Torrid Nights (8 page)

Mackenna’s body thrilled to his exploration and the intimacy was palpable between them. She stared at his mouth. A good, strong mouth that would tease her lips, arousing her smoldering passions just as easily as his touch had created flames from the dormant ashes of desire within her lower, aching body.

His gesture had not been gross or demanding. She recognized it for what it was; he felt he communicated best in this fashion. A shiver of delight raced up her spine, and a small sigh escaped her lips. “That’s a nice way to communicate, too,” she agreed softly.

His dark hair was nearly dry; strands of it rose up occasionally in the breeze and then dipped down across his forehead, softening the normal harshness of his inscrutable face. She enjoyed watching him, drinking in the maleness that was so evident in the flexing of every muscle. A new and fragile web had been spun between them. She sensed it intuitively and lingered inside its delicate veil.

He turned and caught her staring. “You’re the damnedest female I’ve ever encountered, do you know that?”

“Good. Maybe I can make you reassess your views about us in the next six days.”

He reached out, gently forcing her to lie back against the welcoming carpet of grass. His eyes were intent, sky-blue, gleaming with barely restrained passion. His hand gripped her shoulder, his fingers tightening on her flesh. Mackenna’s lips parted, her eyes widening in wonder at her sensuous response to his touch. He stretched his other arm across her body and propped himself above her. Letting go of her shoulder, he ran his fingers through her hair. An odd smile played on his mouth.

“Your hair is like the finest silk,” he murmured. Trailing his fingers across her cheek and jawline he whispered, “I never thought any woman could make me feel like this. Before, I took my pleasure with a woman and walked away.” He caressed her shoulder, then let his fingers follow the rounded curve of her breast and come to rest on her flat stomach. “But this time…” He looked deeply into her jade-colored eyes.

Mackenna drew in an uneven breath, her heart pounding, her body responding scaldingly to his lingering hand. “This time, Brock?” she whispered tremulously. She slid her hand up his arm, reveling in the hardness of his muscles.

He leaned over, his mouth brushing against her lips. “This time,” he growled huskily, “I want to give and not take.” His mouth grew firm, parting her lips expertly. He slid his hand beneath her back, pressing her against him.

A soft moan rose in her throat as he gently explored the sweetness of her mouth. She gripped his shoulders, pressing the length of her body against his, wanting, needing to be close to him. She felt Brock tremble, his mouth caressing her willing lips, smothering her with an incredible longing.

“I want you,” he whispered hoarsely. As if to prove his desire, he stretched out beside her, his hand possessively crushing her to his granite-hard body.

“Yes,” she murmured languidly, breathless. She tensed as he caressed the rounded fullness of her taut breast. A low cry began deep inside her as his fingers slipped beneath the tight silken fabric of the swimsuit, teasing the nipple to instant hardness. His mouth settled on her collarbone, his tongue teasing the flesh, sending shivers through her.

He peeled the straps from her shoulders, freeing her breasts. The warmth of the sun struck her hot, yielding skin. His breath, warm and tantalizing, caressed her as his mouth settled on one sensitive peak and then the other.

Moaning, Mackenna arched upward, begging, pleading softly for him. His teeth tugged gently at her nipples, sending her into a heated, wanton frenzy of desire. Nails digging into his muscled back, she cried out for him. “Please, please, Brock,” she whispered softly. “I need you.

Lifting his head, he removed her suit, stripping it slowly from her straining, aching body. A moment later he lay naked beside her.

“Mackenna,” he whispered thickly, “you are beautiful.” Worshipfully, Brock ran his hand down across her stomach to her slender legs. He brushed her thigh, stroking the flesh, melting her senses into a fiery, molten hunger. Parting her velvety legs, he rose above her, his azure eyes focused on her flushed features. Slipping his hand beneath the small of her back, he drew her upward, welding her into volcanic union with him.

A cry broke from her lips as she languished in the incredible pleasure of the union. Then slowly, slowly he began to move in the rhythm as ancient as humanity. Fire coursed through Mackenna’s body, throbbing, melding her to him, driving her to new heights. Brock’s voice, low and coaxing, drove her on, guiding her as she explored realms of pleasure she had heretofore only imagined. For a blinding instant she arched against him in the final, fiery gift of their passion.

