Expedition of Love (29 page)

After several minutes of painful bliss, he rose from his cot and went to the cook tent. He would need every ounce of strength to get through the rest of the expedition. Seeing her everyday would be torture at its most cruel, but he would rather suffer the pains of her presence, than the emptiness that would be left behind in her absence.

Although her father insisted on sending for a doctor for her and grudgingly for Mr. Walters, she managed to convince him that none one was needed. Their wounds, all of them, would heal in a matter of days.

Proven correct, two days later Mr. Walters was fit enough to leave. Kristina watched from a secluded spot as Stephen escorted him to the wagon where Antonio sat waiting. She'd avoided the odious man completely since that horrible fight, but took extra care to make herself scarce that morning, afraid more insinuations would emerge and cause another bout.

She shivered at the memory of Stephen's handsome face receiving the brunt of his fist. The battle haunted her, replaying over and over in her dreams mixing and melding with her other nightmares. Nightmares of death, of pain, of a wrenching hole in her chest. She prayed that someday she would be able to forget the awful things that happened. Because of her, Stephen had been hurt, and she feared inside as well.

The look on his face and the tone of his voice when he said he didn't want her to leave, resounded time and again in her mind. Had his proposal been born of love and not duty? If so, if her father was correct about his feelings, then she was guilty of a great deal more than promiscuity.

Mr. Walters’ voice pulled her from her painful musings.

"I surmise my thesis is now defunct,” he said.

Stephen crossed his arms as he eyed him, the muscles beneath his tan skin rippling.

Kristina felt a powerful ache deep in her body at the memory of those arms wrapped around her. She still wanted him, still craved his touch, still yearned to feel him pulsing deep inside her.

Clamping her eyes closed, she concentrated on listening to their conversation. Continuing to lust after the man, after all that had happened, after what she feared she had done to him, was criminal.

"As much as I'd like to say it was, I cannot,” Stephen said coolly. “I read your paper before we left New York and have already graded it. You will get your graduate degree. This incident reflects badly on your character, not your skills as a paleontologist."

She opened her eyes and focused her attention on Mr. Walters. A flash of regret crossed his face then changed over to placidness. For a moment she thought he had misgivings about what had transpired between them, but she quickly realized men like Mr. Walters would never change. Their lives, the very foundation of their beliefs were rooted in prejudice and self-importance.

With a nod, he climbed up onto the wagon, ignoring the steely gaze of Antonio, and faced the horizon. He never once looked back as they ambled toward Confluencia.

Kristina watched Stephen's chest expand with a deep breath. The trouble she caused weighed heavily on him. The loss of one of his team members, the irreparable rift between teacher and student was a powerful blow. Oh, if only she'd stayed at home.

He turned and caught her watching him. Dropping her gaze, she hobbled quickly toward the dig and her camera. She didn't want another lecture on rest. He'd hounded her for the past few days about overtaxing herself, but she had to do something to make up for the chaos she caused.

Sitting idly while others worked, allowed her mind to wander and her gaze to drift directly to him. The sheen of sweat glistening on his skin in the bright Argentinean sun, the ripple and flex of his muscles, the gentle tender ministrations of his strong hands, served to drive her to the brink of insanity. Work was her only saving grace.

Sadly, she snapped at his sincere attempts to make her rest, her guilt surfacing as anger. No matter how hard she tried to hold her tongue, she lost control whenever he came near. Anger seemed to be the only way to keep from throwing herself into his arms. If only her body would forget how his hands felt against her skin, how his lips felt against hers, how every cell of her being quaked from his touch. She could have those things again if she married him. Perhaps everyday, if she chose.

"No,” she mumbled, fusing over her camera. She refused to give up her freedom for the pleasure of the flesh. No man was worth sacrificing control of her life, of her dreams and aspirations, whatever they may be. She would follow her own path in the world, alone, without the pain. Her body would simply have to remember that there were other things more important than sex.

