He felt so real that she opened her eyes. The darkness was absolute now, and Homer might have been right there beside her.
"It should have been you here, Homer, not me," she whispered. "I can't even figure out which end is up."
What Homer wouldn't have given for this opportunity. A chance to actually see the living past, as it happened. To learn a thousand details no historical account could pass on. To return to the twentieth century with knowledge no living person possessed…
Bull, Homer's imaginary voice interrupted. This is your adventure, Brat—yours and no one else's. You were sent here for a reason.
Mac pinched the skin between her brows. Sent here? That was a very scary idea, and not the first time it had occurred to her, strange as it was. There were patterns here she couldn't begin to understand.
"So what am I supposed to do, Homer?" What happens if I really do something to alter the course of events? What if my even being here is a temporal disaster? No one ever came up with a guidebook for time travel.
No guidebook, maybe, but there had to be rules. Some way to open the wall again.
And when she found it, she'd have one hell of a choice to make.
The last of her anger drained away. Liam, undoubtedly certain that he had a brilliant future ahead of him. So vibrant, so arrogantly alive.
Stop it, Mac. Just stop it.
But the thought would not go away—no more than the memories of his strong arms lifting her, the handsome and cynical planes of his face, the silhouette of his half-naked body against the tent.
She tossed over in the hammock so hard that it almost capsized. It was a damned good thing that Liam O'Shea was so easy to dislike.
Somehow that thought didn't help.
Chapter Six
The time and my intents
are savage-wild,
More fierce and more
inexorable by far
Than empty tigers or
the roaring sea.
—William Shakespeare
IT WAS ALL her fault.
Liam tossed in the cartaret, trying for a more comfortable position. There didn't seem to be one. Thanks to Miss Bloody-annoying-crazy MacKenzie, he was being robbed of a good night's rest.
By this time he'd expected her to come creeping to his tent, begging for decent shelter from the jungle's nocturnal terrors. He'd been looking forward to seeing her humbled, even if she spit in his eye while making the request.
But she hadn't come, and he wasn't sleeping, and he couldn't think of a single imprecation sufficient to the situation.
He sat up on the cot, scowling into the darkness. Damn the baggage. Ever since he'd found her in the tunnel—whether by accident or design—she'd proven to be the most relentlessly annoying female he'd ever encountered, and the most perplexing.
Heaven must be punishing him for past misdeeds, sending a suffragist avenging angel. Except he'd long since stopped believing that Heaven gave a damn about Liam O'Shea, bad or good. And Mac had a far more likely employer.
Perry.
Liam swung his legs over the edge of the cot, not even bothering to check the ground for scorpions. It kept coming back to that same bloody suspicion, and he couldn't let it go.
He'd given her every chance to betray herself, but she'd responded as if she didn't even recognize his suspicions, as if she had nothing to hide.
Liam stood and paced the length of the tent, ignoring the sweat that trickled from his temples and splashed onto his bare shoulders. What in hell was he to make of her? She had the photograph. She knew Perry's name. She'd shown up the same day Perry had abandoned him—alone and with no sign of an accompanying party.
But if Perry had hired her—crazy as the thought still seemed—his former friend had chosen a very poor tool. If Perry's plan had been to slow Liam down, to delay his journey to the coast and back to San Francisco, it wasn't succeeding.
Mac wasn't even making the attempt. If she'd played the lost and helpless female in need of his help, or the wanton willing to warm his bed in exchange for his protection, he could have made sense of it. But Mac?
She rejected his protection as if it were an insult. She told him crazy stories she expected him to accept as truth.
He'd heard of eccentric female travelers who risked their lives and honor in foreign lands, but he'd never imagined them to be anything like Miss MacKenzie.
Where would Perry have found her? Fernando didn't recognize her, and he'd left with the others before returning to Liam's employ. If she'd ever been with Perry in the jungle, Fernando would have known. But if she hadn't been hired by Perry, who or what was she?
