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Forbidden
Ellen James
Dana Morgan has said to hell with security, her ex-lover and her old life. Now she's out for adventure, eager for the unpredictable and determined to prove she doesn't need a man.Just as well, as her instincts warn her that it's dangerous to need anything at all from the ill-tempered leader of this expedition. Or his thirteen-year-old sidekick.Nick Petrie enjoys his difficult reputation. It keeps people at bay. So why isn't it working with Dana or even that young kid, Daniel, his faithful, if unwanted, assistant?While Dana tells Nick to his face that he's a "royal pain," privately she has to admit he's the most exciting man she's ever met. Unfortunately, Nick swears tehre's no room in his life for love. And that goes double for Daniel.Dana's taking the chance that they're wrong.
Forbidden
Ellen James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u3129a49d-cfae-5eea-ac2f-f35165da9965)
CHAPTER TWO (#u85433c3d-a952-565d-9004-6acf44fdb444)
CHAPTER THREE (#ude001a23-72d0-5f1b-b950-414d8c6673a8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u62b38db8-e2c6-5852-b918-21dc2a07a327)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u2a6b7585-87cf-5dd8-a438-5641ff751edf)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
N ICHOLAS PETRIE WAS like the island shore itself: lean, craggy, windswept–more than a bit weatherworn. Dana had a few moments to observe him as he came striding toward her at the boat landing. She recognized him from photographs she’d seen in his books. Dr. Nicholas Petrie…archaeologist. The photographs, however, had shown a vibrant young man gazing at the camera with a cocky devil-may-care grin. The individual approaching her now didn’t look cocky. Instead, he seemed grim, and absorbed in his own thoughts. Although he could be no more than forty or so, his face showed grooves that seemed etched by some deep pain. No…this wasn’t at all the brash man Dana had seen in those photographs. What had happened to change him?
Dr. Petrie wore dusty jeans and his faded shirt was stained with sweat in this humid heat. The tropical breeze had rumpled his dark hair, and as he drew nearer Dana saw that his eyes were a blue as startling and crystalline as the Caribbean Sea. Still unsmiling as he reached her, he ignored her offer to shake hands.
“Ms. Morgan?” he asked. “I’m Nick Petrie.”
“Yes…Dr. Petrie.” An unfamiliar mixture of excitement and apprehension swirled through Dana. She’d both dreaded and looked forward to this meeting. Dr. Petrie had once been a well-respected expert in Mayan archaeology. Yet, by all accounts, he had lost his respectability along with his youthful, debonair looks. Nowadays Dr. Petrie was rumored to be a grouch–at best.
“Is this all?” he said dryly, motioning toward the pile of duffel bags that surrounded her.
Dana eyed the bags, too. Perhaps she had packed more items than were strictly necessary, but her research indicated that Mexico’s Isla Calamar offered few amenities. With a six-month supply of toothpaste, every brand of insect repellent she could lay her hands on and tapes of her favorite music–along with the requisite clothes, reference books, photo equipment and her special field glasses, Dana reasoned that she’d be ready for any adventure.
She hefted one of her duffel bags, ignoring just how heavy it was. “I believe in being prepared,” she said, her own tone dry.
Nick Petrie didn’t offer so much as a ghost of a smile. Easily taking a duffel in either hand, he turned and strode back along the landing. Dana hurried after him, hauling the other two bags. They reached a battered old Rover, so mud streaked Dana could only guess at its original color. Dr. Petrie slung all the bags in the back, then climbed in and started the engine. Apparently he was a man of few words. Make that a man of no words at the moment. That was fine, though. Dana hadn’t come here to chat. She’d come to this small island so she could finally work at something that really mattered to her. No more being stuck in a lab, analyzing soil samples. For once she was actually going to get some real dirt under her fingernails.
That heady excitement swept through Dana again. For too many of her twenty-nine years, she’d followed the safe, predictable route. She’d attended the local agricultural college because she knew it would afford her a secure future. She’d graduated with her master’s and then taken a job with Simonson Labs in Saint Louis because it, too, promised a good future. And then, for an interminable four years, she’d dated Alan, a man who at one time had seemed both dependable and ambitious….
But after the recent debacle with Alan, she’d given up on dependability, security–all of it. By traveling to Mexico like this, Dana was finally doing something unpredictable, and it felt downright exhilarating. Exhilarating–but scary, too.
