Hard to Handle (4 page)

His motives were what bothered her most. He didn’t like white women, especially her, so what had prompted that action? She didn’t want to consider the most evident possibility—that he thought she was fair game, and he had seduction on his mind. She ground her teeth together. Well, he could hold his breath. She wasn’t going to be any man’s light amusement. Not even his.

W
hen Jenny heard the shower running, she got up from her computer and sat in the chair Hunter had occupied to watch television. The chair still smelled of him. She traced the armrests where his hands had been and sighed brokenly. Jenny felt like a fool. She had to stop this!

She got out of the chair and went to work on her contour maps, trying to pinpoint the best place to look, given the mineral structure of the area. She’d begged time on Landsat earlier for another project, using the expensive computer time to study the satellite maps of this region of southern Arizona. The terrain they were going to survey was between the Apache reservation on one side and government land on the other. A narrow strip of desert and a narrow strip of mountain made up the search area, although they were going to be camping in several different spots to throw any would-be thieves off the mark.

She was deep in concentration when Hunter came back out of the bathroom, wearing clean jeans and no shirt, again. She had to bite her lip to keep from staring at him. He was unspeakably
handsome to her, the most attractive man she’d ever known, but she couldn’t afford the luxury of letting him know that. Especially not after the way he’d touched her mouth…

“Found what you’re looking for?” he asked, placing one big hand on the table beside her and resting the other on the back of her chair. He leaned down to better see what she was studying. His cheek brushed hers and he felt her jump. His own breath caught. He wanted her. He should never have agreed to come on this expedition, because being close to her was having one hell of a bad effect on his willpower and self-control. He’d thought of nothing except the vulnerable look in her eyes when he’d touched her mouth so intimately, the yielding, the fascination. He wanted to grind his mouth into her own and make her cry out her need for him.

She was feeling the same tension. She knew he sensed her reaction, but she kept her head. “You startled me,” she said breathlessly.

He knew better. His lean, warm cheek was touching hers as he stared at the map on the computer’s small screen. She looked sideways and saw the thick, short lashes over his dark eyes, the faint lines in his cream-smooth tan. “Hunter…” His name was a soft whisper that broke involuntarily from her throat.

His head turned, and his eyes looked deeply into hers from scant inches away. She could taste his breath on her mouth, smell the clean scent of his body, feel the impact of his bare arms, his chest. He intoxicated her with his nearness, and she saw the hot glitter of awareness in those black eyes. She could see the thick dark lashes above them lower as his gaze suddenly dropped with fierce intent to her parted lips.

She shivered. All her dreams hadn’t prepared her for the impact of this. Like a string suspended from a height, waiting for the
wind to move it, she hung at his lips without breathing. A fraction of an inch, and his mouth would be on hers…!

The knock at the door startled them both. Hunter stared at her and cursed himself for his own vulnerability. She was intoxicating him, damn her. He was a new experience for her, that was all. He had to get himself under control.

He jerked erect and moved to the door. “Yes?” he asked as he opened it.

“Mr. Camp?” a feminine voice said loudly enough that anyone listening could hear. “I’m Teresa Whitley.” A tall brunette moved into Jennifer’s line of vision. The woman was smiling up at Hunter. “You requested some information about tour spots?”

“Inside,” he said, holding the door open. He actually smiled at the woman, and Jennifer wanted to scream.

“Miss Marist?” Teresa smiled warmly, extending a hand as Jennifer came forward. They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m with the corporation—under Mr. Hunter, in fact, so I’d better call you Mrs. Camp outside this room.”

“Good idea,” Jennifer replied absently. She was still vibrating.

“I’ve got some more information for you about the area. It’s all here, on disk.” She frowned. “I’m still learning about computers, I’m afraid. You do use the 312 inch diskettes in your laptop?”

“I have a hard disk drive,” Jennifer told her. “But I can use the diskettes, as well.”

“Thank goodness!” She handed the diskette, in its plastic case, to Jennifer. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about science.” She sighed, and her dark brown eyes sought Hunter’s flirtatiously. “I’m just a security officer, so I deal with people instead of machines.”

And, oh, I’ll just bet you do it well, Jennifer thought. She didn’t
say so. She murmured something about checking out the new data and went back to her computer.

