THE MARINE & THE DEBUTANTE

by Maureen Child

  "Day or so?" She tried to keep the groan out of her voice but she was pretty sure she hadn't succeeded. Then, rather than concentrate on the march ahead, she focused on the last word he'd said.

  Safe.

  For the past two weeks of captivity, that was a word she'd concentrated on often. Before being snatched from her spur-of-the-moment shopping trip, Lisa'd never realized just how much she took her own safety for granted. It wasn't something you normally thought about. It just … was.

  She doubted she'd ever be that complacent again. In fact, she'd probably be looking over her shoulder for years.

  But she hadn't let her captors know she was scared, and she refused to give in to fear now.

  "Once we're in El Bahar," he was saying, "we'll go directly to the American Embassy and call for a ride home."

  "My father can send his jet."

  One black eyebrow lifted, and he shook his head, chuckling wryly under his breath.

  She had the distinct feeling he wasn't laughing with her. Stiffly she asked, "What's so funny?"

  "You," he said, reaching to rotate his stick of snake meat in the fire. "A regular plane ride's just not good enough, huh? Have to call for a private jet."

  All right, maybe that had sounded a little snooty. "I only meant—"

  "Relax, princess," he said, interrupting her neatly. "I know just what you meant."

  "Really."

  Shifting position, Lisa folded her legs in the most ladylike manner she could manage. Wincing slightly at the movement, she tucked her torn, dirty dress down over them and shrugged out of his shirt. With the rock walls cutting off the wind, and the tiny fire, she'd finally warmed up again.

  "Yes, really," Travis said, shaking his head again and leaning back against the cool rock wall. He had her number. Had had it from the moment she'd opened her eyes and looked up at him back there at the shack. And he didn't mind telling her so. "I've known women like you most of my life," he said. "The rich girls, counting out daddy's money and buying what they could never earn."

  "Now just a darn minute." Her eyes flashed, outrage obvious in her tone.

  "Struck a nerve, huh?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he went on. "Let's just look at your story so far. You decide to visit am area rife with civil unrest to do some shopping and promptly get snatched."

  "The papers at home didn't say anything about the dangers of—"

  "And then," he said, his voice easily overriding hers, "when you're in trouble up to your pretty neck, you just expect Daddy to pay the demanded ransom."

  "Why wouldn't he?" she asked. "I'm his only child."

  "For which he's probably grateful," Travis commented and took real pleasure in the murder he saw glinting in her eyes. "My point is, even if he'd paid the ransom, there was no guarantee you'd be released."

  "Of course they'd have released me. Why wouldn't they?"

  "Darlin'," he said, "after spending most of the day with you, I'm only surprised they didn't offer to pay your dad to take you off their hands."

  "You have no right to say such—"

  He waved off her indignation. "But back to our story. See, this is where me and my friends came in. The government convinced your daddy to hold off on paying up and to send us in instead."

  "It's your job, isn't it?"

  "My job is to help people who need it. Even spoiled little rich girls whose only job is to look gorgeous and spend cash that isn't theirs."

  And she was gorgeous, he admitted silently, his gaze moving over her quickly, thoroughly. Even after all she'd been through, she looked damn good. Blond hair that just dusted across her shoulders was tucked behind her ears now, and a soft fringe of bangs stopped just above her finely arched eyebrows. In the firelight her eyes looked as blue as the sea at dusk, and her mouth looked delicious. Her teeth continually tugged at her bottom lip until it was all Travis could do to keep from offering to help with that little chore. Damn, this was not the time or the place or hell … the woman to be having these thoughts about.

  He'd do well to remember that she was nothing more than a mission gone wrong. If she hadn't held him up. If she hadn't wasted so much time looking for her damn purse. If those expensive but worthless high heels had made better time in the sand … if any of those things bad been different, he would already be rid of her. They'd have parted ways and he never would have had the time or opportunity to notice that her right breast was just a little fuller than her left.