She sighed as she sank down to the ground and massaged her ankle. “But it was so wonderful."

"Are you all right, Miss Peterson?” Stephen asked.

She jumped. Why was he always sneaking up on her? She glared up at the root of her problems. “Would you please stop asking me that? I'm fine. I've told you that at least two dozen times."

"I see. Then I'm to understand that talking to yourself is normal for you?"

She quickly went back over her thoughts, scrambling to remember which ones she may have said aloud. If he knew how much she still wanted him, he would find more arguments for marriage, and she wasn't certain she would be able to say no again.

"Miss Peterson?"

"What?” she snapped.

He arched one brow as he looked down at her, a smirk playing at the corners of his wonderful mouth. Oh, the things his lips could do.

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories. “I'm fine."

Listening to his retreating footsteps, she cracked open her eyelids and watched him walk away with long powerful strides. Legs, she remembered keenly, rubbing against hers.

She shuddered, nearly knocking over her tripod situated at her back.

"No more,” she grumbled. She couldn't take the pounding headaches from the internal struggle she continuously had with her body, the ever-present fear of giving in to him, and most of all, the way he looked at her. One moment she could see the familiar desire flaring in his eyes, the next an unsettling sadness.

She decided it would be best for all concerned if she left. Although home would feel terribly empty without her father, it was where she longed to be. Back where everything made sense, where she knew who she was, and what she wanted. Her father could bring the larger items back with him, while she managed the smaller camera equipment and her personal belongings. She would have to tell him, but that would most likely bring on another lecture.

Thinking through what needed to be done, she decided to have Antonio deliver a note to her father long after putting her on the boat to Viedma. It was the only logical thing to do, she thought, refusing to listen to her heart's murmuring cries.

Chapter Sixteen

"It
was
wonderful,” Stephen whispered. Keeping his gaze forward, he refused to look back at her. If he did, he'd turn around, stomp back to her side and scoop her up into his arms.

He knew exactly what she was thinking, he could see it in her eyes, feel it in his heart. She still wanted him, but she didn't love him. And yet even with that cold truth, he would do it all over again, and more.

Antonio returned that evening with little to say about his charge, except that Mr. Walters had been placed on a steamboat for Viedma. Relieved that the last threat to Kristina had been removed, Stephen decided to spend some time alone after the rest of the team retired for the night.

He hoped upon their arrival in New York that Kristina's character and reputation would still be intact. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find it in his heart to trust Geoffrey Walters. A fact that sickened him. In all his years he'd never distrusted and disliked someone so ardently.

And he never imagined loving someone as much as he loved Kristina.

Staring into the dwindling fire, listening to the soft crack and pop of burning wood, he pondered the nights they would never have, the things they would never share.

Stephen grinned at Edwin's snores echoing softly across the compound. He hoped Kristina could sleep through the racket. He never seemed to be able to. Or had it been thoughts of her that always kept him awake?

"Stephen?"

He jumped up from his sprawled out position by the fire and spun to face her. She was lovely with the flames warming her face and the full moon shining in her hair. He cleared his throat and retrieved his spectacles from his jacket pocket.

"Is something wrong?"

Wringing her hands, she moved closer to the fire, her limp nearly imperceptible. “I've thought about this a great deal, and I've decided to leave."

He took two steps toward her, but her hand shot out, stopping him from moving closer.

"Please. Hear me out. I've taken more pictures than you or my father could ever want, and my geological documentation of the strata has been complete for some time. With the fossil extraction moving along as scheduled, you don't really need me. I haven't been much help the last few days as it is. So, I've made plans to have Antonio escort me back to Confluencia."

She blinked rapidly, trying to hide the tears filling her eyes, but he clearly saw them glistening in the firelight. Perhaps she did have some feelings for him, but they weren't enough to convince her to change her mind. Whatever her fears, she had built up a towering wall to hide them, and he wasn't the man who could bring down that wall.

