Chelsea, who’d been following his attempts to smear the repellent over his skin, burst out laughing. “Your legs are too hairy …and you squeezed too much … it’s going round and round in circles … .”
“I know that,” he gritted. He reached into the Jeep once more and brought out a towel, which he used to wipe up the mess on his leg. “And it’s all your fault. You distracted me.”
She laughed again. “You look adorable when you’re embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Then why is your neck all red? It does that, y’know, when—”
Suddenly she was pressed against the side of the Jeep and Sam was leaning into her. Provocatively.
“My neck is all red,” he murmured close by her mouth, “because you’re teasing and I’m hungry and in another minute I’m going to sling you over my shoulder and cart you up to one of those rooms and make love to you for the rest of the day.” He moved his hips just enough to illustrate his point.
“What … what about the ruins?”
“Screw the ruins.”
“Sam! That’s an awful thing to say. You’re the one who’s been tantalizing me with them.”
“Wanna take a room upstairs?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I want to see the ruins.”
“And you’re teasing me because you feel safe here, is that it?”
Guilt was written all over her face, but she was struggling to keep from smiling. “I’m teasing you because it’s fun. I’m in the mood to have fun. I haven’t done it in ages. See what you’ve done to me? You’ve made me into a hedonistic—” She sucked in a breath when he moved against her again. “Sam!” This time it was a whispered cry, because she couldn’t help but respond to his arousal. He felt so good against her; she hadn’t felt him quite this way before. As though after a dry spell, he was storming her senses. All man. Wanting her.
“Kiss me,” he murmured. His voice was thick, his breath hot against her cheek. “I held off while you were sick but it’s seemed like forever. Kiss me, Chelsea.”
She really had no choice in the matter. With a will of its own her head turned and her lips sought his. And then she didn’t want any choice, because his mouth felt so right on hers and she’d missed it too.
Maybe she did feel safe in the setting. Still holding the tube of suntan cream, she slid her arms around his neck and clung to him while the rest of her melted. Her knees were suddenly weak but his body held her propped against the Jeep, and she yielded to the desire that had lain dormant and was now bursting at the seams.
Her lips molded to his, shifting hungrily. When he slid his tongue past her teeth, she sucked on it. Her breath came faster, and her whole body seemed to swell toward his.
“I’ll get a room,” he gasped, when at last he tore his mouth from hers.
“No … too fast, Sam … not yet …”
“You want it too, Chels. I can feel it.”
She put her forehead against his chin and closed her eyes. “I know, I know. But I … want to wait.”
“For what? Oh God, why?” His body still trembled with need, though she could sense he was doing his best to contain it.
“I can’t explain, Sam. I just … I don’t want it to be …I want it to be right.”
“It’s right now. I’d make it good, love.”
She looked up at him then, letting him see her anguish. She couldn’t explain what she felt, only knew that she’d too recently thought of Beatrice London and money and school, and she would have felt cheap letting Sam drag her into the nearest hotel.
“Please, Sam? Please?”
He took a long, ragged breath, and eased his weight from her. It was another little while before he straightened fully. “I’m sorry, Chels. I guess I’m just impatient.” He turned his head and looked off in the distance. “Maybe nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“That you’ll leave before I can … before we get around to …”
“Sex means that much to you?”
“Not that much,” he muttered. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
He brought his eyes back to hers. “There’s something very powerful between us. You know that. We’ve talked of it before. I feel it’s very … important that we see it through.”
She swallowed hard, then said what she knew she had to say. “So do I. But there’s no rush. I told you that I’d stay here for a while.”
“You also said that you couldn’t stay forever.”
“I’ve only been here a week.”
“For some, a week here is an eternity.”
She put her hand flat on his chest. “Sam, I’m not leaving now. I have as much at stake as you do.”
“Do you?” he asked, and there was an enigmatic cast to his eyes.
“I think so,” she said, knowing it was the truth. In the mere week she’d been with Sam, he’d come to mean more to her than any other man ever had. Her heart was saying things, but she needed more time to interpret and understand and accept them. And all that was before she could begin to reconcile those heart-sounds with the future.
He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with that … which is just as well because I think something just crawled across my foot.”
Chelsea jumped away, her wide eyes riveted to the ground. “What is it! Where!”
Calmly Sam pointed to a small lizard as it disappeared under the Jeep. “Totally harmless … . Maybe he likes the insect repellent.”
“Then I’m not putting any more on.”
“Oh, yes, you are.” His eyes narrowed. “Or would you rather I do it for you?”
“No. No.” She held up a hand in refusal of his offer, which she knew would only get them in hot water again. “I can do it.” Without further word, she took the plastic bottle and squeezed it against the arm she hadn’t yet touched. She gave Sam a dollop when he held out his hand, then pouted. “I think there’s a macho streak in you, Sam London. Would you really have slung me over your shoulder and carried me off?”
“Some day I will. Just wait and see.” He cocked his head more thoughtfully. “There’s something about life down here that brings out machismo. I never thought I possessed it, but it is kinda nice to feel strong and protective.”
“And domineering?”
