Heart of Fire (14 page)

His touch was slow and lingering, for all the power in his fingers. She had been wary, expecting his hands to wander where they shouldn't have, but they didn't, and after a while the pleasure of the massage was so great that she couldn't resist its drugging spell any longer. Slowly the tension drained out of her with each long stroke of his hands. She heard herself making little sounds in her throat, and tried to stop, because it sounded lewd.

"Roll over," he said, and she did.

He massaged the fronts of her thighs, rubbing in the liniment, easing the soreness. "I knew you'd be in good shape," he commented. "Nice, strong legs. I was beginning to think your brother and his cohort weren't going to make it, though. They crawled into their tents right after you did. They wouldn't even have taken off their boots if I hadn't made them."

"They don't know anything about what they're doing," she said drowsily.

"That's an understatement. Okay, on your stomach again so I can do your back. Pull your shirt off."

She was sleepy, but not that sleepy. She opened her eyes and glared at him.

"I can't rub in the liniment if you don't," he pointed out. "Look, I'm not going to jump your bones tonight. I like my women a bit more lively than you are right now. Your shoulders and back are sore, and if I don't rub them down tonight they'll feel even worse tomorrow. You know it, so don't argue."

She didn't trust him an inch, but he had behaved so far, and the massage felt like heaven. After giving him a warning look she turned onto her stomach again, then wriggled her tank top off.

She heard him chuckle, but he kept any comments to himself. He poured a small amount of liniment on her back, then settled himself into position astride her buttocks. She closed her eyes, berating herself. She should have known.

But all he did was lean forward and begin a strong massage that almost brought her off the pad, especially when his fingers dug into her sore shoulders. She groaned aloud at the exquisite pain.

He worked on each muscle, forcing them into relaxation. She felt herself going limp and was helpless to stop it. Along with the soreness he rubbed out every bit of strength. He prodded until he found every sore spot, then lingered until the last vestige of tension was gone. He was good at this. Oh, was he good. He didn't hesitate to use the strength necessary to do a thorough job.

She would almost have believed sympathy and a desire to help were his only motives, if it hadn't been for the swelling hardness she could feel against her buttocks. Every time he leaned forward, his erection pressed against her. But he didn't do anything else that she could object to, and he had done such a good job of relaxing her that she was incapable of responding, either in welcome or in rejection. All she could do was lie there, drifting in and out of a doze, and wishing those powerful hands could stay on the job for another hour or so. It was pure heaven…

Ben looked down at her, and his lips moved into a strained, rueful smile. She was asleep. He was astride her firm, deliciously rounded, barely covered ass; he had been rubbing his penis against that ass for half an hour, he was so hard that he was shaking with the need to have sex, and she was asleep. Blissfully, peacefully asleep.

He would be lucky if he slept at all that night. He'd caught a glimpse of her breasts when she pulled off her shirt, and the image was torturing him. Lush, heavy breasts had always been his favorite, and hers were on the small side, firmly erect without the voluptuous sway that had always turned him on, so he was perplexed by this almost painful fascination with hers. He wanted to see her nipples, roll them between his fingertips, maybe even suck at them a little. He had always loved the feel of a woman's nipple in his mouth. She was lying there almost naked and sound asleep. All he had to do was gently roll her over and look his fill. He wouldn't even touch her.

He began muttering curses from between his clenched teeth as he moved from astride her and capped the liniment bottle with barely restrained violence. He'd given her his word. Something had to be wrong with him. He couldn't believe he'd actually promised her he wouldn't touch her; that in itself was proof of something serious going haywire in his brain. What was even more ridiculous was that he had her at his mercy and wasn't even going to roll her over for a sneak preview of her breasts.

