Torrid Nights (7 page)

Shortly after lunch, Brock headed for an area he wanted to check out personally. Mackenna noted that since he had fired Chuck Thatcher, the project superintendent, he had taken over those duties himself. She slumped back against the seat. The combination of heat and a good lunch were making her sleepy. She gave in to it, catnapping while Brock drove toward their destination. The aftereffects of malaria could be subtle and debilitating, she knew. But she was puzzled that Brock had not pressed her back into full service as quickly as she had expected. That was good. It would give her a chance to recover thoroughly. When she went back at full throttle, she would be eager and able to meet the demands of the road once again.

Brock pulled the dusty truck to a halt at the end of the service road above a set of drainage culverts. Mackenna roused herself and sat up. Four metal culverts, each sixty inches in diameter, acted as drainage for the watercourse the road had cut across. Her gaze followed the long, sloping earthen bank to their left. Far above them a D-8 Cat was tracking at a precarious angle on a steep incline, clanking back and forth across the slope, compacting the loosened earth to prevent erosion.

At the top of this slope sat a newly repaired section of road. Brock glanced over at her. I`m going up to check out that patch job. You can stay here if you like.”

Mackenna warmed to his concern. “I’ll come along. I may climb a little more slowly than you, but I want to see it, too.”

He pursed his lips. “Have it your way. Let’s go.”

For an hour, they walked the road. Mackenna found Brock’s knowledge and eye commensurate with her own. He seemed eager to share his evaluations with her. A new sense of peace enveloped her. She wondered if he, too, was enjoying this sense of teamwork.

Mackenna wiped the sweat from her cheek. Brock motioned her to follow him back down the slope to inspect the concrete retaining walls that surrounded the four drainage culverts. She watched as he ran his fingers across the concrete surface, marveling at their inherent strength. How would those hands feel on her body? She shivered in anticipation. Quickly, she reprimanded herself. What an unprofessional thought! But it was still a pleasant idea, and in the end Mackenna allowed the image to persist without analyzing it too closely.

“Look at this,” Brock said, pointing to several cracks in the concrete surface.

Mackenna moved to his side, aware of his powerfully masculine presence. Fighting back the heady feeling, she forced herself to focus her attention on the problem at hand. “The concrete hasn’t been properly cured,” she commented. “The curing process requires that the surface be kept wet. When the concrete is permitted to dry out, these cracks result. And the structural integrity could be affected.”

Brock frowned, moving closer, his body barely brushing against her arm and shoulder. He placed his fingers on the head wall, running them along the course of one major crack. He squinted, trying to ascertain the depth of the crack. “So they didn’t keep this wet enough. Damn,” he swore softly.

Mackenna lifted her chin, her pulse rising. She felt the hardness of his body, inhaled his dizzying, musky scent. She met his hooded gaze gravely, her mouth going dry. She forced herself to speak coherently despite the feeling that her insides were deliciously melting. “Curing is always a problem in extreme tropical climates,” she offered.

Brock nodded, his gaze caressing her upturned face. His features relaxed as he drank in her features. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?”

Her lips parted as she stared dumbly into his darkening eyes. The world slowed to a halt, her own heartbeat replacing all other sounds.

Brock exhaled slowly, taking a step away from her. His inner struggle was apparent on his face. The protective veneer had been stripped away in that single intense second. As she watched him, a small gasp of wonder broke from Mackenna’s lips. How relaxed and boyish he seemed! She felt bereft as he moved away from her. He had almost kissed her. An ache developed deep within her. The sweet yearning grew, and she tucked that ripening pleasure away to savor later.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “I want to take one more look at that slope before we leave.”

Mackenna nodded. “I’ll get on the radio and tell the men to repair this retaining wall.”

He nodded briskly, scrambling up the short, steep bank. She followed in a daze, barely able to think clearly.

Brock was standing a few feet from the truck, looking at the slope as Mackenna pulled out the radio. She turned her back, resting one foot against the running board, the microphone in her hand.

The raucous sound of the bulldozer tracking above them blotted out every other sound. Mackenna held her hand over one ear and raised her voice so it could be heard over the racket.

She was shouting instructions into the mike when she became aware of a different sound. Starting to turn, she heard Brock’s voice cut through the roar like a whip. Bits of gravel and rock slammed into her. She felt the vise-like grip of Brock’s arm around her waist. He jerked her off her feet and she gasped, the air knocked out of her. The screech of rending metal, a scream…

She caught sight of the D-8 Cat hurtling down on them, driverless and obviously out of control. Roughly, Brock pushed her ahead of him down the small incline. Pain seared through her arms and shoulders. Together, she and Brock landed heavily on the rocky surface next to the culverts. The flailing bulldozer rolled faster and faster. Its forty-ton weight gathered speed as it moved down the slope, tearing up the earth like so much papier-mâché.

