He stopped, still holding her possessively against his chest. Lisa waited for him to lower her gently to the cot. Nothing happened. After a moment she opened her eyes, puzzled, to find him looking down at her with an odd, half-rueful expression. She didn’t understand his look, but she certainly wasn’t in the mood to puzzle it out. Murmuring soft encouragement to him, she shamelessly pressed her tingling breasts against the hard, hairy wall of his chest. She was impatient, more than impatient, to experience again the ecstasy of his lovemaking. . . . She pressed nibbling little kisses into the curve of his neck. Still he didn’t move. Annoyed and faintly bewildered, she looked up at him questioningly. His eyes met hers. Then his mouth twisted mockingly, and he laughed.
Lisa froze. She was still staring up at him, her mouth slightly open, when she felt his arms drop away from her. Suddenly she was falling through space to land with a jarring thud on the cot. Stunned, she lay where he had dropped her. Her eyes blinked once or twice in shocked incomprehension as he turned away and unhurriedly began to dress.
“Sam . . . ?”
He had put on his shorts and was stepping into his pants, pulling them up over his muscular, hair-roughened thighs as Lisa watched with hungry bewilderment. He zipped them up, and was buckling his belt with careless hands when he finally looked up to meet her questioning gaze. Lisa was taken aback by the hostility she saw in those blue eyes.
“Honey, with a girl like you, the term rape doesn’t even begin to apply,” he said cruelly, then gathered up his shirt and gunbelt in one hand, swung on his heel, and strode from the tent.
Lisa felt as if she had suffered a crippling blow to her midsection. For long moments after he had gone, she lay huddled on the cot, feeling sick. It had taken her shocked brain only seconds to remember that Sam had deliberately set out to test her—to humiliate her. And, dear God, had he succeeded! Beyond anything he could have planned or imagined! She felt like crawling off and hiding under the nearest rock, never again to face the light of day. He had wanted her, she knew he had. She was not so innocent or naîve as to fail to understand the significance of the heat and throbbing strength of him. But he had kept a tight rein on his own appetites, while making her want him so much that she was willing to sacrifice pride, self-respect, everything in return for the physical satisfaction her body craved. He had made her beg for him, damn him to hell, and then he had laughed and turned away! The memory of every word, every touch, every sigh returned to haunt Lisa in all too vivid detail. She groaned, rolling onto her stomach to bury her face in the flat pillow. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as she fought to exclude the images that tormented her. He had aroused her with cool calculation, she told herself despairingly, and she would never get over it—never. She would hate him for the rest of her life. If only she could get out of her mind the picture of herself naked in his arms, clinging to him shamelessly as she pressed hot little kisses into the salty brownness of his neck!
After a while it occurred to her that she was still in Sam’s tent, lying in his cot, as naked as the day she was born. If one thing was more certain than any other in this crazy world, it was that Sam would be sure to return. With a complete reversal of her earlier opinion of it, she longed for her own tent. The small green shelter seemed to offer a security that she desperately needed. She sat up abruptly, aiming to return to her tent before Sam returned to his. If he found her here, naked, he would probably assume that she was shamelessly waiting for him. . . . Lisa’s face burned at the very idea. Detestable, arrogant beast! She swung her legs off the cot and stood up, determined to leave that very instant. Wildly she looked around for something to cover her nakedness. There was only the blanket. . . . Lisa’s hell-bent desire to make herself scarce faltered momentarily at the picture of herself parading through the already-sure-to-be-snickering camp clad only in a blanket. But what other choice did she have? Anything was preferable to still being there when Sam returned.
The thought galvanized Lisa into action. She grabbed the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around herself in the same sarong style she had used earlier. What did it matter if the whole camp laughed and drew their own conclusions about what had happened inside Sam’s tent? It was preferable by far to having to face Sam again right now. . . . Lisa headed purposefully toward the flap. A slight sound from just outside stopped her in her tracks. Someone was approaching the tent—and she had a shrewd idea of who that someone had to be. She froze, her face coloring ridiculously, her eyes glued to the tent flap. Her worst fears were confirmed when Sam entered, ducking his dark head as he stepped inside. Her clothes and shoes dangled from one strong brown hand.