He looked down at her, at the thick swath of shiny brown hair spread across her bare shoulders, at the way her dark lashes rested on her cheeks, at the relaxed softness of her mouth. The sounds she had made while he was massaging her sore muscles had sounded so much like intense sex that he couldn't stop thinking of a time when he would be deep inside her, finally, and those low, husky moans would be sounding right in his ear. This firm, sleekly muscled, deceptively strong body would be vibrant with arousal beneath him, her hips rolling and lifting into his thrusts. She would be clamped so tightly around him that it would be all he could do to move in and out of her, and when she came… God Almighty, when she came…

He shuddered and forced the fantasy from his mind. He was only torturing himself, and damned if he knew why. He'd never been this obsessed with a woman before. Obsessed. He didn't like the word, or the meaning behind it. It was stupid to be obsessed about any one woman when there were hundreds of millions of them in the world and he deeply appreciated a great many of them. To be obsessed with one would mean that others had lost their appeal for him, and he couldn't see that ever happening. Hell, what man in his right mind would
want
it to happen?

Maybe that was the problem. He wasn't in his right mind. If he had been, he never would have made that stupid promise.

But he was oddly content just to sit in that cramped space and watch her while she slept, to enjoy the maddening nearness of her almost naked body.

Damn her. What did she think he was, a damn gelding? How could she have gone to sleep like that, as if she weren't wearing only her panties and he hadn't been astride her firm little ass with a throbbing hard-on? She should have been awake, on guard against the possibility that he would toss her onto her back and make a serious effort at convincing her to slip out of those panties, too. Did she discount his masculinity to the point that she wasn't even
worried
about being seduced?

He should show her how wrong she was in that kind of thinking. He could have her almost ready to climax before she was even awake; she would be twisting in his arms, begging him to enter her and finish the delightful torture. He could spend the night here rather than in his own tent.

Except for that damn promise.

Sighing, he picked up that flimsy little undershirt she'd been wearing and draped it across her back, so he couldn't see the swell of her breast beneath her arm. No point in making this any harder on himself than it had to be, both literally and figuratively. Then he put his hand on her shoulder, pausing a moment to feel the smooth, silky curve, before he shook her slightly.

"Wake up, sweetcakes." His voice sounded strange even to himself, with an oddly husky tone. He cleared his throat.

"Hmmm?" she murmured.

"I'm leaving now. Wake up so you can put the tape back across the zipper."

Heavy lids drifted open and sleepy green eyes looked up at him. For a moment the expression in them was soft and welcoming; then they sharpened and narrowed. Immediately she reached for her shirt, and momentary confusion crossed her face when she found it already draped across her. Not that it was much of a shield, being both too small and too flimsy, but it was comforting for all that

"Don't worry," he drawled. "Nothing happened. When I get around to fucking you, sweetcakes, you can bet you won't be able to sleep through it."

She fumbled at the shirt and finally got it positioned, holding it across her breasts as she sat up. Her cheeks turned pink at his crude remark, but she contented herself with merely glaring at him.

"Thanks for the rubdown," she said stiffly. "It helped a lot."

He lifted his eyebrows. "It was my pleasure."

"Probably, but thank you anyway."

"My services are available for tomorrow night, if you'd like to make an appointment in advance."

She started to tell him that she'd be just fine, thank you, but prudence made her pause. She hoped most of the soreness would be worked out by then, but if it wasn't, a rubdown would be more than welcome.

"I'll wait until tomorrow night to see," she said smoothly. "If you're already booked up I'll just have to wait."

He winked. "Just remember that my services are much in demand."

"I'm sure they are."

He leaned forward and kissed her. "Look, Ma, no hands," he murmured against her lips, and despite herself she chuckled. Ruthlessly he took advantage of it, deepening the pressure and pushing his tongue past the relaxed barriers of lips and teeth,

It was as wonderful as before, damn it. She shivered and helplessly returned the kiss, luxuriating in the feel and taste of him. Her breasts tightened in instinctive preparation, ready to receive their share of attention from him. What would it feel like if he moved his mouth down to her nipples? If he did that as skillfully as he kissed, she wouldn't be able to bear it. If he made love with the same slow sensuality, she would go mad from the pleasure.

She should never have let him kiss her, because her worst enemy was temptation, and oh, was she tempted. She was a woman, not a statue, and Ben Lewis was all man. She wanted him.

So she kissed him too, her mouth sweet and warm with wanting, her tongue joining his. She felt him shudder and was intensely satisfied that she could make him writhe under the same lash of desire.

Then he pulled away, his eyes glittering, his face hard. His mouth was wet and sensual, as if it still molded hers to his passion.