She lay limply in his arms afterward, vibrantly aware of him in every sense. He cradled her head in the curve of his shoulder, kissing her brow, cheek and eyes. A sigh escaped her swollen lips, and she nuzzled deeper into his tightening embrace. This was the Brock Hampton she had longed for all along. A man of deep passions tempered by a touching gentleness. Not some diamond-hard stone without feelings or emotions. No, she was now privileged to have tasted deeply of the man who hid behind so many barriers.

“You’re special,” he said huskily. “So very special.”

Mackenna stirred, opening her eyes to meet the clear blue of his. She drank in his features, stunned by the change in them. He was relaxed now, highlighting a boyish youthfulness in the color of his skin, the softened curve of his mouth and the glimmer of adoration in his expressive eyes. Mackenna caressed his sandpapery cheek, a tremulous smile on her lips. “No, you’re the one who’s special, Brock.”

He smiled and gazed at her as though imprinting her features on his memory. “Honey, you live life. You love so freely. So…” He groped for the right words, then shook his head ruefully, sliding his finger through her auburn hair. “I’ve never loved, Mackenna. Not like this. After so long…”

He must have seen the puzzlement in her expression, because he bent his head to taste her parted lips with his hard mouth. He drew back inches from her, seriousness registering in his gaze. “After my wife left me, I swore I’d use women just as she used me.” He frowned, looking beyond her. “And I did, Mackenna. I punished everyone I could pull into my net.” His voice hardened. “I wanted to hurt back. Especially after I found out. For years, Mackenna, she let me believe that our son had died.”

Mackenna shut her eyes tightly, drawing him against her. “Oh, Brock. How dreadful. But why?”

He placed a kiss on each of her eyelids. “It’s all right,” he reassured her huskily. “Danny is alive. He still lives with her, but I visit him twice a year.” He grimaced. “It’s better than if he were…dead.” His voice dropped at the remembered pain.

Mackenna understood his anguish. Gently, she stroked his cheek and jaw. “You loved me,” she said softly.

Brock met her eyes gravely. “Yes, we loved one another.” He touched her lips. “I don’t understand how you can give all of yourself. You weren’t holding back. I could feel you giving to me with every fiber of your being. You aren’t afraid.” He said it as if puzzled, uncomprehending.

“I never did believe in half an effort or half an expression, Brock. That would cheat you as well as myself. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

He caressed her back. “Life isn’t fair,” he murmured, the shadow of pain in his eyes.

“I know that, Brock. But my own sense of morals and values dictates what I decide is fair. And as long as I deal with you or anyone, I’ll try my very best to be fair.”

“God, you’re an incredible creature. Are you sure you aren’t a fantasy that I’ve created out of my loneliness?” He caressed her cheek. “Will you evaporate, my ethereal beauty?”

She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat, willing that this moment of intimacy would never end. “No,” she murmured, “I’m not a dream. I’m real.”

Brock groaned, crushing her against him. “My fairy-tale princess,” he said huskily. “You’re so vulnerable.” His embrace tightened, and he buried his face in her hair. “I worry about you, Mackenna. I don’t know how you’ve survived for this long.”

She disengaged herself from his arms, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “There is one difference between us, Brock. I live life, and you build walls to protect yourself from it. But I hope that won’t be the case anymore.”

He lowered his eyes, pursing his lips as if experiencing very real, physical pain. Reaching out, he covered her slender, work-worn hand with his own. “It won’t be,” he said softly. He raised his head, his azure eyes broadcasting his anguish. “A certain very special woman just proved the impossible to me. Maybe life is worth taking a second look at.” He stood and pulled her easily to her feet, then seemed reluctant to let go of her hand.

Leaning down, she retrieved her swimsuit. “There’s always hope, Brock. Some people are just too stubborn to recognize it.”

He shrugged his shirt on, that self-deprecating smile on his mouth again. “How can you recognize what doesn’t exist, Mackenna?”