“If you’d like, we can run by the office and I’ll give you the results of that security check you had us run,” she told Hunter. “We could have dinner afterward, if you haven’t already eaten?”

Jennifer ground her teeth together. She knew now what Hunter had meant earlier when referring to his “other project.” This was it, and it had brown eyes and a svelte figure. Jennifer wished she’d dressed to the hilt and put on her makeup. In full regalia, she could have given that exotic orchid a run for her money, but she’d thought dressing up might give Hunter wrong ideas about her.

“Fine,” Hunter replied tersely. “Let me get my shirt on.”

Finally, Jennifer thought. He hadn’t bothered before, but perhaps he didn’t want to drive Miss Security Blip out of her mind by flashing his gorgeous muscles.

Hunter glanced at Jennifer, watching the way she studiously ignored Teresa, not to mention him. He glared at her as he pulled a pale gray knit shirt out of his drawer and put it on. He ran a comb through his hair, with Teresa sighing audibly over him.

“You haven’t met Teresa before, I gather, Jennifer?” he asked too casually.

“No,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“She’s Papago.” He said it with bitter pleasure, knowing Jennifer would catch the hidden meaning. This woman was Indian.

“Tohono O’Odham,” Teresa teased. “We changed our name from ‘bean people’ in Zuni to ‘people of the desert’ in Papago.”

“Sorry,” he said with a smile.

Jennifer hated that damned smile. She’d never seen it, but this woman was getting the full treatment. Of course, Teresa wasn’t a
blond scientist, she thought darkly. Well, he needn’t think she was going to play third fiddle while he courted his secret agent here.

“I’d rather you stayed here….” he began as Jenny said, “I have a headache….”

He cocked an eyebrow and she cleared her throat.

“I’ll order something from room service,” she continued. “If I feel like eating later,” she amended without looking at him. “I’ve spent too much time at the laptop. The screen bothers my eyes.” God knew why she was trying to justify her nonexistent headache. He and his brunette wouldn’t notice.

“I hope you feel better,” Teresa said.

“Thanks.”

“Shall we go?” Hunter asked as he pulled on his tan sports coat over his knit shirt. He turned at the door. “Keep the door locked. If you have room service, check credentials before you let anyone in here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with resignation.

He let Teresa out and started to close the door. He looked back at Jennifer first, and the intensity of his stare made her lift her head. His eyes held hers for one long moment before they went to her mouth and back up again.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, but there was another, darker meaning in the casual remark.

“You can depend on me, sir,” she saluted him.

He shook his head and went out the door.

She picked up one of her shoes and threw it furiously at the closed door. It connected a split second before he opened it again. The expression on his face was priceless, she thought.

“I forgot my car keys,” he said, watching her narrowly as he went to the dresser to get them. On the way back, he reached down and picked up her shoe, cocking an eyebrow at it. “Target practice?”

She tried to look innocent. “Would I throw a shoe at you?”

He studied her for a long moment before he dropped the shoe on the floor. “I’ll be back before midnight. You should be safe enough.”

“Definitely safer than Miss Whitley,” she said, and could have bitten her tongue clean through.

His head lifted. “That’s true. Most men react to a deliberate invitation. Even me,” he added, angry at his vulnerability and lashing out because of it.

Her face colored. “I did not—” she began.

“Invite me?” He let his eyes drop slowly to her mouth. “Yes, you did. But it won’t work a second time. You’re not my type, cover girl,” he added with a mocking smile. “I like a woman with less experience than I have. Not more.”

He went out without a backward glance, missing the fierce anger that burned in her cheeks. She hadn’t invited him! She groaned. Yes, she had. She wanted him and it showed, but he thought it was because she was experienced and used to a full sexual life. What a laugh!

She went back to her computer. Anyway, he’d just warned her off, and maybe it was a good thing. He seemed to prefer Miss Whitley, and he could relate to her. She was from his world, and Jennifer was just a diversion that shouldn’t have happened.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and sighed angrily. “You should have stayed home in Missouri and married a mountain man and had two point five children,” she told herself. “Instead of joining an oil company and getting tangled up with Mr. Native American.”

