Happily Ever After (24 page)

“Work,”
he said simply. He continued to smile at her, and Sophie’s cheeks heated.

He’d
been far more receptive to her since their encounter that afternoon—a
positive change—but Sophie couldn’t quite enjoy it. She didn’t like this
sudden shyness that had come over her in his presence. She couldn’t even seem
to glance his way without blushing, and the more care he took to put her at
ease, the more embarrassed she became.

Jack
MacAuley had seen far more of her than any man had a right to, and her behavior
had been abominable. Her thoughts were muddled. Something so beautiful couldn’t
possibly have been wrong... and yet she was technically still engaged to
Harlan... at least until she faced him. She hadn’t any right to indulge in such
unseemly behavior with anyone at all.

And
yet, though her cheeks burned, she couldn’t find true regret for what she’d
done.

The
very sight of Jack made her heart catch.

He
set down his papers, giving her his full attention.

Sophie
smiled shyly at him and approached the desk under the pretense of looking at
Harlan’s picture. Lifting it up, she smiled contentedly at her own handiwork,
then set the picture down, tapping it thoughtfully before she glanced back at
Jack.

He
was watching her intently, secretly amused by something. About what, Sophie had
no idea.

His
brows lifted. “You can’t wait to see him, I take it?”

“No,
I really can’t,” she admitted, and it was the truth. She couldn’t wait to read
him his own treacherous words and then fling her ring into his face. Let him
give it to one of his precious native girls!

“It
shows,” he said, peering at her. Suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny,
Sophie made an effort to appear serene. She wasn’t prepared for explanations
just yet.

Somehow,
all of it made her feel a bit of a failure.

Her
mother had sometimes cautioned her not to show her true nature, because she was
certain Sophie would never keep a man. Her temper was too quick, her interests
too masculine, and her hair never remained in place. She reached up and pulled
the ribbon from her hair, letting the strands fall free. She’d spent an
inordinate amount of time trying to make it presentable, but why even try to
restrain it?

It
wasn’t her fault that Harlan was a philandering fool!

“So...”
She toyed with the pale ivory ribbon, wrapping it around the thumb of her hand.
“What are you working on?” she persisted, hoping her question would turn the
attention away from her.

Jack
was looking at her far too knowingly and it made her nervous.

“You
really want to know?”

“Of
course,” she told him. “I’d not have asked otherwise.”

“I
was reading through reports made by colleagues.”

“What
sort of reports?”

“Evidence
discovered along the North American continent which indicates a much older
indigenous peoples than is normally accepted.”

Sophie
unraveled the ribbon from her finger. “In other words ... the natives have been
here much longer than we think?”

“Precisely.”

“I
see.” She was truly interested, but although her fiancé was an expert in the
field of anthropology, she hadn’t the first inkling how their studies were
performed. Harlan never talked to her about anything. “And how would you know
such a thing?”

He
pushed a paper at her. “Take this article, for example...”

Sophie
turned the paper around. It was titled “A Relic of a Bygone Age.”

“That
particular article appeared in Scientific American, on June 5, 1852.”

Sophie
read the scribble at the top of the page, written in what she supposed was
Jack’s hand, Metallic vase from Precambrian rock.

“A
bell-shaped vessel was thrown from the rock in the explosion highlighted in
this article.”

Sophie
scanned the letter, and asked with surprise, “In Massachusetts?”

Jack
nodded portentously. “Yes, indeed. The body of the vessel resembled zinc in
color and on the side was a design inlaid with pure silver. Around the bottom
ran a vine, also inlaid with silver. The chasing, carving, and inlaying were
done by a skilled artisan. It was blown out of solid pudding stone, fifteen
feet below the earth’s surface. That stone dates to the Precambrian Age, which
makes it over six hundred million years old.”

Sophie’s
brows drew together. “That’s remarkable!”

“Yes,
it is,” Jack agreed. “The standard view is that Asian hunters and gatherers
crossed the Bering Strait about twelve thousand years ago.

“That
is quite a discrepancy,” Sophie remarked.

“An
incredible discrepancy. But that report hardly stands alone. There are dozens
of the like.”

“Amazing,”
Sophie said with awe.

Hungry
for more knowledge, she glanced longingly at the stack of reports Jack had
guarded so fiercely.

“Would
you like to read them?”

Sophie
blinked at his question and tried to gauge his expression. Was he serious? Or
merely teasing her? “Really?”

He
nodded, and she gasped in surprise.

“You
truly don’t mind?”

He
merely smiled at her question and pushed the stack towards her. “Only if you
promise to take them straight to your bed and read them there, and nowhere
else.”

Sophie
broke into a wide smile.

“And
no lanterns within five feet,” he demanded further.

Sophie
laughed, although she wanted to take offense. She couldn’t. If she were Jack,
she doubted she’d let herself anywhere near them.

“And
no water, and no ink anywhere near it! And when you are through you are to
place them back in my drawer in a tidy fashion.”

“Good
lord!” Sophie wanted to laugh out loud. “I am not usually so prone to
disasters,” she assured him.