As she dressed, Mackenna tried to analyze the experiences of the past hour. So many things had happened between them. A kaleidoscope of emotions raged within her. Here was a man of great depth, enormous tenderness. Yet there was a sadness in his voice, a regret. She almost believed his assertion that he didn’t know hope existed. There was a fatalism in his expression that wrung her heart each time it surfaced. And why had she involved herself with so complex a lover? What drove her to reach the inner man? The one who had touched her leg with such gentleness and had made her body sing like a finely tuned instrument… They walked slowly from the bamboo grove to the truck. Brock opened her door and she slid in. The silence they shared during the long ride back was an uneasy one; Mackenna would have characterized it as awe blended with disbelief. She was afraid to speak. Suddenly she began to wonder if she had done the right thing. She had opened herself to him entirely. And now he sat, morose and withdrawn, staring moodily at the road ahead. Neither spoke as the truck rumbled noisily over the rutted thoroughfare.

“Originally,” Mackenna continued, tracing her finger along a relief map of Java, “the road was to go from Djokjakarta through the coastal lowlands, skirting the mountainous terrain all the way to the eastern end of the island. The schedule called for completion of the project by December first, before the monsoons arrive.” She sighed, straightening, as Brock turned his attention to the soils-analysis reports laid out on the table before him. Had three days really slipped by? She could not recall when sixteen-hour working days had passed so quickly.

Exhaling, she walked around the table to join him as he read through the reports. Herr Vermeer had been kind enough to allow them to use his mahogany-and teak-paneled library for their conference on the road problem.

Mackenna absently sipped the fresh coffee, having memorized the stack of figures that Brock leafed through now. He looked up. “So the soil got worse around Patjitan?”

She grimaced. “We lost at least four feet of gravel there.”

“So here we sit twenty miles past Lumadjang?”

She got to her feet, setting down the coffee cup on the massive desk. “Yup. And we have eighty miles to build in three months.”

He scratched his head, flipping through another sheaf of pages, his frown deepening. Mackenna leaned against the desk, watching him. He caught her gaze. “You know, for all the problems you’ve had to surmount, you’ve done one hell of a job.”

Mackenna smiled. “Is that your diplomatic way of telling me I’m not fired?”

“You knew you wouldn’t be.”

Brock set the reports on the desk, rising to his full six feet two inches and stretching like a fitful cat awakening from a nap. “Let’s go up and check the progress between those two small towns today.”

“Okay.”

“Did Herr Vermeer have the servant fix me a lunch?” Brock inquired, walking close behind her.

“I’ll check. What’s the matter, are you tired of sharing my lunch?”

“No, but I’m losing weight on the deal.”

Mackenna laughed. “I think you’re getting tired of peanut butter sandwiches, if you want the truth.”

He settled the hard hat on his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he opened the front door. “I did ask the cook if he happened to have any chicken. I’m getting sick of rice cakes and papaya.”

“I know. You’re the kind of man who needs a two-pound steak, rare, at least once a month to keep up your red-blood-cell count.”

Brock moved easily down the steps. “Speaking of which, aren’t you getting awfully pale? Don’t tell me you’ve been staying out of the sun.”

Mackenna shrugged, getting in on the passenger side and letting him drive. “Maybe I need a steak,” she kidded.

He got in, started the truck and drove down the immaculate white-gravel driveway. The sun was just beginning to graze the horizon, and the cerulean sky was fleeced with cirrus clouds that seemed to frame the dawn.

“Ever been to Sydney?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Just on R and R. Why? Is that where you get your steaks?”

“You bet. There’s a nice little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called the Cattleman. It has the best beef this side of Japan.”

“Mmmm,” Mackenna agreed. “Kobe beef is best. You’re making me hungry for steak, Brock. Stop it. I can’t leave this island until the project’s finished! That isn’t fair!”

He grinned ruefully. “Maybe when this is all over, you’ll let me take you to dinner in Sydney.”

“Ahh, your seduction routine?”

“Why not?” he asked, catching her smile.

“You think I’d do anything for a rare steak, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

She laughed. “You’re right. I would.”

“Did you take your malaria pill today?”

“Damn! Thanks for reminding me,” Mackenna muttered, digging in her jeans pocket for a small prescription packet she kept in an airtight plastic case. Taking the thermos and carefully doling out half a cup of water, she popped the white tablet into her mouth and swallowed it, making a face. “Ugh! I hate the taste of these things. You’d think I’d get used to them after taking one a day for all this time.”

“You owe me one,” he teased.

She mumbled, “Next time you forget yours I’ll remind you and we’ll be even.”

Brock shook his head. “I had something else in mind, frankly.”

