A Summer Smile

  She shook her head. "I don't smoke." "Would you rather I didn't?" "No, I don't mind people around me smoking. I just can't stand the thought of it myself." She closed her eyes and arched her throat to let the fresh breeze touch her with its sweet freedom. "Disease?"

  She shook her head. "No, it's the dependency. I can't bear the idea of becoming addicted to them. It frightens me."

  "Frightens you?" Daniel's brow arched quizzi­cally. "That's rather strange in a girl who isn't afraid of bears, terrorists, or snakes."

  She opened her eyes. "Is it?" She was suddenly rising to her feet. "Did you say there was a creek nearby?"

  "At the bottom of the hill in that little cluster of tamarisk trees." He could scarcely see her face in the dimness of the dusk, but her shoulders were oddly

  rigid and tense. He slowly crushed out his cigarette on the ground. "Wait a minute and I'll show you."

  "No, that's all right. I'll find it." She was already hurrying, almost running down the hill.

  Daniel muttered a low exclamation as he got to his feet and followed more slowly. The woman changed moods from moment to moment. One sec­ond she was a frightened little girl, clinging to him in the darkness, the next she was coolly strong and mature. And now she was acting as nervous as that high-strung palomino she had been riding in the photograph. If he had to form an instant obsession with any woman, why couldn't it be with one who wasn't as complicated as that Mah-Jongg game Philip was so fanatic about? He had only known the woman one afternoon and she had already aroused in him an entire gamut of emotions. Desire, tender­ness, protectiveness, jealousy. If he hadn't been so jealous of her precious David, he'd have been a hell of a lot more diplomatic about staking his claim. He could tell he had almost scared her to death. Not that he wouldn't have established his possession before he turned her over to Clancy anyway. From the minute he had sat down across from her on the plane he had known. It was like the pieces of a puzzle at last slipping into place. God, it had felt weird.

  He frowned as he crossed the last few yards to the tamarisk grove. Zilah must think he was the weird one: An ex-mercenary with the edges still rough and unpolished, barging into her life, throwing bombs around and telling her that she was going to belong to him whether she liked it or not. It was no wonder she was acting so skittish.

  He would have to curb his impatience and be gentle and civilized. Hell, she was only twenty-one. A college kid who had probably been sheltered from rough bastards like him. What had he been doing

  when he was twenty-one? Nam and then central Africa and then ... He couldn't even remember all the countries, all the wars, all the women he had gone

  through in all those years that separated them. He'd have to be very careful to keep those years and expen­ences from intruding between them. Yes, he'd be very discreet and cool from now on and maybe . . .

  All thoughts of coolness and discretion fled as he caught sight of her kneeling on the stones that banked the rushing creek. She had taken off her cot­ton shirt and the straps of her lacy bra were pushed down on her arms as she bathed her face and shoul-ders with a white handkerchief. It was the same handkerchief he had given her on the plane, he realized. Her sunstreaked hair was falling in a straight silky cloak around her. One hand reached up to push the shimmering mass over her shoulder and it rip-pled down her back. She dipped the handkerchief in the water again and wrung out the bit of cotton before running it in slow enjoyment down her arm from shoulder to wrist. Daniel inhaled sharply. He felt as if that leisurely hand was stroking his body, not her own. His loins ached. He could imagine her hand moving so caress­ingly over him. A pulse hammered in his temple and a heavy heat spread over him in waves of sheer lust. He hadn't made a sound, but she must have felt his presence, for her head turned toward him like that of a startled deer. She went still. Then, when she recognized him in the shadows, she laughed shakily. "I must be more nervous than I thought. You fright-ened me." The tenseness flowed out of her. She bent over the stream to dip her improvised washcloth once more into the water. "This feels wonderful. I'll let you have your handkerchief back in a moment, but if I don't get some of this sand and sweat off me, I'm going to perish."

