Temple Of The Moon. Sara Craven

tears which had been threatening forced their way to the surface and spilled over. She felt totally humiliated. It was bad enough that she had placed herself in a position where she had to be rescued by this man, but now to display such ridiculous weakness. All she was doing was confirming that she didn’t have the stamina for the job she had been sent to do. She was condemning herself before she even got to see Professor Morgan.

      ‘Here.’ He produced an immaculate linen handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed.

      He grinned maliciously. ‘What restraint! Why don’t you fling it at me, and damn me to hell for good measure? Women with your colouring aren’t usually so placid under adversity.’

      She dried her eyes, forcing herself to speak normally. ‘You’ve known so many, of course.’

      ‘My fair share,’ he said laconically. ‘And as we’ve moved on to a personal level—how many men have you known?’

      Suddenly the picture of James was large in her mind. It had not occurred to her until then that he might be back at the Institute, returned from whatever mission he had been carrying out for the expedition. She felt a cold chill at the thought. She could imagine the image she presented at that moment—tangled hair, eyes red and blurred with weeping. Her appearance, quite apart from the mess she had all unwittingly landed herself in, would be a total affront to his tidy soul.

      ‘You’re very quiet,’ he commented laconically. ‘Are you searching your memory or simply freezing me with your silence?’

      The colour rose in her face as she recalled what his original question had been.

      ‘I was thinking about something else,’ she said lamely.

      ‘It figures. You have plenty to think about.’ He glanced at her. ‘Have you given any further consideration to going home?’

      She thought of the empty, immaculate flat and shivered a little. ‘Where is home?’ she said, almost inaudibly. But he heard her.

      ‘What does the old cliché say? Home is where the heart is. To put it in more manageable terms—with your family—your friends.’

      ‘I—I have no family.’ It felt like the truth, she thought desolately, clenching her ringless left hand in the folds of her skirt.

      ‘Miss Lonelyhearts herself.’ His voice was smooth and mocking. ‘Is this why you’ve come to the Yucatan, Miss Christow? In the hopes of finding someone to play Tarzan to your Jane in the rain forest?’

      She flinched. ‘No, Dr Lennox,’ she said tightly. ‘I came because my interest in the Maya is as serious as your own, and I’d be grateful if you’d stop treating me as if I was some silly child …’

      ‘Is that how I’ve been treating you?’ His smile widened. ‘I can assure you I don’t see you in that light at all.’

      Her head was aching slightly. She put up her hand and pushed her hair back. Her fingers felt warm and a little clammy. She thought longingly of a cool shower and some food.

      ‘I’m tired of all this verbal fencing, Dr Lennox,’ she said wearily. ‘I realise, of course, that you’re quite determined that I shouldn’t accompany this expedition, but I can’t find any adequate reason for your opposition.’

      ‘Can’t you?’ She felt his glance on her.

      ‘No. You can’t pretend, for instance, that women never go. Are you saying that you wouldn’t take part in an expedition that included women?’

      ‘Certainly not,’ he drawled. ‘There are some women I’d be quite happy to include.’

      ‘But not me.’ Anger was taking its grip on her. ‘Will you please tell me why—why there should be one rule for “some women” and another for me?’

      He pulled the jeep over to the side of the road and switched off the engine. It was too dark to see him properly. Everything was very quiet suddenly, and his voice was part of the quietness.

      ‘You really want to know? You really want one good reason why I shouldn’t take you into the rain forest?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said shakily, her mouth suddenly dry with an apprehension she did not fully understand.

      Hands like steel bands took hold of her shoulders, impelling her towards him, so hard and so fast that she did not have time even to utter a protest. His mouth was warm on hers, without gentleness, a bruising menace in the darkness. She tried to resist after the first panic-stricken seconds of rigidity to pull away, but his arms were shackles holding her against him, her breasts crushed against the hard strength of his chest. Every nerve she possessed was screaming with shock. No one—not even James in their courting days, and certainly not later in that mockery of a marriage—had ever kissed her like this, parting her lips with dangerous sensuality, forcing her into this terrifying intimacy. Each time she tried to break free, his kiss merely deepened. She could feel his hands on her back, moving tantalisingly over her shoulders and down the shuddering length of her spine. She could feel their warmth through her thin shirt and knew with a shock of utter dismay that she wanted to feel them on her skin …

      He let her go so suddenly that her head swam and she was glad to lean back against the seat, gasping for breath, her eyes partly closed as she fought for self-control against the traitorous longing to turn to him again, offering him her mouth and more.

      ‘Now do you see why?’ His voice sounded completely toneless. ‘Do you understand why it’s impossible for you to come with us?’

      She had almost forgotten she was being taught a lesson. She shrank inside, thanking any listening God that she had not betrayed to him that sudden wild urge to respond.