by Diana Palmer
His hands tightened. “I’m Apache,” he said harshly. “You’re white. My God, don’t you understand? We belong to different worlds. This whole damned situation is impossible, Jennifer!”
She realized belatedly that he’d stopped. Her mouth throbbed from the drugging contact with his, and she only began to realize how close he’d come to losing control. So had she. He’d wanted her for those brief seconds, and she gloried in the way he was loving her until he came to his senses. She looked at him hungrily, loving him, awash in sweet pleasure.
“Do you hear me?” he asked, his voice a little less cutting. “Jenny?”
“Yes, I…hear you.” She caught her breath, her eyes searching over his dark face. “I can’t stop shaking,” she whispered, surprised by the reactions of her body—new reactions, although he wouldn’t realize that. She was a newcomer to raging, abandoned desire. “Oh…my!” she whispered, moaning a little with frustration.
“Shhh,” he whispered. His voice sounded actually gentle. “I know. It hurts. But I can’t take the risk.” He brought her hands to his mouth before he put them down and gently pulled the sleeping bag over her taut breasts, covering her. She was crying. He bent and kissed away the tears, his lips tender on her wet face. “Breathe deeply, little one. It will pass.”
He moved away and she watched him through her tears. “My things,” she remembered. “I left them by the stream.”
“I’ll get them.” He looked back at her. “I’m going to have a cup of coffee before I come to bed. Do us both a favor and try to be asleep when I come back,” he added quietly. “This was a moment out of time, this whole damned trip. But reality is waiting back in Tulsa, and we’ve got a job to do here. Let’s try to get it done and put this behind us.”
She swallowed, tugging the sleeping bag closer around her. “You’re right, of course,” she managed shyly, embarrassed now that her heated skin had cooled. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry about what…what I did. I…I can’t think what came over me…”
He could feel her embarrassment. Odd, that, when she was twenty-seven and so beautiful. But she’d admitted herself that she’d been hurt, and it had been a long time for her. “Abstinence,” he replied. “I know how it feels. You get to the point where you can’t bear it any longer. I don’t think less of you for wanting me, Jennifer,” he added quietly. “I’m rather flattered,” he confessed.
She relaxed a little. At least he wasn’t ridiculing her. He couldn’t know that her abstinence had been lifelong. And through it all, despite that shattering tenderness he’d shown her, he’d kept his head. He said she was beautiful, and he’d looked at her and kissed her. But he knew how badly she’d wanted him, so it might just have been pity. She didn’t want to think about that, it hurt too much. She stared at him with soft, quiet eyes.
“How long has it been for you?” she asked gently. “Is it all right, if I ask you that?”
He drew in a slow breath, his broad chest lifting and falling, making his muscles ripple. “Two years,” he said.
She searched his hard face. “Is it because I’m white that you won’t take the risk?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She had to know.
He stared at her for a long moment. Better to end it here, and temptation with it. “Yes,” he said. “I want no possibility, ever, of a child coming from my desire for a woman with white skin.”
Desire. Only desire, she thought miserably, and he’d just admitted it. She felt shamed, somehow. “Desire,” she whispered.
He schooled his features not to give him away. He nodded his head, very slowly. “Isn’t that what you felt for me?” He turned away. “I’ll check the perimeter. Good night, Jennifer.”
It would have hurt less if he’d hit her, but she didn’t say a word. She lay down and closed her eyes. So now she knew. He felt nothing for her, nothing at all, except a desire that was so mild it couldn’t even affect his control. And no way was he going to risk the possibility of creating a child. And she wanted nothing more, because she loved him. What a laugh!
Jenny shivered with mingled shame and bitter disappointment. It might have been better if he’d never touched her at all. She wouldn’t be able to forget the expert touch of his hands, his mouth, the things he’d whispered to her. He was no novice, and now she was going to spend years remembering that. Tormenting herself with what might have been.
