He grunted, and that seemed to be the end of
the conversation. Jane clenched her jaw against the sudden chattering of her
teeth. It was hot and steamy inside the dark tent, but chills were running up
and down her body. Why didn't he say something else, anything, rather than
lying there so quietly? She might as well have been alone. It was unnatural for
anyone to be that soundless, that utterly controlled.
"How was Dad?"
"Why?"
"I just wondered." Was he being
deliberately evasive? Why didn't he want to talk about her father?
Perhaps he hadn't been hired by her father at
all and didn't want to be drawn into a conversation about someone he was
supposed to have met, but hadn't.
After a measured silence, as if he had
carefully considered his answer, he said, "He was worried sick about you.
Surprised?"
"No, of course not," she said,
startled. "I'd be surprised if he weren't."
"It doesn't surprise you that he'd pay a
small fortune to get you out of
Turego's
hands, even
though you don't get along with him?"
He was confusing her; she felt left out of the
conversation, as if he were talking about someone else entirely. "What are
you talking about? We get along perfectly, always have." She couldn't see
him, couldn't hear him, but suddenly there was something different about him,
as if the very air had become electrically charged. A powerful sense of danger
made the fine hairs on her body stand up. The danger was coming from him.
Without knowing why, she shrank back from him as far as she could in the
confines of the small tent, but there was no escape. With the suddenness of a
snake striking, he rolled and pinned her down, forcing her hands over her head
and holding them shackled there in a grip that hurt her wrists. "All
right, Jane, or Priscilla, or whoever you are, we're going to talk. I'm going
to ask the questions and you're going to answer them, and you'd better have the
right answers or you're in trouble, sugar. Who are you?"
Had he gone mad? Jane struggled briefly
against the grip on her wrists, but there was no breaking it. His weight bore
down heavily on her, controlling her completely. His muscled legs clasped hers,
preventing her from even kicking. "W—what…?" she stammered.
"Grant, you're hurting me!"
"Answer me, damn you! Who are you?"
"Jane Greer!" Desperately, she tried
to put some humor in her voice, but it wasn't a very successful effort.
"I don't like being lied to, sugar."
His voice was velvety soft, and the sound of it chilled her to her marrow. Not
even
Turego
had affected her like this;
Turego
was a dangerous, vicious man, but the man who held
her now was the most lethal person she'd ever seen. He didn't have to reach for
a weapon to kill her; he could kill her with his bare hands. She was totally
helpless against him.
"I'm not lying!" she protested
desperately. "I'm Priscilla Jane Hamilton Greer."
"If you were, you'd know that James
Hamilton cut you out of his will several years ago. So you get along with him
just perfectly, do you?"
"Yes, I do!" She strained against
him, and he deliberately let her feel more of his weight, making it difficult
for her to breathe. "He did it to protect me!"
For a long, silent moment in which she could
hear the roaring of her blood in her ears, she waited for his reaction. His
silence scraped along her nerves. Why didn't he say something? His warm breath
was on her cheek, telling her how close he was to her, but she couldn't see him
at all in that suffocating darkness.
"That's a good one," he finally
responded, and she flinched at the icy sarcasm of his tone. "Too bad I
don't buy it. Try again."
"I'm telling you the truth! He did it to
make me a less attractive kidnap target. It was my idea, damn it!"
"Sure it was," he crooned, and that
low, silky sound made her shudder convulsively. "Come on, you can do
better than that."
Jane closed her eyes, searching desperately
for some way of convincing him of her identity. None came to mind, and she had
no identification with her.
Turego
had taken her
passport, so she didn't have even that. "Well, what about you?" she
blurted in sudden fury. She'd taken a lot from him, endured without
complaining, and now he'd frightened her half out of her mind. She'd had her
back to the wall before, and had learned to strike back. "Who are you? How
do I know that Dad hired you? If he did why didn't you know that no one ever
calls me Priscilla? You were sloppy with your homework!"
"In case you haven't noticed, honey, I'm
the one on top.
You
answer
my
questions."
"I did, and you didn't believe me,"
she snapped. "Sorry, but I don't have my American Express card with me.
For God's sake, do I look like a terrorist? You nearly broke my arm; then you
knocked me out. You've bounced me on the ground like a rubber ball, and you've
got the utter gall to act like
I'm
dangerous? My goodness, you'd better search me, too, so you'll be able to sleep
tonight. Who knows? I might have a bazooka strapped to my leg, since I'm such a
dangerous character!" Her voice had risen furiously, and he cut her off by
resting all his weight on her ribcage. When she gasped, he eased up again.
"No, you're unarmed. I've already had
your clothes off, remember?" Even in the darkness, Jane blushed at the
memory, thinking of the way he'd kissed her and touched her, and how his hands
on her body had made her feel. He moved slowly against her, stopping her breath
this time with the suggestive intimacy of his movements. His warm breath
stirred her hair as he dipped his head closer to her. "But I wouldn't want
to disappoint a lady. If you want to be searched, I'll oblige you. I wouldn't
mind giving you a body search."
Fuming, Jane tried again to free her hands,
but finally fell back in disgust at the futile action. Raw frustration finally
cleared her mind, giving her an idea, and she said harshly, "Did you go in
the house when Dad hired you?"
He was still, and she sensed his sudden
increase of interest. "Yes."
"Did you go in the study?"
"Yes."
