Carved in Stone (2 page)

Alex liked this softer version of his voice, warm and deep without the anger. She turned, hand outstretched from long habit. She retracted it immediately when she realized he was using his right hand to hold a very small pink towel around his lean hips.

Somehow, the towel made him look even more naked than before. A warm flush spread across her face and neck. She looked somewhere off to the right of his left ear, past the long auburn hair that curled damply to his shoulders. “Look,” she said, struggling to keep her voice matter-of-fact, “it’s obvious you’ve already bathed, so why don’t I just meet you back at camp after I clean up? I’ve had a long night and a very early wake-up call.”

“Okay.” He stretched the word and she could tell that he was fighting to keep his lips from curving into a smile. “I guess we can save the formal introductions for later.” He picked up a small knapsack hanging from a nearby branch, almost losing his towel in the process. He fumbled with the towel a moment then headed back up the trail, obviously trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably.

Alex couldn’t stop grinning as she stole a quick glance at her new employer. The tiny pink towel molded his lean hips, dark hair covered his long, muscular legs, and rubber flip-flops flapped and slapped against the soles of his feet. She contemplated describing the scene to Jessie, right down to the man’s wonderfully broad shoulders and gorgeous rear end.

Maybe she’d leave out the part about the flip-flops.

As soon as he disappeared around the curve in the trail, Alex undressed and rinsed off in the freezing mountain creek. The sun was well above the eastern plateau by the time she stretched out on her belly on a warm flat rock at the water’s edge. Leaning over, she rinsed her long hair in the swiftly running stream, soaking up the sun’s rays that quickly heated her back.

The air was cool, but the sunlight felt good against her bare skin. She lay there a moment, wondering about the man, why he’d been so shocked by her presence. Other than the obvious, of course. She giggled, picturing the pink towel.

“Crap!” She scrambled into a sitting position. What if that wasn’t Nathan Murdock? The man hadn’t given his name. She shivered as a chill raced along her spine, then just as quickly she relaxed. That had to be Dr. Murdock. The pilot wouldn’t have taken her to the wrong campsite.

Maybe she wasn’t quite what Murdock expected. Alex grinned, wringing the water out of her long hair. Professor Murdock definitely wasn’t what she expected! But what if Jessie was right? What if this job was a mistake? She’d certainly tried to argue Alex out of coming.

Of course, Jessie liked to argue about everything. They’d been raised as sisters, and they certainly fought like sisters, but this disagreement had been worse than usual. Staring into the swirling water, Alex thought about their argument.

She’d been trying to convince Jessie just how much she needed this assignment. How else was she ever going to get her reputation back?

A job like this—high-profile work with a reputable professor—could go a long way toward fixing the whole mess.

As usual, Jessie had disagreed. “The studio’s finally coming together. We’ve got at least two months of remodeling before we can open and—”

“And you’re perfectly capable of handling it.” Alex had refused to budge. Okay. So Jessie was worried about her. What else was new? Why couldn’t Jessie see she had to do this? The professor at UC Berkeley wanted to hire her. His secretary had called the studio and specifically requested Alex. Alex had done her best to try and convince Jessie how important this was to her career, but Jessie wouldn’t even listen.

“It always comes down to your father, doesn’t it?”

Alex had never seen her so angry, especially when she’d gotten right in Alex’s face and practically yelled at her.

“When are you gonna quit competing with him?” She’d practically sneered when she added, “You can’t win! The man’s a cheat and a liar. My God, he stole your work, and you keep making excuses for him.”

Then she’d slammed her fist down on the worn countertop and looked Alex straight in the eyes. “The man’s a bastard!” she’d said. “He’s not worth it.”

Alex shuddered, the pain from Jessie’s harsh words still fresh, but Alex knew she was just as guilty of fighting dirty. She’d been oh so controlled when she’d replied, “I don’t want to argue, especially about my father. Besides, it’s common knowledge that if you’re going to call anyone a bastard, that would be me.”

Ashamed, Jessie had burst into tears.

Bastard.

