To Love a Man (12 page)

Lisa swallowed convulsively at the mention of her erstwhile attackers. Not until now, when she was faced with having to do without him, did Lisa realize how much she had come to depend on Riley’s grudging presence. She had known that because Sam had told him to, he would keep her safe. . . . She remembered how she had felt in the jungle just after the attack on the Blasses, and how she had felt that day down by the creek when those two animals had stalked her—terrified and helpless. And she would be every bit as helpless here in this camp alone. . . .

“I’m—I’m afraid of guns,” she said lamely at last. “I’m not sure that I could even shoot one.”

Sam’s eyes smiled at her. “That’s why I’m here. To teach you. It’s easy. Now, come over here and let me show you. . . .”

Reluctantly obedient, Lisa moved to stand beside him. Her head came to just a little above his muscled shoulder, she noticed abstractedly. She was fairly tall herself. He had to be at least six-feet-four. Beside him she felt almost tiny, and she was halfway ashamed to acknowledge that she liked the sensation.

“Are you listening to me?” Sam demanded with pardonable exasperation. Lisa started, then turned guilty eyes up to his face. He sighed, then patiently repeated what he had been saying.

Over and over again he showed her how the bullets went into the gun—pistol. Lisa watched, her expression doubtful. It was an automatic, she learned, which meant that the bullets went into a kind of cartridge and then the cartridge went into a hole in the gun’s—pistol’s—handle. After the cartridge had clicked into place, all you had to do was snap a sliding part of the gun’s topside open and then closed again, and it was ready to shoot. It looked simple enough, Lisa thought, but when she gingerly tried to do it herself she pinched her thumb in the sliding panel. Sam laughed, and she glared at him furiously, sucking on the injured digit.

“You’re doing very well,” he praised soothingly, biting back a grin. “You probably won’t have to do that, anyway. I’ll clean it and keep it loaded for you—that’s just in case you should have to reload.”

“Are we finished?” Lisa asked hopefully. Her thumb still hurt, and she was sure that she would be better off throwing the stupid pistol at an attacker than trying to shoot him.

Sam shook his head, grinning.

“Uh-uh. Now that you know how to load—sort of—you need to learn to hit what you’re aiming at. We’re going to go target practicing.”

Lisa looked up at him, aghast. It struck her that he was enjoying himself. The “me Tarzan, you Jane” mentality, she thought sourly.

“I’d really rather not . . .” she began. Sam silenced her with a chiding shake of his head.

“You’re going,” he said firmly.

Lisa looked at him, sighed, and gave up.

He herded her into the jeep and then got in himself. Lisa watched glumly as he inserted the key into the ignition and turned the motor over. Her last hope for a reprieve died as the engine fired. Fatalistically she clung to the side of the vehicle as it pitched and jerked across the bumpy plain, leaving two long lines of flattened grass in its wake. When at last Sam brought the jeep to a halt, she felt as if every tooth in her head was loose. Fixing him with a jaundiced eye, she saw that he was laughing again, his teeth cutting a sparkling white swath in his dark face. She glared at him feebly, wishing that her pitching stomach would realize the jolting ride was over.

“Come on, get out,” he said unsympathetically, swinging himself out from behind the wheel. Lisa grimaced, but did as he said. She didn’t seem to have much choice.

They walked a little way away from the jeep, then Sam left her standing while he went to pull some grass away from the shingled trunk of a large tree.

“That’s your target,” he said, coming back to her. Lisa didn’t answer. Sam went through the whole routine of loading and unloading again, and made Lisa practice until she could do it without injuring herself. Finally he pronounced himself marginally satisfied.

“All right, let’s see you shoot it.” He was grinning.

Lisa looked down distastefully at the heavy metal weapon in her hand. “I don’t want to.” She made one last attempt to persuade him to see reason. The idea of actually shooting the thing . . . What if it backfired? She would be blown to smithereens.

“Do it,” he ordered, and came to stand behind her, his arms coming around her as he showed her the proper way to hold the pistol. Lisa felt the warmth of his body against her back, the solid strength of his muscles, and bit her lip. She had to force herself to concentrate on what he was saying. She refused, absolutely, to give in to this ridiculous weak-kneed feeling that made her want to lean back against him, letting his hard body bear her weight.

“Pay attention,” Sam barked in her ear. Lisa jumped guiltily.

