Enemy Mine

by Kay Hooper

  It figured; Kane had a phenomenal memory. She sighed. “All right, but walk a little more slowly, will you? My night vision is practically nil.”

  Kane took her hand in a firm grasp and began walking again. She was beside him, a little behind, and didn’t want to admit to herself that she felt more secure with her hand lost in his. Nor did she admit to the tingling warmth of his touch; what lay behind that was too frightening and dangerous to think about.

  But she found herself comparing this adventure to the ones that preceded it. This was different not only because they were wary partners almost from the moment of encountering each other, but also because their surroundings were completely unlike the others. In North Africa they had maneuvered in baking cities and tumbled ruins, outguessing and outfoxing each other half a dozen times before temporarily joining forces to outwit a sophisticated gang of art thieves. Most of their other clashes had been equally harried and brief, with little time available to dwell on anything other than the goals they had shared, and they had rarely been alone together.

  In Hong Kong, their most recent adventure several months before, it had been an all-out race for an elusive necklace. In that extremely crowded, overpopulated city, they had each won and lost the necklace, tricking each other a number of times before teaming up to smoothly con an expatriate American of Chinese descent who had a nifty racket going in stolen antiquities.

  Kane had saved her from a fate worse than death on that occasion. He’d had the necklace and could have just left her to the tender mercies of the Tong leader. But he had come back for her, bursting in mere hours before she would have been shipped to parts unknown where her new life promised to take place inside a house with a red light at the door.

  Dangerous circumstances, those. And even Tyler’s innate craving for adventure had wavered from time to time. Still, she had found a fierce enjoyment in sparring with Kane, and her anger at his various tricks and betrayals had contained more than a nugget of reluctant and somewhat rueful admiration for his cunning. She had missed his presence on the few occasions that one or the other of them had located what they sought first and departed; as galling as it had been for her to admit he had beaten her to something, she’d found little pleasure in winning herself—unless it had been a face-to-face contest with both of them on the scene.

  And their sparring in the past had been just that: a contest, a game with both working to win. Always on the move and generally surrounded by other people, with foes to outwit alone or together, foes they both recognized.

  Now, this. The surroundings were curiously elemental, the circumstances new ones. They had teamed up for the duration. And there was a mutual enemy or two—they thought. The bandits had been unexpected, but fought successfully. The gunman lay behind them or before them, and they didn’t know his face or his reasons for being involved in this.

  They were virtually alone, moving cautiously through a lonely wilderness that was ever changing. First the cool grandeur of the mountains, and now the sticky, cloying heat of the approaching lowlands. The dense forest was gradually becoming marshy, the ground giving spongily beneath their feet.

  “Wait here.” He released her hand.

  “Kane?” The question was instinctively uttered before she could get her bearings. She saw they had reached the stream; it was little more than a glittering ribbon of darkness whispering softly.

  He touched her shoulder lightly. “I’m just going to check out the area. Stay put.”

  Tyler remained there, absently pulling the material of her shirt away from her skin. She was uncomfortable. It was hot and misty, and she felt dirty. She could tolerate any amount of dust, but the sticky dampness of heat and high humidity combined was something she hated. But not even that distraction could pull her mind from thoughts of this strange new relationship with Kane.

  They could sharpen their wits on each other, face-to-face, both wary and a bit uncomfortable with this new arrangement. Like stray dogs they circled each other uneasily, both just on the point of lunging but holding back because territorial rights were maddeningly undefined. They had declared themselves partners, but their background was not such as to lend certainty or trust to the partnership.

  And there was that other thing, that sexual awareness between them. It hovered just beneath the surface of words and looks and touches, as much mistrusted as their ability to depend on each other. And as likely to explode in some confrontation neither was ready for.

  Tyler realized then that her misgivings about the situation had little to do with her ability to trust Kane; she hadn’t trusted him before, yet they had been able to work together at the need. What had disturbed her instinctively was the intimacy inherent in a partnership in this place and time. They were too alone, too much together in surroundings that would spark primitive emotions between a man and woman.