She refused to let herself think about that one weak moment she’d shared with Hunter. She ordered a fish dinner and coffee to be sent to the room, and she ate it in silence, hoping the fish would
leave its scent and drive him crazy. She’d heard someone say that he hated fish. Good enough for him. She hoped his girlfriend gave him warts.

It was only ten o’clock when she put on her cotton gown—deciding to let Hunter think what he liked—climbed into bed and turned out the lights. She didn’t mean to go to sleep, she was too fired up by the long day and longer evening. But she was tired and the day caught up with her. She closed her eyes and slept like a baby.

Hunter came in just after midnight, sick of Miss Whitley’s too-obvious adoration, and found Jennifer sprawled on her bed in a gown that would have raised a statue’s temperature.

The covers had been thrown off, and the gown was up around her thighs. She was lying on her back with one arm thrown over her head, and the bodice was half off, baring the exquisite pink curve of one firm breast. Her clothes hid most of her figure. She didn’t seem to go in for revealing things, except for that one night when she’d sent him up the walls in a low-cut red dress that showed every man around just what he was missing.

She was no less lovely now in that white cotton gown with its delicate embroidery. With her long blond hair spread around her perfect oval of a face, her lips parted in sleep, her body totally relaxed, she made a picture that he was going to have hell forgetting.

He managed to turn away from her at last and stripped down to his shorts. He almost removed them, too, but her remark about pajamas came back to twist his lips into a smile. He turned back his covers and set one of the security devices, just in case. From what Teresa had found out for him, the agent had been misled by this “vacation trip” and had followed their flight on to California, not realizing that Hunter and Miss Marist had suddenly turned into Mr. and Mrs. Camp in Tucson. But it didn’t pay to get careless.

He had to remember that, he thought, looking at Jennifer one last time before he turned out the light. It had been one close call tonight, when Teresa had interrupted them. Another few seconds, and he’d have taken Jenny’s sweet mouth without one single thought for the consequences. She’d have let him. That memory haunted him until he fell asleep. For a woman who purported to hate him, she was remarkably responsive to his touch. He had to convince her that he wasn’t interested, no matter what it took. Her responsiveness could have terrible consequences if he let himself take advantage of it.

The next morning, Hunter was awake and dressed and had breakfast waiting when Jennifer smelled the coffee and food and forced her eyes open.

She sat up, barely aware of her state of undress until she saw Hunter scowl and avert his eyes. She tugged down her gown, angry at having given him a show, and quickly got her clothes together to dress in the bathroom.

She fixed her hair and put on makeup this morning, and she was wearing a blouse for a change, one that buttoned up and emphasized the exquisite shape of her breasts and her narrow waist. It was red, to go with her white jeans, and as she looked at her reflection, she hoped Hunter had fits because of her outfit. Miss Whitley, indeed! This morning she was more than match for the security lady.

When she went back into the room, Hunter was dishing up eggs and bacon. “Coffee’s in the pot, pour your own,” he said curtly.

“Thanks.” She took the plate from him, aware of her beauty and its effect, tingling when she saw his dark eyes glance over her body and away.

“We aren’t going to a party,” he informed her curtly.

Her eyebrows arched. “Jeans, a short-sleeved blouse and sneakers aren’t exactly party gear,” she pointed out.

He lifted his head, and his eyes made threats. “I’m not a eunuch. We’re going out into the desert, where we’ll be completely on our own for several days. Don’t complicate things. You looked better yesterday.”

“Did I? Compared to what?” she demanded coldly. “Or should I say to whom?”

He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair to study her. “Teresa is an operative. When she isn’t trying to compete for attention, she’s very good at her job. I’m not her lover, nor likely to be. Nor yours,” he added with a cold stare.

She had to grit her teeth. “I wasn’t inviting you to be my lover. I’m tired of knit blouses. It gets hot on the desert. This blouse is cooler. So are the white slacks—they tend to reflect heat.”

“God deliver me from scientific lectures before breakfast,” he said icily, his narrow dark eyes making her nervous. “The fact is, Miss Marist, you saw Teresa as competition and you wanted to show me that you could beat her hands down in a beauty contest. All right, you have. You win. Now put on something less seductive and eat your breakfast. I’d like to get started.”