Now Dana climbed into the Rover beside Dr. Petrie, and in short order they were rattling along a coastal road. The view was spectacular: to one side the shimmering Caribbean, with its waters of jade and reefs of coral; to the other side the lush beginnings of jungle–the coconut palms and the zapote trees with their supposedly sweet-tasting sap. Dana had read all about the plant life of this Mexican island, for she definitely believed in being prepared.
Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the queasiness that assaulted her stomach. The road was rutted and unpaved, and the old vehicle’s shock absorbers were clearly not up to the job. As Dana clung to her seat, every jounce made her feel like a tennis ball slapped by a racket. She wasn’t going to be sick, was she? Absolutely not! She could control this sensation if she breathed deeply and calmly. She had to stop being so keyed up. Too much unaccustomed travel, that was her problem. The day before she’d flown down from Saint Louis to the Mexican resort of Cancún, and this morning she’d experienced the choppy boat ride from Cancún to Isla Calamar. Add to that, bouncing around on this primitive road…
Dana took another deep breath and glanced at Dr. Petrie. Somehow the sight of his stubborn, unyielding profile had a calming effect on her. Maybe he wasn’t prone to conversation, but she found that she needed to talk, after all–anything to keep the queasiness at bay.
“Dr. Petrie, I’ve read both your books,” she said. “I found your explanation of Mayan script very…fascinating.” She had difficulty getting the last word out. Just then the Rover lurched to skirt a boulder in the road, and she pressed a hand to her stomach.
Nick Petrie returned her glance. “It’s been quite a while since anyone bothered trying to flatter me.”
His bluntness stirred Dana to speak her own mind. “I wasn’t trying to flatter you,” she said through clenched teeth. A film of perspiration had broken out on her forehead, adding to her discomfort. “I was just trying to–to make friendly conversation.”
“That’s not necessary, either,” he said, and for the first time she heard a reluctant hint of humor in his voice. “I’m sure the people at the Mesoamerica Institute told you I was foul tempered and difficult to work with. It’s all true.”
“Actually, they were a little more specific than that. They said you were a royal pain in the ass.”
Nick surprised her with an actual smile, and she thought she saw a glimpse of the cocksure young archaeologist he must have once been. Only a glimpse and then it faded, replaced by a stern demeanor. No matter what, he was still an attractive man…very attractive. He appeared seasoned, matured by hardships she could only guess at. That was somehow appealing, too.
Dana forced herself to stare straight ahead, through the grimy windshield. She’d never intended to feel attracted to her new boss. It certainly wasn’t part of the plan for her new life! Hadn’t she learned anything after what had happened with Alan?
Nonetheless, Dana’s thoughts strayed to the sparse facts she’d learned about Dr. Petrie from the Mesoamerica Institute of Saint Louis. The Institute funded a number of archaeological sites in Mexico and Central America, albeit on a shoestring. At first Dana had been overjoyed when she’d been granted a position on the excavation of Mayan ruins at Isla Calamar. However, the Institute staff had warned Dana that the archaeologist in charge of the project, one Nicholas Petrie, was irascible and dictatorial in the extreme. It seemed both his career and his good humor had gone into sharp decline over the past ten years. Dana would have her work cut out for her, establishing herself on the Calamar dig while at the same time finding a way to get along with her bad-tempered supervisor. The previous soil scientist had quit in disgust over conflicts with Dr. Petrie.
Beyond sharing this warning, the Institute showed discretion. It did not elaborate on further aspects of Dr. Petrie’s personality, nor did it explain why his promising career had faltered to the point that only a struggling organization like the Institute itself would hire him.
In preparation for her new job, Dana had promptly attempted to find copies of Nicholas Petrie’s books on ancient Mayan culture. Both volumes had gone out of print, and she’d finally located dog-eared copies of them at two separate libraries. It was all a mystery, really. The books were excellent, written in a lively, insightful style. At this stage of his career, Nicholas Petrie should have produced even more insights into the Maya. What had reduced him to second-class status, heading a minor dig on the insignificant little island of Calamar, Mexico?
Dana forced herself to stop speculating. She’d come to this island for herself. Perhaps the Calamar dig was a minor one, but she didn’t care about that. This was her chance at last to break out of the stifling mold of her old life.
And so she was excited. And nervous. Her emotions were pent-up. All these sensations roiled inside her.
“Please pull over,” she said in a very distinct voice.
“Ms. Morgan, I’m sure you’d like to admire the view, but–”
“You’d best pull over, Dr. Petrie.”
Thankfully, something in her tone prevented him from further argument. He brought the Rover to a halt. Dana clambered out her side of the vehicle and stalked off toward the underbrush. She had a vague notion of preserving some dignity for herself, but a second later she was doubled over in an ignoble fashion.
