'I can assure you, Miss Baker, I am no cleaner --'
'In that case,' she cut in, ignoring the fact that he somehow knew her name, 'perhaps you would account for yourself?'
'Deos! We have struck lucky this time! A proper little commandant!' He looked meaningfully down at her feet in their small jungle boots. 'Complete with regulation footwear too, designed to tramp over anybody who gets in the way...' He laughed again, huskily self-confident, but despite the show of humour his eyes were cold with contempt.
Chrissy wanted to hit him. How dared he laugh at her? 'You still haven't explained your presence,' she remarked, sharpening her tone.
He stepped back. 'And do you seriously imagine I'm going to...? To you?'
She briefly dropped her glance. Was there nothing she could threaten him with? She lifted her head at once. 'Does Mr Bergdorf know you're roaming around the lab like this?'
The stranger shook his head, still chuckling. 'You're suggesting I go and find him just to let him know?'
For a moment Chrissy wasn't sure how to proceed. 'Well,' she floundered, 'I'm sure it's not usual to have unofficial personnel wandering about in here!' She sounded pompous even to herself, but he brought it out in her and she couldn't help it. She added, 'There are all kinds of things that could go wrong if the whole world could just barge in whenever they felt like it.'
'The whole world?' he intoned poetically. 'Imagine the whole world coming to us!' Then he raised his black eyebrows with a mocking expression which made her feel stupider than ever.
'You know what I mean!' she exclaimed, flushing. 'That door is supposed to be kept locked when no one's in here, for very good reasons --'
'But it wasn't locked, because someone was here, namely you, so what's all the fuss about?'
Briefly she wondered if locked doors would keep a man like this from going anywhere he wanted. But she lifted her chin and said, 'You're just beating about the bush. What do you want?'
'I wondered when we'd get around to that.' He paused and gave her an up-and-down look. 'What do you think I want?'
She flushed at the suggestiveness in his tone. 'I'm sure I don't know,' she replied, sounding as flustered as she looked.
'No,' he said shortly, 'I'm sure you don't. I certainly don't want what you seem to imagine I want.' His blue eyes lazed without expression over her flushed skin until she felt thoroughly assessed.
'You flatter yourself if you think you can read my mind,' she retorted. With an effort she had managed to stem the flood of heat that betrayed her embarrassment at the images he was summoning up, and forced herself to look collected even though her hands were gripping the back of the bench behind her where his glance couldn't probe.
'It might not be so interesting even if I could,' he replied dismissively. 'It's no doubt full of the usual hackneyed fantasies of a female such as yourself.'
'What would you know about my fantasies?' she riposted with a curl of her lip.
He gave a gleam of a smile, a flash of cynical blue, but didn't rise to the challenge. 'It doesn't take a genius to guess your game,' he rejoined offhandedly.
She gave a theatrical sigh. 'I have work to do. When you leave would you make sure the door is properly closed?' She turned back to the work-bench where Gavin's notes were stacked, waiting to be deciphered, and was about to slide into her seat when a brown hand came firmly down and slammed the file shut.
'You have appalling manners,' he rasped.
She gazed down at the back of the hand on the bench in front of her. The nails were short, well cared for, and on one finger, the wedding finger, was a broad gold band with a small crest on it.
'Well, aren't you going to argue about that as well?' His voice sounded just above her right ear. She dared not turn to face him because it would have brought their faces within touching distance. She could already feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. And she was wrapped in the heady scent of something like vanilla. She still did not turn, so he was forced to look at the back of her head. Eventually he would tire of this baiting and go back to the jungle where he'd come from. She waited. His hand still lay firmly on top of her notes.
After a pause she saw it lift and she half turned, sure he was getting the hint at last, but as she swivelled she found her breasts skimming the wide bulk of his chest just below the fourth button of his khaki shirt, and as her head came up in surprise she swayed, caught off balance. Their bodies matched length for length, his muscled thighs pressing her slim ones, her hips, his pelvis, his chest, her breasts, skimming and parting and, as if accidentally, skimming again, fitting together like the two parts of one whole. Then he very pointedly stepped back. For a moment neither of them spoke. His eyes had iced over once more.
