Mexican Nights (16 page)

She emptied the glass and set it on the cabinet, closing her eyes as she leaned against the sink. She was so involved in her thoughts that she did not know that Derek had entered the kitchen until he was right behind her. Then she spun, eyes wide. The dark eyes moved probingly over her, taking in the beginning of her cleavage in the V of her halter.

Shaking her head, more in denial of his inspection than to toss back the falling waves of her hair, she said, "I—I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed."

He stepped into her path wordlessly as she moved to walk by him. The brooding darkness of his eyes held her gaze. She struggled to assert her common sense, to reaffirm her will, but the helpless longing that he awoke in her had been pushed down for too long. She felt the rise of desire like warm water rushing through her body.

Unable to evade his devastating look, she stood unresistingly as he lowered his face toward her. "I've been wanting to do this all evening," he said gruffly, his mouth closing over her lips.

Over the dizzying flood of her emotions, Terri was aware of a feeling of triumphant exhilaration because only yesterday he had vowed not to touch her again until she begged for it. Her arms went around his neck, and she returned his kiss desperately, her slender body trembling in his arms. He broke off the kiss to say roughly, "All evening I watched you smile and flirt with David Almedo."

Looking up at him through her lashes, her heart thudding at the dark jealousy in his face and voice, she said, "I didn't think you'd care. You said last night that you were through with me. All day you acted as if you could hardly tolerate my company."

Staring at her with angry savagery, he said, "So you deliberately encouraged David." Dark fire flamed in his eyes. "To get back at me. You knew I didn't like what was happening."

"I was only being friendly to him," she retorted, flushing with indignation at his accusation. "Did you want me to be rude? You've said you want me to learn more about Mexican civilizations. What better teacher could I have than David Almedo?"

He tensed and stared down into her eyes. "He could teach you plenty, all right—and not about Mexican civilizations."

Terri felt a tremor of fear as the threat in his eyes deepened, but she would not allow him to convict her of impropriety. The very idea of Derek accusing
her
of flirting! "Maybe I should let him," she said bitterly.

Abruptly, she was crushed against him and his mouth took her lips with savage ferocity. Imprisoned by the hard steel of his arms, she struggled to free herself, only succeeding in causing him to crush her lips against her teeth until she tasted a trace of her own blood. Her twisting and turning ceased, as all desire to fight him drained out of her. She could not defeat her own body as it slowly came to sensuous life under his assault. Waves of dizziness mounted dangerously in her head—desire added to the wine. Gradually, Derek's kiss became more gentle, seductive. With a moan of defeat, her lips parted, and his tongue touched the soft interior of her mouth.

"I—I hurt you," he whispered against her lips. "I didn't mean to, but you shouldn't make me so angry."

"Oh, Derek," she cried, her voice catching, "it was your own jealousy that did that."

He lifted his head, his eyes burning down at her. "Does that make you happy? I've rarely felt that emotion. I've always thought it was beneath me. But tonight I actually hated my old friend. You will not see him again."

"You're not my lord and master, Derek," she said dryly.

He looked at her, rage hardening his eyes, then, with a groan, he gripped her arms and set her away from him. "If you continue to parade yourself in clothes like that, I will know you are issuing a challenge. I never resist a challenge, Terri, so be warned. You'll get whatever you ask for."

His hands dropped away, and she stood there, feeling alone and empty, and glared up at him. "I'll wear exactly what I wish, Derek! If you choose to consider my clothing some kind of cheap invitation, that's your problem! And
you
be warned. Don't look for excuses to do what you've been wanting to do all along!"

She watched the dark color flush up under his skin. His nostrils flared in anger. She met his furious gaze without flinching. It was, she thought dazedly, easier to face his rage than his tenderness. Even as she issued her indignant retort, she wanted him.

He suddenly swore, turned on his heel, and strode out of the kitchen. Seconds later, she heard the front door slam. She was shivering from reaction as she walked slowly toward her bedroom, and her whole body ached with—what? Desire, yes—but more. Much more.

With a strangled little cry, her hand came up to cover her bruised mouth. It was love that she felt—it could be nothing else. Heaven help her, she had fallen in love with Derek Storm.

Derek was shut in his bedroom most of the next day with his typewriter. Terri used the time to study the contact sheets and mark those that, when enlarged, would make appropriate illustrations for Derek's books. Since Derek was fully occupied, she cooked all three meals and cleaned up after they had eaten. It served to help take her mind off more disturbing thoughts, and, further, she did not feel up to arguing with Derek about equal division of the household labor. After dinner, however, he surprised her by announcing they were going out.

"I promised to take you to see one of the Mayan villages near here. There's one about ten miles to the south. What do you say?"

More than ready to get out of the house after a day spent reading with the steady tapping of Derek's typewriter in the background, she said, "Yes, I'd like that very much. Give me a minute, and I'll be ready."