"Then a hotshot like you would have
noticed the portrait over the mantle. You're trained to notice things, aren't
you? The portrait is of my grandmother, Dad's mother. She was painted sitting
down, with a single rose on her lap. Now, you tell me what color her gown
was," she challenged.
"Black," he said slowly. "And
the rose was blood red." Thick silence fell between them; then he released
her hands and eased his weight from her. "All right," he said
finally. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt—"
"Well, gee, thanks!" Huffily she
rubbed her wrists, trying to keep her anger alive in the face of the enormous
relief that filled her. Evidently her father had hired him, for otherwise how
could he have seen the portrait in the study? She wanted to remain mad at him,
but she knew she would forgive him because it was still dark. In spite of
everything she was terribly glad he was there. Besides, she told herself
cautiously, it was definitely better to stay on this man's good side.
"Don't thank me," he said tiredly.
"Just be quiet and go to sleep." Sleep! If only she could!
Consciously, she knew she wasn't alone, but her subconscious mind required
additional affirmation from her senses. She needed to see him, hear him, or
touch him. Seeing him was out of the question; she doubted he'd leave a
flashlight burning ail night, even assuming he had one. Nor would he stay awake
all night talking to her. Perhaps, if she just barely touched him, he'd think
it was an accident and not make a big deal out of it. Stealthily she moved her
right hand until the backs of her fingers just barely brushed his hairy forearm—and
immediately her wrist was seized in that bruising grip again.
"Ouch!" she yelped, and his fingers
loosened.
"Okay, what is it this time?" His
tone showed plainly that he was at the end of his patience.
"I just wanted to touch you," Jane
admitted, too tired now to care what he thought, "
so
I'll know I'm not alone."
He grunted.
"All right.
It looks like that's the only way I'm going to get any sleep." He moved
his hand, sliding his rough palm against hers, and twined their fingers
together.
"
Now
will you go to sleep?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Thank
you."
She lay there, enormously and inexplicably
comforted by the touch of that hard hand, so warm and strong. Her eyes slowly
closed, and she gradually relaxed. The night terrors didn't come. He kept them
firmly at bay with the strong, steady clasp of his hand around hers. Everything
was going to be all right. Another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she
was asleep with the suddenness of a light turning off.
Grant woke before dawn, his senses instantly
alert. He knew where he was, and he knew what time it was; his uncanny sixth
sense could pinpoint the time within a few minutes. The normal night sounds of
the jungle told him that they were safe, that there was no other human nearby.
He knew immediately the identity of the other person in the tent with him. He
knew that he couldn't move, and he even knew why: Jane was asleep on top of
him.
He really didn't mind being used as a bed. She
was soft and warm, and there was a female smell to her that made his nostrils
flare
in appreciation. The softness of her breasts against
him felt good. That special, unmistakable softness never left a man's mind,
hovering forever in his memory once he'd felt the fullness of a woman against
him. It had been a long time since he'd slept with a woman, and he'd forgotten
how good it could feel. He'd had sex—finding an available woman was no problem—but
those encounters had been casual, just for the sake of the physical act. Once
it was finished, he hadn't been inclined to linger. This past year, especially,
he'd been disinclined to tolerate anyone else's presence. He'd spent a lot of
time alone, like an injured animal licking its wounds; his mind and his soul
had been filled with death. He'd spent so much time in the shadows that he
didn't know if he'd ever find the sunlight again, but he'd been trying. The
sweet, hot
Tennessee
sun had healed his body, but there was
still an icy darkness in his mind.
Given that, given his acute awareness of his
surroundings, even in sleep, how had Jane gotten on top of him without waking
him? This was the second time she'd gotten close to him without disturbing him,
and he didn't like it. A year ago, she couldn't have twitched without alerting
him. She moved then, sighing a little in her sleep. One of her arms was around
his neck, her face pressed into his chest, her warm breath stirring the curls
of hair in the low neckline of his undershirt. She lay on him as
bonelessly
as a cat, her soft body conforming to the hard
contours of his. Her legs were tangled with his, her hair draped across his
bare shoulder and arm. His body hardened despite his almost savage irritation
with himself, and slowly his arms came up to hold her, his hands sliding over
her supple back. He could have her if he wanted her. The highly specialized
training he'd received had taught him how to deal excruciating pain to another
human being, but a side benefit to that knowledge was that he also knew how to
give pleasure. He knew all the tender, sensitive places of her body, knew how
to excite nerves that she probably didn't even know she had. Beyond that, he
knew how to control his own responses, how to prolong a sensual encounter until
his partner had been completely satisfied. The sure knowledge that he could
have her ate at him, filling his mind with images and sensations. Within ten minutes
he could have her begging him for it, and he'd be inside her, clasped by those
long, sleek, dancer's legs. The only thing that stopped him was the almost
childlike trust with which she slept curled on top of him. She slept as if she
felt utterly safe, as if he could protect her from anything.
Trust.
His life had been short on trust for so many years that it startled him to find
someone who could trust so easily and completely. He was uncomfortable with it,
but at the same time it felt good, almost as good as her body in his arms. So
he lay there staring into the darkness, holding her as she slept, the bitter
blackness of his thoughts contrasting with the warm, elusive sweetness of two
bodies pressed together in quiet rest. When the first faint light began to
filter through the trees, he shifted his hand to her shoulder and shook her
lightly. "Jane, wake up."