Hunter (5 page)

He released Jennifer abruptly with a roughness that wasn't quite in character.

“I'm sorry,” she said when she saw the expression in his dark eyes. She winced, as if she could actually feel his pain. “I didn't mean to bring back bad memories for you.”

His expression was frightening at that moment. “What do you know about me?” he asked, his voice cutting.

She managed a wan smile and moved away from him. “I don't know anything, Mr. Hunter. Nobody does. Your life is a locked door and there's no key. But you looked…” She turned and glanced back at him, and her hands lifted and fell helplessly. “I don't know. Wounded.” She averted her eyes. “I'd better get this put away.”

Her perception floored him. She was a puzzle he'd never solved, and despite his security files, he knew very little about her own private life. There were no men at the office, he knew. She was discreet, if nothing else. In fact, he thought, studying her absently with narrowed eyes as she put away her computer, he'd never heard of her dating a man in all the years she'd been with the company. He'd never seen her flirt with a man, and even those she worked with treated her as just one of the boys. That fact had never occurred to him before. She kept her distance from men as a rule. Even out in the field, where working conditions were much more relaxed, Jennifer went without makeup, in floppy shirts and loose jeans, and she kept to herself after working hours. He'd once seen her cut a man dead who was trying to make a play for her. Her eyes had gone an icy blue, her face rigid with distaste, and even though she hadn't said much, her would-be suitor got the message in flying colors. Hunter wouldn't admit, even to himself, how that action had damned her in his eyes. Seeing her put in the knife had made him more determined than ever not to risk his emotions with her. There were too many hard memories of his one smoldering passion for a white woman, and its humiliating result. And, even longer ago than that, his mother's contempt for him, her desertion.

He turned away from Jennifer, busying himself with the surveillance equipment one of his cases contained. He redistributed the equipment in the case and closed it.

“Why do we have to have all that?” she queried suddenly.

He nodded toward her computer and equipment. “Why do you have to have all that?” he countered.

“It's part of my working gear,” she said simply.

“You've answered your own question.” He checked his watch. “Let's get something to eat. Then we'll have a look at camping supplies.”

“The joy of expense accounts,” she murmured as she got her purse and put away her reading glasses. “I wonder if Eugene will mind letting me have a jungle hammock? I slept in one when I was a kid. We camped next to two streams, and they were like a lullaby in the darkness.”

“You can have a jungle hammock if you think you can find a place to hang it.”

“All we need is two trees….”

He turned, his hands on his lean hips, his dark face enigmatic. “The desert is notorious for its lack of trees. Haven't you ever watched any Western movies?” he added, and came very close to a smile. “Remember the Indians chasing the soldiers in John Wayne movies, and the soldiers having to dive into dry washes or gulches for cover?”

She stared at him, fascinated. “Yes. I didn't think you'd watch that kind of movie…” She colored, embarrassed.

“Because the solders won?” he mused. “That's history. But the Apache fought them to a standstill several times. And Louis L'Amour did a story called
Hondo
that was made into a movie with John Wayne.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It managed to show Apaches in a good light, for once.”

“I read about Cochise when I was in school. And Mangas Coloradas and Victorio…”

“Different tribes of Apache,” he said. “Cochise was Chiricahua. Mangas and Victorio were MimbreÑos.”

“Which…are you?” she asked, sounding and feeling breathless. He'd never spoken to her like this before.

“Chiricahua,” he said. His eyes searched her face. “Is your ancestry Nordic?” he asked.

“It's German,” she said softly. “On my father's side, it's English.” Her eyes wandered helplessly over his lean face.

Her intense scrutiny disturbed him in a new and unexpected way. Her eyes were enormous. Dark blue, soft, like those of some kitten. He didn't like the way they made him tingle. He turned away, scowling.

“We'd better go, Jennifer.”

Her name on his lips thrilled her. She felt alive as never before when she was with him, even if it was in the line of duty.