“I can imagine,” she returned drily, managing to suppress a smile as she thought of their wonderful day by the lake. They settled into companionable silence, Mackenna leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes. For once, it was nice to sit and let someone else drive. She could inhale the tangy scents and allow her mind to wander. Lately, over the last three days, her thoughts had always returned to Brock. A new feeling of joy flooded her heart, then permeated her being.

Brock was less tense, less on guard around her. The day at the lake had done wonders for their budding relationship, and for him. He smiled more often, less hesitantly, and the set planes of his face had softened. He had even become less testy with the lower-management staff at the road site.

Mackenna languished in the knowledge that she had had a gentling effect on him. But he had influenced her, too, and she willingly acknowledged it. Her humor had returned in rare form, and her zest for living burned brightly again. She felt much as she had before Ryan died. A small frown drew her brows together. Funny, she no longer felt the same heart-wrenching pain when she thought of Ryan. But that wasn’t anything to complain about…. Her thoughts became hazy, floating clouds, and finally, she dozed off.

Mackenna stirred, vaguely aware that her head lay on something damp but comfortable. The rough weave of a cotton shirt rubbed against her cheek as she nuzzled instinctively, out of an old, nearly forgotten habit. The definite scent of a man entered her nostrils and slowly brought her out of the light sleep. She felt an arm around her and knew that couldn’t be right. Opening her eyes, Mackenna discovered herself ensconced against Brock’s body, his arm wrapped around her. She groaned, relishing his closeness, his delicious male scent, the protection his arm afforded…all those things she had missed for so long. His arm tightened around her waist momentarily as he guided the truck around some potholes in the road. He slowed to a stop, shifting into neutral and shutting off the engine.

“Are you sure you aren’t anemic, Mackenna?” he asked huskily.

She didn’t want to move away. His voice was low with concern. Rousing herself, she straightened up, regretting that this caused his arm to slip away. Brock was frowning now, watching her intently. He reached out, brushing his finger along her cheek. “You’re flushed. Are you running a temperature?”

Sleepily, Mackenna rubbed her eyes, touched by his solicitousness. “No. Really, I’m all right. It’s just the long days catching up with me, Brock, as they do with anyone who has a project that’s fallen behind.”

“Your eyes look feverish, Mackenna.” She shrugged it off. “It’s nothing, believe me.” She managed a cheery smile. “Old age creeping up on me at thirty-two.”

“It isn’t funny. Those malaria pills don’t prevent you from getting the damn disease, you know. If you’re run down or anemic, it can hit you all over again.”

She leaned back against the door, trying to brush some order into her hair. “I know all about malaria, Brock,” she said. Quickly she looked away, feeling the sudden sting of tears behind her eyelids. What was going on? Perhaps she was vulnerable now because she had just awakened, or maybe it was because Brock was extending himself and she was responding so openly to his kindness. Whatever it was had tripped open the gates of the recent past.

Brock leaned down, retrieving the thermos, and poured some water into the cap. “Every time I mention malaria, I see fear in your eyes, Mackenna,” he said, handing her the cup.

Their fingers touched, and she found the contact calming. She gulped the water down, handing him the empty cup. Then she leaned back against the door, raising her knee and wrapping an arm about it. “You know, we’ve been working awfully hard,” she commented, changing the subject.

Brock leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out their lunch bags. He gave her the smaller one. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I didn’t work all the time.”

Mackenna took a bite of the chicken sandwich. A glint of humor sparked her emerald eyes. “Well, you took some time off for a swim the other day. How did that feel?”

He snorted. “I didn’t do it by choice.”

“Come on, now! You can’t tell me you didn’t have a good time,” she prodded, laughing.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Maybe,” he admitted sourly. “I had a far more enjoyable time afterward with you.”

Mackenna warmed at this reminder. “You’re almost incorrigible, Brock, but not hopeless.”

“You don’t recognize limitations, do you?”

“No. Why should I? Everything I’ve ever wanted out of life I’ve gotten. I worked hard for it, studied and made a lot of my dreams come true.”

“You’re the first person I’ve ever known who was content with herself. And the first one to tell me that you’ve gotten all that you dreamed of out of life.”

“Don’t look so glum,” she chided. “We only have to look beyond our own shortcomings. Those little boxes we build around ourselves. You, too, Brock. You must have had some dreams….”