Liam paused at the entrance to the tent and lifted the flap. No light spilled from either champas; she'd probably be sleeping the sleep of the dead just to spite him. That would be just like a woman.
He knew nothing about her, let alone what she might do next. And yet, for all her strange ways, she was still a woman. And like all women, she was weak, needy, fundamentally flawed.
Like Ma. Like Siobhan.
He knew nothing about Miss MacKenzie, but he would learn.
* * *
Liam had the lakeshore to himself for nearly an hour past dawn before Mac turned up.
He paused with his razor against his chin as Mac emerged from the narrow path. Her gaze swept the length of the tiny lake, a blue-brown jewel in a setting of green, and came to rest on him.
He shifted his seat on the folding camp stool and resumed his shaving, watching her out of the corner of his eye. From a distance of several yards he could see her air of uncertainty; she was as easy to read as a babe in arms. Uneasy around him, to be sure—less certain of herself than she pretended.
A very good beginning to the morning.
He smiled injudiciously and earned a nick at the corner of his mouth. Her rumpled clothing, the shirttail that hung almost to her knees, and her mussed hair lent her an almost endearing vulnerability. She suddenly seemed like a lost child, in spite of her sharp tongue and bold behavior. Certainly as incapable of caring for herself in this wilderness as any child would have been.
But he knew, in spite of her outward lack of curves, that she was a woman. He knew it with his body. He'd felt the pressure of her small breasts against his chest, lifted her scant weight in his arms.
He felt it even now.
"Good morning, Mac," he said.
She started, clearly thinking that her arrival had gone unremarked. She patted briefly at her hair as if to tame it into order, tugged at her shirttail, and threw back her shoulders in familiar defiance.
"Fernando told me I could find you here."
He rinsed his razor in the gourd of water on the ground between his feet and toweled his face, dabbing his cuts gingerly. The Maya pendant swung against his bare chest, reminding him of his abrupt decision to put it on this morning. As a reminder—a reminder and a visible pledge. As a symbol of friendship it no longer had any meaning, but as a symbol of betrayal…
He stilled the pendant with one hand, noting the way Mac focused on it. Or on his chest, as if she'd never seen a half-naked man before.
"Did you miss my company?" he asked.
She flashed straight white teeth. "Not in the least. I slept like a baby. Amazing how comfortable those hammocks are."
Liam slapped the towel over his shoulder. She was not a good liar; her dark eyes were deeply shadowed with sleeplessness. "And did Fernando give you breakfast?"
She strolled closer, looking past him at the lake. "He did, thanks." She ran her hands through her hair again and plucked at the cloth of her shirt.
Liam smothered a grin. He knew exactly what she was thinking. The morning mist had lifted, and the day promised to be as hot as any other in the past week. There was not so much as a cloud in the sky to mar the tempting serenity of the water. It provided a perfect place for bathing, formed by a rain-swollen stream and cut off by a shift in the water's course.
"I think you need a bath, Miss MacKenzie," he said.
"How astute of you to notice. As a matter of fact, I—" He noted with interest that it was her bare ears, and not her cheeks, that reddened. "I came down here to wash up. And to ask if you…" She choked on her request and finished in a rush. "If you had any spare clothes I could borrow until mine are clean."
So she was finally reduced to asking him for something. Liam stretched his legs and worked the muscles of his shoulders lazily.
"I have no corsets and such with me," he said, watching her. "Nothing, I'm afraid, that would tempt a female."
She shuddered. "I don't need a… corset." Her gaze followed the movements of his shoulders almost boldly; maybe she had seen a half-naked man before. The thought unaccountably annoyed him.
"If you have any spare pants and shirts—"
"Mine? You'd drown in them."
She cleared her throat. "I don't have a lot of choice, O'Shea."