After that small lapse she did her best to listen to and absorb his instructions, squinting obediently down the length of their four arms as he helped her hold the pistol correctly. His arms, bared by sleeves rolled up above his elbow, looked bronzed and muscular and very strong next to her smooth, golden limbs. Crisp black hair covered his brown flesh, and Lisa shivered as it rasped against her soft skin. The feel of his large, callused hands wrapping her smaller ones made her remember. . . .

“All right, now pull the trigger. Gently squeeeeze . . .”

Lisa automatically did as he said, then winced as the pistol spat in her hand. To her surprise, a twanging whine sounded instead of the deafening bang she had been braced for. Relieved, she would have lowered the pistol, but Sam’s hands on hers made her continue to hold it stiffly out in front of her.

“Keep firing,” he said encouragingly in her ear.

Lisa vaguely registered that the mouth of the pistol was still aimed at the hapless tree. Poor thing, she thought, then squeezed the trigger again. She shut her eyes so that she would not have to see the bullet tearing through the unoffending bark, and continued to fire with her eyes screwed tightly shut.

“You can ease up off the trigger. The gun’s empty,” Sam said wryly at last.

Lisa’s eyes blinked open, and her fingers eased sheepishly off the trigger. To her relief, Sam stepped out from behind her and removed the pistol from her slackened grasp. Then he went to check the tree.

Relieved of the combined distractions of his nearness and the hated pistol, Lisa managed to recover a measure of her equilibrium.

“How’d I do?” she asked with some trepidation as he came striding back toward her.

He shook his head in disgust. “You can quit worrying. The tree doesn’t have a mark on it.”

“Oh.” Lisa sighed with relief. Then, feeling as if she had disgraced herself, she added in a small voice, “Didn’t I even hit it
once
?”

“Not once,” he confirmed sparely. “Of course, it might help if you’d keep your eyes open. Come on, let’s try it again.”

Sam came around behind her again. This time his hands rested loosely on her shoulders as he left her to aim the pistol herself. Lisa would have interpreted his gesture as reassuring if she hadn’t had a sneaking suspicion that he considered directly behind her the safest place to be.

The warmth and nearness of his body was a distraction, but Lisa did her best to ignore it. She pointed the pistol rather shakily at the tree, trying not to be conscious of the strength of his broad chest against her back and the muscles in the long, khaki-clad legs just brushing her own bare ones. The smell of him, made up of sweat and cigarettes and man, was intoxicating. Lisa felt perspiration bead her upper lip and immediately blamed it on the heat of the day. Although the spot where they stood was shaded by a clump of leafy teak trees, the sun beat hotly down all around, sending up heat in shimmering waves. It was that, and only that, that was causing her discomfort.

Grimly, Lisa pulled the trigger again, wanting only to get her mind off the reactions of her body. She felt like a murderer when a sickening thud came from the direction of the tree and a small piece of bark flew up in the air.

“Oh, no,” she murmured, dismayed. The gun dropped slackly in front of her. Her hands continued to clutch it nervelessly.

“You hit it!” Sam sounded jubilant. “Good girl! Now do it again.” His hands slid down to clasp her waist as he spoke. Lisa felt the length and strength of his fingers with a little shiver.

“I don’t want to.” Lisa looked at him over her shoulder with unconscious appeal. She had to look up, way up, to meet his eyes. He frowned, but he didn’t look angry. Those blue eyes seemed to be fixed on her mouth. . . .

Lisa couldn’t stop staring at him. She was so close she could see every line, every pore in his skin. She could see the faint black shadow that darkened his jaw, the jagged edges of the scar that should have lessened his appeal but didn’t, the flaring of his nostrils, and every individual hair in his thick eyelashes. His black hair waved damply down over his forehead, and his blue eyes were alive and glittering with an emotion Lisa didn’t attempt to define. His mouth was a hard, straight line that beckoned her excitingly. . . .

Sam’s hands tightened painfully on her waist. Lisa felt a long, tremulous wave of longing rack her body. Sam felt it, too. She could tell by the sudden flare of his eyes. . . .

Slowly, moving as if she were hypnotized, Lisa turned in his hands, going up on her toes, one hand coming up to clutch his muscled shoulder for balance. She could no longer, for the life of her, resist the temptation of that hard mouth.

