Expedition of Love (22 page)

"Are you all right?” he asked.

His deep voice, still rough from sleep, washed over her in soft, caressing waves. If he were to say her name now in that mesmerizing tone, she'd literally melt.

Oh, good heavens. She was doing it again, wishing for what couldn't be, for what he didn't want. And still she remained atop his broad form, unwilling to end the exquisite feel of him lying beneath her.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were sleeping here,” she said.

"It's my fault. I should've told you my plans last night before everyone retired."

She nodded as her mind returned to thoughts of him and how making love might feel.

"Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Sleep? With thieves lurking in the dark and images of him constantly plaguing her thoughts? “No. I kept jumping at every little noise. Did you sleep well?"

"No."

"Oh. So, we didn't have any visitors during the night?"

She couldn't stay there much longer carrying on their seemingly innocent conversation. Someone was bound to see, and the way his eyes caressed her face, made her warm in all sorts of unusual places.

"No. No visitors."

"That's good,” she said.

"Very,” he breathed. “About no visitors, I mean."

His gaze slid to her braid hanging alongside her face. Was he remembering sinking his fingers into her hair? Did he want to do so again? The feel of him caressing the strands then holding her head so he could delve deeper into her mouth—she swallowed hard at the memory. Oh, how she wanted to relive the sensation, but knew he wouldn't touch her that way, kiss her that way ever again. Her lying atop him was a fluke, an accident, and it would lead to nothing.

The truthfulness of that thought restored her good sense. “I suppose I should go make the coffee."

"Hmm?"

"Coffee. You need to release me so that I can go prepare it."

His eyes widened as his arms fled from around her body. “I'm sorry, I—"

Kristina sighed as she rose from the comfortable spot, with a sharp pinch in her chest. “Please. Whatever you do, don't apologize again.” She couldn't bear to hear how he shouldn't have touched her, or held her, it would ruin the lingering warmth of his body against hers.

Without a backward glance, she marched toward the cook tent. Oh, why did she have to want him, of all people, and why so intensely?

She yanked the coffeepot from the table and proceeded to make her famous brew, muttering question after question to herself. If she were experiencing a chemical reaction to the man, then there should be a chemical cure.

But what if it wasn't chemical?

Refusing to go any further with her analysis, fearing what she might deduce, she concentrated on her task. She stirred up the embers and added more kindling to the small iron cookstove, then filled the pot with just the right amount of water and grounds.

As the coffee rose to a boil, she absently thanked her father for insisting they bring along the stove. Although cumbersome beyond belief, it offered up a small sense of civilization. Cooking over an open fire was more romantic than efficient, and she'd had her fill of ridiculous romantic notions.

Once the coffee was ready, she sat holding a steaming cup, staring blankly into its inky depths, her thoughts returning to her dilemma.

"Chemical, physical, emotional. Far too many variables to deal with at one time", she muttered then took a sip.

She would have to concentrate on them singularly, but the emotional element worried her the most. Addressing feelings she buried long ago, feelings she didn't wish to deal with, would be her greatest battle. One she wasn't sure she could win.

Antonio joined her at the table, jarring her from her thoughts. “Good morning, Chica."

His teasing smile lightened her heart, helping her to forget the unfamiliar, unwanted ache throbbing inside her. “Good morning."

She rose and fixed him a cup of coffee, then returned to the table and his wide smile. He always made her feel better, but the nagging fear that he was in some sort of trouble tainted the beginnings of her good mood. If only she could find out what he was up to with those dreadful men.

"Are you going to take more photographs today?” he asked.

"Of course. That's why I'm here.” She looked at him, an idea coming to mind. “Do you realize that out of all the photographs I've taken, you aren't in a single one?"

Thrilled to have something to take pictures of other than the usual fossils and a disturbing doctor, she snatched Antonio's hand, spilling some of his coffee, and pulled him outside in the bright early morning light toward her camera. He would serve as the perfect distraction from her problems.

