Mexican Nights

by Jeanne Stephens

  The marvelous workmanship was enough to take her mind off unfamiliar emotions and infuriating writers— until Derek Storm himself walked in. What was he doing here? Why hadn't he left with Jack and Mike? The sight of him—when she had thought he must be back at the hotel by now—was a shock to her already frayed nerves. The beckoning empathy she had begun to feel with the long-ago Mayan craftsmen vanished like a puff of smoke, leaving her feeling exposed and, for some inexplicable reason, short of breath.

  They were alone in the hall. His unreadable eyes fastened on Terri like two arrows shot from a taut bow, and she felt an unexplainable blush creeping up her neck and into her face. Without a word of greeting, he came toward her with a blasé amble, as if he owned the place. Terri renewed her vow not to be intimidated by him and said, in a voice that held an unfamiliar quaver, "Am I to have another lesson, Dr. Storm?"

  He seemed amused by her question. "I will be happy to instruct you on whatever topics you may wish, Miss Thompson." For a moment a shade seemed to have been pulled back from his dark eyes, exposing a knowing gleam. She straightened uncomfortably on her stone perch, feeling like a grade-schooler called upon to recite in front of the class.

  "Where shall we start?" His head was tilted to one side slightly, his thickly lashed eyes narrowed in a way that seemed to challenge Terri to some unknown act of daring. The yellow knit shirt was open halfway down his chest, exposing curling black hairs that Terri had a sudden impish impulse to pull. His gray trousers were somewhat wrinkled from the day's activities, but he had the sort of body that would look good in almost anything. Terri forced herself to meet his steady gaze. His features were rugged, but certainly not perfect— the lean face perhaps a trifle too long. She had seen handsomer men, she supposed, but there was some power in him that was more than physical attractiveness. Intensity, perhaps, for lack of a better word. Probably, if he were a movie actor, he would be labeled a "sex symbol." But he surely wasn't Terri's idea of a dream man, she told herself. She didn't like that domineering sort of character. She certainly resented the way he looked at her sometimes, as if he were mentally undressing her—just as he was doing now.

  "You hinted in the Aztec Hall that I lack a certain— feeling." She paused, unnerved by his slanting smile.

  "Passion would be a better word." Although he had spoken softly, the words seemed to echo threateningly in the silent hall. Terri felt an inward chill and had to fight an impulse to hug herself protectively. Deep brown eyes assessed her reaction.

  She felt her cheeks burning. "I am speaking of my photography, Dr. Storm."

  "If you say so." Black lashes swept down, shadowing his eyes. Was he mocking her? Suggesting something illicit? She could not begin to fathom that hard face. Had he been any other man, Terri would have put him in his place in no uncertain terms, but indignation did not seem to faze him. She had an urge to slap the smug face that was much too close to her own for comfort.

  She could almost see the gears turning in his calculating mind—planning, conniving—estimating how many days before she was putty in his experienced hands. Well, he had better think again!

  "After you've seen Teotihuacán and Chichén Itzá," Derek Storm went on calmly, "perhaps you'll begin to understand the ancient Indians." His expression became grave, intense. "Once you catch the sheer, raw emotion of those people—yes, the passion, for that is the best word—you'll know what I mean, Terri."

  Was he trying to be blatantly suggestive? Moreover, why was he, out of the blue, calling her Terri? She felt a growing uncertainty about her ability to complete this assignment in a way that would jibe with his preconceived ideas. Was this chipping away at her confidence his way of making her dependent upon him? Well, she had managed previous assignments without his help— and she would manage this one the same way.

  "I am surprised," she said, tossing her blond hair, "that you don't do the photography as well as the writing for your books." She smiled with forced sweetness. "You seem to know so much"—she waved a hand flippantly—"about everything."

  "Don't use sarcasm on me." His low voice took on a silky tone. "It's a waste of breath."