His
brows lifted and his smile widened as well. He sat back in his chair, staring
at her, and said very decisively, “I don’t believe you.”

Sophie
took his papers before he could change his mind, lifting the heavy stack to her
breast, hugging them. There was really nothing she could say in her own
defense, but she could certainly prove it by putting them neatly back into his
desk before morning.

“Thank
you, Jack,” she offered with an appreciative smile.

He
nodded, staring at her still, and his smile seemed suddenly wistful, “Good
night, flower,” he said.

Sophie’s
heart leaped at his endearment.

She
met his gaze, swallowing. It was the second time he’d said that to her ... and
it made her heart beat just as fiercely the second time around. Although they
were standing at least six feet from each other, the mere memory of the first
time made her body instantly warm, and the look in his eyes seized her breath.

She
felt suddenly dizzy.

“Good
night, Jack,” she said in a rush, and practically ran to her bed, drawing the
curtains shut behind her.

CHAPTER 22

Jack
sat watching the curtains long after she’d closed them.

Ridiculous
as the notion was, he envied that stack of papers she had embraced so
protectively.

He
could see her silhouette against the makeshift curtains, a gift of the lanterns
she had lit on the far side of the room. She was curled up in her hammock with
his papers braced on her lap, reading.

He
couldn’t help but watch her as he put up his own hammock and readied himself
for bed ... and wonder. Did Penn know what a gem he had in Sophie?

He
was pretty sure she wasn’t snooping for Penn, and if she was, he doubted she
would find anything in those reports that Penn wouldn’t at once scoff at. The
man’s mind was closed. There was nothing to be lost in letting her read them,
and his views weren’t any secret, either. But he didn’t want to believe any
longer that she was in cahoots with Penn.

She
was stubborn, definitely, and without doubt the most troublesome woman he had
ever laid eyes on. In fact, trouble might be her middle name. Besides that, her
temper was a bit Vesuvian in nature. Right or wrong, she took a stand the
instant she was threatened, and he wondered if she were always that way, or
just with him. In any case, he admired that about her. She wasn’t some fainting
miss who lost consciousness or pleaded illness the instant a man raised his
voice. And she didn’t strike him as a liar, or a cheat, either. Her emotions
were much too evident in her beautiful face.

Her
expression when he’d called her flower told him she understood where his
thoughts had wandered ... and more, that her own thoughts hovered near. Her
reaction had amused him. Her eyes had flared in comprehension, and she’d stared
at him wide-eyed for an instant before she’d scurried away to hide on her side
of the curtain.

But
she hadn’t gone far enough.

He
tried his damndest to forget there was only a measly sheet separating them.

He
turned out his lights and climbed into his hammock, lamenting the fact that he
wasn’t gentleman enough to turn the other way so that he couldn’t see her. The
fact was, he wasn’t any sort of gentleman at all, had never claimed to be, and
so he lay there watching her without the least trace of guilt...

Well,
maybe just a little guilt.

He
was certain it wasn’t the most moral thing to do ... lying there watching her,
but then she had asked to share his room, not the other way around. If she
didn’t like it, she could just leave ...

Though
he guessed that before she would consider returning to her damaged room, she
would have to be aware of the fact that he could see every deuced thing she was
doing, every movement behind the curtain... every time she brushed her hair
from her face... every time she flipped a page ... every time she took a breath.

Her
breast lifted, and he heard her sigh.

Of
course ... he couldn’t really tell her because he knew it would embarrass her
... so maybe he was being a gentleman after all...

He
decided that what she didn’t know couldn’t really hurt her in this case.

But
it sure as hell left Jack in pain.

His
body hardened as he watched her, and his blood began to simmer.

Yep,
this was definitely hurting him more than it was hurting her.

And
it was without doubt the most dishonorable thing he’d ever done ... maybe ...

There
was that little Mexican girl who had seduced him on his first trip to the
Yucatan ... the one whose father had been his guide. The man had offered him a
bed in his home the night before they set out into the jungles. Her father had
been asleep in the same room, oblivious to the daughter’s endeavors. Maria had
been her name. Jack would never forget her.

That
was also the first time he’d ever fooled around in a hammock—tricky
business but he knew now it could be done, and he’d give anything to be in that
other hammock this moment... with Sophie.

He
blinked, staring as the silhouette curled deeper into the hammock, knees bent
to support the papers she was reading. Was she getting sleepy? Just trying to
get comfortable? Were her thoughts on the reports she was reading... or dared
he hope they were on something else?

He
couldn’t stop thinking of her.

Couldn’t
stop wanting her.

Couldn’t
stop remembering the taste of her.

He
adjusted himself, couldn’t help it. He had to. His body was in too much pain,
and his pants were far too snug. For her sake, he slept at least partly dressed
and made sure to wake before her and dress before she could happen on him
shirtless. But this instant, he needed to be naked ... needed her to be naked,
as well... needed to feel her skin against his, soft and warm. He needed to
smell the scent of her skin, needed to touch her.