Hard to Handle (2 page)

She’d looked successful that day, in a white linen suit and powder-blue blouse, with her blond hair in a neat chignon, her long, elegant legs in sheer hose, her face with just the right amount of makeup. Her appearance had shocked and delighted her male colleagues on the exploration team. But her first sight of Hunter had shocked and delighted
her
, to her utter dismay.

Eugene Ritter had called Hunter into his office to meet Jenny. She hadn’t known about his Apache heritage then; she hadn’t known anything about him except his last name. He’d come through the door and Jenny, who was usually unperturbed by men, had melted inside like warm honey.

Hunter had been even less approachable in those days. His hair had been longer, and he’d worn it in a short pigtail at his nape. His suit had been a pale one that summery day, emphasizing his darkness. But it was his face that Jenny had stared at so helplessly. It was a dark face, very strong, with high cheekbones and jet-black hair and deep-set black eyes, a straight nose and a thin, cruel-looking mouth that hadn’t smiled when they were introduced. In fact, his eyes had narrowed with sudden hostility. She could remember the searing cold of that gaze even now, and the contempt as it had traveled over her with authority and disdain. As if she were a harem girl on display, she thought angrily, not a scientist with a keen analytical mind and meticulous accuracy in her work. It occurred to her then that a geologist would be a perfect match for the stony Mr. Hunter. She’d said as much to Eugene and it had gotten back to Hunter. That comment plus the other unfortunate stunt had not endeared her to Hunter. He hadn’t found it the least bit amusing. He’d said that she wouldn’t appeal to him if she came sliced and buttered.

She sighed, pushing her last piece of steak around on her plate. Amazing that he could hate her when she found him so unbearably attractive. The trick fate had played on her, she thought wistfully. All her life, the men who wanted her had been mama’s boys or dependent men who needed nurturing. All she’d wanted was a man who was strong enough to let her be herself, brains and all. Now she’d finally found one who was strong, but neither her brains nor her beauty interested him in the least.

She’d never had the courage to ask Hunter why he hated her so much. They’d only been alone together once in all the years they’d know each other, and that had been the night they’d staged a charade for the benefit of the agents who were after Jenny’s survey maps.

They’d gone to a restaurant with Cabe Ritter and his then-secretary, Danetta Marist, Jenny’s cousin. Jenny had deliberately worn a red, sexy dress to “live down to Hunter’s opinion” of her. He’d barely spared her a glance, so she could have saved herself the trouble. Once they’d reached the apartment and the trap had been sprung, she’d seen Hunter in action for the first time. The speed with which he’d tackled the man prowling in her apartment was fascinating, like the ease with which he’d floored the heavier man and rendered him unconscious. He’d gone after a second man, but that one had knocked Jenny into the wall in his haste to escape. Hunter had actually stopped to see that she was all right. He’d tugged her gently to her feet, his eyes blazing as he checked her over and demanded assurance that she hadn’t been hurt. Then he’d gone after that second man, with blood in his eye, but he’d lost his quarry by then. His security men had captured a third member of the gang outside. Hunter had blamed Jenny for the loss of the second, who was the ringleader. Odd how angry he’d been, she thought in retrospect. Maybe it was losing his quarry, something he rarely did.

She washed her few dishes before she had a quick shower and got into her gown. The sooner she slept, the sooner she’d be on her way to putting this forced trip behind her, she told herself.

She looked at herself in the mirror before she climbed wearily into bed. There were new lines in her face. She was twenty-seven. Her age was beginning to bother her, too. Many more years and
her beauty would fade. Then she’d have nothing except her intellect to attract a husband, and that was a laugh. Most of the men she’d met would trade a brainy woman any day for a beautiful one, despite modern attitudes. Hunter probably liked the kind of woman who’d walk three steps behind her husband and chew rawhide to make them soft for his moccasins.

She tried to picture Hunter with a woman in his arms, and she blushed at the pictures that came to mind. He had the most magnificent physique she’d ever seen, all lean muscle and perfection. Thinking of him without the civilizing influence of clothes made her knees buckle.

With an angry sigh, she put out the light and got under the sheets. She had to stop tormenting herself with these thoughts. It was just that he stirred her as no other man ever had. He could make her weak-kneed and giddy just by walking into a room. The sight of him fed her heart. She looked at him and wanted him, in ways that were far removed from the purely physical. She remembered hearing once that he’d been hurt on the job, and her heart had stopped beating until she could get confirmation that he was alive and going to be all right. She looked for him, consciously and unconsciously, everywhere she went. It was getting to be almost a mania with her, and there was apparently no cure. Stupid, to be so hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t even know she existed. At her age, and with her intellect, surely she should have known better. But all the same, her world began and ended with Hunter.