Turning her gaze to the flickering flames, she continued. “I don't wish to tell my father. I'll send him a note after reaching town. Otherwise he'll simply argue with me, and I'd prefer to avoid that."

Stephen's heart screamed for him to beg her to stay, but he turned a deaf ear to its useless pleas. She had made up her mind, and as expected, he wasn't part of her plans. The dull scientist with an encyclopedia for a brain could never be a part of such a vibrant woman's life.

"Then why tell me?” he asked.

"I wanted to thank you for allowing me to accompany your team. It's been—it's been an experience I shall never forget."

"Nor I.” His throat tightened with the simple words that meant so much.

Her mouth turned up in a tremulous smile. “Well, I suppose I should get to bed.” She turned and started toward her tent.

The most wonderful thing that ever happened to him was about to walk out of his life forever, and all he could do was watch. “Good night, Kristina."

She looked over her shoulder, a stray tear shimmering as it ran down her cheek. “Goodbye,” she whispered.

No! He wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not like this.

Before she took another step, he was by her side, pulling her into his arms, nearly crushing the life out of her. Hoping, praying, that if he held her tight enough, she wouldn't walk out of his life.

"I'm sorry, Stephen. I'm so sorry."

Her soft sobs tore at his heart. He stroked her hair and pressed his cheek to her temple. “Shh. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"But I've made such a mess of things with Mr. Walters and—and—"

He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her tear-filled eyes. “Us?"

She nodded with a sniffle.

"Kristina, I wouldn't trade a moment of our time together. I love you.” He quickly placed his finger across her lips before she could speak. “I know you could never love me. I'm nothing but a simple teacher who leads a rather dull life. I've nothing of any real consequence to offer you. I suppose I've known that from the beginning, but it didn't stop me from making love to you. Nothing could stop me from loving you."

Stephen's words of love burned inside her like white-hot coals, piling layer upon layer of guilt and shame on her conscience. Did he truly believe she wouldn't marry him because he saw himself as dreary? Nothing could be further from the truth, and yet she couldn't love him.

He removed his finger from her trembling lips and lowered his mouth to hers. She opened instantly to him, unable to refuse his precious gift. This would be their parting kiss. One she would cherish for the rest of her days.

Their tongues entwined then slowly, painfully, he lifted his mouth from hers.

"Kristina,” he breathed, and forged a silken path of heat down her neck, then up to her ear with his lips. His strong hands caressed the dips and curves of her body.

Her head swam with excitement, as she struggled to end the connection before things went any further. She couldn't make love to him again knowing how he felt.

"I should get to bed,” she murmured.

"Yes, you should."

His arms fell away, and she swayed slightly as she tried to regain enough composure to return to her tent. Before she could take her first step, he lifted her into his arms.

"Stephen, what are you doing?"

"Taking you to bed."

"But my ankle is almost healed. I don't need—"

He silenced her with a demanding kiss, then turned toward his tent. She couldn't believe after everything that happened, knowing she couldn't love him in return, that he still wanted her. “We can't do this. It isn't—"

"Proper?” he said with a broad smile.

Such a wonderful smile, but she didn't want to give him a false sense of hope. She'd hurt him too much already. “I'm still leaving in the morning with Antonio."

His smile slipped away. “I know."

Pushing through the tent flap, he laid her down on his cot and began unbuttoning his shirt. There were so many things she wanted to say, things she wished she could say, but her voice was lost to sweet anticipation.

His broad chest teased her in the cool glow of the moon. Her fingers ached to sift through the dark curls and feel them pressing against her. Although she could never be the woman he needed, the woman he deserved, she wanted him fiercely.

Wearing nothing beneath her shirt, having pulled it on in haste to speak with him, she pushed aside her guilt and undid the buttons then moved to unfasten her dungarees.

His low groan brought a smile to her lips. His hands had stalled at the top of his pants as he watched her undress. Relishing his heated gaze, she stood slowly and slipped out of her clothes, one agonizing inch at a time.