Her lips touched his softly at first, in a butterfly kiss that tantalized. Trembling, her mouth stroked his, pleading for response. Her eyes were closed tightly, seeking to shut out reality, to exclude everything except this compulsion she didn’t have the strength to deny. She couldn’t see his reaction to her boldness, but the suddenly harsh rasp of his breathing told her all she needed to know.

He stood motionless under her caress, making no move either to help or to hinder. Lisa trembled, moving closer to him so that the softness of her breasts brushed the hard wall of his chest. Her arms slid around his neck, clutching him; the pistol dangled forgotten from one hand. Her tongue slid out from between her lips to trace the unyielding outline of his mouth.

He stiffened. Lisa drew back her head, her green eyes opening languorously. Those blue eyes blazed down at her, as scorching as the African sun at midday, Still he didn’t move. Lisa smiled at him sleepily; her breasts nuzzled into his chest of their own accord. His breath caught. Lisa could feel the momentary cessation of his breathing.

Then, “Hell, why not?” he muttered thickly, and his mouth came swooping down on hers.

VI

H
E
kissed her as if he were starving for the taste of her mouth. His lips and tongue alternately caressed and plundered, while his arms locked around her waist and back, holding her as if he would never let her go. Lisa met his ravening hunger with her own need, her arms wound about his neck, her head thrown back against his shoulder. She was shaking so badly that she doubted that her legs would support her if he released her. Not that there was any chance of that. She could feel his passion building like a raging inferno, searing her with its heat. He had taken over the kiss completely; she followed his lead with abandon. What she had done was totally shameless, she knew—and yet she was not ashamed. She wanted him too badly.

His mouth left the sweetness of her lips to slide hotly across her soft cheek to her ear. Lisa moaned softly as he nipped the tender lobe, his teeth punishing.

“Temptress,” he murmured huskily, his breath warm against the shell-like structure. The word was meant to be accusing, Lisa knew, but somehow it came out sounding incredibly sexy. Her trembling increased until her limbs shook as if they were palsied.

He was totally supporting her weight, one large hand cradling the back of her head as he tilted her so that his mouth could have easy access to the softness of her throat. Lisa closed her eyes against a momentary glimpse of blue sky, barely conscious of anything except the feel of Sam’s hands and mouth and body.

His mouth was tracing its way down her neck, nibbling and sucking and licking at the soft column. Finally he reached the throbbing hollow; he rested there for a moment, his face pressed against her skin. She could feel the hardness of his jaw, the rasp of his unshaven chin, the moist heat of his open mouth as he nuzzled at her throat. Then one hand slid all the way around her back to cup her soft breast. The nipple hardened instantly, pressing into his palm through the thin layers of her shirt and bra. He took the importunate bud between his thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it back and forth. Lisa’s knees buckled.

He let her sag to the ground, his arms supporting her until she was lying full length in the tall grass. Lisa’s eyes flickered open in time to see a fleeting, rueful smile curve the hard mouth. She blinked, confused.

“I think you’d better give me that,” he said, his voice slightly teasing despite the unmistakable passion that thickened his words.

“That” turned out to be the pistol, which she had forgotten all about. Sam removed it gently from her slackened hand. Lisa’s eyes remained fixed on his face. Had she ever not thought him handsome? she wondered bemusedly. He was the most beautiful thing in the world to her now. Those rugged, uneven, intensely male features and that hard, brown, totally masculine body appealed to her in a way that she had never thought possible.

He was standing now, towering over her. Lisa watched hungrily as be unbuttoned his shirt with a quick economy of movement. When he shrugged out of it, letting it fall casually to the ground, her eyes slid desirously along the broad, bronzed shoulders to where they joined the strong neck, then moved down over the muscled, hair-matted chest bisected by the leather shoulder holster. His hands were at his belt, unfastening it, letting it dangle open while he first unbuttoned and then unzipped the khaki pants. Then he paused for a moment, hands resting negligently on his hips, a slow smile teasing his lips as he looked down at her fascinated face.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked softly, and Lisa vaguely remembered once saying something similar to him. Shamelessly she nodded. His smile widened, but something smoldered dangerously in his eyes. He had to sit to remove the heavy combat boots; his movements were slightly jerky as he slid out of his pants and shorts and unfastened his shoulder holster. Lisa smiled involuntarily when he cursed a particularly stubborn buckle. Then he was crawling toward her, naked, straddling her supine body while remaining on all fours.