Eventually she slept, but it was very late when she drifted off, and she slept so soundly that she didn’t even hear the alarm clock the next morning. But she heard the loud knocking on the door, and stumbled out of bed too drowsy to even reach for her robe.
Fortunately her gown was floor-length and cotton, thick enough to be decent to answer a door in, at least.

Hunter glowered at her when she opened the door. “The plane leaves in two hours. We have to be at the airport in one. Didn’t I remind you that I’d be here at six?”

“Yes,” she said on a sigh. She stared up at his dark face. “Don’t you ever smile?” she asked softly.

He lifted a heavy, dark eyebrow. “When I can find something worth smiling at,” he returned with faint sarcasm.

That puts me in my place, she thought. She turned. “I have to have my coffee or I can’t function.”

“I’ll make the coffee. Get dressed,” he said tersely, dragging his eyes away from the soft curves that gown outlined so sweetly.

“But…” She turned and saw the sudden flash of his dark eyes, and stopped arguing.

“I said get dressed,” he repeated in a tone that made threats, especially when it was accompanied by his slow, bold scrutiny of her body.

She ran for it. He’d never looked at her in exactly that way before, and it wasn’t flattering. It was simply the look of a man who knew how to enjoy a woman. Lust, for lack of a better description. She darted into her room and closed the door.

She refused to allow herself to think about that smoldering look he’d given her. She dressed in jeans and a pink knit top for travel, dressing for comfort rather than style, and she wore sneakers. She left her hair long and Hunter could complain if he liked, she told herself.

By the time she got to the small kitchen, Hunter was pouring fresh coffee into two mugs. He produced cinnamon toast, deliciously browned, and pushed the platter toward her as she sat down with him at the table.

“I didn’t expect breakfast,” she said hesitantly.

“You need feeding up,” he replied without expression. “You’re too thin. Get that in you.”

“Thank you.” She nibbled on toast and sipped coffee, trying not to stare. It was heart-breakingly cozy, to be like this with him. She tried to keep her eyes from darting over him, but she couldn’t help it. He looked very nice in dark slacks and a white shirt with a navy blazer and striped tie. He wore his hair short and conventionally cut these days, and he was the picture of a successful businessman. Except for his darkness and the shape of his eyes and the very real threat of his dark skills. He was an intimidating man. Even now, it was hard going just to make routine conversation. Jenny didn’t even try. She just sat, working on her second piece of toast.

Hunter felt that nervousness in her. He knew she felt intimidated by him, but it was a reaction he couldn’t change. He was afraid to let her get close to him in any way. She was a complication he couldn’t afford in his life.

“You talk more at work and around other people,” he remarked when he’d finished the piece of toast he’d been eating and was working on his second cup of coffee.

“There’s safety in numbers,” she said without looking up.

He looked at her until she lifted her head and then he trapped her blue eyes with his black ones and refused to let her look away. The fiery intensity of the shared look made her body go taut with shocked pleasure, and her breath felt as if it had been suspended forever.

“Safety for whom?” he asked quietly. “For you?” His chin lifted, and he looked so arrogantly unapproachable that she wanted to back away. “What are you afraid of, Jennifer? Me?”

Yes, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. She finished her
coffee. “No,” she said. “Of course not. I just meant that it’s hard to make conversation with you.”

He leaned back in his chair, his lean, dark hand so large that it completely circled the coffee mug. “Most people talk a lot and say nothing,” he replied.

She nodded. Her lips tugged up. “A friend of mine once said that it was better to keep one’s mouth closed and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes did, for one brief instant. He lifted the mug to his lips, watching Jenny over its rim. She was lovely, he thought with reluctant delight in her beauty. She seemed to glow in the early morning light, radiant and warm. He didn’t like the feelings she kindled in him. He’d never known love. He didn’t want to. In his line of work, it was too much of a luxury.

“We’d better get going,” he said.

“Yes.” She got up and began to tidy the kitchen, putting detergent into the water as it filled the sink.

He stood, watching her collect the dishes and wash them. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes narrowed as they sketched the soft lines of her body with slow appreciation.

He remembered the revealing red dress she’d worn the night they’d staked out her apartment, and his expression hardened. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of wearing anything revealing while they were alone together. Jennifer was his one weak spot. But fortunately, she didn’t know that and he wasn’t planning to tell her.