  Even if the seeds of those emotions had not been sown thousands of miles away and many months in the past.

  She started when she felt him beside her again; she’d expected him to move silently, but was nonetheless unprepared for his lithe soundlessness. In a city he could move like a shadow; here in the forest, he moved like a jungle cat.

  “We’ll stay here,” he told her. “I’ll start a fire.” He faded away again, and very faint noises indicated he was gathering wood nearby.

  Tyler stood still until she saw the flickering of his lighter, then stepped toward him. The firelight shadowed and highlighted his lean face, and with his head bent as it was he looked curiously savage. His flying brows and hooded eyes gave him a devilish appearance, and the broad shoulders looked even more massive than they actually were. Tyler thought then that it would be easy to be afraid of him, and wondered why she wasn’t.

  He glanced up at her as she approached the fire, then reached to dig into the backpack he had laid aside. “How d’you feel about creepy-crawlies?”

  Tyler shrugged a little. “Well, I don’t like them. But I’m not deathly afraid of them, either.”

  “How about snakes?”

  “The same.”

  Kane pulled a bundle of material from the backpack; it appeared to be a woolen blanket. “This is a ruana,” he told her, indicating the slit in the middle of the blanket. “Put your head through here, and then you can belt it around your waist.”

  She glanced toward the stream, realizing what he had in mind.

  “I’m going to build a lean-to,” he continued, producing a plastic-wrapped bar of soap from the pack, “because it’ll likely rain by dawn. If you want to rinse out your things, they’ll probably be dry by then.”

  Tyler accepted the ruana and the soap, but stood her ground. “Why’d you ask about snakes and creepy-crawlies?”

  “We’re on the edge of the swamp, can’t you smell it? Fair warning, Ty; you may share your bath with a snake. But this is a mountain stream, so maybe not. There’s a deeper pool just around that bend; it looks pretty good. It’s up to you.”

  She hesitated, then said, “We’ll turn south when we head out again, won’t we? Through the swamp?”

  “Around it, if possible. But this may be your last chance for a decent bath for a couple of days. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know.” She turned away, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “If I yell, it won’t be because the water’s cold!”

  “Gotcha,” he murmured, smiling a little.

  Tyler found the pool, discovering that the forest thinned out here and that dim light was able to show her the way. She eyed the peaceful water suspiciously, but laid the ruana on a rock and sat down to pull off her boots and socks. Her jeans felt stiff and damp, and she had to roll them over her hips and down her legs. The shirt, too, was damp, and her bra and panties had to almost be peeled away from her flesh.

  She hesitated for a moment, feeling ridiculously like a wood nymph standing there naked. A glance over her shoulder showed her that she could barely see the campfire, and she could faintly hear Kane at work b
uilding the lean-to. She freed her hair from the braid, slipping the rubber band around her wrist since it was her last one, then unwrapped the soap and fished the handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans.

  Stepping cautiously into the water, she shivered at the delicious coolness. The pool was waist-deep in the middle, the water moving sluggishly, and the bottom was sandy and fairly firm. Tyler ducked completely under the surface, straightening with a gasp and blinking away water. It seemed lighter suddenly, and she looked up to find that the moon had peered through a break in the clouds.

  She held the handkerchief in her teeth and worked up a lather with the soap, washing her hair quickly but as thoroughly as possible. When it was clean and rinsed, she moved toward the bank until the water reached her knees, then soaped the handkerchief and left the bar on a rock while she washed every inch of her skin.

  There was still no sign of a snake, but Tyler wasn’t anxious to push her luck. After a brief debate, she washed out her shirt, socks and underthings, reasoning that they would be the most likely to dry before she needed them again. The jeans were damp, but fairly clean, and too heavy to dry quickly if she attempted to wash them.