A scream caught in her throat as the hurtling piece of machinery tore into the truck directly above them. The sound of tearing, shrieking metal split the air. Brock jerked her upward, throwing her into the nearest culvert. She landed on the hard surface with brutal force. Her mind flashed as she struck her head against the metal. In the last seconds of consciousness, she heard Brock groan as the massive piece of equipment smashed to a halt, completely blocking the entrance to the culvert.

A black stillness had settled over the damp, darkened area. Mackenna slowly became aware of the lukewarm trickle of water beneath her sprawled body. Groggily, she lifted her head, aware of an ache at her temples. A gasp escaped her.
Brock!
Her heart pounding heavily in her chest, she struggled shakily to her knees. Brock lay still in the graying light, his eyes closed. Dirt and rock covered the entrance and part of his totally inert body.

A sob caught in Mackenna’s throat as she crawled to his side, ignoring the fiery pain lancing through her forearms and elbows.

“Brock!” she sobbed. Shakily, she moved to his side and reached out to him. A wet stickiness met her fingertips as she touched his cheek. Wildly, Mackenna glanced at the entrance. The mangled D-8 Cat completely blocked it. Brock’s legs were trapped beneath a heap of broken concrete, dirt and gravel. Anxiously, she searched for a pulse at the base of his throat. Tears stung her eyes. She felt a solid pulse. He was alive!

“Brock…answer me!” she whispered, bending to speak into his ear. His breathing was shallow. Anxiety that he might be severely injured clawed at Mackenna. He had placed himself between her and the dozer, saving her from sure death. Vividly, she recalled the Cat slamming through the truck, crushing it.

A groan startled her. Mackenna slid her arm around Brock’s broad shoulders. “Brock?” she whispered breathlessly. She waited an eternity as he slowly regained consciousness. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Mackenna could see a trail of fresh blood trickling down his left cheek. Dirt and dust were encrusted on his face. She kept one hand on his arm as she leaned away, carefully removing the debris from his lower legs and booted feet.

After checking him thoroughly for broken bones, Mackenna helped him roll on his back, cradling his head and shoulders in her lap. Worriedly, she caressed his face. His eyes were dark and dull. Carefully, she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to offer him comfort.

“Where do you hurt?” she asked.

Brock frowned, closing his eyes. “All over. God, I’ve got a splitting headache….”

Mackenna sighed tremulously. “Is that all?” Her voice echoed oddly off the walls of the ditch.

Brock managed a grimace, slowly bringing up his hand. Gingerly, he touched the cut at his temple. “Are you okay?” he asked huskily, looking up at her.

Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving a path through the dirt and grime. “I’m fine, fine. But you—”

“You’re bleeding. Look at your arms!” he murmured, concerned. He grunted, moving slowly into a sitting position. Worriedly, he grasped her right arm and inspected it. His touch was gentle. Carefully, he monitored her pulse, taking care to avoid her bruised, lacerated flesh.

The shock began to recede, and Mackenna started to tremble, touched by his genuine concern. “Oh, Brock,” she mumbled, “we were almost killed. I could have died back there…. You saved my life. I was so afraid for you. I saw you lying there and—and—”

“Shh,” he commanded, pulling her into his arms.

Mackenna leaned against his solid body, her head resting on his shoulder. She felt tears prickling beneath her eyelids, but she fought them back. Brock held her, crooning wordlessly against her hair, massaging her back slowly. Finally, she stopped trembling and leaned silently against him, listening to the solid, heavy beat of his heart beneath her ear. The sounds of the stream, the muted calls of jungle birds and their own hushed breathing filtered through to her stunned senses.

An overwhelming sense that she was well protected washed over Mackenna. Brock held her tightly, his strong arms encircling her body. His breath, warm and moist, fanned across her cheek.

“Better?” he inquired.

She nodded, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go rattling on like—”

Brock laughed softly. “Honey, you were scared and you’re in shock. Adrenaline affects all of us differently.” He pressed a kiss on her hair. “To tell you the truth, I was rather flattered you cared enough about me to show such concern. Remember, don’t ever apologize for being yourself, Mackenna.”

The words were like music to her ears and heart. This was a new and surprising side of Brock. The gentle man. The one Mackenna had sensed existed all along. Joy and elation exploded through her being. She and Brock. They fit so well together. The curve of her breast and torso molded to the length of his chest and hip. Her head, nestled under his jaw, fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder.