He straightened, surveying her briefly as she stood there poised for flight. His mouth quirked, and then he reached out a hand to flick on the battery-powered lamp that stood on an overturned crate near him. The tent was immediately flooded with light. Lisa automatically put up a hand to shield her eyes, hating the brightness that would reveal to him every nuance of her expression. She thought she would want to die if he should guess how very sick of herself he had made her. Finally she realized that she would have to drop her protective hand. She did so, reluctantly, to find that Sam was watching her, his dark face inscrutable.
“Here,” he said, tossing her clothes at her.
Lisa made no move to catch them, and they fell to the floor at her feet, surrounding her. Her eyes seemed glued to Sam’s face. To her fury, she could feel hot pink color wash into her cheeks. Sam grinned hatefully. It was that grin that allowed Lisa to get a grip on herself. Her temper began to simmer, thankfully driving out the humiliation that threatened to make a bigger fool out of her than he had done already. Her eyes glittered like green glass as they met his. It was an effort to hold back the hot words that trembled on the tip of her tongue. But she knew that she would only amuse him if she let him know how much his particular brand of punishment had gotten under her skin. For the sake of her own self-respect, she had to show him that she was as unmoved by their late, unlamented encounter as he seemed to be.
“Thank you,” Lisa said evenly, and was pardonably proud of herself for her coolness. Sam’s eyes narrowed as they rested on her face. Whatever he had been expecting, she realized that she had surprised him with her calm.
“Get dressed,” he ordered briefly.
Lisa looked at him with loathing. “Certainly.” Her voice was icy cold. “If you’ll leave, I’ll be more than glad to.”
Sam snorted. “Back to playing Little Miss Modesty, are we? I thought we’d already agreed that it’s a little late for that.”
It was all Lisa could do not to launch herself at that sneering face, her teeth and nails bared. But she had done that once already today, and the results had been something less than satisfactory. She could just imagine his delight if she were to give way to such an impulse. It would give him the excuse to humiliate her once again, and somehow Lisa had the feeling that humiliating her was something he enjoyed doing.
“You’re right, of course,” she answered as coolly as she could, hoping that he would not read in her eyes the bitter antagonism she felt.
Sam said nothing. Something flickered for just an instant in those blue eyes, and then they were once again impenetrable as they watched her. Lisa refused to wonder what that fleeting expression meant. Instead, she bent with unconscious grace to pick up her clothes from where they lay on the floor. They were the ones she had been wearing earlier, she saw, and could only suppose that Sam had made the long trip back down to the creek to get them. She hoped with a touch of savagery that he wasn’t expecting any thanks, because he certainly wasn’t going to get them from her!
Lisa dropped the clothes on the cot, glancing at Sam out of the corner of one eye. He was standing just inside the tent, in the center where it was tall enough for him to remain upright. His arms were crossed over his chest, and an annoying little smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. He looked as if he was hoping that she would order him to turn around, or even leave, so that he could
take great pleasure in refusing, thus proving to her once again that he was the indisputable boss. Lisa would be damned before she would give him that satisfaction. She lifted her chin, met his mocking look squarely, and dropped the blanket.
His eyes dropped the length of her body as if he couldn’t help himself, and this time surprise and something else—sexual desire?—were plain in his face. Lisa felt an inward quiver of triumph as she stepped casually into her silky underpants. So the big, bad soldier was not as invulnerable as he liked to appear—that was something to be filed away for future reference. In the meantime, she deliberately took her time getting into the rest of her clothes. His face was once again unreadable, but Lisa knew that she had succeeded in disconcerting him. That knowledge went a long way toward soothing the humiliation he had inflicted earlier.