“That too. Well, maybe only a little.”
“Your neck’s red again.”
His brows lowered. “That’s how it all started before. Hurry up with that stuff, Chels, or take your chances.”
She hurried. Not that part of her wasn’t aching to take those chances. But the other part was more cautious, and she heeded its warning. Sex wasn’t something she took lightly. As inevitable as the prospect of their lovemaking seemed at times, she wanted to be sure of what she was doing, particularly given the extenuating circumstances surrounding her presence in the Yucatan.
When they were both lotioned up, Sam took her hand and led her toward the ancient city. He stopped once when they passed a chicle tree and showed her the sticky white stuff that was harvested for gum. He stopped again when a colorful toucan flew past. Then he led her on, talking in such animated fashion of the history of the city that Chelsea couldn’t help but be swept up in it.
That was only the beginning. After the approach on a long foot path, the jungle growth ended, and before them, rising from amid well-manicured grass, were the ruins of what had once been the center of Mayan civilization. There were only five or six buildings that Chelsea could see, but they were of such size and distinct shapes, and the air seemed filled with such a scent of antiquity, that she was awed.
“Incredible,” she breathed. “It’s one thing to read about them, another to actually see them.”
“Wait till you see more.” He led her toward the first and largest of the buildings, a pyramid-shaped one. “This is the central temple, El Castillo, the Castle of Kukulcan, the plumed serpent. It is really incredible, Chelsea
.” He pointed. “Look. See the steps running up the sides? There are ninety-one on each of the four sides, plus a single platform at the top. Sum total, three hundred and sixty-five. As in days of the year.”
She barely had time to ingest that when he went on. “There are fifty-two carved panels, one for each week in the year. There are eighteen terraces—coinciding with the eighteen months of the Mayan calendar. There are actually two buildings there, one inside the other. The first was built by the Mayans and had straighter lines, much as the surrounding landscape is flat. The second structure, the one you’re looking at now, reflects the Toltec influence. Originally the Toltecs came from the mountains, hence the more pyramidal shape.”
“It’s amazing that something like this could be built in those days!”
“People have always said the same about the pyramids in Egypt, and the only answer is through damned hard work. El Castillo took one hundred twenty years to build.”
“But what was the incentive? I mean, the physical labor had to span three, maybe four generations. What kept the workers going?”
“Fear.”
“Fear?”
“Uh-huh. Remember how you read that the ancient Maya were a dichotomous tribe, with the priests and scholars on the one hand and the workers on the other? Well, the priests and scholars conceived of the buildings. They were the mathematicians and architects. They actually used religion to get the workers going and keep them at it. For example, El Castillo is a temple for worship of the sun god. Miraculously, the scholars had been able to calculate when solar eclipses would take place. So they said to the people on the days of eclipses, ‘Look. The sun god is angry. If he goes away, you won’t be able to grow your maize and we’ll all die.’ The workers were terrified and went feverishly to work, and, lo and behold, the sun came out again.”
“Clever. Very clever.”
Sam was dragging her to another vantage point. “See the head of the serpent at the bottom corner of the main staircase? See how the terraces rise beside the staircase?”
“I see.”
“Well, the Mayan astronomers planned this building so that twice a year, on March 21 and September 21, the spring and fall equinoxes, the shadow of the terraces against the staircase gives the impression of an undulating serpent whose coils perfectly join the head. Nowadays crowds gather on those occasions. It’s an unbelievable sight—all three hours and twenty minutes of it!”
Chelsea was shaking her head in amazement. “Brilliant. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. I’d take you up the stairs, but since you’ve been sick—”
“I can do it, Sam!”
“Uh-uh. Not these stairs. Look at them closely. See how steep they are? There’s a purpose in that, too. You see, the architects felt that, when climbing the temple of a god, one should always strike a pose of humility. Let me tell you, it’s impossible to climb those steps standing upright. You all but have to crawl. Look. Someone’s trying it now.”
She grunted. “I see what you mean. He’s holding the chain, but he’s still pretty bent over.”
“Coming down’s even worse,” Sam said with a grin. “Come. There are other steps you’ll find easier.”
They climbed the Temple of the Warriors, from whose top they could survey the entire section of the city. Sam stood behind Chelsea, with one hand on her shoulder and the other pointing out the various sights. He was a virtual treasure trove of knowledge, and she couldn’t help but wonder if his study of the Mayan civilization provided him the intellectual outlet he might have otherwise missed.
Whatever the case, she was the beneficiary of his wealth of information. He was an enthusiastic and patient guide, answering her questions and sparking more. He seemed to take as much pleasure in showing her the sights as in seeing them himself. And he was forever solicitous to her physical state.
“Too much?” he asked when they’d first reached the top.
“Uh-uh,” she panted. “I’m fine.”
“Sun too strong?” he asked a little while later as they stood looking down on the Plaza of the Thousand Columns.
“I’ve got my hat,” she said with a grin.
“Want to sit on Chac-Mool for a minute to rest before we go down?” he asked a few minutes later, pointing to the carved figure of the messenger to Chac, the rain god.