The operator of the destroyed bulldozer shouted outside the entrance, calling out in a high-pitched, nearly hysterical voice. Brock raised his head to answer in Javanese. Mackenna started to pull away, but his grip tightened momentarily.

“Stay,” he whispered.

She relaxed, feeling the exhaustion pull at her. Within minutes Brock had issued instructions to the driver. He returned his attention to her.

“It’ll be at least a couple of hours before they can get us out of here. Let’s take stock of our cuts and bruises.”

She obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to inspect her arms, neck and face. His touch was soothing. Quieting. “Well?” she asked.

He frowned, worry clearly written in his expression. “You’ve torn the hell out of your elbows. Damn, I’m sorry. I just didn’t have time to explain before it happened. Your skin’s too beautiful to be marred like this.”

She offered him a weak smile, sitting up. “What happened, anyway?”

“Something must have gone wrong with the steering mechanism. I saw the Cat turn sideways suddenly, on one tread. Then it started to turn over. The driver jumped free.” He shook his head. “We were damn lucky. If this culvert hadn’t been here, we’d both be dead.” His voice grew hushed. “And just when I’ve started to discover that maybe life isn’t so sour after all.”

Mackenna said nothing, unable to meet his warming gaze. A shiver of longing coursed through her. Something intangible had changed between them. A subtle shift. A tenuous new beginning.

More than a week had passed since the bulldozer accident, and Mackenna had been amazed at the gradual change in Brock. Both of them healed rapidly, although her arms, especially her elbows, would probably bear the scars from their brush with death forever.

At close to three in the afternoon, the island of Java slowed to a halt. Yet even in the heat and humidity of midafternoon, the workers continued to lay ax and shovel to the road. Graders roared along the bed, smoothing and leveling the gravel for the final pouring of asphalt, which would be the next step in the building phase. Shimmering curtains of heat rose skyward, and the crew consumed water at an incredible rate. Mackenna made sure the gang boss of each team distributed the daily ration of malaria tablets to protect them from the dread disease borne by hoards of mosquitoes.

Brock stood by her side, assessing the performance of the work gangs, watching the operators handling the monstrous Cats, graders and trucks, and scribbling notes on the clipboard he always carried under his left arm. Mackenna felt even stickier and dirtier than usual. At this time of day she often felt like driving back to the plantation to take a cooling shower and scrub her skin free of the grime and sweat. A sudden idea came to her, and she turned, smiling broadly.

“How about a swim?” she challenged him.

“What?”

“There’s a lovely lake nearby. Sometimes, when it gets like this, I take a quick dip. Are you game?”

“I don’t have a suit.”

Mackenna shrugged. “I do. Coming?” She suppressed a grin and walked to the truck.

“Remember,” he murmured, catching up with her easily, “it was your idea.”

“My invitation,” she agreed.

“Is the place crawling with water snakes and other such friendly vermin?”

Mackenna slid into the truck and started it. “Caution is always advisable. But the times I’ve been there, it has been peaceful.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “That could be dangerous, you know. The nearest doctor is several miles away. What would happen if you got bitten by a snake?”

She drove slowly along a narrow, beaten-down jungle path that served as a road for the villagers. “I’d go to a local doctor for help,” she explained simply. “These people live off the land, and I’ve seen them come up with remedies that a doctor or hospital couldn’t rival.”

Brock shook his head. “You’re such a damned romantic, Mackenna. God.”

She laughed fully. “And the women in your life aren’t?”

“The women in my life—past tense—were concerned with labels and designer clothes. They were hard-core realists.”

“Pity. Well, maybe I can introduce you to a more authentic lifestyle. You’ll notice that these palm trees do not bear designer names. And that these vines are completely natural, with no artificial color. Do you notice the different shades of green? The sun hits the top part of the vine and turns it a lighter jade color. Beneath, it’s more of a kelly-green.” She went on, pointing out several local flowers and commenting on how the petals turned, or noting that those hidden in the shade were smaller. She spotted a scarlet parrot hiding in a bamboo grove, just a few tufts of his tail feathers visible.

The small lake rose up before them from the depths of the jungle like a lovely mirage, looking cool and inviting. As she turned off the truck engine, she turned, studying Brock closely. “See? No labels or designer names, but still very rich and beautiful on its own terms.”

A slow smile tugged at his mouth, and his eyes twinkled. “Mackenna, yours is a world of beauty. You revel in the perfection of ordinary things. Look at that vine we passed. I saw it as nothing more than an ugly, twisted strand of green cord. You saw the difference in color, its uniqueness.” He shook his head. “I don’t see how you exist in this world.”

