Hunter

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That said it all, she supposed, but she was glad she could leave all the details to him. Her job was field geology, not espionage. She glanced up at him, allowing herself a few precious seconds of adoration before she jerked her eyes back down and pretended to read a magazine.

She didn’t fool Hunter. He’d felt that shy appraisal and it worried him more than the agents did. Being alone with Jennifer on the desert was asking for trouble. He was going to make sure that he was occupied tonight, and that they wouldn’t set out until tomorrow. Maybe in that length of time, he could explain the situation to his body and keep it from doing something stupid.

It was a short trip, as flights went. They’d just finished breakfast when they were circling to land at the Tucson airport.

Hunter had everything arranged. Motel reservations, a rental car, the whole works. And it all worked to perfection until they got to the motel desk and the desk clerk handed them two keys, to rooms on different floors.

“No, that won’t do,” Hunter replied with a straight face, and without looking at Jennifer. “We’re honeymooners,” he said. “We want a double room.

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir. Congratulations,” the clerk said with a pleasant smile.

Dreams came true, Jenny thought, picturing all sorts of delicious complications during that night together. The desk clerk handed him a key after he signed them in—as Mr. and Mrs. Camp. Nice of Hunter to tell her their married name, she thought with faint amusement. But it was typical of him to keep everything to himself.

He unlocked the door, waited for the bellboy to put their luggage and equipment in the room, and tipped the man.

They were alone. He closed the door and turned to her, his dark eyes assessing as he saw the faint unease on her face. “Don’t start panicking,” he said curtly. “I won’t assault you. This is the best way to keep up the masquerade, that’s all.”

She colored. “I didn’t say a word,” she reminded him.

He wandered around the room with some strange electronic gadget in one hand and checked curtains and lamps. “No bugs,” he said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean much. I’m pretty sure we’re being observed. Don’t leave the room unless I’m with you, and don’t mention anything about why we’re here. Is that clear?”

“Why don’t we just go out into the desert and camp?”

“We have to have camping gear,” he explained with mocking patience. “It’s too late to start buying it now. The morning’s over. We’ll start out later in the afternoon.”

“All right.” She put her suitcases on the side of the room that was nearest the bathroom, hesitating.

“Whichever bed you want is yours,” he said without inflection. He was busy watching out the window. “I can sleep anywhere.”

And probably had, she thought, remembering some of his assignments that she’d heard about. She put her attaché case with her maps on the bed, and her laptop computer on the side table, taking time to plug its adapter into the wall socket so that it could stay charged up. It only had a few hours’ power between charges.

“Give me that case,” he said suddenly. He took the case with the maps and opened it, hiding a newspaper he’d brought into the case and then putting it in a dresser drawer with one of his shirts over it. The maps he tucked into a pair of his jeans and left them in his suitcase.

Jenny lifted an amused eyebrow. He had a shrewd mind. She almost said so, but it might reveal too much about her feelings if she told him. She unpacked her suitcase instead and began to hang up her clothes. She left her underthings and her long cotton gown in the suitcase, too shy of Hunter to put them in a drawer in front of him.

The gown brought to mind a question that had only just occurred. Should she put it on tonight, or would it look like an invitation? And worse, did he sleep without clothes? Some men did. She’d watched him put his things away out of the corner of her eye, and she hadn’t seen either a robe or anything that looked like pajamas. She groaned inwardly. Wouldn’t that be a great question to ask a man like Hunter, and how would she put it? Isn’t this a keen room, Mr. Hunter, and by the way, do you sleep stark naked, because if you do, is it all right if I spend the night in the bathtub?

She laughed under her breath. Wouldn’t that take the starch out of his socks, she thought with humor. Imagine, a woman her age and with her looks being that ignorant about a man’s body. Despite the women’s magazines she’d seen from time to time, with their graphic studies of nude men, there was a big difference in a photograph and a real, live man.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked suddenly.

The question startled her into blurting out the truth. “Do you wear pajamas?” she asked, and her face went scarlet.

“Why?” he replied with a straight face. “Do you need to borrow them, or were you thinking of buying me a pair if I say no?”

She averted her face. “Sorry. I’m not used to sharing a room with a man, that’s all.”

No way could he believe that she’d never spent a night with a man. More than likely she was nervous of him. “We’re supposed to be honeymooners,” he said with faint sarcasm. “It would look rather odd to spend the night in separate rooms.”

“Of course.” She just wanted to drop the whole subject. “Could we get lunch? I’m starving.”

