.
“Trouble?” Riley asked as he approached. Lisa was amused and also a little amazed to see him perk up like an alert terrier.
To Love a Man Page 8