She started toward the door, but he turned as she reached it, and she bumped into him. The contact was like fire shooting through her.

“Sorry!” She moved quickly away. “I didn't mean to…!”

He put a strong hand under her chin and lifted her face to his eyes. Her eyelids flinched and there was real fear in them at close range. “You really are afraid of me,” he said with dawning comprehension.

She hadn't wanted him to know that. Of course she was afraid of him, but not for the reasons he was thinking. She moved back and lowered her eyes. “A little, maybe,” she said uneasily.

“My God!” He jerked open the door. “Out.”

She went through it, avoiding him as she left. She hadn't expected the confession to make him angry. She sighed heavily. It was going to be a hard trip, all the way, if this was any indication. He was coldly silent all the way to the motel restaurant, only taking her arm when they were around people, for appearance's sake.

They were halfway through their meal when he spoke again.

“It's been years since I've scalped anyone,” he said suddenly, his angry eyes searching hers.

The fork fell from her fingers with a terrible clatter. She picked it up quickly, looking around nervously to see if anyone had noticed, but there was only an old couple nearby and they were too busy talking to notice Jennifer and her companion.

She should have remembered how sensitive he was about his heritage. She'd inadvertently let him believe that she was afraid of him because he was an Indian. What a scream it would be if she confessed that she was afraid of him because she was in love with him. He'd probably kill himself laughing.

“No, it's not that,” she began. She stopped, helplessly searching for the right words. “It's not because you're…” She toyed with her fork. “The thing is, I'm not very comfortable around you,” she said finally. She put down her fork. “You've never made any secret of the fact that you dislike me. You're actively hostile the minute I come into a room. It isn't exactly fear. It's nerves, and it has nothing to do with your heritage.”

She had a point. He couldn't deny that he'd been hostile. Her beauty did that to him; it made him vulnerable and that irritated him. He knew he was too touchy about his ancestry, but he'd had it rough trying to live in a white world.

“I don't find it easy, living among your people,” he said. He'd never admitted that to anyone before.

“I can imagine,” she replied. Her eyes searched his. “You might consider that being a female geologist in an oil company isn't the easiest thing to do, either. I loved rocks.”

His dark eyes conquered hers suddenly. The look was pure electricity. Desert lightning. She felt it all the way to her toes.

“I find you hard going, too, Miss Marist,” he said after a minute. “But I imagine we'll survive. Eugene said we were to camp on the actual site the second night.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded breathless, choked.

He found himself studying her hand on the table. Involuntarily his brushed over the back of it. He told himself it was for appearances. But touching her gave him pleasure, and she jumped. He scowled, feeling her long fingers go cold and tremble. His eyes lifted back to hers. “You're trembling.”

She jerked her hand from under his, almost unbalancing her water glass in the process. “I have to finish my steak.” She laughed nervously. “The stores will close soon.”

“So they will.”

The subterfuge didn't fool him, she knew. Not one bit. His chin lifted and there was something new in the set of his head. An arrogance. A kind of satisfied pride that kindled in his eyes.

He was curious now. A beautiful woman like Jennifer would be used to giving men the jitters, not the reverse. He let his gaze fall to her soft mouth as it opened to admit a small piece of steak, and he felt his body go rigid. Over the years, he'd only allowed himself the occasional fantasy about making love to her. As time passed, and he grew older, the fantasies had grown stronger. He could keep the disturbing thoughts at bay most of the time. But there was always the lonely night when he'd toss and turn and his blood would grow hot as he imagined her mouth opening for him, her hands on his back, her soft legs tangling with his in the darkness. Those nights were hell. And the next few, alone with her, were going to sorely test his strength of will. For her it would be a field expedition. For him, a survival course, complete with sweet obstacles and pitfalls.