  "Take your time." His voice was hoarse, almost guttural, and there was tension about his massive shadow that generated a matching nervousness within her. She couldn't decipher his expression in the dusk, but she could feel his gaze on her. She was suddenly conscious of her partial nudity and had the impulse to scramble hurriedly back into her shirt. How very stupid! She was wearing more than she customarily did on the beach and they were in a situ­ation where practicality, not modesty should prevail. "I wish I had something else to wear," she said with forced cheerfulness.

  "I have another shirt in my backpack that you can have." He was moving slowly toward her. "It will probably come down to your knees but at least it's clean." He paused beside her, looming over her like a solid wall. "I'll go and get it."

  She shook her head. "Then you won't have any­thing to wear. I've taken too much from you already.' She tilted her head to gaze up at him. "I'm very grate­ful, you know. I don't think I told you that."

  "I don't want your gratitude." He dropped to his knees beside her. "I'm going to want a hell of a lot of things from you, but gratitude isn't one of them." He laid his rifle on the ground beside him. His fingers were rapidly unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off. Then he was bending over the creek, delving into the water and scrubbing his face and throat with the energy that characterized his every movement. The bronzed muscles of his shoulders and back were rippling and sliding as he moved, and her gaze clung to him compulsively. He wasn't really handsome by any conventional standard. There was no reason for her to get this breathless and to be unable to look away from him. Virile magnetism and the muscular grace of a Roman gladiator were all he possessed. All? It was more than enough to make her knees go weak and cause her hands to shake so badly that she could hardly hold on to the handkerchief.

  He was splashing the cool water on the cloud of furry hair on his chest now, and she could see the water beading his flesh. She had a sudden impulse to lean forward and lick the drops away. The thought sent a thrill of pure shock through her. Desire.

  Despite the assurance of the psychiatrist she'd been seeing every week for the past six years, she had never believed she would experience that particular emotion. Yet how could this primitive yearning be anything else?

  She could feel her breasts swell, their peaks hard­ening in an incredible response. She wanted to cover that response with her hands, but that would have been too revealing an action. She snatched up her shirt instead.

  "No!"

  Her eyes widened and flew swiftly to his face.

  His gaze was on her full breasts veiled only by the sheer lace of the bra she wore. His face was heavy with a sensuality that made her catch her breath. "Not yet," he said huskily. "Come here."

  Her tongue moistened her lips. "I don't think that would be a good idea. This situation is so . . . extraordinary that our reactions are a little out of kilter."

  "Yours may only be out of kilter, but mine are going crazy." His finger reached out to touch the betraying prominence of one nipple through the lace of her bra. "And I think you're progressing nicely in the same direction."

  She flinched back. It was as if she were being stroked with electricity when he touched her so lightly.

  He smiled crookedly. "See?" His hands cupped her shoulders gently. "Pretty explosive, isn't it?"

  "All the more reason . . ." He was pulling her into his embrace and she was yielding like a bit of metal to a magnet. Why wasn't she struggling? Then she was pressed against the warm hardness of his chest and she forgot about questions. His fiery mat of hair was stroking her woman's softness with flames of sensa­tion. Her head was swimming and she couldn't seem to get her breath. She trustingly rested her cheek against him with a little sigh. "This is a mistake, Daniel. It's too soon. We don't know anything about each other."

  "We
'll find out everything we need to know." His fingers were tangled in her hair as he pulled her head back to look into her eyes. The expression emanating from his own eyes was grave. "Just a little now. I won't ask more than you want to give." He shook his head ruefully. "Five minutes ago I was promising myself I'd be very cool and patient. Now all I can do is promise I won't throw you down and rape you." He lowered his head slowly. "I want to be so gentle with you, Zilah. I've never felt this way before. I usually like it hard and fast, but not with you." His warm breath was feathering her lips. "I want to savor every touch." The first brush of his lips was so light she scarcely felt it. Then he captured, held, and cherished her. His lips moved, brushed, angled as one caress became a hundred. Taking breath and warmth and yet giving more back than he took.

  How lovely, Zilah thought dreamily as her hands moved to caress his shoulders. He was so smooth and warm. So strong to be so gentle. It was all so new. As if each kiss, each touch were being created at this magic moment. How did he manage to create sorcery like that?