Nick Petrie knew exactly what to do. Without saying a word, he followed Dana and supported her head during the humiliating episode. His hand was cool and firm against her clammy skin. When it was all quite over, he held a canteen of water to her lips for a blessedly refreshing sip or two. Then he moistened a serviceable white handkerchief in the water and pressed it matter-of-factly against her face. She was trembling, and he held her steady with one arm. Giving up all hope of dignity, she leaned against him, silently accepting the strength he offered her.
“I usually don’t cause such a strong reaction in people,” he said. “I make them run away, yes–but I don’t make them sick. This is a first.”
She couldn’t even bear to look at him. Dana hated feeling out of control, the way she did right now. When she was quite sure she could stand alone, she moved away from him–although she’d ended up clutching his handkerchief and couldn’t seem to let go of it.
“I feel fine now,” she declared. “It’s all very embarrassing, what just happened–but it was the excitement, you know. I’ve been that way ever since I was a kid. I’d go on a trip, and I’d get so worked up about the adventure I’d be sick….” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was only making matters worse, conjuring up an image of herself as a spindly little kid who couldn’t even handle the anticipation of going to Disneyland. She could tell from the disgruntled expression on Dr. Petrie’s face that he didn’t want to hear any more about her childhood.
And yet, just a few moments ago, he’d been…compassionate. There could be no other word for the way he’d helped her. Gruffly compassionate. Maybe only the gruff part remained now, but she hadn’t imagined the other.
“I’m ready to go on,” she said.
“I doubt you’re up to working,” he answered brusquely. “I’ll take you into the village and let you rest for the day.” He made it sound as if he wanted to be rid of her, and that only strengthened Dana’s resolve.
“Absolutely not. I’m fine–really I am. I’m more than ready to work.”
He studied her with a skeptical expression, the harsh lines of his face hardening still further. There could be no doubt that he disapproved of her. But then he gave an abrupt nod, and led the way back to the Rover.
Dana clambered in beside him. He drove more slowly now, making the ride smoother. Dana suspected he was doing it out of consideration for her, but she didn’t know how to thank him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her gratitude; he still maintained a beleaguered expression.
But at least they were on their way again, the road turning and making a path among the vine-draped trees. The jungle of Isla Calamar engulfed them. Branches scraped the sides of the Rover as the road grew more narrow and rutted. Now Dr. Petrie couldn’t avoid bouncing along, and Dana’s stomach clenched in protest. She willed herself to remain calm; she simply would not disgrace herself again.
They traveled for half an hour, perhaps more. Nick didn’t speak to her. The silence seemed a brooding one, broken now and then by the shriek of some exotic bird. The green shadows of the forest pressed in on the Rover, but at last Nick came to a halt. And that was when Dana saw it–the Mayan temple.
It jutted up amid the jungle with all the majesty of its thousand years. Mossy stone upon stone rose in narrowing terraces to the very pinnacle of the pyramid. Underbrush still tangled about the steps, and here and there gnarled tree roots had broken up the dark gray stone. Dana climbed out of the Rover and went to stand at the very base of the temple, craning her neck upward. She was filled with a sense of awe–and gratitude that she could witness this remnant of a vanished civilization. She knew there were more impressive ruins: the great Mayan cities discovered at Palenque, Tikal, Copán. That didn’t matter. This was her ruin, this temple hidden among the forest of mangrove and cypress.
At last she turned to Nick, who had come up beside her. “It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He said nothing in return, but merely studied her in that disconcerting manner of his. In the mysterious shade of the jungle, his eyes were an even more intense blue than before–and his features even more stern. His gaze might be disapproving, but that didn’t stop her from feeling oddly drawn to the man, as if they shared something unspoken in common. For the space of several heartbeats she gazed back at him. His features had gone taut–perhaps a sign that he, too, felt this odd connection between them. Dana knew it didn’t make sense. Nicholas Petrie was a stranger to her. How could she therefore feel this disturbing sense of closeness to him?
She was the one who glanced away first. Firmly she reminded herself of the disaster with Alan. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to Dr. Petrie, of all people.
She turned from him, and saw a black-striped iguana dart across a rock. Insects buzzed around her. So far this morning her repellent wasn’t doing the job, and she had to resist the urge to slap her arms.
“What types of artifacts have you uncovered in the vicinity?” she asked, needing to fill the silence between herself and Nick. “Monuments, stelae, that sort of thing.”