She clipped her bra around her waist and slid it deftly into position, adjusting the cups over her breasts until they fitted smoothly over the rounded flesh. Purposely she ran her hands over her breasts where they swelled into the flimsy, peach-colored garment, casting Sam a sidelong glance as she did so. His eyes were fastened on the barely concealed curves of her breasts. Smiling a little, Lisa allowed her hands to linger teasingly a moment, then slowly finished dressing. It was only as she was buttoning the last button of the raggedy, too-big shirt that she looked at Sam again. His eyes were opaque, his face schooled into his familiar expressionlessness. Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid did he reveal that the sight of her body had disturbed him. But Lisa had seen the brief flare of hunger in his eyes, and it made her feel immeasurably better.
“Enjoy the show?” she asked nastily, with the sensation of getting a little more of her own back on him.
“Very nice,” he drawled, his eyes resting on her face. “But then, I’ve seen more exciting stripteases at fifty-cents-a-head girlie joints. But, pardon me, yours was a dress-tease, wasn’t it? That makes it a little more unique.”
“Why, you . . . !” Lisa spluttered before she thought, furious at being compared to the type of woman who worked in a place such as he described. A satisfied smile curled his lips, and Lisa was brought up short, mentally kicking herself. Round two to him, she thought angrily.
“Honey, if I were you, I’d leave off the insults,” he advised, dropping his arms so that they swung casually at his sides as he moved toward her. Lisa took an instinctive step backward. Sam’s eyebrows rose in scornful inquiry as he merely crossed to the makeshift table in one corner of the tent and bent to look at one of the myriad papers strewn across its top. “Remember that old saying about people in glass houses? A hot little number like yourself is too vulnerable to start throwing dirty names around so freely.”
Lisa’s face flamed. Rage strangled all utterance, which was just as well, she reflected a moment later. By the time she had recovered the use of her voice, she had also recovered control of her temper.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to my tent now,” she said with icy politeness, her eyes shooting daggers at the broad back that faced her as he bent over his papers. Sam didn’t turn.
“Uh-uh,” he answered negligently just as she was stepping toward the tent flap. His attention never wavered from the papers before him.
The casual negative was like fuel on the fire of Lisa’s bottled-up explosion.
“What do you mean, uh-uh?” she questioned carefully.
“Just what I said.” He half-turned to face her, one hand resting on the small table. “You won’t be going back to your tent.”
Lisa gaped at him. “Why not?”
“Because I said so.” He turned fully to face her, perching on the edge of the table and swinging one foot as he talked. Lisa wished fervently that it would break under his weight, sending him crashing to the floor.
“Would you mind elaborating on that a little?”
“Not at all.” He sounded faintly amused. Lisa’s soft mouth tightened ominously. “You are not going back to your tent because I can’t chance a repeat of what happened down by the creek today. A man-hungry little tramp is a menace to the whole situation here. I’ve already had to discipline two of my men because of you, and they aren’t feeling too kindly toward either of us as a result. I’m not going to make a habit of it.”
Lisa’s eyes blazed, but she managed to retain a grip on her slipping temper.
“If I’m not to go back to my tent, where do you suggest I go? Or are you saying that you’re planning to send me home?” As this possibility occurred to her, Lisa’s face brightened. She had not previously had the opportunity to discuss with Sam going home to the good old U.S., but Riley had given her to understand, when she’d asked, that she was stuck here in this godforsaken spot for the duration of whatever operation these brigands were planning. But maybe she’d made such a nuisance of herself that Sam had changed his mind.
“I’m saying, not suggesting, that you’re going nowhere at all.” His eyes met her disappointed ones steadily. For a moment there, she had hoped. . . .
“What do you mean, nowhere?” Her voice was dull, sharpened by just an edge of resentment. Then, as a previously unthought-of possibility occurred to her, she snapped, “I’m certainly not staying in this tent with you!”
“Aren’t you?” The grin in his voice made her want to hit him.
“No, I’m not!” All the light of battle had rushed back into her eyes. She faced him aggressively, her hands clenched at her sides.
“And I say you are.” He was watching her with some amusement, but there was iron beneath his teasing look.