He gave her request due consideration. Thin as she was, she was tall enough that one of his shirts might not fall much below her knees. The thought of seeing her dressed in his clothes had a peculiar effect on him, and his grin faded. He'd thought her mannish garb outrageous, and yet…
"Fernando's would fit better," he said brusquely, "but he hasn't any spares himself. I'll find you something."
"Thanks." Her voice was low and husky, so unlike Caroline's sweet soprano. "If, um, if you're done here, maybe I could use the lake?"
He relaxed and folded his arms. "It doesn't belong to me. Help yourself."
Her small, square jaw tightened. "I'd appreciate some privacy."
"I'm confused. I thought you said that women in your time are the equals of their men, and have left behind such feminine sensibilities."
"Common courtesy still exists—at least most of the time."
"By no means would I be discourteous. But I'm not leaving you here alone. I'll fetch the clothes now, and that should give you enough time to preserve your modesty."
"Really, it's not necess—" She noted his expression and thought better of her protest. "Could you at least stay out of sight?"
"My sight, or yours?"
"You know what I mean."
"You do know how to swim?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I'll go fetch the clothes."
"Thanks." She looked at her muddy, booted feet. "I mean it."
Liam grabbed the stool and collapsed it. I think I've learned one thing about you, Mac, he thought. You seldom say anything you don't mean.
Aloud, he said, "Try not to frighten the water snakes and crocodiles during your bath, Mac."
Her answer was muffled and undoubtedly rude. He knew she didn't move while he was in view, and probably not for some time after he left the lake behind.
Liam slowed, frowning. Damn him for a fool, he was imagining Mac down in the lake. Imagining her clean, fair skin streaked with fresh water rather than sweat; her movements unhurried and easy in solitude. Touching her small, firm breasts with her hands, stroking her thighs clean of mud…
You haven't had a woman in months, he reminded himself. And that restraint had been due to his guardianship of Caroline—and the knowledge that soon he would seal her safety and future by asking her to marry him.
Not that he'd ever expect Caroline to satisfy his needs. She was a lady. She was everything a man could want in a wife, graceful and lovely and feminine. Meant to be cherished and protected.
But as for sharing her bed… Liam tried to imagine it, and as always his mind refused to cooperate. He'd known her since she was a child. Desire would surely come in time.
The entire uncomfortable line of thought was neatly severed by another mental image of Mac.
Damn her.
Fernando was nowhere to be seen when he reached camp. Liam went into the tent, tossed his shaving gear on the desk, and rummaged through his trunk of clean clothes. He tugged on a shirt and snagged another from the trunk, one of his older ones. It would do well enough for her. He found a pair of loose cotton trousers and shook them out. They'd go around her twice, and they were of a thinner material than her own. Wet through, they'd leave nothing to the imagination.
Damn it to hell. Why was he thinking of her this way?
He grabbed the shirt and trousers and walked the quarter mile to the lake at a furious pace. As he reached the end of the path he heard splashing and a husky voice raised in some tuneless melody.
She was singing. He stopped and cocked his head, incredulous. Her song was as unmelodious as her overly bold features were lacking in beauty, but there was an artlessness to it, a simple and startling joy, as if she found nothing in the world so wonderful as bathing in a jungle lake.
He couldn't keep himself from stepping out from the path.
She stood waist-deep in the lake, her back to the shore. His first thought was that she had more curves than he had expected, her waist tiny and her hips not nearly as slim as a boy's. He had little more time to contemplate that pleasant discovery before she gave a little hop and dove under the water. She emerged facing him, shaking thick dark hair from her forehead.
She remained oblivious just long enough to allow him an unobstructed view of her breasts. They were hardly large, but they were firm and well shaped, the nipples puckered into buds. Her shoulders and arms suggested a slender strength, and her neck was surprisingly graceful. Her belly was flat, and his gaze drifted lower as she began to wade toward the shore.
Until she saw him. Her eyes widened, and she backpedaled into deeper water, arms flailing. She plunged under the surface and reemerged only to the chin. She tossed her hair with a fierce snap.