“I want to check with my people first,” he told her. “I’ve got a couple of operatives down here doing some investigative work on another project. I won’t be long.”

She’d thought he meant to phone, but he went out of the room.

Jenny sprawled on her bed, cursing her impulsive tongue. Now he’d think she was a simpleminded prude as well as a pain in the neck. Great going, Jenny, she told herself. What a super way to get off on the right foot, asking your reluctant roommate about his night wear. Fortunately he hadn’t pursued the subject.

He was back an hour later. She’d put on her reading glasses, the ones she used for close work because she was hopelessly farsighted, and was plugging away on her laptop computer, going over detailed graphic topo maps of the area, sprawled across the bed with her back against the headboard and the computer on her lap. Not the best way to use the thing, and against the manufacturer’s specs, but it was much more comfortable than trying to use the motel’s table and chairs.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he remarked, watching her.

“You didn’t?” she asked with mock astonishment. “Why, Mr. Hunter, I was sure you’d know more about me than I know myself—don’t you have a file on all the staff in your office?”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you.” He stretched out on the other bed, powerful muscles rippling in his lean body, and she had to fight not to stare. He was beautifully made from head to toe, an old maid’s dream.

She punched in more codes and concentrated on her maps.

“What kind of mineral are you and Eugene looking for?” he asked curiously.

She pursed her lips and glanced at him with gleeful malice. “Make a guess,” she invited.

She realized her mistake immediately and could have bitten her lip through. He sat up and threw his long legs off the bed, moving to her side with threatening grace. He took the laptop out of her hands and put it on the table before he got her by the wrists and pulled her up against his body. The proximity made her knees go weak. He smelled of spicy cologne and soap, and his breath had a coffee scent, as if he’d been meeting his operatives in a café. His grip was strong and exciting, and she loved the feel of his body so close to hers. Perhaps, subconsciously, this was what she’d expected when she antagonized him…

“Little girls throw rocks at boys they like,” he said at her forehead. “Is that what you’re doing, figuratively speaking? Because if it is,” he added, and his grip on her wrists tightened even as his voice grew deeper, slower, “I’m not in the market for a torrid interlude on the job, cover girl.”

She could have gone through the floor with shame. The worst of it was that she didn’t even have a comeback. He saw right through her. With his advantage in age and experience, that wasn’t really surprising. She knew, too, from gossip that he disliked white women. Probably they saw him as a unique experience more than a man. She didn’t feel that way, but she couldn’t admit it.

“I’m not trying to get your attention. I’m tired and when I’m tired, I get silly,” she said too quickly, talking to his shirt as she stiffened with fear of giving herself away. Odd, the jerky way he was breathing, and the fabric was moving as if his heartbeat was very heavy. Her body was melting, this close to his. “You don’t have to warn me off. I know better than to make a play for you.”

The remark diverted him. “Do you? Why?” he asked curtly.

“They say you hate women,” she replied. “Especially,” she added, forcing her blue eyes up to his narrowed dark ones, “white women.”

He nodded slowly. His gaze held hers, and then drifted down to her soft bow of a mouth with its faint peach lipstick, and further, to the firm thrust of her breasts almost but not quite touching his shirtfront. He remembered another beautiful blond, the one who’d deserted him when he’d been five years old. Her Apache child had been an embarrassment in her social circles. By then, of course, her activist phase was over, and she had her sights on one of her own people. Some years back, he’d been taken in by a socialite himself. An Apache escort had been unique, for a little while, until he’d mentioned a permanent commitment. And she’d laughed. My God, marry a man who lived on a reservation? The memories bit into him like teeth.

He released Jennifer abruptly with a roughness that wasn’t quite in character.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she saw the expression in his dark eyes. She winced, as if she could actually feel his pain. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.”

His expression was frightening at that moment. “What do you know about me?” he asked, his voice cutting.

She managed a wan smile and moved away from him. “I don’t know anything, Mr. Hunter. Nobody does. Your life is a locked door and there’s no key. But you looked…” She turned and glanced back at him, and her hands lifted and fell helplessly. “I don’t know. Wounded.” She averted her eyes. “I’d better get this put away.”