  She returned the soap to its plastic and pulled the ruana over her head, realizing only then that she had nothing to belt it with; she never wore a belt with jeans. The light woolen material hung in folds to the middle of her thighs, and felt faintly scratchy against her flesh; it wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation.

  Shrugging, Tyler gathered her jeans and wet clothing together, picked up the soap and her boots and headed back for the campfire. The small clearing was deserted, but the lean-to had been completed and a small tin pot filled with some kind of stew simmered over the fire beside another pot of coffee. The lean-to was built near the fire, and she hung her wet things and the jeans over the line Kane had strung with his rope just beneath it.

  Where was he? Bathing himself downstream? She looked at the soap she still held, then went to the stream’s bank and called softly, “Kane? If you need the soap—”

  “Downstream,” he called back immediately.

  Tyler followed the stream, seeing him just a couple of minutes later. He was submerged to his waist, and his chest and shoulders gleamed in the faint moonlight. He looked like something pagan, a part of the forest. A part of the wilderness. She glanced down at the pile of his clothing at her feet and swallowed hard.

  “If this is our only bar of soap, do I dare throw it to you?” she asked him, striving for lightness.

  Unlike Tyler’s, Kane’s night vision was excellent; in fact, it was too good at the moment. He could see her all too clearly, especially since the ruana she wore wasn’t belted and tended to gape open at the sides. The darkness had stolen the fiery color from her hair, and it hung about her shoulders gleaming wetly and curling as though it were living. And despite her shapeless garment, the thrusting mounds of her firm breasts were as obvious to him as though she were naked.

  He cleared his throat softly and tried not to think about her naked. “I don’t think I should come out and get it,” he returned, managing to keep his voice equally light.

  After a moment Tyler stepped into the water and waded out until she was knee-deep. “Catch.” She tossed the bar carefully, relieved when he caught it.

  “Thanks, Ty.”

  “Sure.” She retreated to the bank. “Oh, d’you mind if I use a piece of that rope? I don’t have a belt for this thing.”

  “I noticed,” he murmured. “Help yourself.”

  Tyler realized then that she hadn’t exactly been holding the poncho securely; it covered front and back completely, but the sides were open. She wrapped it about her and headed hastily for the camp, further unsettled. Once there, it took several minutes’ work with the rope to get herself decently covered, and even then she reminded herself not to bend over or move suddenly. She found his comb and used it to untangle her wet hair, then returned it to the backpack.

  She unrolled the sleeping bag and used it as a cushion to sit on, then scrabbled in the backpack until she found the mug. She poured some coffee, wrinkling her nose at the first hot, strong sip. Black, and strong enough to raise the dead—she hated it that way. But she’d learned to drink it in the past, and since Kane always drank it like that, he wouldn’t bring sugar or milk along as one of his little luxuries.

  Kane returned to the camp a few minutes later, wearing only his jeans and carrying his wet shirt. His hair was wet, gleaming, and the thick mat of hair on his chest drew her eyes like a magnet. She looked away, angry with herself. What was wrong with her? She was too aware of him, too conscious of his every movement, and too apt to watch.

  He hung the shirt on the line beside her things, and she glanced at him again without being able to stop herself, her gaze fastening on to the faint scars on his back. How had he got those? She’d seen them before but had never asked him about them. She wondered if he’d tell her if she did ask. Then she saw him finger the handkerchief with his monogram.

  “I didn’t know you still had this,” he murmured.

  Tyler could feel herself flushing, and looked hastily back to her coffee. “I don’t remember how I came to have it,” she said casually.

  “Don’t you?” He sank down beside her, cross-legged, reaching to dig into the pack for another cup and to return the bar of soap. “North Africa. The figurine was wrapped in it the first time you stole it from me.”

  Tyler could feel her hackles rising. It took a supreme effort of will to keep her eyes off him, and she was deeply disturbed by that. Anger was safe, and she allowed it to build. “You mean when I rightfully took it back after you tricked me to get it in the first place?”