She accepted that invitation, not because she was tired but because she was reluctant to relinquish the feeling of reverence the spot at the top of the temple inspired. And because she didn’t like the look at the stairway down.
“I can’t do it, Sam,” she wailed when the time had finally come. “The steps are too steep. I get dizzy looking.”
He squeezed her hand, then let it go and demonstrated. “The easiest way is to wind down serpent fashion. Go diagonally. That way the steps don’t seem so bad.”
“You’ve just got longer legs. It’s easy for you. I’m telling you, I’ll keel over if I try that, and it’s hard stone all the way down.”
Sam had stopped about a quarter of the way down and was looking up at her in amusement. “I’d carry you, but my machismo doesn’t go quite that far. I’d probably fall myself, and then we’d both be in trouble. Come on, Chels. You can’t stay there forever.”
Chelsea studied the steps for a long time, searching for the easiest route. In the end, she went down slowly, one step at a time, on her bottom.
Sam was the one to dust off her seat. “Cautious, but effective,” was the way he summed up her descent. There was very little caution, sexually speaking, in his hand as it brushed off her bottom. But before she could comment on that, he was leading her down a long dirt road to the well.
“I understand there are wells like these all over the northeastern Yucatán,” she said.
“Uh-huh. The topsoil in these parts is thin. Beneath it are layers of limestone, beneath them, natural springs. When the limestone caves in, wells like this are formed. Chichen actually has two such cenotes. The other, in the Old City, was used for drinking. This was the sacred well, where virgins were sacrificed.”
Chelsea stared into the huge round pit. The water at its bottom was green and thick. “Looks like soup. Is it deep?”
“Not very.”
“So why didn’t the virgins swim?”
“They might have, if they’d been conscious.”
“Ahhh. The books don’t mention that. They weren’t willing victims, then.”
“Some may have been. But earlier in this century there were several attempts to dredge the bottom of the well. Artifacts were brought up, and bones and skulls, many of which were cracked or had actual holes in them. The Maya themselves were never a violent people. It’s believed that the Toltecs introduced the concepts of warfare and sacrifice.”
Drilling home his point, he next showed her the ball court. It was a large field with stone walls on either side, high on each of which was a round ring. “Two teams of seven players each. Seven was thought to be a lucky number, something to do with fertility.”
“What?”
“What, what?”
“What did seven have to do with fertility?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Do you know?”
“No. That’s why I asked you.” She laughed. “I think I’m getting sunstroke. This conversation’s inane.”
“Are you?”
“Inane? Not me. The conversation.”
He glowered. “Are you getting sunstroke?”
“I don’t know. What does sunstroke feel like?”
“Dizzy?”
“Nope.”
“Nauseous?”
“Nope.”
“I think you’re just tired of hearing me talk.”
“No, I’m not.” If anything, the reverse was true. They’d passed other tourists from time to time, but Sam seemed to know more than any of them. He also happened to be far better looking, though, of course, that was Chelsea’s own opinion. But wasn’t it all that mattered, since she was the one he was with? She hooked her a
rm in his and diligently wiped the silly grin off her face. “Go on. You were talking about seven players?”
“Mmm. Sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m sure. Seven players.”
“Right. Well—” he raised one hand to point to the ring “—the goal of the game was to get a ball through that thing. By the way, the Maya were supposedly the first to use rubber balls.”
She was studying the ring and its distance from the ground. “Higher than a basketball net, isn’t it?”
“Slightly. And the players couldn’t use their hands.”
“What did they use?”
“Their knees or their hips.”
“To get the ball up there?”
“Yup.”
“That’d be impossible!”
“Not impossible. But very, very hard. Games sometimes went on for days, ending when the first goal was scored. Then—get this part—the best player of the losing team was decapitated by the best player of the winning team and his head was put on a post over there.” Chelsea followed the pointing finger to a spot beyond the ball court. “The theory was that since he’d been such a valiant player, his blood would drip into the soil and make it fertile.”
“Fertility again. Pretty gruesome, if you ask me.”
“I agree. But … listen.” He clapped his hands once.
“Echoes.”
“Right. Now I’ll do it again. This time count the number of echoes.” He clapped. Chelsea counted.
“Seven?”
He grinned and nodded. She clapped again, listened, then walked forward a bit and tried it again. Seven echoes.
“How did they do that?”
“They were geniuses. Come.” He had her hand again and was leading her closer to study the carvings on the walls of the court.
But something had happened to Chelsea along the way. Not sunstroke, though perhaps cultural saturation. She was suddenly far more interested in the way Sam traced the carvings with his long, tanned finger than with the carvings themselves. She was more fascinated with the strong arm he draped over the Wall of Skulls, and the way the muscles of his shoulder bunched when he did it, than with the actual carvings. She was more intrigued by the corded column of his throat as he looked heavenward through narrow openings in the observatory dome than by the fact that the ancient Maya charted the stars with astonishing precision. And when they climbed to the Nunnery, she was less interested in the fact that it had actually been a school than in the way Sam’s legs flexed at the back of the thigh and calf as he led her onward.
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