Jenny got up and managed to get another blouse from her suitcase and put it on. Her breasts were still sensitive from the rough contact with his chest. For such a torrid interlude, it had been remarkably innocent, she thought. He’d looked at her, he’d kissed her. But there had been no deep intimacy at all. Because he didn’t want her enough, she supposed, and forced her eyes to close.
Outside, Hunter was lighting a cigarette. Smoking might calm his nerves. He looked at the hand holding the cigarette and watched it shake. Jennifer unclothed was a sight to do that to a stronger man than himself. He wondered how he’d ever managed to let her go. His body was burning and throbbing with need of her. She wanted him. He could go back into that tent right now and she’d open her arms for him.
But it would be a mistake. Despite her blatant desire for him, she was somehow less experienced than he’d expected. Shy and even a little afraid, but so hungry for him. He remembered her voice, whispering to him to teach her about deep kisses, the sight of her breasts in the light of the campfire…
He groaned out loud. Another beauty. Another white woman. She wanted him because he was someone out of her experience, and he’d better remember that. He’d already had a taste of being used for his uniqueness. Jennifer was beautiful enough to choose her own man. He couldn’t believe that she’d keep him for long, once her desire was satisfied. Hilarious, really. It was usually the man who pressed the woman for physical satisfaction. Now he was the hunted, and Jennifer the predator. Other men might take what she offered. He couldn’t. There was more to it than physical desire. He respected her, as a woman, as a scientist, as a person. He couldn’t use her, even without the cultural barriers separating them. But it didn’t make the night any easier for him. When he finally gave in to sleep, it was almost dawn.
* * *
Jennifer forced herself to work the next two days without thinking back. Hunter himself managed to keep his mind on his job, scouting the periphery, watching for signs of interest as they moved camp twice more. He hadn’t been unkind, either. But his attitude toward her was suddenly impersonal. Employee to employee, with no personal comments of any kind. Only once, when she caught him staring at the stream where he’d seen her bathing, did any emotion show in his lean, hard face. She pretended not to see, because her own control was precarious. She wanted him still, now more than ever.
Because of that, she pushed herself, working at breakneck speed to do the samples of the outcrops and decide where seismic tests would have to be made by the geological technicians. Sound technology was the oilman’s best friend, because it could save him millions by telling him where to drill. It was of the same benefit to the miner. Modern technology was invaluable when it came to determining underground mineral locations.
In no time, Jennifer had her fieldwork done and was ready to go back to Tulsa, back to sanity. It was almost a relief to have temptation out of the way, not to be alone with Hunter anymore, even if her heart was breaking at the thought of never having the experience again.
Hunter had registered her silence, her withdrawal. He’d thanked God for it during the past few days, because his desire for her had grown beyond bearing. Lying beside her in the tent at night had kept him sleepless. All he could think about was the way she’d looked in the firelight, the sweet vulnerability in her eyes when she’d offered herself to him, the ardent sweetness of her mouth under his. He wished he could forget. He had a feeling the memory was going to haunt him until he died. But if she even remembered what had happened, she gave no indication of it. She wouldn’t look him in the eye anymore, as if her behavior had shamed her. He h
ated doing that to her, making her ashamed of such glorious abandon. But he couldn’t give in. He’d fought his own need and won. But it was a hollow victory.
“Glad to be going home?” he asked when they were on the plane.
It was the first remark he’d made in two days that wasn’t related to the job.
“Yes,” she said without looking at him. “I’m glad.”
“That makes two of us,” he said with a rough sigh. “Thank God we can get back to normal now.”
Normal, she thought, as if her life would ever be that again. Now that she knew his ardor, she knew the touch and feel and taste of him, she was going to starve to death without him. But he seemed completely unaffected by what had happened. And why not? He was experienced. Probably these interludes were part of his work background, and the encounter they’d had was a fairly innocent one. She shivered, thinking what might have happened if he’d wanted her back, if he’d been prepared. She’d never have gotten over him if they’d gone that far. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. They’d be back in Tulsa soon, and they wouldn’t be doing any more traveling together, thank God.
