To Love a Man (10 page)

“I—I took a lot of art history. I never declared a major. I was only there a year.”

“You stopped going to school when you made a good marriage.” It was a statement, not a question. Sam put scornful emphasis on “a good marriage.” Lisa bristled.

“Yes, I did. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Sam paid no attention to her growing annoyance. “So how long have you been married?”

“Six years, if it’s any of your business.”

“And last year you got bored, right? How did you get the job on the newspaper without any kind of background in journalism? Wait, don’t tell me.” This came as Lisa tried to speak. “Let me guess: Granddaddy owns it. Right?”

“Yes.”

“How convenient.” He was openly sneering now. “No wonder the paper sent you over here. They were probably willing to do anything to get rid of you.”

His derision flicked Lisa on a vulnerable spot. She knew full well that she never would have been hired by the paper if she hadn’t been who she was, but she liked to think that since then she had proved herself to be a better than adequate writer, at the very least. Her eyes flashed angrily into his, and she got abruptly to her feet.

“What do you know about it, anyway?” she demanded in a low, furious voice, glaring down at the bronzed face lifted toward hers. “You . . .”

He reached up, seizing her wrist in a grip that hurt. “Sit down and shut up.” His voice was low, but dangerous nonetheless.

Lisa was on the verge of throwing caution to the winds and telling him where he could go, when she happened to glance around and see the interested eyes of the men fastened on the little tableau she and Sam made. She sat down.

“I have one more question, and then we’ll drop the subject: What did your husband think about you leaving him all alone to come over here?”

Lisa gave him a smoldering glare. “It was my decision. He doesn’t try to tell me what to do.”

Not for anything in the world would Lisa have told him the true state of her marriage. It was personal, private, and none of his damned business. Besides, he would doubtless want to know why her marriage hadn’t worked out, and that was something she had never told anyone, not even her grandfather. She owed Jeff that much loyalty.

“Poor sod was probably as glad to get rid of you as the newspaper,” Sam surmised brutally. “I bet you lead him a pretty dance. Tell me, do you cheat on him while you’re at home, too, or do you confine your extracurricular activities to the times when you’re conveniently out of the country?”

This was so unexpected, so grossly unfair, that Lisa gasped out loud. Then, not caring what he thought or what form his punishment might take, she jumped up and ran.

Sam didn’t follow her. Lisa’s steps finally slowed, then stopped altogether. Running away had been useless, a ridiculous waste of time and energy. Where could she go but to Sam’s tent, to wait meekly for whatever form of retribution he chose to inflict on her? She was not stupid enough to fly heedlessly out into the bush. . . .

It was strange how much that last cutting remark of his had hurt. Funny, but she had never thought of that single, still slightly unreal night with him in terms of cheating on Jeff. Her marriage to Jeff had been dead for years, since before Jennifer had been born. If Jeff knew that she had made love with Sam, he wouldn’t be hurt in the least. The only thing that might be even slightly dented was his pride, and she tended to doubt that. He’d been finding his own forms of amusement for years. . . . Why shouldn’t she do the same? She would have done it long ago if it hadn’t been for Jennifer.

Lisa pushed all thoughts of her daughter from her mind as she reluctantly headed for Sam’s tent. What was past was past, and she had made a pact with herself to live only in the present and the future. And her immediate future seemed likely to include a very unpleasant interview with Sam.

He had not yet returned to his tent, Lisa saw with relief as she entered. The lantern was still burning, and it very plainly revealed that the tent was empty. Lisa stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, chewing nervously on a fingernail. Should she wait meekly for him to come in and chastise her, or should she return to her own tent and let him seek her out? She was tempted to go to her own tent, but the memory of Sam’s ultimatum discouraged her. She was sure she had angered him already by making a scene in front of his men, and if he found her in her tent in defiance of his order he might very well carry through on his threat to cast her adrift and let her fend for herself. And that was too high a price to pay for a meaningless gesture of defiance.