She went into her bedroom, where she applied a light film of makeup to her peeling nose and brushed her hair. She sighed and gazed into her face—gray-blue eyes with their fringes of sooty lashes, delicately sculptured cheekbones and chin, a nose that was pertly uptilted and, beneath the makeup she had just applied, peeling lips that softened and curved into a sad smile as she remembered Derek's hard face, rigid as he had issued his threat to give her exactly what she asked for.

In spite of her verbal defiance in reply to Derek's insults about her attire, she had not worn shorts or halter today. She might have been brave in her anger, but when the anger was gone she had reflected upon Derek's warning and had decided she wouldn't chance another blatant challenge in the matter of her clothing. Derek had been furious enough that night to—what? Rape her? Well… no…

With the fingers of her right hand she touched her lips lightly, feeling a sort of glow on them as she remembered Derek's kisses. No, it would not be rape, she thought with candor. When Derek touched her, her betraying body was an all-too-willing participant in love.

She ran slender hands over her knit shirt and cotton slacks to smooth out the wrinkles. She couldn't help noticing that, although she was adequately covered, the clinging cotton outlined the curves of her breasts and hips and hugged her narrow waist in a way that left little doubt about the alluring shape of the body beneath the clothing.

Suddenly, she heard Derek calling impatiently from the sitting room and hurried to join him, thinking that she had better try to keep him in his seemingly more amiable mood or he would decide not to take her to the village; and she thought she would scream if she didn't get out of the house for a while.

There was little conversation during the short drive to the village, but, still, Terri imagined that the atmosphere in the car was more relaxed than it had been the last few days—almost as if Derek had decided to stop blaming her—whatever it was he had been blaming her for—and be friends instead of sworn enemies. With a friend like Derek, Terri thought with wry amusement, she certainly didn't need any enemies. She particularly didn't need Derek as an enemy, and she welcomed his easier manner gratefully.

They parked next to a plaza paved with square stone blocks with straggly tufts of rain-starved grass sticking up in the spaces between the stones. They strolled across the plaza to browse in the small shops facing the church. Several of the shops were still open after having been closed for the three-hour siesta in the afternoon. There were few tourist baubles here, for although many tour buses passed through on the way to the archaeological sites, few of them stopped in such small villages. These were truly native establishments with no pretensions to anything else and small inventories of little more than basic necessities.

The few natives who were on the street and in the shops appeared to be shorter and darker than most of the Mexicans Terri had seen in the cities, with broader, flatter features. When she mentioned this to Derek, he said these were pure Mayan characteristics, while Mexicans seen in the metropolitan areas were of mixed Indian and Spanish blood, often more Spanish than Indian.

Terri and Derek were the objects of curious appraisal by the villagers they passed, and several of them stopped Derek with smiles and friendly greetings. After Derek had been engaged in conversation in lively Spanish for the third time, Terri observed, "They act as if they know you."

"I've been here several times doing research," he told her. "After they got over their innate suspicion of foreigners, several of them invited me into their homes. I have a notebook full of stories and legends that were handed down in some of these families."

They were interrupted then by another villager, who wrung Derek's hand and released a spate of animated Spanish. Terri moved a few feet away to glance at dirt-speckled windows. Then she turned to watch Derek and the villager, who had now been joined by a second native. She envied the easy flow of Derek's Spanish and was a little surprised at how at home with these people he seemed. The world-famous writer might have been just another villager, except that he towered head and shoulders over all of them. It was obvious that he liked, even respected, these simple, uneducated people; this was a side to Derek's character that Terri had not seen before.

Eventually extricating himself, Derek joined her. "Let's walk down one of the side streets so you can see how they live," he said with the first really warm smile he had had for Terri in days.

The side "street" was nothing more than a dusty earth lane straggling away from the plaza to disappear in a field of scrub brush. Along the lane, on either side, were several one-room huts with thatched roofs. Some of them were made of an adobelike mixture, others were fashioned of twigs stuck together with a muddy compound. There were no screen doors on the entrances or glass panes covering the windows. Pale light from oil lamps inside found its way through the open doorways and illuminated small areas of hard-packed earth, where scantily dressed, barefoot children played.

"Three or four generations of a family often live in one of those huts. I've been in them when there was barely room for one more to sit or stand," Derek said quietly.

"It's surprising how happy the children are," Terri mused, "and even those men who came up to you on the street seemed… comfortable with their lot."

They had reached the end of the lane, where it disappeared into the brush, and as they turned to stroll back toward the plaza, Derek said, "That's very true. It's one of the things that intrigues me about the Mayans. I've come to admire them for the way they can find joy in the midst of what we would consider abject poverty and deprivation. There is a great deal of laughing within the family circle, and no matter how many children come along there always seems to be enough affection to go around. Loyalty to the family is one of their most endearing qualities. Everybody from the small child to the grandfather does his part— whatever he can do—to contribute to the welfare of the family."