  "Zilah."

  "Hmmm."

  "Open your lips, love. I want to taste you." His fingers were combing through her hair with tactile sensuality while he coaxed her lips apart. "Don't you want to taste me too?"

  "Yes." She wanted to taste everything about him, touch every part of him, with a hunger that amazed her. Then his tongue was warm on her lips, lazily brushing, before he plunged inside, exploring her teeeth, toying playfully with her tongue. It was an inti­macy performed so lovingly that it became surpris­ingly natural, even comfortable. She almost laughed aloud when that thought filtered through the sensual haze Daniel was weaving about her. How could she be sp aware in every throbbing pore and still think it comfortable, for heaven's sake?

  Daniel's hands were fumbling beneath her hair and she felt a sudden loosening. Then he was slipping the straps of her bra off her arms while his lips covered hers. Flesh to flesh, warmth to warmth,

  hard muscle against the soft cushion of her breasts.

  A wrenching ache began throbbing between her thighs. "Oh, Zilah, isn't this great, love?" He pushed her away to look down at her. "It's getting too dark to

  see you, damm it." He gave her a swift, hard kiss. Come on." He was on his feet, his hand grasping hers and pulling her to her feet.

  "Where are we going?" she asked, startled.

  He draped his discarded shirt around her carefully before picking up his rifle and her bra and blouse. "Back to the cave," he said. "I can't see you in

  the dark and I won't risk your neck and mine making love to you out here in the open. "

  "Is that what you were doing?" she asked quietly.

  "Making love?" He shot her a glance. "You're damn right I was making love to you. If I was just using you sexually you'd know it, Zilah. I'm not very subtle."

  She suddenly giggled, feeling ridiculously light­headed. "Hard and fast?"

  "Right." His hand was at her waist, propelling her up the hill. "With lots of fireworks. You'll like it like that, too, I hope, but we'll start out slow and easy."

  She stiffened and was silent for a long moment. "I don't think I'm ready for . . . fireworks," she said hesitantly. "This has come as something of a surprise to me."

  He didn't answer until they had reached the mouth of the cave. "Like I said, we'll keep it slow and easy. Right now I kind of like the idea of courting you." His grasp tightened on her waist. "Just don't try to shut me out entirely. I couldn't stand it after touching you. I'll do without the Roman candles, but a few firecrackers are required."

  She had an idea she would have a difficult time resisting the temptation to touch Daniel as well in the future. "Whatever you say," she said meekly.

  He snorted inelegantly. "As long as it's what you want too." His voice became unexpectedly grim. "Honesty, Zilah. There has to be absolute honesty between us. Tell me it's what you want too."

  "It's what I want too, Daniel," she said quietly. And it was, she realized with amazement. He had only to touch her and she wanted him so much that it shook her to her foundations. "It's exactly what I

  want."

  His arm tightened in a quick hug. "That's my girl." He released her and turned away. "Now, why don't you rummage in my backpack to find that clean shirt. I'll go and see what I can do about rustling up some shrubbery to cover the cave opening."

  Zilah watched him stride away in a state bor­dering on bemusement. He had stirred so many responses in her with his vibrant presence that now she felt suddenly cold and a little lost. She gave her­self a shake and deliberately turned her eyes away from Daniel's lithe retreating back.

  He was a stranger, blast it. She couldn't possibly be so emotionally involved with a stranger. His dynamic vitality and bold, rakish charm had merely captured her imagination. His sexual attraction for her had caught her off guard and she mustn't mis­take chemistry for something deeper. A man like Daniel must have eager women standing in line to crawl into his bed. How could she compete with them when she didn't even know if she could respond sexu­ally to any man? Yet Daniel wasn't just any man. She had melted like a snowball tossed into a bonfire when he had touched her—that was the final healing, according to Dr. Melrose. He had been so coolly clin-ical when he had made his recommendation to respond freely if she ever did feel that flare of sexual attraction. The possibility had seemed so remote that she had listened indifferently at the time, but now... What if Daniel were offering her nothing but a physical rapport that might last only a few weeks? If he took from her, he might also be giving more than he could ever imagine. The final healing that would make her a whole woman at last. She dropped to her knees on the ground beside

  the backpack, her fingers fumbling at the straps. She instinctively shied away from the realization of what that healing would bring. She wouldn't think, she would only feel while she was with Daniel. She would flow with the tide. She could rely on him to see that she wouldn't drown in that sea of emotion. There was a warm sensitivity beneath his surface hardness that she intuitively trusted.