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” He sipped his coffee meditatively. “And it doesn’t matter now, does it?” He was all too aware of her warmth beside him, and his eyes were drawn again and again to the bare length of her golden legs. Hard to think of the past—hard to think of anything at all when he looked at her.

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” she was saying tightly. “Maybe I should keep it in mind. You’ve tricked me before; you’ll trick me again. I can’t trust you out of my sight, can I, Kane?”

  He frowned a little, staring into the fire. “You’ll have to make up your mind about that. There’s nothing I could say to convince you.”

  “Is your word any good?” she asked bitterly.

  Kane had the certain feeling that she was whistling in a graveyard again, deliberately starting an argument to divert herself—or him—from something else. But even with that feeling, he was aware of a slow, curiously bitter anger coiling inside him, tangling with the hot, building desire he felt for her. She always got under his skin. Somehow, she always got under his skin.

  “Is yours?” he snapped back. He could feel her stiffen, feel the tentatively open doors between them slamming shut.

  “I don’t lie,” she said shakily. “You made up the rules in this little game of ours—anything goes. I should have left you to the mercies of the she wolf and gone after the damned chalice alone!”

  “Then why’d you come after me?” He gave a small, hard laugh. “The she wolf, as you call her, would have cut my throat in another few seconds. You would have been rid of me for good. So why’d you come after me, Ty?”

  She swung around on the sleeping bag, her eyes glittering at him. “Beats the hell out of me!”

  Kane didn’t know whether to laugh or goad her until they both found out just why she’d gone after him. He wasn’t given the chance to decide, however, because her fierce scowl faded abruptly and quick concern darkened her amber eyes.

  “What happened?” She reached out, her fingers brushing aside his hair and lightly touching the bruised swelling just behind and below his left ear.

  Bemused, Kane stared at her, highly conscious of her cool, gentle touch on his aching flesh. “One of the bandits.” He cleared his throat. “I said something nasty to her majesty and one of her boys conked me.”

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nbsp; Tyler set her mug aside and scrambled up in a flash of golden legs; she snagged the handkerchief from the line, going over to the stream and wetting it in the cool water. Returning, she knelt beside him and applied the folded pad to his head. “You should have said something,” she told him irritably. “You must have a horrible headache.”

  Kane was gazing down at her upper thighs where the ruana had ridden up, and he barely felt the tin cup give a little under his tightening grasp. He closed his eyes briefly, then yanked his gaze upward. And that was a mistake, because the woolen material of the ruana had molded itself lovingly to her full breasts. Her nipples showed plainly, either because of the cold mountain stream or the friction of woolen cloth, and Kane couldn’t take his eyes away. God, she was beautiful. . . . He could almost feel her against his fingers, his palms, feel her satiny flesh swell and harden to his touch.

  The throbbing in his head spread slowly throughout his body and his loins ached with the hot surge of desire for her. It was a fire inside him, blazing rapidly out of control. He wanted to push her back on the sleeping bag and rip away the woolen material hiding her body from his. He wanted to look at her, touch her and taste her until she held no secrets, until he knew her body as well as he knew his own. He wanted to settle himself between her long, beautiful golden legs and fuse his body with hers, lose himself in her until he shattered with the pleasure of it.

  He could feel her hand on his shoulder as she steadied herself, and was only dimly aware of the cool cloth pressed to his head. His gaze skimmed upward slowly, pausing to watch the pulse beating in her throat then lifting to examine the flawless pale golden flesh, the delicate features of her face. Her amber eyes were intent on her task, frowning slightly, and she was biting her lower lip with small white teeth.

  God, that really got to him. It always had. It was a habit of hers whenever she was concentrating, and he thought it was the most provocative gesture he’d ever seen. He’d never noticed another woman doing it, just Ty. And it never failed to send a sharp jolt of desire through him.