She assumed a serious expression. “So far, so good. I’m going to slip into my suit and take a dip. If you want to join me, come along.”

Mackenna noted with humor that he had the good grace to allow her time to undress hurriedly behind a small grove of young bamboo before walking to the edge of the lake. She put on a black, one-piece suit and walked gingerly to the water’s edge. Looking back over her shoulder, she noted that Brock stood by the truck, watching her. He was scowling. Laughing merrily, she splashed in until the water was waist high, then arched her body into a shallow dive.

The water washed the sticky heat from her body immediately. The lake lay in the upper hills of the mountain range and was spring fed, so that the water was always on the chilly side. A part of her was disappointed as she saw Brock hanging back near the truck, looking somewhat unsure of himself. She dived underwater again, feeling like a playful seal pup, coming up to scrub the grime from her face and arms. Gradually, Brock Hampton edged his way toward her until he stood at the edge of the lake near where she had waded in.

“Come on!” she called, standing in the shoulder-deep water. “It’s wonderful, Brock.”

“You go ahead. You look as if you’re having fun,” he said.

Mackenna’s eyes widened, and then she laughed. “You could be, too. Come on, I promise I won’t dunk you.”

He looked almost bashful as he stood there, hands thrust deeply in the pockets of his jeans. Mackenna’s heart turned over with compassion, and she waded toward him until she stood in knee-deep water. “At least take your boots off and soak your poor feet. They’ve got to be killing you. Mine always swell up in this humidity,” she urged.

He brightened. “That’s an idea.”

She watched him methodically unlace each boot with painstaking care. Her patience was wearing to a breaking point, and she took two leaps forward and scooped up a handful of water, sending a spray of it up on shore where he sat. She laughed, throwing another handful at him, watching dark splotches suddenly appear on his shirt and jeans. His head snapped up, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable. That didn’t faze her, and she turned and ran awkwardly back into the depths where she would be safe.

She swam rapidly, lengthening her stroke, caught up in the childish delight of her act. So caught up was she that Mackenna heard the splash of water behind her only vaguely.

Halfway across the blue-green expanse, she heard the slicing explosion of water very close behind her. She rolled over on her back, smiling, hair plastered against her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes lit with amusement as Brock reached out, lunging in an unsuccessful attempt to capture her leg. Mackenna noted his smoldering eyes, the determination written in his face and in the compressed line of his mouth. Didn’t he ever smile or laugh freely? Dodging gracefully, she rolled to her right, sliding into the murky depths, avoiding him momentarily.

He was a big man, and she hadn’t counted on his agility. Just as she surfaced, Mackenna felt his steel grip pressing into the tender flesh of her ankle. She took a deep breath, knowing he would yank her downward. His strong hands caught her around the waist instead, and she gasped, struggling and laughing as she tried to twist free.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Brock growled, holding her until she was still.

Mackenna’s laughter rippled across the lake as she relaxed in his grip. Suddenly he seemed much younger. She was acutely aware of his maleness, the fine muscle structure of his shoulders and upper chest where her hands rested as they treaded water together. “Oh, you’re such a stick in the mud,” she accused, grinning. She wiped the water from her eyes, blinking and focusing on his rugged face. A slight smile warmed his features.

“And you’re a precocious child. Isn’t it about time you became an adult?”

“I hope not,” she murmured, trying to push away from him. His hands tightened around her waist momentarily, and she felt her body respond to his touch. Her heart hammered as his gaze softened.

“Are you always so playful?” he asked.

“Every chance I get,” she admitted fervently, tilting her head to return his burning gaze. “Don’t you get tired of all your adult responsibilities?”

“What else is there?”

Mackenna’s eyes narrowed. Pouting provocatively, she brought up her hand and slanted a spray of water toward him. Startled and blinded, he released her. She slid away from him, diving and then swimming strongly toward shore. She got no more than fifty feet before she was thrown upward. Breaking the water’s surface, she gave a cry of mock fear, wrestling to break Brock’s hold on her leg.

“You’re mine!” he gasped.

She squealed and broke free. This time her feet found the solid bottom of the lake, and she lunged toward shore, gasping and laughing. He was right behind her. Just as she made it to the grassy shore, he caught her about the waist, spinning her around. Mackenna wriggled out of his grasp and dropped down on the velvet cushion of grass, giggling. He fell down beside her, breathing hard, an unwilling grin on his face as he looked over at her. She flopped over on her back, taking deep breaths and closing her eyes, allowing the sun to warm her.