* * *
That peaceful thought lasted only until she was sitting in Eugene’s office, giving her report. The land containing the potential moly strike was dead on government land, and Eugene cursed roundly.
“They’re trading that tract. Look here,” he muttered, showing her the area on the map. “They’re trading it for a tract they like in Vermont. Damn! All right, there’s only one thing to do. Pack an evening gown and some nice clothes. You and Cynthia and I are going to Washington to do some quick lobbying with one of our senators. I went to school with him and he’s very Oklahoma-minded. Don’t just sit there. Get going! I’ll want to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” She went home and packed. So much for her idea of staying at home for a while so that she could get over Hunter.
And there was one more unpleasant surprise waiting. When she got to the airport, to board Eugene’s corporate jet, who should be waiting with Eugene and his blond wife, Cynthia, but Hunter, looking as irritated and put out as she felt.
6
Cynthia saw the flash of antagonism in Hunter’s dark eyes as Jennifer approached, and she smiled to herself. “You look lovely, Jennifer,” she told the younger woman, and linked her arm with Jennifer’s. “Let’s get buckled up while they finish the walkabout. How have you been?”
Hunter spared Jennifer one brief glance. His expression was as hard as stone. He’d spent days trying to forget her, and fate had thrown him a real curve today. He wanted to go off into the desert and spend some time alone. Maybe that was the answer, when Eugene could spare him. Maybe civilization was getting to him.
“You’re brooding,” Eugene muttered, glaring at him. “What’s the matter?”
“I was just getting used to peace and quiet,” Hunter murmured with a dry smile.
“God help us.” Eugene shuddered. “Peace and quiet is for the grave, man. No good for healthy humans. Come on. I’ll see if I can light a fire under the pilot.”
“Better let him do his job,” Hunter cautioned. “More than one plane has gone down because its owner was too impatient for the final check.”
Eugene glared at him again, but that level stare intimidated even him. “Okay,” he muttered. “Have it your own way.”
Hunter smiled at the retreating figure, and all the while he was wondering how he was going to survive being close to Jenny without reaching for her.
The flight seemed to take forever. Hunter alternately read and glared at Jennifer, who pretended not to notice. Things had been so strained between them that she was uncomfortable with him. Her behavior in the desert and his reaction to it embarrassed and inhibited her. She sat with Cynthia, only half listening to the older woman’s comments about clothes and Washington society while she wondered how she was going to cope with several days of the stoic Mr. Hunter.
They got off the plane at the airport in Washington at last, and Jennifer was momentarily left behind with Hunter while Eugene and Cynthia paused to check times for the return flight with the pilot.
She didn’t know what to say to him. She averted her eyes and stared toward the other planes, with her purse and makeup case clutched tightly in her hand.
Hunter was smoking a cigarette. He glanced down at her impatiently and finally stopped and just stared at her until he made her nervous enough to look up. But when he saw her embarrassment, he was sorry he’d done it.
“Don’t make it any harder than it already is,” he said, his deep voice slow and terse. “What happened that night was just an interlude. I lost my head and so did you. Let it go.”
She swallowed. “All right.”
He scowled through a cloud of smoke as he searched her deep blue eyes. Involuntarily his gaze slid to her blouse and his eyes darkened with memories.
She turned away. That look was painful, and despite his assertion that it was over, it didn’t seem as if he’d forgotten a single thing. Neither had she. The feel of his eyes on her, his mouth on her lips, haunted her night after lonely night. She didn’t even like being near him because just his proximity made her shiver with need. It was a reaction unlike anything she’d ever experienced before in her life, a mad hunger that she could never satisfy.
Hunter was having problems of his own. God, she was lovely! Just looking at her hurt. He turned away to help get the luggage off the plane and carry it to the waiting limousine. He had to stop remembering.
The hotel they stayed at was four-star, very plush and service-oriented. Eugene had reserved two suites of rooms. Unfortunately, Jennifer was relegated to one with Hunter, which surprised and inhibited her.