“I’ll get your suitcases,” he said abruptly. He shouldered away from the wall and went out.

She relaxed. She’d felt that scrutiny and it had made her
nervous. She wondered why he’d stared at her so intently. Probably he was thinking up ways to make her even more uncomfortable. He did dislike her intensely. For which she thanked God. His hostility would protect her from doing anything really stupid. Like throwing herself at him.

He had her bags by the front door when she was through. It was early fall, and chilly, so she put on a jacket on her way to the door. He opened the door for her, leaving her to lock up as he headed toward the elevator with the luggage. They didn’t speak all the way to the car.

J
enny was aware of Hunter’s height as they walked to the car in the parking lot under her apartment building. He towered over her, and the way he moved was so smooth and elegant, he might have been gliding.

He put the luggage into the back of his sedan and opened the passenger door for her. He had excellent manners, she thought, and wondered if his mother had taught him the social graces or if he’d learned them in the service. So many questions she wanted to ask, but she knew he’d just ignore them, the way he ignored any questions he didn’t want to answer.

He drove the way he did everything else, with confidence and poise. Near collisions, bottlenecks, slow traffic, nothing seemed to disturb him. He eased the car in and out of lanes with no trouble at all, and soon they were at the airport.

She noticed that he didn’t request seats together. But the ticket agent apparently decided that they wanted them, to her secret delight, and put them in adjoining seats. That was when she
realized how lovesick she was, hungry for just the accidental brush of his arm or leg. She had to get a grip on herself!

He sat completely at ease in his seat while she ground her teeth together and tried to remember all the statistics on how safe air travel really was.

“Now what’s wrong?” he murmured, glancing darkly down at her as the flight attendants moved into place to demonstrate emergency procedures.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Then why do you have a death-grip on the arms of your seat?” he asked politely.

“So that I won’t get separated from it when we crash,” she replied, closing her eyes tight.

He chuckled softly. “I never took you for a coward,” he said. “Are you the same woman who helped me set up enemy agents only a few weeks ago?”

“That was different,” she protested. She lifted her blue eyes to his dark ones and her gaze was trapped. Her breath sighed out, and she wondered which was really the more dangerous, the plane or Hunter.

He couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from hers, and he found that irritating. At close quarters, she was beautiful. Dynamite. All soft curves and a sexy voice and a mouth that he wanted very much to kiss. But that way lay disaster. He couldn’t afford to forget the danger of involvement. He had a life-style that he couldn’t easily share with any woman, but most especially with a white woman. All the same, she smelled sweet and floral, and she looked so beautifully cool. He wanted to dishevel her.

He averted his face to watch the flight attendants go through the drill that preceded every flight, grateful for the interruption. He had to stop looking at Jennifer like that.

They were airborne before either of them spoke again.

“These people that you think are following us,” she said softly, “is it the same group that broke into my apartment?”

“More than likely,” he said. “You have to remember that strategic metals tend to fluctuate on the world market according to the old law of supply and demand. When a new use is found for a strategic metal, it becomes immediately more valuable.”

“And an increase in one industry can cause it, too,” she replied.

He nodded. She was quick. He liked her brain as much as her body, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “We didn’t pick up the ringleader, you remember. He got away,” he added with a cold glare at her.

She flushed. She didn’t like being reminded of how helpless she’d felt. “I didn’t ask you to stop to see about me,” she defended.

He knew that. The memory of seeing her lying inert on the floor still haunted him. That was when he’d first realized he was vulnerable. Now he seemed to spend all his time trying to forget that night. The agents, his job to protect Jenny and the company, had all been momentarily forgotten when the agent knocked her down in his haste to get away. Hunter had been too shaken by Jennifer’s prone position to run after the man. And that was what made him so angry. Not the fact that the agent had gotten away, but the fact that his concern for Jennifer had outweighed his dedication to his work. That was a first in his life.

“We’re transferring to another flight in Phoenix, under different names,” he said, lowering his voice. “With luck, the agents will pursue us on to California before they realize we’re gone.”

“How are we going to give them the slip? Are they on the plane?”

He smiled without looking at her. “Yes, they’re about five rows
behind us. We’re going to get off supposedly to stretch our legs before the plane goes on to Tucson. We transfer to another airline, though, instead of coming back.”

“What if they follow us?”

“I’d see them,” he murmured dryly. “The rule of thumb in tracking someone is to never let your presence be discovered. Lose the subject first. This isn’t the first time I’ve played cat and mouse with these people. I know them.”

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.