He had to remember that this was an assignment, and enemy agents were following them. Strategic metals always drew trouble, not only from domestic corporations struggling to get their hands in first, but from foreign investors interested in the same idea. He had to keep his mind on his work, and not on Jennifer. But her proximity wasn't going to make that job any easier. He almost groaned aloud at the difficulties. There hadn't been a woman in a long time, and he was hungry. He wanted Jennifer and he was relatively sure that she was attracted to him. She was certainly nervous enough when he came close.

But, he thought, what if her fear of him was genuine and had nothing to do with attraction? Her explanation that it was because they were enemies didn't hold up. It was far too flimsy to explain the way she trembled when he touched her hand. Fear could cause that, he had to admit. And he had been unkind to her, often. He sighed heavily. Thinking about it wasn't going to make it any easier.

They went to a hardware store when they finished their meal, and Jennifer watched him go about the business of buying camping supplies with pure awe. He knew exactly what to get, from the Coleman stove to the other gear like sleeping bags and tent and cans of Sterno for emergencies. Jennifer had gone out into the field before, many times, but usually there was some kind of accommodation. She hadn't relished the idea of camping out by herself, although she loved it with companions. Hunter, though, was going to be more peril than pleasure as a tent mate. She had to get a grip on herself, she told her stubborn heart again. The prospect of a few nights alone with him was sending her mad.

He loaded the gear into the four-wheel drive vehicle he'd had waiting for them at the airport. It was a black one, and he drove it with such ease that she suspected he had one of his own at home. That brought to mind an interesting question. Where was home to him? She knew he had an apartment in Tulsa, but he spent his time off in Arizona. Near here? With a woman, perhaps? Her blood ran cold.

“We'll be ready to go in the morning,” he told her when they were back in the motel room again, with their gear stowed in the locked vehicle outside. All except her computer and his surveillance equipment, of course. He wasn't risking that. “Do you want to shower first?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “If you don't mind.”

“Go ahead. I'll watch the news.”

She carried her things into the bathroom, firmly locking the door, despite what he might think about the sound. She took a quick shower and put on clean blue jeans and a clean white knit shirt. She felt refreshed and sunny when she came back out, her face bright and clean without makeup.

He was sprawled across a chair, his shoes off, a can of beer in his hand. He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you mind beer, or does the smell bother you?”

“No. My father likes his lager,” she said as she dealt with her dirty clothes.

He finished his drink and stood, stripping off his shirt. “If you're finished, I'll have my shower. Then we'll think about something for dinner.”

She was watching him as helplessly as a teenage girl staring at a movie star. He was beautiful. God, he was beautiful, she thought with pleasure so deep it rivaled pain. Muscles rippled in his dark torso from the low-slung belt on his jeans to the width of his shoulders as he stretched, and her eyes sketched him with shy adoration.

He was aware of her scrutiny, but he pretended not to notice. He got a change of clothes to carry into the bathroom with him and turned, faintly amused by the way she busied herself with her computer and pretended to ignore him.

Her helpless stare had piqued his curiosity. He deliberately paused just in front of her, giving her an unnecessarily good view of his broad, naked chest.

“Don't forget to keep the door locked,” he advised quietly, watching the flicker of her lashes as she lifted her blue eyes to his. “And don't answer it if someone knocks.”

“Yes, sir, is that all, sir?” she asked brightly.

He caught her chin with a lean hand and his thumb brushed roughly over her mouth, a slow, fierce intimacy that he watched with almost scientific intensity. She knew her eyes were wildly dilated as they looked into his, and she couldn't help the shocked gasp that broke from her sensitized lips or the shiver of pleasure that ran through her body.

His dark eyes didn't miss a thing. Her reaction, he decided, was definitely not fear. He couldn't decide if he was pleased about it or not. “Don't be provocative,” he said softly, his voice an octave deeper, faintly threatening. “Get to work.” He moved away before she could find anything to say that wouldn't be provocative.

She sat down at her computer, her fingers trembling on the keyboard.

He closed the bathroom door behind him. His action had been totally unexpected, and it made her even more nervous than she already was. If he was going to start doing that kind of thing, she'd be safer in the lion cage at the zoo.