It was such an ugly word. A terrible burden to give an innocent child. Alex wondered if she’d ever be able to lay it down. She knew that it really wasn’t that big a deal, not in today’s world, but when she’d been small, she’d heard it often enough.
Alexander’s poor little bastard.
She was nobody’s poor anything, but the pain never seemed to lessen. Still, Jessie’s angry words had awakened long-buried questions.

Staring into the clear waters of the creek, Alex wondered again about the unwed seventeen-year-old girl who had died giving her life. She knew so little about her mother, a woman whose Mayan heritage was stamped strongly upon her own features.

Was that why her father had never married her mother? Because she was native, not white? Alex wondered if she’d ever know the truth. Wondered what her life might have been like if things had been different.

But they weren’t, and she’d learned long ago that wishing for what might have been didn’t solve a thing. Leave it to Jessie to reawaken painful memories best forgotten.

Dammit! Jessie could manage the remodeling, and by the time this job was finished, the studio would be almost ready to open.

Jessie accused her of being a control freak. Alex had to agree. Win or lose, at least her future was in her own hands.

Her mother obviously hadn’t had that choice.

Now she was dead.

Unlike her mother, Alex Martin’s life was controlled by no man.

She felt his presence before she saw him. Turning quickly, she grabbed a towel to cover her nudity. He stood not ten feet away, fully dressed, watching her, holding two cups of coffee.

“I thought you might like a cup,” he offered casually. A broad smile creased his face and he held the steaming mug out to her. He acted as if seeing her naked was an everyday occurrence.

His cavalier attitude angered Alex more than it embarrassed her, but she knew immediately why he was here. Typical, she thought, the way men always need to even the score.

“You might have waited until I finished bathing.” Alex’s voice trembled with anger, infuriating her even more. What if he took the audible quiver in her words as a sign of weakness? She grabbed her sweats and glared pointedly in Nathan’s direction.

He didn’t move. Alex ignored the coffee he offered. “Do you mind?” she hissed, clutching the towel and the folded bundle of sweats close against her body.

“Mind what?”

His wide-eyed innocent look goaded her even further, and Alex recognized the precise moment when temper overrode common sense. She glanced at the fist-sized rocks along the streambed and thought longingly of the kind of damage she would love to do.

But she had other weapons.

Proudly she stood up and dropped the towel, giving Nate an unhurried look at her long legs, small breasts and the dark thatch at her center. She glared at him, letting him feel her anger. Then, very slowly, she proceeded to dress.

What had he been thinking, to pull such a childish stunt?

Nathan stared, transfixed, as she carefully pulled her sweatpants on and then slipped the worn sweatshirt over her head. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to . . . her blazing eyes spoke volumes.

This wasn’t quite what he’d expected, but earlier she’d sent him off feeling embarrassed and foolish. Coming back to catch her at her bath seemed like a perfectly acceptable way to even the score.

But by the time she pushed her long black hair out of her eyes and tossed it back over her shoulders, Nate’s mouth was dry. When she stepped close, reached out with one slender hand and silently accepted the coffee mug still clenched in his trembling fingers, he could hardly resist the urge to wipe the sweat beading his upper lip.

As she took the cup, Nate made a strategic decision to beat a hasty retreat back to camp. Gritting his teeth in angry frustration, he turned away and stomped along the brushy trail, muttering to himself as he shoved the rich green foliage out of his way.

He wasn’t certain who she was or what she was doing here, but there was no denying the fact his body was achingly aware of every curve and line of her dusky figure. Her small, firm breasts with their dark nipples beaded from the morning chill, the sleek line of her torso and the perfect curve from small waist to rounded hip to long, long legs. And all that thick, glorious hair, sleekly wet now, combed back from her fascinating face, hanging long enough to curl around her hips.

It was bad enough that she didn’t belong here. It was even worse she had interrupted his morning bath. But the last straw, the thing that really ticked him off, was the fact he was responding deep in his gut not to her almost primitive beauty, but to something as unprovocative as the sound of her footsteps stamping angrily behind him along the trail that led to camp.