Her perception floored him. She was a puzzle he’d never solved, and despite his security files, he knew very little about her own private life. There were no men at the office, he knew. She was discreet, if nothing else. In fact, he thought, studying her absently with narrowed eyes as she put away her computer, he’d never heard of her dating a man in all the years she’d been with the company. He’d never seen her flirt with a man, and even those she worked with treated her as just one of the boys. That fact had never occurred to him before. She kept her distance from men as a rule. Even out in the field, where working conditions were much more relaxed, Jennifer went without makeup, in floppy shirts and loose jeans, and she kept to herself after working hours. He’d once seen her cut a man dead who was trying to make a play for her. Her eyes had gone an icy blue, her face rigid with distaste, and even though she hadn’t said much, her would-be suitor got the message in flying colors. Hunter wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how that action had damned her in his eyes. Seeing her put in the knife had made him more determined than ever not to risk his emotions with her. There were too many hard memories of his one smoldering passion for a white woman, and its humiliating result. And, even longer ago than that, his mother’s contempt for him, her desertion.

He turned away from Jennifer, busying himself with the surveillance equipment one of his cases contained. He redistributed the equipment in the case and closed it.

“Why do we have to have all that?” she queried suddenly.

He nodded toward her computer and equipment. “Why do you have to have all that?” he countered.

“It’s part of my working gear,” she said simply.

“You’ve answered your own question.” He checked his watch. “Let’s get something to eat. Then we’ll have a look at camping supplies.”

“The joy of expense accounts,” she murmured as she got her purse and put away her reading glasses. “I wonder if Eugene will mind letting me have a jungle hammock? I slept in one when I was a kid. We camped next to two streams, and they were like a lullaby in the darkness.”

“You can have a jungle hammock if you think you can find a place to hang it.”

“All we need is two trees….”

He turned, his hands on his lean hips, his dark face enigmatic. “The desert is notorious for its lack of trees. Haven’t you ever watched any Western movies?” he added, and came very close to a smile. “Remember the Indians chasing the soldiers in John Wayne movies, and the soldiers having to dive into dry washes or gulches for cover?”

She stared at him, fascinated. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d watch that kind of movie…” She colored, embarrassed.

“Because the solders won?” he mused. “That’s history. But the Apache fought them to a standstill several times. And Louis L’Amour did a story called Hondo that was made into a movie with John Wayne.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It managed to show Apaches in a good light, for once.”

“I read about Cochise when I was in school. And Mangas Coloradas and Victorio…”

“Different tribes of Apache,” he said. “Cochise was Chiricahua. Mangas and Victorio were MimbreÑos.”

“Which…are you?” she asked, sounding and feeling breathless. He’d never spoken to her like this before.

“Chiricahua,” he said. His eyes searched her face. “Is your ancestry Nordic?” he asked.

“It’s German,” she said softly. “On my father’s side, it’s English.” Her eyes wandered helplessly over his lean face.

Her intense scrutiny disturbed him in a new and unexpected way. Her eyes were enormous. Dark blue, soft, like those of some kitten. He didn’t like the way they made him tingle. He turned away, scowling.

“We’d better go, Jennifer.”

Her name on his lips thrilled her. She felt alive as never before when she was with him, even if it was in the line of duty.

She started toward the door, but he turned as she reached it, and she bumped into him. The contact was like fire shooting through her.

“Sorry!” She moved quickly away. “I didn’t mean to…!”

He put a strong hand under her chin and lifted her face to his eyes. Her eyelids flinched and there was real fear in them at close range. “You really are afraid of me,” he said with dawning comprehension.

She hadn’t wanted him to know that. Of course she was afraid of him, but not for the reasons he was thinking. She moved back and lowered her eyes. “A little, maybe,” she said uneasily.

“My God!” He jerked open the door. “Out.”

She went through it, avoiding him as she left. She hadn’t expected the confession to make him angry. She sighed heavily. It was going to be a hard trip, all the way, if this was any indication. He was coldly silent all the way to the motel restaurant, only taking her arm when they were around people, for appearance’s sake.

They were halfway through their meal when he spoke again.

“It’s been years since I’ve scalped anyone,” he said suddenly, his angry eyes searching hers.

The fork fell from her fingers with a terrible clatter. She picked it up quickly, looking around nervously to see if anyone had noticed, but there was only an old couple nearby and they were too busy talking to notice Jennifer and her companion.

She should have remembered how sensitive he was about his heritage. She’d inadvertently let him believe that she was afraid of him because he was an Indian. What a scream it would be if she confessed that she was afraid of him because she was in love with him. He’d probably kill himself laughing.

“No, it’s not that,” she began. She stopped, helplessly searching for the right words. “It’s not because you’re…” She toyed with her fork. “The thing is, I’m not very comfortable around you,” she said finally. She put down her fork. “You’ve never made any secret of the fact that you dislike me. You’re actively hostile the minute I come into a room. It isn’t exactly fear. It’s nerves, and it has nothing to do with your heritage.”

