Read Online Torrid Nights by Lindsay McKenna - Free Book Online

having. The Malaysians spoke broken English and their tendency to break into their own language added flavor to their reports. Mackenna, whose Javanese was fluent, sat in the truck, her elbow resting against the window, listening with grave attention. She heard another truck pull up and a thick cloud of dust rolled slowly toward them. Mackenna watched her crewmen’s animated faces become suddenly closed and unreadable. Turning to her right, she saw Brock Hampton leaning casually against the passenger door. His eyes raked over her body.
    “So you finally got up?” he inquired, his voice a low growl.
    Mackenna regarded him levelly. “I think we could be more civilized and say good morning first. Don’t you agree?” Brock’s dark brows drew downward in immediate displeasure. Mackenna couldn’t explain the feeling of euphoria that suddenly embraced her. Her spirits rose at the sight of Hampton’s granite-hewn features. Why wasn’t she afraid of him like the rest of her crew? Not having ample time to plumb the depths of that question, Mackenna tucked it away for study at a later time.
    “There’s nothing good about any morning,” he said. “But if you insist on pleasantries, then I’ll say good morning. Does that meet with your approval, Ms. Scott?”
    Her eyes widened. “Let’s say it’s a start in the right direction.”
    “Go on with your meeting,” he ordered, opening the door and climbing into the cab.
    Mackenna resumed her conversation with the foreman, jotting down notes on her clipboard. She made a list of equipment that was malfunctioning or in need of maintenance servicing. As she got back into the swing of her routine, she relaxed, forgetting that Brock was listening. After analyzing the various problems with the foreman, she made her decisions, and the crew went back to work. Jotting down a few last notes, Mackenna leaned back, aware of a general sense of weakness spreading through her limbs. Sully was right. She wasn’t going to be able to last long on the road today.
    “You speak fluent Javanese,” Brock said.
    “It’s a matter of survival,” Mackenna returned, wiping a thin film of perspiration off her forehead and upper lip.
    “What else do you survive well at?” he asked.
    She raised her head, meeting his darkened blue eyes. Conflicting emotions raged within her. If she looked at the arctic iciness of his gaze, Brock Hampton betrayed no sign of compassion. But the vibrating timbre of his voice held a thread of something. What? She sighed heavily, debating whether to be honest with him or to protect her own vulnerability. To hell with it, she decided. “I’m trying to survive, one day at a time,” she admitted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” Her tone was challenging, and indirectly she was warning him not to lash out at her.
    Brock tilted his head, surveying her for a long time. “I just wanted to see if you’d be honest. Most women aren’t.”
    Anger shattered her state of exhaustion. “All women are liars?” she hurled back.
    “I said most.”
    “And what gives you the right to judge?”
    A cool smile tugged at his mouth. “I take that right.”
    Mackenna laid the clipboard firmly down on the seat between them. “You wouldn’t know honesty if it slapped you in the face,” she said tightly. “Understand this. I’ll always be honest with you. I don’t pull any punches. Not with you, not with anyone.”
    “So I’m learning. That’s in your favor.”
    Her eyes flashed with indignation. “If you must keep a tally on what you consider my good and bad points as supervisor of this road project, keep it to yourself. I don’t enjoy being scrutinized and commented upon.”
    “You work for me, and your job is on the line,” Brock growled.
    Mackenna twisted around to face him more fully. “Why do you work so hard at getting people to hate you?” She had said it gently with a slightly protective cast to her tone. Yet Brock jolted back, as if physically struck.