In a daze she saw the sensual lips hovering on a level with her forehead. 'You lose no time at all, do you?' he murmured, scarcely moving them. 'First Pedro. God knows who last night. Now me. Where do you notch them up, on your bedpost or on a scalp-belt?'
'What? I...' She gazed at him, unable to frame a suitable sentence.
'If I catch you behaving like that with the staff again you'll be off this compound quicker than greased lightning, get it?' His lips scarcely moved, the threat like a wisp of smoke, scarcely there.
She must have misheard, she told herself. 'I can't imagine what you're implying,' she managed to stutter. 'Pedro? What on earth can you mean?'
'Don't play dumb.' His eyes swept over her face, freezing the denial that sprang to her lips. 'You must know I saw you lying blatantly together in the grove yesterday—and you can't tell me the buttons of your blouse came undone accidentally!' His lip curled.
'I beg your pardon!' At last Chrissy managed to rouse herself. 'Are you suggesting I had designs on Pedro?'
'On any man by the way you flaunt your wares. Heaven knows, I haven't given you any encouragement.'
'You're the most arrogant, deluded man I've ever had the misfortune to meet --' she began, drawing herself up. She could feel the blood pounding at her temples. '—if I was interested in anyone it certainly wouldn't be a—a --' She struggled to find a word both wounding and accurate.
'Yes?' he breathed, leaning dangerously close. 'A what?' His lips hovered near as if actually willing her to resist him!
She felt herself sway as if compelled by an inner force to reach out for him, but she resisted the impulse, her upper lip curling as she strained away from him. Green eyes opened defiantly, outfacing him—it was a deliberate, provoking challenge, screaming the message that what her blood was commanding her to do was nothing but a lie.
He couldn't know that his presence was making her knees as weak as cotton wool. She gave him the benefit of one long, unblinking, emerald glance. 'A louse,' she said through frozen lips. 'And definitely not one of my favourite insects!'
He seemed to lean even closer, taunting her self-control and in an almost-whisper quizzed incredulously, 'You're trying to say you prefer overweight men of five feet two, to someone --'
'Someone like you?' she arched her back, trying to draw herself up and widen the distance between them at the same time.
But her scorn made no impression, his response only to let the chipped ice of his glance dagger slowly over her heated skin in a deliberate provocation. Like knife-points it touched her face, her chin, her neck, then sank down over the collar-bone and inside... How could a glance penetrate inside her clothes? she asked herself in a fever of confusion, as the pinpricks teased her in ever-increasing intimacy, seeking every secret hollow till she wanted to scream for him to stop.
At last, when the tension was almost unendurable, he lifted his head with its mane of thick black hair reaching to his collar, and for a split second she imagined he felt as mystified by what was happening as she was. Then a lazy smile broke over his features. 'No,' he breathed, 'my first guess wasn't off the mark. Given the choice it's obvious where your preference lies... and it's not with our worthy friend Pedro—even though you obviously don't mind if he samples the goods from time t
o time.'
Without thinking, Chrissy did something she had never done before. She slapped a man across the face.
As the crack of her palm against his aristocratic cheekbone rapped out she was already bringing one hand up to her mouth in dismay. Words of apology sprang at once to her lips but she choked them back. They would be lies. She was glad she had slapped his arrogant face after what he had just said! But even so... If she could have retreated she would have. Unluckily there was nowhere to go.
She pressed back further against the work-bench, her whole body trembling with trepidation at the thought of what he might do next.
His face, registering first shock, adopted an expression as blank as a wooden mask. It was worse than if it had twisted in anger. Cold fury was unpredictable where good honest rage was not. But his self-control was formidable.
He didn't even sound angry when he eventually spoke. It was as if her action was beneath his notice—he belittled her by ignoring it. He said in matter-of-fact tones, as if unaware of the livid colour over-printing the deep tan of one cheek, 'Come over to the house at eleven. Hans has gone up-river. You need some information if you're going out into the forest.'