She had a point. He couldn’t deny that he’d been hostile. Her beauty did that to him; it made him vulnerable and that irritated him. He knew he was too touchy about his ancestry, but he’d had it rough trying to live in a white world.

“I don’t find it easy, living among your people,” he said. He’d never admitted that to anyone before.

“I can imagine,” she replied. Her eyes searched his. “You might consider that being a female geologist in an oil company isn’t the easiest thing to do, either. I loved rocks.”

His dark eyes conquered hers suddenly. The look was pure electricity. Desert lightning. She felt it all the way to her toes.

“I find you hard going, too, Miss Marist,” he said after a minute. “But I imagine we’ll survive. Eugene said we were to camp on the actual site the second night.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded breathless, choked.

He found himself studying her hand on the table. Involuntarily his brushed over the back of it. He told himself it was for appearances. But touching her gave him pleasure, and she jumped. He scowled, feeling her long fingers go cold and tremble. His eyes lifted back to hers. “You’re trembling.”

She jerked her hand from under his, almost unbalancing her water glass in the process. “I have to finish my steak.” She laughed nervously. “The stores will close soon.”

“So they will.”

The subterfuge didn’t fool him, she knew. Not one bit. His chin lifted and there was something new in the set of his head. An arrogance. A kind of satisfied pride that kindled in his eyes.

He was curious now. A beautiful woman like Jennifer would be used to giving men the jitters, not the reverse. He let his gaze fall to her soft mouth as it opened to admit a small piece of steak, and he felt his body go rigid. Over the years, he’d only allowed himself the occasional fantasy about making love to her. As time passed, and he grew older, the fantasies had grown stronger. He could keep the disturbing thoughts at bay most of the time. But there was always the lonely night when he’d toss and turn and his blood would grow hot as he imagined her mouth opening for him, her hands on his back, her soft legs tangling with his in the darkness. Those nights were hell. And the next few, alone with her, were going to sorely test his strength of will. For her it would be a field expedition. For him, a survival course, complete with sweet obstacles and pitfalls.

He had to remember that this was an assignment, and enemy agents were following them. Strategic metals always drew trouble, not only from domestic corporations struggling to get their hands in first, but from foreign investors interested in the same idea. He had to keep his mind on his work, and not on Jennifer. But her proximity wasn’t going to make that job any easier. He almost groaned aloud at the difficulties. There hadn’t been a woman in a long time, and he was hungry. He wanted Jennifer and he was relatively sure that she was attracted to him. She was certainly nervous enough when he came close.

But, he thought, what if her fear of him was genuine and had nothing to do with attraction? Her explanation that it was because they were enemies didn’t hold up. It was far too flimsy to explain the way she trembled when he touched her hand. Fear could cause that, he had to admit. And he had been unkind to her, often. He sighed heavily. Thinking about it wasn’t going to make it any easier.

They went to a hardware store when they finished their meal, and Jennifer watched him go about the business of buying camping supplies with pure awe. He knew exactly what to get, from the Coleman stove to the other gear like sleeping bags and tent and cans of Sterno for emergencies. Jennifer had gone out into the field before, many times, but usually there was some kind of accommodation. She hadn’t relished the idea of camping out by herself, although she loved it with companions. Hunter, though, was going to be more peril than pleasure as a tent mate. She had to get a grip on herself, she told her stubborn heart again. The prospect of a few nights alone with him was sending her mad.

He loaded the gear into the four-wheel drive vehicle he’d had waiting for them at the airport. It was a black one, and he drove it with such ease that she suspected he had one of his own at home. That brought to mind an interesting question. Where was home to him? She knew he had an apartment in Tulsa, but he spent his time off in Arizona. Near here? With a woman, perhaps? Her blood ran cold.

“We’ll be ready to go in the morning,” he told her when they were back in the motel room again, with their gear stowed in the locked vehicle outside. All except her computer and his surveillance equipment, of course. He wasn’t risking that. “Do you want to shower first?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “If you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. I’ll watch the news.”

She carried her things into the bathroom, firmly locking the door, despite what he might think about the sound. She took a quick shower and put on clean blue jeans and a clean white knit shirt. She felt refreshed and sunny when she came back out, her face bright and clean without makeup.

He was sprawled across a chair, his shoes off, a can of beer in his hand. He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you mind beer, or does the smell bother you?”

“No. My father likes his lager,” she said as she dealt with her dirty clothes.

He finished his drink and stood, stripping off his shirt. “If you’re finished, I’ll have my shower. Then we’ll think about something for dinner.”