"Goddammit," he said violently, and snatched up the lantern and the bottle of liniment. He jerked the zipper down and started to crawl out, then turned and glared at her. "I'll
never
make such a goddamn stupid promise again," he barked. "And put the tape back over this son of a bitch."

"I will," she said faintly as he exited the tent. She fumbled in the darkness for the strip of tape still attached to one side of the flap, and smoothed it in place over the zipper. Then she stretched out on the pad and tried to sleep, but her heart was pounding way too hard. Her breasts ached; her nipples were tight and throbbing. She found the twisted undershirt and finally managed to pull it on, hoping that the light covering would ease the ache.

No matter how sore she was, she couldn't allow him to give her another rubdown. She knew exactly what would happen. She was too physically aware of him to resist that kind of closeness, and
he
wouldn't try to resist at all. Instead he would use every opportunity to undermine her defenses —not that they were all that strong. Right now they were definitely tottering.

On the third day the terrain began getting rougher as the flat basin started to give way to mountains. Jillian moved up so she was right behind Ben, her eyes anxiously searching ahead.

"What are you looking for now?" he grumbled. He knew what he was looking for: danger. It could be lying in wait overhead or on the ground right in front of him. It could come charging at them from the underbrush. It could arrive in the shape of an arrow, for the more isolated tribes could get distinctly irritated when anyone trespassed on their territories, or the danger could be as simple as swarming bees. It was his job to note every detail, to be prepared for everything. Earlier he had caught the strong acrid scent of huangana, and swung on a wide detour to avoid the ill-tempered and dangerous animals. Pigs from hell, that's what they were. The detour had made Jillian nervous, even though he assured her they had returned to their original course.

"I'm looking for a flat-topped mountain," she replied.

"How close are we supposed to be to it?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter, anyway, since we won't actually go to it. It's just a means of lining up our position. It's supposed to be visible within one day's walk of the time when the terrain begins rising."

"Gosh," he said sarcastically, "I didn't realize the instructions were that precise."

She narrowed her eyes at his broad back, thinking how she would like to hit him with a rock, right in the middle of that sweat-stained expanse, though the rock would probably bounce off, considering how hard the man was. He had become aggravated with his shirt-sleeves the day before, because they restricted his motion as he swung the machete at obstructing vines, so he had simply torn the sleeves out His bare arms were roped with muscles—muscles that rippled and bulged with each movement, muscles that made her abdomen tighten in reaction.

"I suppose," he continued, "if you don't see this flat-topped mountain within one day's walk, we'll turn around and march back and forth until you do find it."

Maybe she'd aim at his head, she thought with pleasure. Granted, his head was probably the hardest part of him, but if the rock was big enough it might make a dent and get his attention. Aloud she said sweetly, "What a good idea! Now I won't worry so much about finding it the first time."

He had learned that the saccharine tone in her voice meant she was thinking up something particularly nasty to say or do to him, and he threw a wary glance over his shoulder. Her expression definitely was not sweet. She looked as if she was contemplating dismemberment—his— and reveling in anticipation. Damn it, he'd never met a woman like her before. She was strong and confident and levelheaded, certainly not qualities he'd ever been particularly attracted to; he'd always looked more for a good sense of humor, a lack of inhibitions, and big hooters. Jillian definitely didn't qualify for the last two, though she did have a subtle, slightly warped sense of humor that kept him on his toes. He couldn't intimidate her, couldn't embarrass her, couldn't seduce her. He was beginning to wonder if there was anything he
could
do to her.

For over two weeks he had seldom allowed her to get more than ten feet away from him, and she had been out of his sight only during calls of nature and when she had zipped herself into her tent the past three nights. Even during the calls of nature, he had made a point of being close by, and keeping a lookout for Dutra at the same time. Such enforced close contact with any other woman would have driven him crazy with boredom by now; Jillian was driving him crazy, all right, but not with boredom.