Chapter 2

“Just who the hell are you, anyway?” Nate spun around and confronted Alex as she stalked into the clearing.

“I told you.” She snarled between clenched teeth, barely containing her fury. “I’m Alex Martin. Remember, the photographer you hired? The one who’s supposed to climb some cliff and take photos of mysterious petroglyphs? The one who totally rearranged her schedule at your request? The same one who kindly filled in on a moment’s notice to replace your regular photographer? Or don’t you recall any of that?” She threw her knapsack to the ground, almost spilling her mug of coffee in the process.

“I hired Alexander Martin.” Nate closed the distance between them and glared at Alex. Eyes filled with contempt and body tense with anger, he spoke in a low, controlled voice. “I want to know where the hell he is.”

“Painting seascapes at Big Sur, you jerk,” she shouted, stepping even closer and poking him none too gently in the chest. Nate stepped backward and stumbled over a tent peg, obviously unprepared for her attack.

She moved with him, punctuating each word with another jab to his broad chest. “He retired six years ago. When you called Martin Photography you called me. I own the company and I am the one you hired.”

“I did not hire a woman. This isn’t a job for a woman.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, and she might have laughed if she wasn’t so pissed. “You didn’t really say that, did you? That this isn’t a job for a woman?”

He ignored her. “I hired Alexander Martin. I distinctly instructed my secretary to call—”

“Martin Photography. Which happens to be my studio.” Gaining confidence, Alex addressed him as if she were speaking to a small child. “So you’d better get used to me, ’cus I’m the woman you hired. I have a contract with your signature on it. Unless you want to pay me off up front and send me home and deal with a whole lot of very uncomfortable press coverage, I would suggest you apologize for your rudeness so we can both act like grown-ups and get to work. What do you say, Dr. Murdock? Do you think you can manage that?”

Alex looked Nate slowly up and down with the same contempt he’d shown her, then backed off and took a dignified sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. If only her fingers would stop trembling, she might be able to carry this off.

She really, really hated confrontation of any kind, but dammit all, she needed this job. Except what kind of jerk told a woman to her face that this wasn’t a job for a woman? Eyeing him over the top of her mug, she silently prayed her expression was calm enough to mask the emotions churning inside.

She felt sick. Once again, Alexander Martin was the preferred choice. She’d been so sure this time!

Would the competition with her father never end? She might have idolized the man when she was little, but it hadn’t taken long to find out what he was really like.

It was difficult enough for a woman to gain a name in her field, but Jessie was right. The fact that she was the famous Alexander Martin’s only offspring made the hurdles even higher.

In its own way, Alex knew her studio was an admission of failure, an attempt to find success in her profession away from the nature photography that would always be her true love.

Though weddings and graduations and family portraits might pay the bills, they would never take the place of photographing an ancient ruin, a tiny flower, or an eagle during its diving, soaring courtship flight.

What hurt even worse was the fact she knew she’d given up too easily. She’d allowed her father’s duplicity to chase her away from the work she loved. The work she was meant to do.

Not this time. This was her job, her chance, and Nathan Murdock was not going to take it away.

Stunned by the woman’s outburst, Nate paused. Obviously there was a misunderstanding of epic proportions. Just as obviously, the mistake was his. Or, more specifically, his secretary Darlene’s. It sounded like Ms. Martin had accepted the job offer in good faith.

He tried to reconstruct the series of events that led to Darlene’s call. Will, the grad student who had taken on the role as the department photographer, had broken his leg only a few days before they were due to depart. While Nate was frantically trying to think of someone else with the skill to climb the massive cliffs and shoot the photos, his eyes had focused on a poster in his office. It was a favorite of his, a beautiful picture of an eagle in flight, and the signature at the bottom said A. Martin.

The name had reminded Nate of an article in an old
National Geographic
magazine about Anasazi cliff dwellings by the famed photojournalist Alexander Martin. Then he had remembered hearing about Martin’s new studio near the university. Nate had put two and two together and asked his secretary to contact the obviously well-qualified photographer.

And that was the photographer they hired. But this was not Alexander Martin.