'From you? Information from you?' she managed to croak. 'You're the last person I want information from, thank you very much.' Nothing would entice her to the house without the presence of the others.
But as she glanced wildly round the lab she realised it was as isolated here as it would be on the other side of the compound. When he had gone she would lock the door. He was looking at her with open dislike by now. It made him even more like the predatory jungle animal he had seemed yesterday—with that close, watchful, narrow-eyed glance, judging her motives— wrong though his conclusions turned out to be!
'I can only assume,' he said teasingly as he gazed down at her, 'that you imagine your book-learning somehow makes you immune to the dangers of the forest.' His lips narrowed. 'Your self-confidence verges on the ridiculous.'
She flinched. How dared he call her ridiculous just because she wasn't kowtowing to him? Who did he think he was? He was nothing but a jumped-up forest ranger. She longed to let him really have it, but knew she would be laying herself open to immediate retaliation. She guessed she'd already got away with more than anybody ever had done before!
Forcing a more humble note into her voice, she said, 'I expect I've got a lot to learn, but I'm quite capable of doing the job I've been sent to do without special help. And as for Pedro, you must see what a ridiculous idea it is to think I'd be interested in him. I mean...' She began to flounder under the coldness of his raking glance and, instead of accepting what she said, he gave a hard laugh.
'Not good enough for you now you realise there are richer pickings to be had?' He swivelled, face tight with contempt. 'Suit yourself whether you come across. I'm sure any one of the men will be delighted to fill you in on all you need to know.'
He left, silently, swiftly, like an animal leaving the scene of its latest kill. Chrissy slumped against her workbench. Why did she feel she had been mauled by a lethal predator? Despite his insults she had won that round, hadn't she?
As she bent over Gavin's notes once more she knew in her heart of hearts that neither of them had won anything. They had both lost. But what it was they'd lost she didn't know.
Eleven o'clock came and went. She was dying for a drink as the humidity intensified, but she made do with water from one of the taps, praying that it was safe, and utterly determined that nothing would induce her to face that man again. She didn't even know his name. And still he hadn't told her by what right he could order everyone around!
By midday, though, even she had to give up. It was like working in a steam bath, the end of any real work for a few hours until the sun started its daily slide to the west—as the air cooled she would be able to snatch a few more hours in the lab. Gavin's notes were difficult to read. His handwriting was so small. She moved slowly back across the compound with the beginnings of a headache.
Senhora Suarez was in the kitchen. 'Goodness me, my child, you missed your break this morning, and now you are looking so pale!' She bustled forward as Chrissy entered. 'The men are already in the dining-room. Go quickly and join them. It is quite informal.'
Chrissy dragged herself through into the next room. Hans and Lars but, she was relieved to note, no dark-haired cynic, were seated at the dining-table. They greeted her jovially and she was soon absorbed by their discussion of the morning's activities. Pedro had accompanied Hans up-river and came in a few minutes later. He gave Chrissy an odd look when she accidentally caught his eye and she wondered if the stranger had expressed his suspicions about their activities to him as well. She could imagine Pedro's reaction! He would be as astonished as she was!
Waiting for a lull in the conversation so that she could mention that morning's unpleasant encounter, she had to hold her tongue until Hans had finished ribbing Lars about something that had gone wrong the previous week. When there was a pause she asked, 'A man came into the lab this morning --'
'I know. That was Garcia Montada.' Hans was shovelling food into his mouth. 'I intended to introduce you before I left, but he tells me he passed you and Pedro on the track down-river yesterday?'
Chrissy opened her mouth to reply but Pedro cut in, 'Too true. He told me in no uncertain terms this morning I was a no good sonofabitch for not keeping a proper watch over Miss Baker.'
It had been Chrissy—or Missy—yesterday. Chrissy scowled and was about to remind him of that fact when he went on, 'I gather he introduced himself to you while I was asleep?' He gave her a reproachful glance and she realised he was put out that she had apparently withheld this piece of information.