  She swiftly shed the shirt Daniel had draped around her shoulders and slipped on the blue cotton workshirt from the backpack. It felt crisp and clean against her skin and smelled faintly of lime and tobacco. She rummaged through the backpack. There was bread and cheese wrapped in a cloth, a large battery-operated lantern together with a packet of extra batteries, a white undershirt, a box of ammu­nition for the rifle, a folded silver-coated sheet, a wicked-looking machete. In all, a very workmanlike, efficient emergency backpack. Like Daniel himself: Practical, lethal, and efficient.

  "Pass me that machete, will you?" Daniel asked from behind her. He unslung his rifle and handed it to her in exchange for the machete. "I've found a dead tree we can use. It will take only fifteen or twenty minutes to drag up enough branches to cover the opening."

  "May I help?"

  "No. you stay here." He turned back as a thought struck him. "Do you know how to use this rifle?"

  "I'm pretty good with a Browning automatic. David's father taught me how to shoot at the ranch. I don't know how I'd get along with this one." She made a face. "This is one of those rifles that doubles as a machine-gun, isn't it?"

  He nodded. "An M-l. You just adjust the car­tridge lever and pull the trigger back." He turned away again. "Keep a sharp eye, Annie Oakley. I'll be back soon."

  Three

  There was no way the interior of the cave could be made to appear inviting. But with the silvery camping sheet covering the rocky floor and the large utility lantern lit, it wasn't quite as frightening as before.

  However, nothing could take away the air of claustophrobic closeness of the small area.

  "Zilah, dammit, where are you?" Daniel's voice outside the cave held both exasperation and a trace of panic.

  "In here," she called as she laid out the bread and cheese on the silver sheet. "Dinner is served. Though I'd definitely prefer it al fresco. Are you sure we can't forget about this darn cave and sleep outside? I don't lik
e it."

  "I'm sure," he said curtly. He was crawling through the opening and suddenly the cave seemed even smaller. "I've camouflaged the entrance pretty thoroughly. It should be hidden from view unless

  someone is right on top of it." He had reached the sheet now and sat down tailor-fashion opposite her. "Can we keep the lantern on? It makes it a little more cheerful."

  "For a little while. I brought some spare batteries for it."

  "I noticed." She picked up a flat piece of bread and took a bite. It was a little dry but the texture was satisfying. "Are you always so well equipped when you go on one of these assignments?"

  "Always. I learned a long time ago you have to be prepared for the unexpected to happen. It usually does." He moved his shoulders as if to shrug off a weight. "God, it's close in here."

  "That's what I said, if you'll recall." She took another bite of bread. "I'd be much happier outside."

  "But not safer. You're better off here." He picked up a slice of the goat cheese. "We'll just have to forget about it. Talk to me. Did you like living on that ranch in Texas?"

  "Oh, yes, it was wonderful," she said softly. "I'd never been to the country before David sent me there. I'd spent my entire childhood with my grandmother in Marasef and knew nothing but city life. I loved the space and the freedom. I could breathe there." Her expression was suddenly alive with eagerness. "And the horses. I loved the horses. Jess gave me the loveliest palomino for my eighteenth birthday. "

  "Jess?"

  "David's father. He taught me to ride and to rope and ..."

  "Where was your David during all this activity?" "In Sedikhan. He and Billie have visited with us a few times since I left Zalandan, but their home is here." The eagerness in her face suddenly faded. "I was telling you the truth, you know. David is my friend, not my lover. Do you believe me?"