Come to think of it, he never did ask if Darlene had talked to a man or a woman. He’d just assumed. He’d have to remember not to assume anything, especially with Darlene the Ditz, ever again. Nate took a deep breath. Let it out. It was obviously time to regroup.

Plastering a grim smile on his face, he controlled his irritation as best he could. “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Martin. I was wrong and I am sorry. I assumed—a grave error on my part, I might add—that Alex Martin and Alexander Martin were one and the same. Now,” he continued, enjoying the look of consternation on her face at the sarcastic tone in his voice, “the problem is, I still need a photographer capable of climbing those cliffs”—he pointed with a sweep of his hand toward the sheer wall just east of their camp—“and taking close-up shots of the petroglyphs. There are a number of carvings near the top of the cliff, but because of the configuration of overhanging rocks it would not be practical to rappel down for most of the work. The job will require someone capable of climbing and working in harness for hours at a time.”

He looked her long form slowly up and down, insulting her even as he explained the job. “And you, Ms. Martin, probably photograph little children in a studio while they sit on their mommies’ laps. Somehow, I just don’t think that qualifies you for this particular job, do you?” Nate grinned, waiting for her reaction.

It wasn’t quite what he expected.

With a cool smile on her full lips and a knowing gleam in her sea-blue eyes, Alex dumped her cold coffee on the ground and carefully refilled the cup. She held the pot out to Nate.

Attempting to mask his sudden confusion, he let her fill the empty mug he’d forgotten he was holding.

She replaced the pot, then sat on one of the logs near the campfire and took a long, unhurried sip of her coffee. She looked up at Nate and gestured for him to sit down. Unsure of her motives, feeling uncharacteristically awkward and uncertain, Nate took a seat on the log across from hers. He had no idea what to expect.

“I’m going to ignore your insult,” she offered, smiling sweetly and taking another sip of her coffee, “and just chalk it up to the fact that you are a complete and utter asshole, devoid of the intelligence God gave women.”

Nate’s indignant protest wilted beneath her unblinking stare.

“If I may continue?” She was still smiling, and Nate’s blood pressure shot up another ten points.

“I would like to know why you wanted to hire my father. Was it a particular photograph or series he did?”

Controlling his temper with difficulty, Nate took a deep breath and decided the least he could do was answer her question.

Then he could send her away.

“Actually, there were a couple of things. One was an article in an old issue of
National Geographic
. The photographs of Anasazi ruins were excellent. But foremost is a poster, one of an eagle in flight. I have it framed in my office, and I’ve always been struck by not only the clarity of the picture but the vitality as well.”

Warming to his subject, Nathan allowed himself to relax a little, but he couldn’t ignore the contemplative look in her sea-blue eyes. “You’ve probably seen the photo I’m talking about.” He matched her direct look. “Your dad caught the eagle just as it started its dive. You can tell whatever it sees has definitely met its match. There’s such pride in those eyes, so much life. The photographer couldn’t have taken a better shot. It’s unbelievable.”

“Thank you, Dr. Murdock. I’ll take that compliment, since I’m the photographer who took the picture. I understand it’s not up to par with the photos of little children on their mommies’ laps, but I’m quite proud of it.” She took another long sip of coffee, but her gaze never left his.

“I’m supposed to believe that shot is yours?” Nate snorted his disbelief. He realized immediately from the flash of angry pride in her blue eyes how insulting he sounded. “Prove it,” he said, beginning to regret his sarcasm.

“Believe it whether you want to or not, Dr. Murdock. I don’t have to prove anything to you. I know I’m good and, like I said, I have a contract with your signature on it. Whether you want me or not, you’ve got me. Either that or you’ve got one hell of a sexual discrimination lawsuit. The head of the department of one of California’s premier universities turning down a highly qualified photographer because of her gender? After signing the contract? You really don’t want that, do you?” Tossing her hair back out of her eyes, she silently dared him.

Nate sensed the vulnerability in her proud stare, an unguarded moment of pain that quickly disappeared behind her stubborn gaze. He’d sensed honesty as well, a morality as inflexible as his own.