  Oh, man. Travis got a grip on the suddenly rampaging hormones charging through his bloodstream and reminded himself that she was no different from the girls back home. Those girls, backed by their daddies' oil money, had run roughshod over anybody in their way. And when it came to guys like him—they were happy enough to snuggle up in the dark, but they never brought his kind home to daddy.

  Travis Hawks didn't come from money and as far as he could tell, having it hadn't done those girls—or this one, for that matter—any good.

  "I resent that."

  He blinked and drew himself back to the conversation at hand. Hell, fighting with her was one sure way to keep his mind on the job rather than on fantasies that didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of coming true. "I bet you do," he said. "But you're not denying it."

  "I do deny it," she said hotly, and leaned toward him. Firelight minored in her eyes until it looked as though her gaze was shooting sparks at him. "I am not spoiled. And for your information, I'm on the boards of some very worthwhile charities. I do work."

  He nodded sagely, but there was amusement in his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure your telephone dialing finger gets a real workout."

  That blond eyebrow lifted again and disappeared behind her bangs.

  "So you work," he said. "Do you have to live off what you make? I don't think so."

  "I see. Because I don't have to worry about income, what I do is worth nothing?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "You most certainly did."

  All right, maybe he shouldn't have started any of this. It was none of his business how she lived. His job was simply to return her to the lap of luxury and get the hell out of Dodge. They had another few days together, and there was no sense in being outright enemies, for Pete's sake.

  "You know what you are?" she asked, tilting her head to one side and studying him as if he were smeared on a glass slide beneath a microscope.

  "I'll bet you're about to tell me."

  "I'd be happy to," she said, a soft smile curving that luscious mouth of hers.

  She looked like a woman with a point to make, and Travis, like any other sane man, battened down the hatches and waited for the blow.

  "You're a snob."

  A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat, ricocheting off the rock walls to echo mockingly.

  "A snob?" he repeated.

  "That's right."

  "Honey," he said, "I don't make enough money to be a snob."

  "That's just it," she countered, folding her arms beneath her breasts and nodding at him. "You're a reverse snob."

  "Oh, this should be good," he said, intrigued in spite of himself. He watched her with interest and couldn't help noticing again just how damn fine she looked, sitting there all smug in her dirty designer dress.

  "Because you don't have money, you're prejudiced against those who do."

  "Darlin'," he reminded her, "you don't have money. Your daddy does."

  Her eyes narrowed, and he had the distinct feeling that if she could have reached him, she just might have slapped his face. But since she couldn't, she kept talking. Which was, he thought wryly, worse than the slap would have been.

  "You're a snob, and changing the subject won't alter that one fact."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Why else would you make assumptions about me?" she asked, drumming her fingertips against her upper arms. "You don't know me at all."

  "Sure I do, princess," he drawled, letting the words slide out slowly on purpose. "I've known you most of my life."


  She sniffed. "Trust me, if we'd ever met, I would remember."

  "Okay, not you specifically," he continued. "But your kind."

  "My kind?"

  "Yep." His mother would be shamed to know it, but he was beginning to enjoy himself here. Nothing quite like a good argument to get your mind off your worries. And he pretty much figured that, by now, the "princess" was so mad at him, she wasn't thinking about her captors or about how small their chances of getting out of here were—or anything else for that matter except maybe taking his head off.

  Oh, not that he'd started all of this because of the kindness of his heart. No, she irritated him beyond measure. With her stylish clothes and her whining about having to run for her own life. But now that she was giving as good as she got … now that he saw that fire of temper in her eyes … damned if he wasn't having a good time.

  "Oh yes," she said nodding, "that's a very cogent argument."

  "Ah," he replied with a chuckle, "fifty-cent words. Trying to confuse the 'help'?"

  "You're really a pain in the—"

  "Now, that's not very ladylike, is it?" he asked, cutting her off just in time.