  Her heart suddenly banging against her ribs, Terri slid off the stone pedestal and took up a position in front of the Mayan carvings, lifting her camera in what she hoped was a dismissing gesture. Unfortunately, she could still see him from the corner of her eye. His gaze traveled the length of her slender figure. How much could he see in the plunging V of her halter from where he was standing? She wanted desperately to tug the straps higher, but knew such a gesture would give away her confusion. She peered determinedly through the camera lens and began to snap pictures.

  Derek lounged nonchalantly against the pedestal, watching her. She could no longer see his face, but she was very sure it wore a smug expression. The camera slipped in her trembling fingers as she flicked the shutter. "Darn!"

  "Why are you so nervous?"

  She had given herself away all right. Sudden anger flared in her. "Must you stand there glaring at me like that?"

  "I may want to suggest certain shots," he said, "although technically you're an excellent photographer."

  "Pardon me if I don't kiss your hand for the compliment," she said cuttingly.

  "I can think of much better places than the hand," he taunted.

  "All topics of conversation lead down the same road with you, don't they? How quickly you can go from photography to—" She floundered, unable to finish.

  "Yes, we were talking of photography, weren't we?" he inquired, unperturbed. "As I said, technically, you're tops. I'd never have accepted you for this job otherwise. You just need a little more—"

  "Experience!" Terri finished furiously, turning to stare back at him.

  "Basically, yes." Derek grinned maddeningly. "I expect our collaboration to take care of that."

  "You are going to polish off the rough edges, is that it?" Terri shook her head, amazed at the overweening egotism of the man. She had never seen such arrogance!

  "A lot to accomplish in four weeks, I admit." He shrugged, a teasing gleam in his eyes. "Until now you haven't been called upon to exercise more than ordinary competence."

  "Ordinary!" she sputtered, almost choking on the word. How her hand itched to wipe that smirk off his face.

  "I am speaking professionally, Terri." His dark eyes raked her figure again. "In other ways I could probably think of a more descriptive term."

  "Don't bother!" Terri deliberately turned her back on him and raised her camera.

  "Oh, it's no bother." His voice sounded closer than before, and she felt a shiver go up her back. "But first things first, my little collaborator." She felt his hands on her bare arms, resting lightly, but radiating a heat that was such a shock she started violently. She had the wild notion that the imprint of his fingers was burning itself into her flesh—branding her.

  "I do know something about angles and composition, Terri. And since I know Mexican civilizations so well, you really should appreciate my suggestions, in my humble opinion."

  Hah! He had never had a humble opinion in his life! His fingers moved almost imperceptibly upward in a sensuous stroking movement. Oh, heaven, she was probably only imagining that, and he hadn't moved at all. She held her arms rigid at her sides, staring at the hazy reflection of his dark face above her own in the glass exhibition cabinet. Perhaps he only meant to turn her slightly to one side for a better camera angle—but why did his mere touch seem so suggestive to her? If she could have moved at that moment, she would have run at full tilt out of the room. As for her tormentor, he was actually smiling—from what she could make out in the hazy glass. Or was it only a trick of light? Of course, he wouldn't think twice about touching a woman. He did it all the time, after all. He couldn't know how flustered an inexperienced girl could become over such a simple thing.

  She heard footsteps and looked quickly to one side.

  An elderly man had entered the hall and was examining a carving in the far corner. And Derek's
fingers were definitely moving now—slowly up and down on the soft skin of her upper arms.

  "Stop that, Derek!" she managed to get out, the whispered words hissing between her teeth.

  "So you do know my first name," he teased.

  "Stop it," she repeated, glancing furtively over her shoulder to see if the visitor was paying any attention to them.

  "Stop what, Terri?" he asked softly. His hands had found their way to her shoulders now, and one finger gently probed the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt an aching stab go through her body like the thrust of a sharp knife. She should pull away from him but she knew he could hold her immobile if he wished. She didn't want to make a scene in front of the stranger. Besides, some mad corner of her brain did not want to move away. A warmth had invaded her body, an insidious letting-go sort of feeling, as if her bones were beginning to dissolve. Her only defense was anger, and she used it.