The molehill seemed to be turning into a mountain. Chrissy said, 'He didn't exactly introduce himself. He simply strode up. Ordered me to get everyone on their feet, then strode off again. Talk about high-handed! And I'm sorry I didn't mention it, Pedro. It hardly seemed worth it.' She paused. 'I mean,' she went on, 'one minute he was there, the next he wasn't. I didn't realise you knew him.'
' "Know him" is perhaps an exaggeration,' muttered Pedro. He appeared to be mollified by her explanation, however. 'You had complaints about the trip?'
'Of course not!' Before she could quiz him as to whether this was the impression Garcia Montada had tried to create, Lars got up.
'Ah, yes,' smiled Pedro. 'Siesta time.' He and Lars went over to a table on the veranda and she saw Lars bring out a pack of cards.
'Garcia Montada came over to the lab to put you in the picture, did he?' questioned Hans.
'He certainly did!' she exclaimed with feeling.
Hans laughed. 'What's the matter? Surely you're not going to tell me you're immune to El Senhor?
'You must be joking!' Chrissy came back. 'That macho type has no appeal for me.'
'You must be the only woman on earth to hold that view! It must be quite a shock for him.' He chuckled with rather malicious amusement. 'He was certainly intrigued to hear we'd got a beauty queen among us!'
'You never told him? Oh, Hans, how could you?' She looked at him aghast. 'Now he'll never take me seriously.' She paused. 'Not that it matters one jot, of course. It's just that I hate being patronised by these macho-men who think they can pigeon-hole me.'
'I'm sure he'll soon realise his mistake,' he said affably. He got up. 'Must take my siesta now. I suggest you do the same. You mustn't try to work through the afternoon. This heat's a killer. Ignore those two over there,' he pointed to the card-players. 'They'll play for a while then turn in like everybody else.'
'It seems strange to be sleeping during the day,' she remarked as she followed his example.
'You'll get used to it.' Hans gave her a friendly smile then disappeared towards his quarters.
Chrissy made off in the opposite direction, where her own room was situated. It would have been nice if Eloise had been around instead of out with Pierre somewhere. The two of them shared one of the palm-roofed huts in the compo
und but they were obviously not 'at home'. She needed to have a good heart-to-heart with someone. That man—that Garcia Montada—made her feel like spitting flame!
So that was his name, she told herself when, after sponging her heated body with cold water, she lay naked underneath the mosquito netting. He must be Spanish or Portuguese, she thought, with a nickname like 'El Senhor', but she couldn't tell which from the pronunciation. Trust Hans to cut him down to size! But if he was Portuguese, she mused, why did he have such incredible blue eyes? She frowned. And why, she asked herself, am I wasting so much time thinking about him?
She turned over on to one side. It was impossible to feel comfortable in this heat. It was like a Turkish bath with the heat full on and no way out. Would she be able to last the course? She had to. If she didn't succeed she would let down not only herself but all the people who had helped her over the years. And her mother, although she wouldn't say anything, would inevitably feel regret that all her sacrifices had been in vain.
She wriggled about on the bed, her body feeling as if it were turning into a pool of ghee like the tiger in the children's story, except that instead of soft gold her skin was pearly, still winter-coloured.
Wondering how she could get a tan and at the same time find a breath of air, she got up, dragging on a voile shift in misty blues and pinks. It was refreshingly cool against her over-heated body, and she left it unbelted so it floated behind her as she went on to the veranda outside her room. There she found a rocking-chair. Dragging it into a slant of sun on the corner, she looked round for something to use as a fan. Spying a low bush of coconut-palm, she decided one of its thick fronds would be ideal, but she would need a knife to cut it.
Silence lay over the whole house as she made her way to the kitchen. The two card-players had long since gone to their quarters and even the kitchen itself was deserted. She went in and looked around for something she could use. There was a rack of knives on the far wall. Barefoot, she padded over the polished plank floor, and was just reaching up for one when there was a hiss of sound behind her. She swung, the knife firmly in her grasp, then froze.
Jungle Lover Page 3