  Inhaling sharply, she drew a long, deep breath into her lungs and held it. That did amazing things for her bustline, though Travis knew that if she realized he was noticing, she'd cut it out.

  "I refuse to argue with you anymore."

  "Can't think of a good comeback, eh?"

  She shot him a glare that probably turned the rich boys she was used to into a pillar of ice. Travis wasn't impressed … or intimidated.

  After a long minute or two she unfolded her arms and reached for her purse. Ignoring him completely, she flipped it open and began to rummage inside.

  "You're a very annoying man," she muttered beneath her breath.

  "Yeah and you're a walk in the park."

  Her head snapped up and she gave him another one of those "mistress to half-wit servant" looks.

  "I'm so happy I can amuse you," she said wryly. "You know, you may be used to this sort of thing, but I'm not."

  "I can see that."

  "And," she continued, keeping her hands fisted inside her purse while she looked up at him, "I don't appreciate being harassed by the man who was sent here to save me."

  "And I don't appreciate listening to you complain, when it was your fault we missed the ride."

  "You waved the helicopter off."

  He leaned in close, locking his gaze with hers. "One man had already gone down. I waved 'em off so everyone else wouldn't die while they waited on us."

  "That's not fair."

  "But accurate."

  She inhaled sharply, let it out again, then asked, "That man. Do you think he's…"

  Travis closed his mind to that thought. He didn't know who'd been standing in the open doorway of the chopper. But whoever he was, he was a fellow Marine, and Travis sure as hell didn't want to think the man had been killed because Travis hadn't been able to move the princess along any faster.

  "I don't know." He narrowed his gaze at her. "But one man hurt was enough, don't you think?"

  Her lips flattened into a thin line, and her eyes glimmered with what he thought might be tears. But he couldn't be sure, and in an instant that softness was gone again.

  "Fine," she conceded. "It was my fault. Forgive me for not wearing my sneakers and jeans. But I didn't expect to be kidnapped and held for ransom. If I'd known I was going to have to make a desert trek…"

  "You wouldn't have done a damn thing different."

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Swinging her hair back out of her face, she asked, "You really don't like me very much, do you?"

  A spurt of irritation shot through him. And that irritation was aimed at both her and himself. She'd been right about one thing, anyway. He didn't have the right to judge her. She was his mission, pure and simple. And beyond that, there was nothing. With that thought in mind, he said, "I'll tell you what, princess. Four of us, my friends and I, came into this little hellhole to pull your pretty butt out of trouble." He leaned in toward her again, mindful of the fire. "We raced across the desert, laid down cover fire, risked a chopper pilot and his crew—got one man wounded, maybe worse—and not once … not once, since the moment you opened your eyes to look into mine, have you even said, Thank you."

  Even in the firelight, he saw the flush that stained her pale, smooth skin, and Travis knew he'd hit his mark. For all the good it did him.

  Then, even more irritated that he'd said too much, he picked up the stick, pulled it away from the fire and gingerly tested the snake meat with two fingers. Glancing at her, he said, "It's done."

  "Uh-huh." She wasn't convinced.

  "You'll like it."

  "Let me guess," she said. "Tastes just like chicken."

  "Pretty much," he agreed.

  "I'll never know for sure," Lisa said, watching the skewered meat as if half expecting it to still be able to strike. "No way am I going to eat a snake."

  "We both need to eat," he said, his tone deliberately patient. "And believe me when I say that this snake tastes better than a tuna-casserole MRE."

  Confusion shone in her eyes before she warily asked, "Okay, I admit it. I have to know. What exactly is an MRE?"

  "Meals ready to eat," he said shortly, and pulled a thick, green plastic, rectangular package from his pack. Stabbing the end of the shish kebab stick into the dirt, he ripped open the plastic and pulled out a flat, brown-cardboard box. He held it out to her. Stamped on one end, were the words Tuna Casserole.