Time passed, and still Sam didn’t come. Lisa finally curled up in his cot, huddling miserably under the blanket. Her throat hurt, her stomach ached from lack of food, and she was growing increasingly apprehensive about what form Sam’s anger might take.

She was determined to be awake when Sam finally returned to his tent. True, she couldn’t stop him from taking her body, if that was what he planned, and she was about ninety-nine percent sure it was. If she was honest with herself she couldn’t even deny that the idea wasn’t exactly repulsive to her, either. But after everything he had said and done to her today, she was damned if she was going to make it easy for him. With grim relish she planned the words she would use to singe his arrogant ears.

It must have been about midnight when Lisa could no longer fight the compulsion to rest her eyes—just for a minute, she told herself. She let her lids drift closed, and was asleep almost instantly.

She awoke to the feel of hard arms curving around her body. Stretching sensuously against the solid shape that held her, she sighed and opened her eyes. It was dark. . . . It took her a few seconds to work out exactly where she was and whose arms enfolded her. Sam . . . Lisa knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was angry with him, that she should be pushing him away instead of snuggling against him. But she was so sleepy, and the night air was so cold. . . .

Dreamily she realized that he was lifting her. Her arms curled automatically around his neck. He had taken off his shirt. . . . Her fingers stroked the iron muscles of his neck without conscious thought; her chilled little nose buried itself in the thick, curling hairs that covered his chest. He smelled so good, warm and faintly sweaty and all man. She pressed her lips against his chest, letting her tongue taste the saltiness of his skin.

He was carrying her. She didn’t know where or why, but she certainly wasn’t going to worry about it. It felt so good to be cradled in his arms. . . . Her toes curled in anticipation of what would happen when he finally put her down again.

He was lowering her onto a cot—whose cot?—that seemed to have sprung up on the opposite side of the tent from his. As the thin mattress took her weight, Sam’s arms released their hold on her body, and he made a move as if to straighten. Lisa’s arms clung protestingly around his neck. She didn’t want him to go. . . . Why did he want to, anyway? This was surely what he had had in mind when he had asked—no, ordered—her to move in with him. Ahhh. Lisa smiled faintly as the solution to the puzzle presented itself. He had to finish undressing. . . . And then he would undress her, before . . . Her whole body tingled at the idea.

Her hands slid reluctantly down the front of his chest, her nails trailing through the crisp, slightly damp hairs. The curling strands rasped lightly against the sensitive pads of her fingers, and she gave in to a compulsion to tug on them. His breath sucked in in a satisfying little grunt. . . . Lisa had an uneasy suspicion that in the morning she would regret what she was doing, but at the moment she just didn’t care. All she could think of was the melting warmth between her legs. . . .

As her hands reluctantly released their grip, Sam straightened. Lisa could dimly make out the dark bulk of his big body as he moved a little away from her. With some small part of her consciousness she registered that he had apparently put out the lamp before awakening her. . . .

She heard the clink of metal as he unfastened his belt, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. Breathlessly she waited for him to remove his pants and return to her. He seemed to be taking forever. . . . Her eyes strained through the darkness. She could no longer make out exactly where he was.

“Sam?” His name was a husky whisper.

“God, you really are insatiable, aren’t you?” he demanded tersely. Lisa heard the words with shock. Her breath caught in an audible gasp.

“Sorry,
Mrs.
Collins,” he added when it became clear from the stricken quality of the silence that Lisa wasn’t going to answer. His voice was harshly mocking. “You’ll have to rock yourself to sleep tonight. I make it a rule never to shack up with married women.”

V

L
ISA
awoke the next morning almost in spite of herself. She surfaced groggily, her eyes blinking against the unwelcome fact that she was indeed facing another day. Her body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller, and her spirits weren’t in any better shape. Horrible, detestable man! was the first coherent thought to enter her brain. Then: God, my throat hurts!