  "I will not be treated like a—an object." She took a step away and, as she had feared, his grip tightened. She stiffened and went on. "If you don't let go of me, I'll scream."

  She knew by his soft chuckle that he didn't believe her, but he decided to let her go. She turned to face him, her defiant expression daring him to touch her again. He laughed. "Such injured innocence! And all because I was trying to turn you for the best light advantage. You evidently mistook me. Why, Terri, what can you think I had in mind?" She knew exactly what he had in mind, but she did not dare to say so.

  She flung herself away from him, shaking with fury. "I'm going back to the hotel—alone."

  Derek thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at her insolently. "Now we know one thing, don't we? You can be passionate enough—given the right stimulus."

  "Don't flatter yourself!" she flared, wanting to disconcert him, to disturb that calm male assurance.

  "You certainly do tempt a man, Terri, tossing out challenges like that."

  She fairly shook with outrage. "Don't you dare try your—technique on me! I can't abide conceited men!"

  She strode toward the door, but somehow he was there before her, blocking her way. "Don't get overwrought, Terri. I wouldn't dream of doing anything that you don't wish for—ardently."

  "It'll be a cold day in hell before I—" She couldn't finish. He grinned wickedly and moved aside, allowing her to leave the hall. She ran across the indoor patio toward the main museum entrance. She knew that he was watching her and finding her flight highly amusing. Oh, how could she survive four weeks of this? If she could have been a man for a few minutes, how gleefully she would have knocked Dr. Derek Gonzales Storm senseless.

  Chapter Two

  Terri fled toward the long wall of glass that marked the museum entrance, pushed through the door, and crossed the covered entrance patio. When she had reached the street, she glanced back over her shoulder to see whether Derek had followed her. He was not in sight, but she fully expected his tall, dark figure to appear at any moment. Hurriedly, she glanced about for a taxi. Several of them had been parked here that morning upon her arrival at the museum. Now, however, she could not see even one.

  Fearing Derek's imminent appearance, she began to walk in the direction of the hotel, intending to hail a taxi on the way. As the blocks passed, the expected taxi did not materialize. Finally, she had gone so far she gave up looking and resigned herself to walking all the way to the hotel. It was probably less than two miles and, under ordinary circumstances, she might have enjoyed the walk. As it was, she was hot and tired from carrying a heavy camera bag and still in a turmoil over the confrontation with Derek in the Mayan Hall.

  The hotel was a modern steel skyscraper in the heart of the city and, when it came into view, Terri—who had been disappointed at the first glimpse of it because it didn't look Mexican—found it a beautiful sight. She was perspiring from the vigor of her brisk walk and stepped into the air-conditioned lobby feeling like a lost desert nomad stumbling upon an oasis. To her right a hall led to the coffee shop. Without having to think twice, she headed that way, the thought of an icy drink uppermost in her mind.

  Few of the tables were occupied at that hour, and she took the first empty one she found. She ordered iced tea and, dabbing at her damp face with a paper napkin, began to relax, determined to banish the memory of herself quaking like a fifteen-year-old under Derek's touch. But the experience was too fresh and would not stay banished. How could she live through four weeks dreading another clash with Derek Storm? He had been fully aware of the effect he'd had on her and could probably be expected to renew the game.

  The waitress brought her tea and she sipped gratefully.

  "So this is where you've been hiding out." Startled from her circuitous thoughts, she looked up into Jack Ledbetter's smiling face. He pulled a chair out and sank down across from her. "I called your room a couple of times. I knew the museum closed at five today."

  Bright blue eyes regarded her disheveled appearance with as much pleasure as if she'd been wearing a Dior gown. His obvious liking for her helped to push back the feelings of inadequacy that had been crowding into her mind. As Derek Storm's research assistant, he was gaining valuable experience that he hoped would eventually help him to get started as a writer himself. He'd confided this to Terri the first day they met. Of medium height, he was slim of build but muscular enough to look good in the blue knit shirt he wore. His light blond hair and fair complexion were near to Terri's own coloring, and she noticed that several heads had turned to look at them. The watchers were probably concluding they were brother and sister. Although she'd never been particularly drawn to blond men (in her case the old adage that opposites seemed to attract seemed to be true), she found herself warming to Jack Ledbetter. His plain interest in her was welcome comfort in her present state.