"Damn you, O'Shea—I thought you were going to give me some privacy!"
He couldn't help but grin. She looked like a half-drowned cat, dripping wet and hissing with rage.
"I seem to have mistimed my return," he said, displaying the clothes he'd brought. "You did want these?"
Her glance took in the shirt and trousers and shifted to her own, rinsed clean of mud and draped over low branches to dry. "Just leave them there, on the bushes."
Liam did as she asked, bowing low. "Can I get you anything else, Miss MacKenzie?"
The water rippled as she crossed her arms. "You could let me get out."
"Why in such a hurry? You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
"I was."
"It is beautiful here," he said lazily. "I'm almost tempted to take a second swim myself."
She bobbed lower in the water. "Don't you dare."
"What are you afraid of? I already promised you'd find me no threat to your honor."
"And what about your honor, huh? Can't you at least pretend to be a… a gentleman?"
"You'd test any man's gentlemanly conduct to the limit," he said lazily. He squatted where he was, hands dangling between his knees. "In any case, I'm rather curious to see what you have hidden."
She was mute—fuming, no doubt. "At least turn your back."
He sighed. "Very well."
"Give me your word."
So she'd guessed that was the one way to make him do what she wanted. "My word on it," he said. He scooted around until he faced the path, expecting her to take some time about trusting him. But he could hear her scramble out of the water almost the moment his back was turned. Her feet squelched over the muddy bank at a rapid pace. There was a brief pause when all he could hear was her breathing, and then she darted up beside him to snatch the clothing he'd left hanging on the bushes. Pale, bare skin flashed in the corner of his vision.
He kept his promise and let her dress in peace. When he turned, she was enveloped in his clothing, shirt cuffs dangling to her fingertips as she bent to roll up the trouser legs. That accomplished, she straightened, and the waistband of the pants fell to her hips. She grabbed at them and hung on, her ears fiery.
"You need a belt, Mac, or a good length of rope," he commented. "But otherwise…"
Otherwise, she looked… He frowned. The only words that came to mind were frankly nonsense. Patches
of damp shirt clung to her body, including a large portion of one breast and brown nipple. Her legs were invisible, but the very looseness of the trousers was strangely alluring.
"A belt would be useful," she said, folding her body to shield her chest and simultaneously keep her trousers from puddling around her ankles. "Too bad this jungle doesn't have a nice Banana Republic."
"Banana—"
"Never mind. Forget I said that."
They stared at each other. Liam felt something so powerful and unanticipated that he bowed to impulse. In a few rapid strides he closed the distance between them and pulled her hard against his body.
Her lips were unexpectedly sweet. He tested her innocence with a quick thrust of his tongue between them. She opened her mouth on a gasp, allowing him deeper access.
She had been kissed before. He was certain of it. She didn't shriek or beat at him or pretend to swoon, any of which acts would have caused him to let her go instantly. Her astonishment was real, but it was untainted by fear or virginal disgust.
To be sure, the resistance he felt in her body was unfeigned. She was no whore used to being mauled by men. If she were acting now it was beyond his ability to recognize it.
Neither virgin nor whore. Unlike any woman he'd ever known. Astonishingly feminine in his arms, wiry and strong though she was. No fragility, no need to hold back as he embraced her.
And if she didn't fully return his kiss, she sure as hell wasn't hating it.
He had nearly half a minute of enjoying her astonished and unguarded compliance before she began to resist. He kept her imprisoned until he had taken full measure of her lips. By then she had gone rigid as a board in his arms, but he'd made his point and satisfied his impulse.
He released her and stepped back, grinning. "I believe you have some natural talent, Mac. Maybe you should attempt to develop it."
She smiled at him broadly. "Maybe I should."
And she pulled back her arm, made a fist, and planted it violently on his chin.
Chapter Seven
Enough, if something from
our hands have power
TWICE A HERO Page 10