She felt his closeness and barely opened one eye, looking up at him. He lay on his side, elbow propping him up, his attention fully on her. She grinned. “It’s nice to see you smile. You ought to do it more often,” she gasped between breaths, her heart thumping madly from the exertion.

Brock still wore his khaki pants, and the wet material molded itself to his muscular legs. He had the body of a man who kept trim by doing the hard work demanded by a tough industry. Mackenna liked his broad, deep chest, the dusting of black hair curling across the expanse making him seem even more male, if that was possible. With a sure motion of his lean, spare fingers, he pushed the wet hair from his forehead. There was a primeval beauty in the economy of his motions. His arms and upper body were darkly tanned, as if he had spent a great deal of time without a shirt on. The dark hair of his chest covered the broad expanse of skin, trailing down across his flat, hard stomach and disappearing beneath his wet trousers. Mackenna lay still, drinking in his masculine beauty, appreciating him on a purely physical level.

He snorted softly, then reached out to pluck two long blades of grass. Offering her one, he then put the other in his own mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “Do you treat all your employers with this sort of blatant disrespect?” he demanded.

“When they deserve it,” she returned lightly, closing her eyes again. She enjoyed the rivulets of water running in small streams along her flesh, the hot sun burning down on her face.

“Are you real?” he asked, a serious undertone to his husky voice.

Mackenna opened her eyes, enjoying the azure-blue clarity of his. He looked more relaxed, although perplexed. “Certainly. Reality is more than just schedules and balance sheets, Brock. I can assure you I’m very real. Even if I’m not sure I still have a job.” She looked at him seriously.

Brock grinned. “So far, I’d say the odds are in your favor of staying,” he drawled.

Mackenna grinned. “Even though I got you soaking wet?”

He nodded, the smile coming more easily to him this time. “No woman has ever treated me this way, Mackenna.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, rolling onto her side to enjoy his closeness. “Not even when you were a boy? Didn’t some brave little girl ever tease you?”

“Sure.” His eyes narrowed, the fan-like lines around the corners deepening. “And I’ll bet you drove the boys crazy at that age.”

Mackenna shook her head. “No. Believe it or not, I was a wallflower back then. I didn’t say boo to anybody. I just kept my head stuck in books, or I hid behind the library shelves.”

“You? I don’t believe it.”

Her eyes glinted with mirth. “See? That just goes to show you how little you really know about women.”

He grimaced. “I know enough to be wary of them.”

“Maybe,” she answered, pushing herself up into a sitting position and running her slender fingers through her drying hair. “I’m basically an introvert and fairly shy.”

Brock burst out in laughter. “Now I know you’re playing some kind of crazy game with me. You? Shy?”

Mackenna rested her chin on her hands, studying him through half-closed eyes. “You’re hiding because you’re afraid to unleash all that anger you’ve got bottled up inside you,” she challenged softly.

His expression became distrustful. “I suppose besides being a soils specialist you have a doctorate in psychology, too,” he said, resentment lacing his tone.

“You wear your pain like armor, Brock. Any fool with a little sensitivity can see through that defense of yours,” she said, keeping her tone of voice neutral.

He looked up, watching her in silence. “It hasn’t occurred to you that I might be one of the richest and most powerful men in Southeast Asia?”

She shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Everything. If money and power don’t impress you, what does?”

She hugged her knees to her body, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on one knee. She felt drowsy from the exertion and comfortable in Brock’s presence. “I told you before—honesty from another human being. That impresses me.”

“What touches you, Mackenna?”

“Life,” she answered softly. “What touches you?”

“You should rephrase that,” Brock retorted. “What gets under my skin, makes me react?”

She opened her eyes, meeting his probing gaze. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” she prodded.

He smiled wryly. “Sometimes.”

“Now?”

“Only when you start prying.”

“Good. It’s about time you learned to communicate properly.”

She had closed her eyes again, a wistful smile lingering on her lips. Yet she was unprepared when his roughened fingers slid along her ankle and calf in slow exploration. Her skin tingled hotly beneath his hand, and her pulse leaped crazily at the base of her throat. She raised her head, staring down at him.

“I like to communicate in other ways,” he murmured. “You have beautiful legs, Mackenna. Nice, slim ankles.”

She felt caught in the web of his huskily spoken words. A sensual balm seemed to envelop her effortlessly like a warm wind caressing her body. Her lips parted and she was at a loss for words as his fingers slid lazily around her calf, trailed down her heel, and then moved up to caress her instep. Brock was no longer smiling, but he was not stony, either. Instead, he watched her with a seriousness that shook her to the core of her being. There was no doubt in her mind. He now had complete control of the situation, and that seemed natural and good.