When she ventured to glance at him again, she could swear she saw a restrained humor hovering in his expression now. His change of mood annoyed her. What did he find so funny, dammit? She slapped her arms after all, as a swarm of whining bugs strafed her. Why didn’t any of them seem to be attacking Nick?
“We’re excavating for remnants left by the Mayan farmers who lived near this temple,” Nick said. “But don’t get too worked up, Ms. Morgan. We’re not likely to make any stunning discoveries. I’m not the first archaeologist to descend on the island. Different groups were here during the 1920s and 1950s. They didn’t find anything particularly noteworthy. We’re here as follow-up.”
His impassive tone made her glance at him more sharply. “You’re not excited about this place?”
“The capacity for excitement is something I lost a long time ago.” He seemed to lapse into his own thoughts then. The silence felt more strained than ever to Dana, but she didn’t know how to fill it this time. She was almost startled when Nick spoke again a few moments later.
“This was once a shrine to the goddess Ixchel,” he said. He still seemed lost in his own contemplations as he gazed at the temple. “Superstitions about it have circulated the island for centuries now.”
The air was heavy, like a shroud of heat wrapping itself around Dana. “What superstitions?” she asked.
Nick seemed to stir from his reverie. “There’ve been stories about the temple ruins being haunted by a woman of the ancient Maya. You know the type of thing–people out to scare each other with talk of a ghost, and evil curses if anyone dares to climb the temple steps.”
Dana was not prone to superstition herself, but she supposed this jungle was the place for ghost stories, all right, with its gloomy shade and aura of deep isolation.
“Exactly what do the stories say?” she asked, trying to evince nothing more than scientific interest.
“Ixchel was the Mayan goddess of fertility, and women once came to the island on pilgrimage to worship her. The story goes that one of these pilgrims knelt to beg Ixchel for a baby and then died mysteriously while still at the temple. They say her ghost haunts the place, refusing to leave until she obtains her child. People also say that the ghost curses anyone who ventures near the temple to disturb her mourning.”
“Hmm…a ghost and the goddess Ixchel.” Now the temple rising up before her seemed more grand than ever to Dana. She could almost picture a young Mayan woman climbing the steps reverently and hopefully, going to petition her goddess, unaware of the fate that awaited her….
“Does the story frighten you?” Nick asked, making Dana start.
“No–of course not. It’s just sad, that’s all. I feel sorry for the woman who never got her baby. But you aren’t trying to scare me off, are you, Dr. Petrie?”
“And why would I try to do that?” he asked gravely.
“I don’t know. Maybe you like to scare people off.”
He surprised her again, this time with just a flicker of a smile. Then he glanced beyond Dana. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a young boy sitting at the far end of the temple steps, quietly observant. It was disconcerting to see the boy; surely he hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He looked to be no more than eleven or twelve, with dark tousled hair, dark eyes and the sun-burnished skin of an islander. At Nick’s glance, the boy came over to stand beside him. The two exchanged no greeting, no acknowledgment of any kind, yet seemed accustomed to each other’s presence. They stood there together, apparently satisfied with the silence between them. Dana got the feeling that if anyone was going to speak, it would have to be her.
“Hello,” she said to the young boy. “I’m Dana Morgan.”
The boy stared at her, as if she’d breached some obscure code of etiquette by actually introducing herself. But at last he gave a brief nod in return.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, his pleasing Spanish accent at odds with his grudging tone.
The conversation threatened to die there, but Dana had always been good with kids. She tried again.
“My grandfather was a Daniel,” she said. “I was christened for him, in fact.”
This tidbit of information didn’t seem to inspire young Daniel in the least. He continued to look disapproving. As for Nick…well, he observed Dana with that subtle hint of amusement she already found annoying.
She refused to be daunted by two such closemouthed individuals. As she searched for a more fruitful line of discourse, at last Nick spoke.
“Daniel works with me part of the time. Come along, Ms. Morgan, we’ll show you where we’re excavating.” Nick strode away, the boy following him like a small shadow. Dana brought up the rear, wondering why Daniel seemed so prickly and difficult. Maybe he was just trying to emulate Nick Petrie’s charming demeanor, she told herself ironically.
Almost immediately the jungle engulfed the three of them. Ferns and vine tendrils brushed Dana’s face. Orchids and other bright flowers she couldn’t identify clung to the trees. Patches of bamboo reeds impeded her progress, but she fought her way through. Already her cotton shirt had grown damp with perspiration in the tropical heat.
Nick held aside a tangle of stalks so she could pass. “Half the time I carry a machete with me. A lot of my work involves cutting back the jungle, as well as digging in the ground.”
