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Authors: Linda Howard
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clearly as if Pablo had hung a sign around his neck. Perhaps Pablo had been trying to warn him. There was no way heâd ever know for certain.
Now he had to get her through the jungle, out of the mountains, and south through a swamp, with Turego in hot pursuit. With luck, in a day or so, theyâd find a village and be able to hitch a ride, but even that depended on how close behind Turego was.
And on top of that, he couldnât trust her. Sheâd disarmed that soldier far too casually, and hadnât turned a hair at anything that had happened. She was far too matter-of-fact about the whole situation. She wasnât what she seemed, and that made her dangerous.
He was wary of her, but at the same time he found that he was unable to stop watching her. She was too damned sexy, as lush and exotic as a jungle orchid. What would it be like to lie with her? Did she use the rich curves of her body to make a man forget who he was? How many men had been taken in by that fresh, open expression? Had Turego found himself off balance with her, wanting her, knowing that he could force her at any timeâbut being eaten alive by the challenge of trying to win her, of making her give herself freely? How else had she managed to control him? None of it added up to what she should have been, unless she played with men as some sort of ego trip, where the more dangerous the man, the greater the thrill at controlling him.
Grant didnât want her to have that much influence over him; she wasnât worth it. No matter how beguiling the expression in her dark, slanted eyes, she simply wasnât worth it. He didnât need the sort of complication she offered; he just wanted to get her out, collect his money from herfather, and get back to the solitude of the farm. Already heâd felt the jungle pulling at him, the heated, almost sexual excitement of danger. The rifle felt like an extension of his body, and the knife fit his palm as if heâd never put it down. All the old moves, the old instincts, were still there, and blackness rose in him as he wondered bitterly if heâd ever really be able to put this life behind him. The blood lust had been there in him, and perhaps heâd have killed that soldier if she hadnât kicked the rifle up when she had.
Was it part of the intoxication of battle that made him want to pull her beneath him and drive himself into her body, until he was mindless with intolerable pleasure? Part of it was, and yet part of it had been born hours ago, on the floor of her bedroom, when heâd felt the soft, velvety roundness of her breasts in his hands. Remembering that, he wanted to know what her breasts looked like, if they thrust out conically or had a full lower slope, if her nipples were small or large, pink or brown. Desire made him harden, and he reminded himself caustically that it had been a while since heâd had a woman, so it was only natural that he would be turned on. If nothing else, he should be glad of the evidence that he could still function!
She yawned, and blinked her dark eyes at him like a sleepy cat. âIâm going to take a nap,â she announced, and curled up on the ground. She rested her head on her arm, closed her eyes and yawned again. He watched her, his eyes narrowed. This utter adaptability she displayed was another piece of the puzzle that didnât fit. She should have been moaning and bitching about how uncomfortable she was, rather than calmly curling up on the ground for a nap. But a nap sounded pretty damned good right now, he thought.
Grant looked around. The rain had become a full-fledged downpour, pounding through the canopy and turning thejungle floor into a river. The constant, torrential rains leeched the nutrients out of the soil, making the jungle into a contradiction, where the worldâs greatest variety of animal and plant life existed on some of the poorest soil. Right now the rain also made it almost impossible for
Now he had to get her through the jungle, out of the mountains, and south through a swamp, with Turego in hot pursuit. With luck, in a day or so, theyâd find a village and be able to hitch a ride, but even that depended on how close behind Turego was.
And on top of that, he couldnât trust her. Sheâd disarmed that soldier far too casually, and hadnât turned a hair at anything that had happened. She was far too matter-of-fact about the whole situation. She wasnât what she seemed, and that made her dangerous.
He was wary of her, but at the same time he found that he was unable to stop watching her. She was too damned sexy, as lush and exotic as a jungle orchid. What would it be like to lie with her? Did she use the rich curves of her body to make a man forget who he was? How many men had been taken in by that fresh, open expression? Had Turego found himself off balance with her, wanting her, knowing that he could force her at any timeâbut being eaten alive by the challenge of trying to win her, of making her give herself freely? How else had she managed to control him? None of it added up to what she should have been, unless she played with men as some sort of ego trip, where the more dangerous the man, the greater the thrill at controlling him.
Grant didnât want her to have that much influence over him; she wasnât worth it. No matter how beguiling the expression in her dark, slanted eyes, she simply wasnât worth it. He didnât need the sort of complication she offered; he just wanted to get her out, collect his money from herfather, and get back to the solitude of the farm. Already heâd felt the jungle pulling at him, the heated, almost sexual excitement of danger. The rifle felt like an extension of his body, and the knife fit his palm as if heâd never put it down. All the old moves, the old instincts, were still there, and blackness rose in him as he wondered bitterly if heâd ever really be able to put this life behind him. The blood lust had been there in him, and perhaps heâd have killed that soldier if she hadnât kicked the rifle up when she had.
Was it part of the intoxication of battle that made him want to pull her beneath him and drive himself into her body, until he was mindless with intolerable pleasure? Part of it was, and yet part of it had been born hours ago, on the floor of her bedroom, when heâd felt the soft, velvety roundness of her breasts in his hands. Remembering that, he wanted to know what her breasts looked like, if they thrust out conically or had a full lower slope, if her nipples were small or large, pink or brown. Desire made him harden, and he reminded himself caustically that it had been a while since heâd had a woman, so it was only natural that he would be turned on. If nothing else, he should be glad of the evidence that he could still function!
She yawned, and blinked her dark eyes at him like a sleepy cat. âIâm going to take a nap,â she announced, and curled up on the ground. She rested her head on her arm, closed her eyes and yawned again. He watched her, his eyes narrowed. This utter adaptability she displayed was another piece of the puzzle that didnât fit. She should have been moaning and bitching about how uncomfortable she was, rather than calmly curling up on the ground for a nap. But a nap sounded pretty damned good right now, he thought.
Grant looked around. The rain had become a full-fledged downpour, pounding through the canopy and turning thejungle floor into a river. The constant, torrential rains leeched the nutrients out of the soil, making the jungle into a contradiction, where the worldâs greatest variety of animal and plant life existed on some of the poorest soil. Right now the rain also made it almost impossible for
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