The truth was, he felt alarmed and annoyed that she wasn't right beside him during the nights so he could keep an eye on her. What if Dutra tried to get into her tent? Sure, Kates had evidently gotten it through the bastard's head that he had to be on his best behavior on the trip inland, but that didn't mean Ben trusted him for a minute. Jillian had her little trick with the tape to jam the zipper on the tent flap, and she had her pistol, but what if Dutra simply sliced his way into the tent? Would Jillian hear him and wake up in time? She had shown herself to be more than capable; in fact, she had been one step ahead of him most of the time, and that was aggravating as hell. But he still worried and fretted, because if he didn't have her soon he was going to either explode or turn into a babbling idiot.

When he had her safely back in Manaus, he was going to lock himself in a hotel room with her and not come out until he had another guide job, which might be a month or more. A whole month of making love… He indulged in some very graphic fantasies for a moment; then his eyes narrowed as he realized that another job would mean leaving her behind, and she probably wouldn't be there when he got back. No, independent Ms. Sherwood would hop a flight back to the States, or she'd be haring off to dig up some old bones somewhere.

He halted in his tracks and turned around to glare at her. Behind her, the entire column lurched to a halt, but he didn't spare them a look. "You'll damn well stay where I put you," he snapped, and turned back around to slash viciously at a vine.

"You've lost it, Lewis," she muttered as she started after him again. "The heat has gotten to you."

"It's not the heat," came his return mutter. "It's a critical buildup of sperm."

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, I see. Your brain has become clogged."

"Something's clogged, all right, but it isn't my brain."

He sounded so irritable that she wanted to pat him on the head and say, "There, there," but she didn't think he would appreciate the gesture. Instead she asked, "If celibacy is so difficult, how did you manage on your other expeditions?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder again, the intense blue of his eyes flashing in the green-tinted dimness. "Usually it isn't"

"Isn't what?"

"Difficult."

"So what's different about this trip?"

"You."

"Keeping you reminded, huh?"

"Something like that." He was muttering again.

She fell silent, but she was smiling. So he was feeling frustrated, was he? Good. It was no less than he deserved.

He stopped again, suddenly motionless, and she skidded to a halt to keep from knocking into him. Behind her, everyone else also stopped, and something about his alert stillness made them abruptly wary. Slowly Ben unslung the shotgun.

He whispered something to Pepe in the Tukano language, and the wiry little Indian whispered a reply.

"Back up," Ben murmured to her. "Very carefully. Don't make a sound."

Easier said than done, but under the silent urging of Pepe and Eulogio they were all retracing their steps, carefully placing their feet to avoid twigs, using their hands to keep limbs from swishing, inching backward with far more caution than they had used while advancing.

Ben stopped again. Jillian tried to see past him, but his broad back blocked most of the view. He made a slight motion with his hand that told her to freeze.

Then she saw it, her eyes suddenly picking out the details from the forest surrounding it. Fierce eyes, golden and predatory, locked on Ben who was at the head of the column. A magnificent golden coat, dotted with black rosettes and blending almost perfectly with the dappled foliage. A thick tail with the tip twitching as if with a life of its own.

The jaguar crouched in wait, powerful muscles bunched. Jillian's muscles were so tight that she could barely breathe. She wanted to look away from the big cat, feeling as if it were mesmerizing her, but she didn't dare break eye contact in case it charged.

The humidity seemed to increase now that they weren't moving, and the intense smells of the jungle crowded in on them, with another scent added: the acrid smell of a big cat. Sweat trickled down her temples and stung her eyes. They stood motionless for so long that the birds in the area, which had initially taken alarm, began to sing again. Tiny brilliant hummingbirds darted close by, and a giant butterfly with six-inch iridescent blue wings fluttered over the barrel of the shotgun, even briefly alighting before continuing its leisurely flight through the jungle. Monkeys high overhead were barking at one another as they normally did. Lizards went about their business of snaring ants and termites, tongues flicking out with hypnotic regularity.

And they stood there, pinned by the big cat's unblinking yellow gaze.

If the jaguar charged, Ben would have to kill it. If anyone behind her made a reckless movement, that might trigger an attack. She began praying that, for once, Rick would control his impatience.

Then suddenly the monkeys began screaming in alarm, making her glance upward, and there was a great scramble aloft; unseen tree limbs high above began swaying with the commotion, making the dangling lianas dance and tremble. Ben still didn't move. She heard a deep, rough cough, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted in primal warning. When she looked back, the jaguar was gone.