“If you think that I’m moving in here with you, so that you can—can get your rocks off whenever you feel the urge, you can just think again!” Her cheeks flamed with anger. Sam chuckled.
“Such language,” he reproved with a grin, shaking his head in mock dismay. Then, as her eyes stabbed him, the grin faded from his face.
“You’re overlooking one small but important detail, I think,” he said coolly.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t run this show, pretty lady, I do.”
This statement sent gushers of fire shooting through Lisa’s veins. Just who the hell did he think he was, anyway, to order her around like some coolie, to expect her to become his live-in mistress just because he had decided that it would suit him to have ready access to a female body? He might be a man, and therefore bigger and stronger than she, and he might be temporarily in charge of this ragtag crew, but when it came right down to it he was nothing more than a hired soldier scrabbling around in the dirt after a few pennies! While she—she was the granddaughter of one of the wealthiest men in Maryland—possibly in the whole United States! And she felt that it was about time she made the distinction quite clear!
“Listen, mister, and listen good,” she said through her teeth. Her green eyes were leaping in her whitened face as she stared him down. “I don’t take orders from you! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, and I don’t particularly care, but I think it’s time we got a few things straight. Before I got married, my name was Lisa Bennet—does that mean anything to you? Because if not, let me enlighten you! My grandfather is A. Herman Bennet—yes, that’s right, A. Herman Bennet—and in case that still doesn’t ring a bell, let me tell you that he’s one of the richest men in the United States! He’s probably got the whole U.S. Army out looking for me right now! And when they find me I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in your shoes! When I tell them how you’ve treated me, they’ll probably shoot you on the spot!”
By the time Lisa finished this little speech, her breasts were heaving with exertion. Her eyes were fastened on his face with savage satisfaction, waiting for the change to come over it that her grandfather’s name never failed to evoke. Usually she hated to use its authority on her own behalf, but she had reached the end of her rope. It was time he treated her with a little respect!
Maddeningly, Sam didn’t appear particularly perturbed by his new knowledge of her identity. He was still sitting there in
exactly the same way, his foot dangling casually, his blue eyes more speculative than worried as they rested on her heated face.
“So you’re a spoiled little rich girl, are you?” he asked eventually, his tone expressing no more than idle interest. “I should have guessed. No normal adult woman would throw tantrums like a ten-year-old child. Your grandfather should have taken a belt to your butt when you were a kid, and you’d have grown out of that in a hurry. But since he didn’t, and apparently your husband didn’t—by the way, when you get back home, be sure to give the poor S.O.B. my sympathy—I just might rectify the omission. So I wouldn’t press my luck, if I were you.”
Lisa gaped at him. She was so enraged that she thought the top of her head might blow off any second. She opened her mouth, seeking words with which to annihilate him, then closed it again with a snap. There were no words that would do justice to the way she felt at the moment.
She eyed him silently for what seemed like a long time. He returned her look with interest. Her attempt to threaten him with the consequences of his actions had gone flat, like stale Coke. But maybe there was another way. . . . After all, he was here in Rhodesia because he was being paid. Perhaps she could pay him to leave—taking her with him, of course.
“All right, so you don’t care who my grandfather is,” she acknowledged in as reasonable a tone as she could muster. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that he is very, very rich. And he loves me. What would you say if I told you that he would pay you whatever you ask—thirty thousand dollars, forty, you name the price—if you were to take me home safely—now?”
She dangled the carrot before him hopefully.
“I would say no, thank you,” he said coolly. Lisa stared at him, aghast.
“Why not?” she demanded. “You don’t want me here. I don’t want to be here. You want money. I have money. So why not?”
“Because I don’t choose to.” He sounded as if he was beginning to lose patience.
“All right, you don’t have to leave yourself, if you don’t want to,” she bargained desperately, seeing her best chance to get safely away from this whole horrible mess disintegrating before her eyes. “If you could just get somebody—Riley—to take me to the nearest airport, I’d see that you were paid, I swear it. And I’d be out of your hair.”
To Love a Man Page 6