He studied her in silence for a long moment. “As a boy, I wanted to be an engineer and build huge monuments to myself. I dreamed of having a happy family and plenty of kids of my own.” He scowled, abruptly returning to silence, as though afraid he had divulged too much.

Mackenna knew she would have to tread gently. She finished the sandwich and washed it down with more water from the battered thermos. “So now you own one of the largest American construction companies in the Far East, and I’m sure you build your share of monuments. That must give you a good feeling. A sense of having accomplished your goals.”

“It used to. It doesn’t fulfill me any longer.”

“Was it your unhappy marriage that made things seem so bleak?” she asked softly.

For a moment his blue eyes became icy, and then gradually, as he scrutinized her closely, the defensiveness melted away. “Yeah.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I was a romantic once myself, Mackenna. Building the company was easy for me. Finding the right woman was supposed to be easy, too.”

“Was it?”

“When I was twenty-seven, I thought I’d found the woman I wanted. The one who would be my wife and the mother of my children.” His mouth tightened. “By the time I was thirty, I realized she was only after my money and my social status. She loved me about as much as that cinchona tree over there does.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of a tree by the roadside, casting its shade over the truck.

“But you still have your son,” she reminded him gently.

“Yes,” he answered heavily. “At least there’s that.” He gave the key a savage twist, and the engine roared to life.

Mackenna said nothing more, placing the wrapping back in the plastic bag and stowing it in the glove compartment. At times it seemed that the aura of anger surrounding him was too overwhelming to penetrate. She tried to empathize but found herself unable to comprehend the magnitude of his feelings. Her heart wrenched as she watched the same stony expression descend over his features, freezing his face into an indecipherable mask.

At one that afternoon they reached the head of the new road. Bulldozers, graders and trucks tore at the red earth, reshaping and molding it into a semblance of a highway. Mackenna stuck to the business at hand, sensing that a subtle shift had again taken place between her and Brock. She took soil samples and wrapped them tightly for the trip back to the Dutch plantation.

The seacoast was a ribbon of white sand made glaring by the sun overhead. The Indian Ocean looked like a mirrored lake at the moment, and Mackenna put aside her work to enjoy the lovely view from the small hill on which she stood.

Brock moved up to stand at her side, his hands on his hips, chin thrust outward. “What are you dreaming about?” he demanded.

She smiled faintly, looking up at him. “How did you know I was?”

“That wistful look on your face. I’m beginning to recognize your moods.” He said it as if it were a new revelation to him.

“Good.”

He squatted down, sifting some dirt through his fingers thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. I never could read my wife’s face as I can yours.” He glanced up at her. “Your beautiful emerald eyes give you away, Mackenna,” he teased.

She sat down next to him, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve found it doesn’t pay to hide behind facades. It’s better to be taken at face value.” She laughed suddenly, uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny again. “You don’t have to stare at me like a bug under a microscope, Brock.”

He looked away. “Sorry…you’re hard not to look at.” He squinted out at the water. “You know, it’s so clear today that we should be able to see the island of Nusa Barung.” He craned his neck, peering out across the broad expanse of ocean.

“Very good,” she praised, reaching over and touching his shoulder. His flesh was firm beneath her fingertips, and she delighted in the moment, watching the line of his mouth soften. “You’re starting to see the beauty around you!”

“My teacher,” he answered. Taking her hand, he cradled it within his own, studying her slender fingers.

Mackenna’s breath caught in her throat, and her pulse rate quickened in response to his touch. His thumb lazily circled her palm with delicious slowness, sending a shivering sensation up her arm.

“Working hands,” he murmured, looking down and catching her wide-eyed gaze. “Calluses, dirt under your nails, small lines on each finger announcing that water, concrete, earth and sun have worked together to make your skin this way.” His fingers caressed her hand gently, their roughness bringing an exquisite pleasure. His dark lashes framed his clear blue eyes. The corners of his mouth rose, hinting at his satisfaction in the small discovery of her work-worn hands.

Mackenna felt her insides turn to jelly beneath his ministrations, his gesture so simple, so elegant that it took her breath away. Never had it taken so little to provoke such an incredibly sensual response. There was magic in his hands, a sensitivity monitoring each of her unspoken reactions, and she thrilled at the depth of the man before her. Gently, he let go of her hand, smiling at her with his eyes. “I think it`s time we headed for the road site. If we don’t get a move on, we’ll have to negotiate this damn road in the dark.”