He tried to imagine this exotic-looking woman, loaded down with climbing gear and camera equipment, hanging from the face of a cliff. Maybe she was telling the truth, maybe . . . “If you’re that good . . .”

“I am.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. Her pain was almost palpable. “Then why the studio? Why the children, and the moms and the graduations and all that mundane stuff when you . . .”

“Can fly?” she asked softly, almost reverently, her eyes sparkling, suddenly brilliant with unshed tears. “When I can scale the cliffs and capture that moment of freedom forever in a perfect shot? Well, I’ll tell you why, Dr. Murdock,” she added, her voice thick with sarcasm as she wiped the back of one hand quickly across her eyes.

“It’s because of men like you, Dr. Murdock. Men who would rather break a contract than work with a woman. I’m good at what I do, but I’m getting damned tired of constantly having to prove that, in spite of my gender—which, for some strange reason, men in positions of power consider to be a liability—I am just as capable of doing my job as my father is. Better, in fact, because I’m younger and stronger, and I’m damned good with a camera.

“And, for your information,” she continued, her voice going flat, “half of the shots in that
National Geographic
article about the Anasazi cliff dwellings were mine. I was only nineteen years old then, and working as my father’s assistant. He submitted my photos along with his. Unfortunately, he neglected to give me credit for my work.”

She stopped speaking a moment to gaze in the direction of the towering pinnacles, then faced Nate again. “He got a Pulitzer Prize for that series. My name wasn’t even on the byline. I got a ‘Thanks, Alex. You did a good job, but I don’t think we should tell anyone, do you?’ Well, I haven’t, until now, but I think you ought to know what you’re giving up.”

Rendered speechless, Nathan gaped at Alex. As crazy as her story sounded, he knew she was telling the truth. There was too much pride, too much honesty in her words.

Too much pain.

The fire left her eyes. Her shoulders slumped.

Her long-fingered hands, so expressive in anger a moment before, fluttered uncertainly. She looked away and he noticed the rapid pulse against the dark column of her throat.

“I’ll pack my things,” she said quietly, her naturally low voice roughened in defeat. “Will you please radio for the pilot to meet me at the landing site?”

“No, wait.” He grabbed her arm as she rose to leave. He felt the strength of her taut muscles beneath the thick sweatshirt, and the quick spark of contact as she turned on him, impatiently brushing her long hair out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” This time he hoped she believed his apology was sincere. “I really am. I’m still not positive you can do this job, but you’re right. You do have a contract. I want to believe that you’re telling me the truth. I guess I’ll find out soon enough if you aren’t qualified.” He paused, then looked away to gather his thoughts, to control the feelings that raged under her steady gaze.

Gently he released his grip on her arm, then held his right hand out to her. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” He smiled, noting the subtle relaxation of her body, the slight shudder as she released the tension in her shoulders. God, he hoped he was right. It would be damned dangerous working with a partner he couldn’t trust.

“I’m Nate Murdock, Ms. Martin, and I think we might be able to work together,” he said, trying to bury his doubts. “That is, if I can learn to keep my chauvinistic attitudes in check. What do you say?”

She paused a moment, then the corners of her mouth twitched slightly and she firmly grasped his larger hand. Nathan wondered if she prepared this time, as he had, for the tiny spark that seemed to jump between them each time they touched.

Tilting her head, she studied him for a moment. “Might? Why, Dr. Murdock, is that a bit of doubt I sense?”

“Oh, it’s more than a bit, Ms. Martin. Definitely more than a bit. But we’re both professionals. I’m sure we can work around it.” He returned her smile, enjoying the feel of her strong, slender hand in his.

He clasped her hand securely, aware for the first time of the calluses that marked her palm, the wiry strength of her fingers. Then he released his grasp and automatically rubbed his tingling hand against the rough fabric of his jeans.

Alex rubbed the palm of her right hand with her left thumb, and once again a curious flash of vulnerability clouded her brilliant blue eyes. Nate realized she must feel the same frisson when they touched that he felt. It was unnerving, knowing she shared something with him that was so physical. So intimate.