"You stand right over there, and I'll take your picture."

Laughing, he said, “Oh, Chica. You do not want my picture."

"Of course I do, don't be silly.” She yanked the large piece of canvas away and made a quick check of her camera. “I'll be able to take this out to look at it whenever I like, and see your handsome face smiling back at me. I'll even make some copies for your father and mother."

"Thank you, Kristina. That I would like very much."

As she positioned her lens at just the right angle, the sound of horses approaching caught her ear. Glancing out to the horizon, she spied several men riding toward them. “It seems your friends have returned."

"No, not friends."

"Then who are they? And I refuse to be brushed off any longer."

"No one you need concern yourself with, Chica.” He moved to meet the men before they reached the camp. She started to follow. “No, Kristina. Stay here."

"But—"

He held her shoulders firmly. “No. I do not wish you to be anywhere near them."

His cool, foreboding voice sent a chill down her spine. She nodded, suddenly afraid for both of them. He released her and walked toward the men.

Pushing the irritating fear aside, quite sick of her constant anxiety, she moved closer, hiding behind one of the tents. Straining to listen to their conversation, she could make out something about meeting at the regular place.

Why? What were they doing that required them to meet so secretively? Antonio couldn't possibly have anything to do with the missing fossils, could he?

No. She refused to believe any such thing about her friend. There was a great deal more going on than missing fossils.

"A spy as well. How interesting."

Her skin crawled at the sound of Mr. Walters’ voice. Turning, without a speck of guilt on her face, she gave him a cool glance, then casually walked off before Antonio spotted her. Discovering what he was involved in would have to wait, but she would definitely get to the bottom of it.

Standing beside Edwin, Stephen caught sight of Kristina moving toward her camera, then returned his gaze to their visitors. “What do you suppose they want with Antonio?"

"I don't know. I suspect Enrico knows but for the life of me I couldn't get much information out of him."

"At least you tried. Did you learn anything we don't already know?"

"No, not related to the fossils. But he did mention something about cattle rustling. I find that interesting, in light of our guests. Don't you?"

He turned to face Edwin. “Very. However, that doesn't explain the missing fossils."

With a sigh, his friend turned toward the cook tent as the men rode away. “I wonder if there are more than two foxes in the hen house."

Stephen didn't want to agree with him, but the existence of a second thief was plausible. He only hoped it was just fossils and cattle they wanted.

Looking back across the compound, he watched Kristina gather her equipment with her latest guard, Mr. Anderson, hovering close by.

How much longer would he be able to hold back? After she landed on top of him that morning, it had taken several minutes for him to cool his heated blood. He'd been so close to rolling her over and burying himself deep inside her he could barely breathe.

Perhaps he should call an end to the expedition. Remove himself from the constant torment of her presence. Save her from whatever evil lurked out on the plateau and return home with an empty ship, a ruined career, and a dismally lonely life.

All day, Kristina felt Mr. Walters’ eyes on her. She knew he would press his point within the next day or so, and she still hadn't figured out what to do. Having anything to do with him was completely out of the question, but how to avoid it without hurting her father in the process?

Her gaze landed on Stephen as it did every few minutes or so, watching him work. She adored the way the wind tousled his hair. He needed a haircut as did all the men, but she liked how the curls brushed his collar, giving him a roguish air. He looked so much like the dashing explorer she used to dream about when she was a girl.

Perhaps that was why she felt so strongly about him. That, mixed with the odd chemistry between them, made a very potent brew. One that seemed to be slowly poisoning her system, creating all sorts of lascivious thoughts.

And what of her plans to battle these persistent urges? Nothing would come from wanting him regardless of what drove her insane desire. He'd made it painfully clear that he didn't wish to share her bed. But if he was so concerned about propriety, then why hadn't he attempted to court her instead? Could he be afraid her father would deny him? Surely he couldn't believe that. Her father would more than welcome the match.