  "Good Lord," she said, looking from the box to his dark brown eyes. "They expect you to eat something that comes packaged like that?"

  "Yep," he said with a shrug, then added, "and it's not half-bad, either. But the snake'll be better."

  "No thanks."

  His features tightened briefly. "Up to you, but you'll be almighty hungry before too long."

  Lisa smiled and pulled her hands free of her purse. Travis's gaze dropped to what she held. Two big chunks of bread.

  "You have food in there?" he asked, surprised.

  "Why else would I need my purse?" she retorted. "Like you said, there aren't many malls out here."

  Travis winced slightly as he felt his own words coming back to bite him in the ass. "Where'd you get it?" he asked softly.

  She shrugged and began to pull more food out of that saddlebag of hers. Pieces of dried meat, parts of oranges, a handful of dates. "Every time they fed me, I hid half of whatever it was. Then, when they forgot to feed me, I'd at least have something." She shrugged as if it didn't matter, and that shrug hit him hard.

  "You hid part of your food," he repeated, looking at her with a new admiration. And damn it, respect filled him, too. She'd survived. It probably hadn't been easy, either. He would have figured that a woman like her would collapse under the conditions she'd been living in. But she'd not only stood up to them, she'd come out on top. She'd done what she had to do to survive. She'd used her head, protecting herself, looking out for the future. Not many people would have been smart—or strong enough to keep back extra food just in case.

  The princess had just gone up several notches in his estimation.

  "It only made sense," she said, obviously trying to make light of what she'd done. "After all, who knew if they'd get tired of feeding a spoiled little rich girl. I thought it would be smart to store some food … just in case."

  Travis nodded thoughtfully and met her gaze. "It was smart. Damn smart. Most people would have eaten when they were hungry, not thinking about tomorrow."

  She smiled then, and something inside Travis's chest lurched hard against his rib cage. Much to his own surprise, he realized it was his heart.

  "Would you like some bread to go along with your snake?" she asked, holding out a chunk of flat bread toward him.

  "Yeah, princess—Lisa," he corrected. "I believe I would. Thanks."

  Her fingers brushed across his skin and Travis tried not to think a
bout the warmth blasting its way through his veins at her slightest touch. Then her gaze locked with his, and she very clearly said, "No, Travis. Thank you."

  And staring into those sea-blue eyes of hers, he knew a bridge had sprung up between them.

  It might be a little shaky … but it was there.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  With the words she should have said hours ago, something indefinable changed between them. Lisa felt it. And she knew he did, too. She pulled her hand back and tried not to notice the tingling in her fingertips. But it was as if she'd touched a live electrical wire rather than the callused palm of a man's hand. Her skin hummed with an energy she'd never felt before, and she wasn't at all sure what to do about it.

  This possibility had never occurred to her.

  She'd never counted on such an instant, overpowering attraction.

  Especially to a man who was so completely the opposite of what she'd always thought of as "her type."

  Lisa would be the first to admit that she hadn't shown great judgment in the past. After all, you couldn't make and break five engagements and not start doubting your ability to choose wisely.

  Her string of fiancés proved that much. A doctor, a lawyer, an investment banker, a college professor and a stock broker. The closest she'd ever come to the "wild side" was her professor. He taught parapsychology and though it was weird, he was a professor. And though none of them had worked out, they had at least made sense.

  This thrumming, pulse pounding, dry mouth response to a man she hardly knew did not.

  But knowing that didn't change a thing.

  The men in her past had been professionals. They were a part of her world. She understood them in a way she would never be able to understand this man with the serious Daniel Boone fixation.

  And it didn't seem to matter.

  Something flashed in Travis's chocolate eyes, and Lisa sucked in a quiet breath. Something hot and liquid settled low in the pit of her stomach and sent out tentacles of awareness that reached every corner of her body. Wow. If just touching his hand could do that to her, she wondered what a kiss would be like.