One eye finally stayed open long enough to survey the interior of the tent. It was empty. Lisa felt a wave of relief so intense that all her muscles sagged with it. If there was one thing she could do without this morning, it was the knowing looks and snide remarks of a man who plainly considered her some kind of slut. That he might have some little justification for his belief, Lisa had to acknowledge, mentally reviewing her behavior since he had first laid eyes on her. To be absolutely fair, he was not to know that she didn’t come on like a barracuda to every man she met. On the contrary . . . It was just something about
him
! And that was something that she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.

If possible, Lisa felt even worse after making that humiliating admission to herself than she had upon awakening. Of all the men in the world—all the handsome, wealthy, respectable men in her social circle at home, all the intelligent, talented men at the paper where she worked, even the cute blond college boy who did odd jobs around her house—why in the world had her long-repressed sexuality chosen to batten on
him
? He was as hard-bitten as they came, tough and cynical and a male chauvinist pig to his toes. He wasn’t even handsome, for God’s sake! And she didn’t like him—on his good days; at other times she actively hated him. But she craved the touch of his hands on her flesh like the Western world craved oil. She must be crazy! Which brought her thoughts back full circle. Horrible, detestable man!

Lisa sat up, not wanting to remember the events of the night before. She swallowed automatically, then winced in pained surprise. The inside of her throat felt as red and raw as hamburger. When she had tried to swallow, it had been pierced by a little stab of acute pain. Unwillingly she remembered the short, stubby hands of her attacker closing about her throat. . . . If Sam hadn’t come when he had, the brute might have killed her. Lisa grimaced wryly. There was no
might
about it. He would have killed her, and by this time her body would have been picked clean of flesh by the carrion eaters of the jungle. There would have been nothing left but a skeleton. . . . Lisa shivered. Reluctantly she admitted that she owed Sam her life once again.

Pushing the tangled mass of her hair back from her face with one hand, Lisa sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the cot so that her bare feet touched the floor. Aside from her throat, the rest of her body seemed to be in reasonable shape. She was a little sore here and there, and probably had quite a few colorful bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. If nothing else, she thought wryly, this little—adventure—had certainly increased her tolerance of pain.

Lisa sat stiffly on the edge of the cot, not yet having summoned enough energy to stand up. She was still fully dressed except for her shoes, she registered idly, and remembered lying down on Sam’s cot without doing anything more than kicking them off. Her attention shifted to his cot. It was still there, in the back right-hand corner of the tent. The little table littered with his papers was in the back left-hand corner. Her own cot was placed nearer the entrance, almost catty-corner to Sam’s. A good four feet of space separated the two. . . . Apparently, from the presence of the extra cot, he had meant to let her sleep alone all along—with sleep being the operative word. If he truly had scruples about making love to married ladies, she was willing to bet that they had never troubled him before last night. She was quite, quite sure that he had said what he had merely to shame her. . . .

A bronzed, strong hand parted the tent flap. Lisa started, her head swinging around to confront the intruder, her eyes wide with instinctive fright. Then she recognized the black curly hair and relaxed.

“Still in bed?” His voice was faintly amused. As he straightened and looked down at her, Lisa met those blue eyes. They were mocking.

“As you see.” She meant the words to be coolly aloof, and was surprised at the dry croak that emerged from her throat.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. He bent and took her chin in his hand before Lisa could move away, tilting her face up so that he could get a better look at her neck. He studied the slim column for a moment, unspeaking, but his darkening face spoke for him. Finally he brought his other hand up to stroke her throat, his touch surprisingly gentle. Lisa winced. Immediately he let her go.

“Your throat hurts.” It was a statement, not a question. He was frowning heavily as he looked down at her.

“Yes.” Her answer was faintly defiant.

“They really did play a little rougher than you had bargained on, didn’t they?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lisa muttered angrily, closing her eyes and then opening them again to glare at him. To her surprise, he smiled at her. She was transfixed by what that slow smile did for his face.

“All right,” he said, his tone placating. “I believe you about what happened down by the creek. I had a little—uh—talk with Lutz and Brady—the men who grabbed you—and they finally came clean.”