They stood there for what seemed like an hour, and probably was. Behind her, either Rick or Kates made an impatient sound that was quickly silenced by a warning gesture from Eulogio. Finally Ben motioned for Pepe to move up beside him; the litter was carefully set down, and Pepe edged around Jillian. He and Ben slipped forward and returned ten minutes later walking normally, though their eyes were still warily searching every bush and tree.

"Jaguar," Ben said succinctly.

"Oh, hell." It was Rick, his disgust plain in his voice. "You mean we stood here for an hour because you saw a damn cat? Why didn't you just shoot it?"

"I would have if it had attacked. It didn't. No point in killing it." Not to mention there were strict laws against killing the big predators. He didn't figure that would matter to Sherwood, so he continued, "I don't want to fire any shots if we don't have to; not only are there tribes in here who sort of worship the jaguar and wouldn't take kindly to us killing one of them, but I don't want to pinpoint our location for anyone."

Those two reasons apparently made sense to Rick, and he dropped the subject. Without any more fuss they started forward again, but for the next several miles everyone was jumpy, staring hard at the foliage in an effort to see if it hid a big spotted cat.

Jillian didn't see a flat-topped mountain. She told herself not to panic, that they hadn't had a full day's walk from the time the terrain had started rising. Probably she wouldn't find the mountain until tomorrow. But there weren't any breaks in the triple canopy, and she couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction. She began to fret that if they were even a little off course the mountain would be blocked from view. Also, the ground was becoming increasingly uneven so she had to devote more time to watching her feet. If they'd had to do this kind of walking on the first day, she wouldn't have made it half so far. They were all more accustomed to the exertion now, though it was only the third day, but she could feel her breathing becoming more and more ragged, and her legs were aching.

Perhaps he could hear her breathing, for Ben slowed the pace. She knew now how he had developed that rock-hard body. If there had been an ounce of fat anywhere on him, he would have burned it off during the first hour. The machete was never still, effortlessly hacking out a clear path for those who followed him. His stride never faltered, his alertness never diminished.

Ben and the two Tukanos hadn't lost any weight since they started walking, having already been down to pure muscle, but the rest of them had. Jillian suspected she had lost at least five pounds; her pants were looser around the waist and hips. She might not lose much more weight, for her muscle mass would increase from the exercise and make up the difference, but she would lose even more inches, and she began to wonder how she would hold up her pants. Her web belt was in the last notch now; she would have to resort to braiding vines to tie around her waist.

Thunder began to rumble overhead, and they could hear the first raindrops pattering in the canopy overhead. The umbrella of trees was so thick that little rain actually fell directly to the ground; instead, it eventually dripped from the leaves or ran in rivulets down tree trunks and lianas. There was no way to avoid getting wet without losing a couple of hours waiting for the forest to stop dripping, but they halted during the worst of it and took shelter under the tarps they had brought along. She dreaded the first hour after the rain, for that was when the humidity was at its absolute worst, the jungle literally steaming under the intense equatorial sun.

The storm was brief that day, and they were on their way again within half an hour, struggling to breathe the heavy air. The humidity was so irritating that conversation was always at a minimum during this part of the day, and the added effort of having to scramble over rougher ground made it worse.

She didn't realize how high they had climbed until suddenly the vegetation thinned and the sun broke through, almost dazzling her with its brightness. They were on the side of a ravine, with a sparkling, shallow stream at the bottom of it. Mountains loomed overhead, silent and primi-tive, undisturbed since their creation millions of years before. And right in front of her, smaller than the others, was a mountain with a broad, flat top, an understatement in a land of superlatives. A rather insignificant mountain, drowsy and peaceful, no challenge at all in its existence. "Ben," she said. "There it is."

He stopped and looked, his eyes automatically going to the highest elevations, which were rolling and uneven. Then he let his gaze slide downward and focus on the table mountain before him. "All right," he said. "We'll go a little farther and camp for the night while you figure out the coordinates for the next leg. Unless my ears are going bad, there should be a small waterfall ahead. If Pepe says it's okay, we'll be able to clean up tonight."