Eugene noticed her uneasiness and averted his eyes before she could see the faint glimmer of amusement in them. “You’ll survive it, Jenny,” he said. “I want you where Hunter can watch you. You’re the most important part of this enterprise. I can’t have enemy agents trying to spirit you off under my nose, can I?”
“We have other security people….” she began hopefully.
“But Hunter’s the best. No more arguments. I hope you brought an evening gown. There’s an embassy ball tomorrow night.”
“I did,” she said reluctantly. It was a year old, but still functional, and it fit her like a second skin. She frowned bitterly, thinking of the exquisite white confection and regretting that she didn’t still have the little red number she’d knocked Hunter’s eyes out with a few months back. She’d thrown it away in a temper after that one bitter date with him.
Eugene had arranged appointments all over Washington, and he went alone, leaving Jennifer to go sightseeing with Cynthia and Hunter.
Cynthia was enchanted with everything she saw, from the Lincoln Memorial to the reflecting pool outside it, the spire of the Washington monument and the White House and the nation’s Capital. But Jennifer was enchanted with Hunter and trying so hard not to let him see. She wore tan slacks with a colorful pink blouse and sandals for the sight-seeing tour, and Cynthia wore a similar ensemble. Hunter wore a suit.
He escorted them around the city with quiet impatience, and Jennifer knew without being told that he hated the noise and traffic, and that he would have preferred to be doing something else. But he didn’t complain. He pointed out landmarks and hustled them in and out of cabs with singular forbearance. All the same, Jennifer noticed how relieved he looked when they were back at the hotel.
Eugene returned in time to go to supper, phoning Hunter to give him the time and place they were to eat. Hunter hung up, glancing at a nervous Jennifer poised in the doorway to her bedroom.
“You’ve got an hour to get dressed,” he said. “Time for a shower, if you like. We’re to meet him and Cynthia at the Coach and Whip for dinner.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”
He stared at her with quiet, steady dark eyes. “What are you going to wear?”
“Why?” she asked,
startled.
He pursed his lips. “I hope it isn’t something red,” he murmured, turning away with an involuntary smile on his hard mouth.
“Oh!” she burst out.
But, he didn’t look back or say a word. He just went into his own room and closed the door.
Except for that one unexpected incident, dinner went off without a hitch. But if she’d hoped for anything from Hunter, she was doomed for disappointment. He ate and excused himself, and she didn’t see him again for the rest of the night or most of the next day. She and Cynthia amused themselves by going to a movie while Eugene had one last talk with someone on Capitol Hill. Then, almost before she knew it, Jennifer was getting ready to go to a real ball.
Jennifer felt like a girl on her first date as she put on the white satin gown to wear to the ball. She’d never been to anything really grand, although she’d come close once when she and Hunter were on assignment overseas. She put her long blond hair up in an elegant coiffure with tiny wisps of hair curling around her ears. She had a pair of satin-covered pumps that she wore with it, but the dress itself was the height of expensive luxury. She’d bought it on impulse, because at the time she’d had no place at all to wear it. It had a low-cut bodice and spaghetti straps that tied on each shoulder. The waist was fitted, but the skirt had yards and yards of material, and it flared gracefully when she walked. It covered all but the very tips of her pumps. She put on her makeup last, using just a little more than she usually did, but not too much. She looked in the mirror, fascinated because she looked totally different this way. Her whole face seemed radiant with the extra touch of rouge and the pale gray eye shadow with a tiny hint of light blue.
She looked at herself with faint satisfaction. She’d never been glad of her looks before, but tonight she was. She wanted Hunter to be proud of her, to want to be seen with her. She closed her eyes, imagining the music of a waltz. Would Hunter ask her to dance? She smiled. Surely he would. They’d waltz around the ballroom and all eyes would be on them… That jerked her back to reality. Attention would be the last thing Hunter would want, and probably the only dances he knew were done with war dances around a campfire.