  "Did Derek find you?" Jack asked when the waitress had taken his order for coffee.

  "When?" Terri felt her pulses racing suddenly. Was he looking for her in order to resume the battle?

  Jack's reply stilled her resurging agitation. "At the museum. He told Mike and me to come back to the hotel without him because he wanted to talk to you again before he left." A sympathetic grin lit his handsome face. "He can be a slavedriver, can't he?"

  "Yes," Terri agreed. "And he did find me—in the Mayan Hall." So their meeting had not been accidental. But why had he wanted to see her—unless to perturb her further, which he had managed to do.

  "Don't let him get you down," Jack commiserated. "He was a little hard on you this afternoon."

  "I can't say I appreciated his manner," Terri admitted, "but if he thinks he can browbeat me, he'll learn differently." Brave words! she thought wryly.

  "When you get to know him better, you'll find his bark's worse than his bite." Terri admired Jack's loyalty to his employer, but she couldn't agree with him. "It's just that where his books are concerned," Jack went on, "he demands perfection—of himself, too." She couldn't tell whether Jack resented this trait in Derek Storm or not, but surely he and Mike had borne the brunt of Derek's temper often enough.

  "He seems to think I ought to get as involved with Mexican civilizations as he is." Terri gestured impatiently. "Which is perfectly ridiculous since he's studied them for years. How much can I hope to absorb in four weeks? Especially if he's going to insist on our keeping our noses to the grindstone every minute."

  "You can see quite a few things in the evenings," he said eagerly. "I'd be happy to escort you. I'd like to take in some local color myself. We could start tonight, in fact. It's not too far to the Main Plaza, where we could visit the Cathedral of Mexico, and I've been told the Diego Rivera murals in the National Palace are something to see."

  "Oh, I don't know about tonight—" she began hesitantly. "I'm pretty tired. I've been looking forward to a bath and bed. Hey, there's Mike." She waved at the ruddy-faced young man, and upon seeing them he grinned and came to their table.

  "Is this a private party?" Not waiting for an answer, he flopped into a chair.

  "It's n
either private nor a party," said Terri.

  "I've been trying to persuade Terri to come out with us tonight," Jack said. This was the first Terri had heard of Mike's being included, and she wondered if Jack thought she'd feel more comfortable in a threesome. Probably—and it was considerate of him. He was a gentleman, which was more than could be said for his employer.

  "Sounds like a great idea." Mike ran a big hand through his kinky copper-colored hair. He was slightly taller than Jack and stockily built, looking like anything but a secretary. He'd told Terri earlier that he'd taken the job because it gave him a chance to travel.

  "I appreciate the invitation, fellows," Terri said lightly, "but I'm bushed."

  "Tomorrow's Sunday," Mike put in. "Maybe we could arrange something for the afternoon."

  "Don't tell me your employer actually gives you Sundays off," Terri said with heavy sarcasm. "I assumed he worked seven days a week and would probably expect the same of us."

  Jack shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly wanting no part in any further criticism of Derek.

  Mike, however, did not seem to have such compunction.

  "He is inclined to go full speed ahead when he's in the middle of a book, but something tells me he'll find time for play as well as work while we're in Mexico City. Margarite Lopez lives here, you know."

  Terri recognized the name of the Mexican actress whom gossip had linked with Derek during the past year. Mike leaned over the table and added in a low, conspiratorial voice, "She telephoned him yesterday. We were working in Derek's suite and I took the call."

  Terri should have been happy with this information, since it meant she would be free of Derek's unnerving presence part of the time, but instead she felt hot resentment. Derek would probably expect her to keep working while he galavanted around with Margarite Lopez. She wondered if the actress was Derek's real reason for deciding to write about Mexican civilizations at this time.

  She was suddenly curious about the relationship. "He's been seeing her for a long time, hasn't he?"