Mexican Nights

• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  

"Do You Have A Glimmer of What I'm Saying?"


Terri lowered the camera and gritted her teeth in irritation. Who did he think he was anyway?


"This is the greatest glory of Aztec art and culture, Miss Thompson," he intoned as if talking to a slow-witted child. "Not even a shadow can be allowed to detract from its impact."


Was she to endure insults for the four weeks of this assignment? Terri could not remain silent another minute.


"I
have
done my homework," she said haughtily. "And it's going to take fifty-two weeks to finish this assignment if you insist on interfering at every turn."


Derek Storm's eyes gave off fierce sparks. He might be one of the best-known writers in the world, but
she
was the photographer.

JEANNE STEPHENS has been greatly encouraged with her writing career by her husband who thinks she can do anything. She is a voracious reader and often takes long walks during which she works out her plot problems.

Dear Reader,

Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and , our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.

Also,
you
play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.

So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for
you
!

Silhouette Books

Editorial Office

47 Bedford Square

LONDON WC1B 3DP

For Kenneth,

for so many reasons

Copyright © 1980 by Silhouette Books

First printing 1980

ISBN 0-340-26443-8

"I'll need that series of articles from last year's
Annals of Mexican Anthropology
, Jack. Go to the library tomorrow and get copies."

The deep voice boomed in the silence of the Aztec Hall. Heads turned toward the tall man who was striding across the polished floor, followed by two shorter, somewhat younger men, one of whom was scribbling furiously in a small notebook and both of whom looked washed out in comparison with the electric energy of the darker man.

"
Miss
Thompson! The most famous archaeological monument in the world is surely of enough visual interest without adding
people
!" The Spanish blood could not be detected in the voice inflections, but the volatility could. There was outrage in Dr. Derek Gonzales Storm's dark eyes, which glowered from beneath scowling brows at the slight girl who stood, camera raised, in front of the Aztec calendar stone.

Terri lowered the camera, gritted her teeth in irritation, and turned steady gray-blue eyes on him. Who did he think he was anyway? He might be one of the best-known writers in the world, but she was the photographer. Oh, she'd dealt with know-it-all writers before, but her coolly aloof gaze, with just a hint of the raised eyebrow, ordinarily cut them down to size. Most of them had retreated in the face of that look; a few of them had even apologized for daring to give Teresa Thompson instructions in photography. But Derek Storm did not back down one inch. There wasn't the faintest shadow of apology in the harsh lines of his tanned face as he glared down at her.

"This is the greatest glory of Aztec art and culture, Miss Thompson," he intoned, as if attempting to explain the multiplication tables to a slow-witted child. "We want the wildness of the sun god's face, the sensuous rhythm of the fire snakes. Not even a shadow can be allowed to detract from their impact." The dark brows slanted determinedly, almost meeting where indignation had etched lines across the bridge of the straight nose. The chiseled jaw jutted squarely, pulling the sensuous mouth into a hard, straight slash mark.

Terri could almost feel the blond hairs rising on the crown of her head. Was this pedantic tirade supposed to impart information previously unknown to her? Of course, the Aztec calendar was one of the finest archaeological pieces in the world. Of course, it attested to the genius of that ancient culture. She had read up on the Aztecs before accepting this assignment. She had plowed through three books on the subject, as well as several on the Mayas, before setting foot on Mexican soil. The famous Dr. Derek Storm wasn't dealing with an amateur, for heaven's sake!

Terri's pale hair swung about as she tapped one sandaled foot impatiently and set her small chin. She could feel Jack Ledbetter's blue eyes and Mike Petersen's hazel ones shifting expectantly from her face to their employer's. The other people in the hall— museum visitors—were also watching the confrontation curiously. Even the young Mexican man who had agreed to pose next to the calendar stone—merely to give the viewer some idea of the size of the monument—seemed to be expecting an explosion. Her one swift glance in his direction took in the sympathy in the black eyes, as if he expected her to burst into tears and wished to be of comfort. But Terri hadn't resorted to tears once during the three years she'd been establishing a reputation for herself as a professional photographer, and she certainly had no intention of allowing Derek Storm to reduce her to such a state. She stared up at him, certain that she exuded confidence, although feeling, for the first time in her memory, an incomprehensible mixture of confusion and alarm. He seemed to be expecting an emotional outburst of some sort—so Terri uttered not a sound.

"Do you have a glimmer of what I'm saying?"

Was she to endure insults, then, for the four weeks of this assignment? He continued in his deep, authoritative voice. "Understand that I do not resort to cheap tricks in either the text or the photographs in my books. The grandeur of the ancient Mexican cultures needs no embellishment. Have you the vaguest notion, Miss Thompson, of the magnitude of these people's accomplishments?" This was said with a sweeping gesture of one long arm toward the twelve-foot-tall calendar stone. "More than a hundred years older than the Gregorian calendar. Fifty-two years in the carving, and only stone tools to work with."

Terri could not remain silent another minute. "I am not as knowledgeable as you, Dr. Storm," she said haughtily, "but I have done my homework." Then, on an insane impulse, she added furiously, "And it's going to take fifty-two years to finish
this
assignment if you insist on interfering at every turn."

A pregnant hush hovered in the hall as the watching faces waited for the other shoe to fall. Predictably, Derek Storm's eyes gave off fierce sparks.

"As you wish," he retorted threateningly, then in a lower tone that was somehow even more ominous: "If it takes that long to get it right, then that is how long we will work at it. But we will get it right, Miss Thompson!"

While Terri cast about for an appropriately scorching reply, his glittering gaze swept away from her and landed on his secretary. "Mike, I want those letters out today." He then regarded his research assistant. "Jack, Miss Thompson is to have a copy of my recent article on the calendar stone."

Pompous male chauvinist! She turned to the young Mexican man waiting beside the monolith. "Thank you for accommodating me. You are very kind. Gracias."

He smiled, bowed graciously, and said in heavily accented English, "It was my pleasure, seňorita," before walking away.

Terri moved across the hall to where a stone jaguar was displayed on a broad pedestal. The jaguar was carved as he was about to leap; a receptacle had been formed in the animal's back to hold the hearts of human victims sacrificed to the Aztec gods. Adjusting the focus on her 35-mm. camera, she shot the jaguar from various angles, using available light. Derek Storm still stood, as if transfixed by the calendar stone, allowing Terri to study surreptitiously the man with whom she would be forced to work closely for the next several weeks. He had made a specialty of writing studies of ancient civilizations in such clear, vibrant language that his books were consistently on the best-seller lists. Being given the job of providing illustrations for two of Derek Storm's books—one on the Aztecs, the other on the Mayas—was the biggest assignment of Terri's career. She could live comfortably for a year on the commission from these four weeks of work—not to mention the professional boost that was assured by collaboration with the famous Dr. Storm— and she would
not
be intimidated.

From behind her camera, she watched him. His concentration on the monument was so intense Terri could almost feel it—as if he were trying to think himself into the minds of the carvers. Perhaps that is how he managed to write such sparkling, believable descriptions of long-dead civilizations. A tight-fitting yellow knit shirt molded itself to his broad chest and muscular upper arms, and when he moved slowly to view the giant disk from a different angle, Terri saw a glistening of scattered silver hairs at his temples and the sweep of a thick, dark wave falling carelessly across his forehead. She felt oddly comforted by these tiny flaws, for they proved he wasn't perfect after all.