Her chin came up, and she swallowed. “No, that’s not it at all. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like that—”
“Damned right, you shouldn’t,” he interrupted savagely. He looked savage; his eyes were narrowed and bright with rage, his nostrils flared, and his mouth a thin, grim line. “Next time, you’d better make sure you want what you’re asking for, because I’m damned sure going to give it to you. Is that clear?”
He turned and began wading to the bank, leaving her standing in the middle of the stream. Jane crossed her arms over her bare breasts, suddenly and acutely aware of her nakedness. She hadn’t meant to tease him, but she’d been so frightened, and he’d been so strong and calm that it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to cling to him. Those frenzied kisses and caresses had taken her by surprise, shaken her off balance. Still, she wasn’t about to have sex with a man she barely knew, especially when she didn’t quite know if she liked what little she did know about him.
He reached the bank and turned to look at her. “Are you coming or not?” he snapped, so Jane waded toward him, still keeping her arms over her breasts.
“Don’t bother,” he advised in a curt voice. “I’ve already seen, and touched. Why pretend to be modest?” He gestured to her blouse lying on the ground. “You might want to wash the blood out of that, since you’re so squeamish about it.”
Jane looked at the blood-stained blouse, and she went a little pale again, but she was under control now. “Yes, I will,” she said in a low voice. “Will you...will you get my pants and boots for me, please?”
He snorted, but climbed up the bank and tossed her pants and boots down to her. Keeping her back turned to him, Jane pulled on her pants, shuddering at the blood that stained them, too, but at least they weren’t soaked the way her blouse was. Her panties were wet, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now, so she ignored the clammy discomfort. When she was partially clad again, she squatted on the gravel at the edge of the stream and began trying to wash her blouse. Red clouds drifted out of the fabric, staining the water before being swept downstream. She scrubbed and scrubbed before she was satisfied, then wrung out as much water as possible and shook the blouse. As she started to put the blouse on, he said irritably, “Here,” and held his shirt in front of her. “Wear this until yours gets dry.”
She wanted to refuse, but she knew false pride wouldn’t gain her anything. She accepted the shirt silently and put it on. It was far too big, but it was dry and warm and not too dirty, and it smelled of sweat, and the musky odor of his skin. The scent was vaguely comforting. There were rust-colored stains on it, too, reminding her that he’d saved her life. She tied the tails in a knot at her waist and sat down on the gravel to put on her boots.
When she turned, she found him standing right behind her, his face still grim and angry. He helped her up the bank, then lifted their packs to his shoulders. “We’re not going much farther. Follow me, and for God’s sake don’t touch anything that I don’t touch, or step anywhere except in my footprints. If another boa wants you, I just may let him have you, so don’t push your luck.”
Jane pushed her wet hair behind her ears and followed obediently, walking where he walked. For a while, she stared nervously at every tree limb they passed under, then made herself stop thinking about the snake. It was over; there was no use dwelling on it.
Instead she stared at his broad back, wondering how her father had found a man like Grant Sullivan. They obviously lived in two different worlds, so how had they met?
Then something clicked in her mind, and a chill went down her spine. Had they met? She couldn’t imagine her father knowing anyone like Sullivan. She also knew what her own position was. Everyone wanted to get their hands on her, and she had no way of knowing whose side Grant Sullivan was on. He’d called her Priscilla, which was her first name. If her father had sent him, wouldn’t he have known that she was never called Priscilla, that she’d been called Jane from birth? He hadn’t known her name!
Before he died, George had warned her not to trust anyone. She didn’t want to think that she was alone in the middle of the jungle with a man who would casually cut her throat when he had no further use for her. Still, the fact remained that she had no proof that her father had sent him. He’d simply knocked her out, put her over his shoulder and hauled her off into the jungle.
Then she realized that she had to trust this man; she had no alternative. He was all she had. It was dangerous, trusting him, but not as dangerous as trying to make it out of the jungle on her own. He had shown flashes of kindness. She felt a funny constriction in her chest as she remembered the way he’d cared for her after he’d killed the snake. Not just cared for her, kissed her—she was still shaken by the way he’d kissed her. Mercenary or not, enemy or not, he made her want him. Her mind wasn’t certain about him, but her body was.
She would have found it funny, if she hadn’t been so frightened.
THEY MOVED DIRECTLY away from the stream at a forty-five-degree angle, and it wasn’t long before he stopped, looked around and unslung the packs from his shoulders. “We’ll camp here.”
Jane stood in silence, feeling awkward and useless, watching as he opened his pack and took out a small, rolled bundle. Under his skilled hands, the bundle was rapidly transformed into a small tent, complete with a polyethylene floor and a flap that could be zipped shut. When the tent was up he began stripping vines and limbs from the nearby trees to cover it, making it virtually invisible. He hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction, but after a moment she moved to help him. He did look at her then, and allowed her to gather more limbs while he positioned them over the tent.
When the job was completed, he said, “We can’t risk a fire, so we’ll just eat and turn in. After today, I’m ready for some sleep.”
Jane was, too, but she dreaded the thought of the night to come. The light was rapidly fading, and she knew that it would soon be completely dark. She remembered the total blackness of the night before and felt a cold finger of fear trace up her backbone. Well, there was nothing she could do about it; she’d have to tough it out.
She crouched beside her pack and dug out two more cans of orange juice, tossing one to him; he caught it deftly, and eyed her pack with growing irritation. “How many more cans of this do you have in that traveling supermarket?” he asked sarcastically.
“That’s it. We’ll have to drink water from now on. How about a granola bar?” She handed it to him, refusing to let herself respond to the irritation in his voice. She was tired, she ached, and she was faced with a long night in total darkness. Given that, his irritation didn’t seem very important. He’d get over it.
She ate her own granola bar, but was still hungry, so she rummaged for something else to eat. “Want some cheese and crackers?” she offered, dragging the items out of the depths of the pack.
She looked up to find him watching her with an expression of raw disbelief on his face. He held out his hand, and she divided the cheese and crackers between them. He looked at her again, shook his head and silently ate his share.
Jane saved a little of her orange juice, and when she finished eating she took a small bottle from the pack. Opening it, she shook a pill into the palm of her hand, glanced at Grant, then shook out another one. “Here,” she said.
He looked at it, but made no move to take it. “What the hell’s that?”
“It’s a yeast pill.”
“Why should I want to take a yeast pill?”
“So the mosquitoes and things won’t bite you.”
“Sure they won’t.”