"Good grief,” she grumbled, resting her head in her hands. What on earth was she thinking? She didn't want to be courted, she only wanted to be intimate with man, not marry him. This infernal witch's brew stirring inside her was becoming more dangerous with each passing day.

The wind whipped her braid around, freeing several strands. Lifting her head, she tucked them back so they wouldn't be a nuisance and peered over her spectacles around the camp and dig site. The expedition would end soon, and they would all be returning to New York and their separate lives.

A small smile teased the edges of her mouth. Even with the prodigious throbbing she felt whenever Stephen was near or the way Mr. Walters continuously irritated her, she wouldn't trade a moment of their adventure for boring old New York.

Deciding to retire early and avoid any further confrontations with Mr. Walters, or uncomfortable moments with Stephen, she covered-up her equipment, then made her way to her tent. After the previous sleepless night, she hoped to have more luck by dozing off before her father retired and began his incessant snoring. Of course she would also have to could keep a certain man from invading her thoughts every five minutes.

Hours later, she awoke to the sound of her father's snorts and murmurings. Sleep would not be returning any time soon. She pulled on her work clothes, slipped her small handgun into her pants pocket, and tiptoed from the tent for some fresh air.

Careful not to trip over the sleeping lump at her feet, she stepped around her latest appointed protector. Poor Mr. Anderson. He wasn't much of a bodyguard.

Stealing away for a few moments, Kristina relished the absence of snoring and welcomed the night sounds of the plateau. She admired the beauty of the night sky alight with millions of twinkling stars and took a deep satisfying breath.

How she yearned for her large soft bed at home and the long nights of dreamless sleep. With almost a month left in Argentina, she couldn't imagine how was she going to survive if she couldn't sleep, could barely eat, and was unable to put two intelligent thoughts together without ending up daydreaming about Stephen Baxter.

Whispers in Spanish interrupted her endless contemplation.

"I'm telling you, they aren't worth anything!"

Antonio? What was he doing lurking about and to whom was he talking?

"I think you're trying to cheat us. These gringos wouldn't be here if these things weren't valuable."

She didn't recognize the other voice, but had a sneaking suspicion it was one of the men who'd rode up to camp that morning. Edging closer, she listened to their argument.

"Fool! Leave the boxes or I'll talk to Raul,” Antonio threatened. “He won't be very pleased that you're jeopardizing the operation."

The other man muttered several words she didn't know, but she understood enough. He was extremely put out about being told what to do.

"And bring back the ones you took,” Antonio said.

"Not until I know what they're worth. And don't think you can find them. I've hidden them well."

Antonio cursed as their shadows shifted, and she ducked beneath the wagon, praying they hadn't seen her.

"Go back to the meeting place and wait. I'll be there tomorrow,” Antonio snarled.

"You had better. Or it will be me who talks to Raul."

They separated and footsteps faded into the night. The faint whinny of a horse reached her ears, and she realized the unknown man, their thief, was about to ride off. She had to follow him. He knew where the stolen fossils were.

For a fraction of a second she considered rousing the others, but knew she would lose valuable time and possibly the thief's trail. They would fuss about her safety and most likely blame Antonio for the thefts. Although she knew he was innocent and had tried to get the man to return the fossils, he was still involved in something, or else he would've said something before.

Hurrying to the cook tent, she grabbed a canteen and a sack. Once she filled her bag with a few meager supplies, Krstina swiftly made her way to the horses corralled at the edge of camp. Taking the first one she came to, she picked up one of the bridles lying over a nearby crate and slipped it between his teeth. With no time for a saddle, she pulled herself atop the animal's bareback, then scanned the dimly lit plateau for their thief.

She barely made out the silhouette of a man on a horse in the distance, riding east. If it weren't for the beginning of dawn, she wouldn't have spotted him at all. She had taken more time to leave than she should have.

Spurring her horse to follow, she set out across the plateau, trailing him at a safe distance. After more than an hour of riding, he disappeared around an outcropping of rock.