Expedition of Love (15 page)

She chuckled. “You know perfectly well that snakes are not slimy."

"Just the same, I'd rather you got rid of it."

"Oh, all right. I'll take him to where he'll find a new place to hunt without any further problems.” She walked into the darkness enveloping the camp, her charge curled around her arm.

Edwin yawned. “Well, a bit of excitement, eh gentlemen?"

They all remained motionless, staring into the night where she'd disappeared.

"Yes, well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight,” Edwin said, then walked away. Stephen was certain he heard him laughing.

The men looked at the tent then back to one another, each dumbfounded by what had occurred.

Kristina's footsteps captured their attention, and their heads all turned toward her.

She stopped and looked curiously at each of them. “I take it you gentlemen aren't accustomed to camping in the wild."

The assistants all shook their heads with murmured no's, uncomfortable in admitting their inexperience.

Stephen cleared his throat, forcing his slack mouth to form words. “I have been camping several times, but have only limited experience in dealing with snakes."

"Oh, dear. Then it's a good thing this happened. Snakes are rather plentiful here as are various other creatures. Take great care when preparing to put on your shoes. Check them carefully for inhabitants before slipping your foot inside. If you plan to use work gloves, shake them out first. I also suggest you roll up your bedding every morning to discourage any unwanted guests, such as our snake friend, from nesting amid the folds. Be certain the edges of your tent remain staked down firmly to help deter any other creatures from venturing inside. Any questions?” she asked, looking at each of them in turn.

The men glanced at one another at the conclusion of her short lecture, then slowly shook their heads.

"Thank you, Miss Peterson. For—for removing my visitor,” Scott said, his voice nearly normal.

"You're welcome."

He stepped inside his tent, his head jerking left and right, searching for more surprises.

Kristina smiled then quickly rid her face of any humor. She obviously didn't wish to embarrass the young man, a fact that pleased Stephen. Her open kindness and consideration for others endeared her to him.

Uncomfortable with this new feeling, he said, “Well, I suppose we should all turn in."

"Yes, we have had quite a day,” Mr. Walters said. “Miss Peterson, you are indeed unique. I salute you.” He bowed then strode off, chuckling. Richard followed.

She put her hands on her hips and stared after him, a puzzled look on her face.

For the first time since their evening's excitement began, Stephen felt the tension drain from his neck and shoulders, and he smiled.

Her eyes cut to his. “What do you find so amusing?"

He couldn't refrain from chuckling. “Absolutely nothing."

She cocked her head and crossed her arms, raising her bosom to disclose the tantalizing swell of her breasts.

He hadn't realized that several of her buttons were undone. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers. A jolt of awareness arced between them. He needed to return to the safety of his tent, far away from her and the spell she wove around him.

"It's late. We should get to bed.” His gut clenched at the words. Couldn't he have simply said goodnight?

With a multitude of effort, he turned and started walking across the compound.

She fell instep beside him. “What do you suppose Mr. Walters meant by his remark?"

"I think he intended it as a compliment."

"Do you really think so? I thought it held a bit of spite."

"I suppose there was some."

Reaching the point where they would separate and go in different directions, he stopped. “You threaten his beliefs, Miss Peterson, casting doubt where there was none before.” A feeling he was growing more accustomed to himself.

"Ah, you mean about women and their roles in society."

"Exactly."

She stepped so close she was forced to tilt her head up in order to look into his eyes. The very position that repeatedly tested his resolve.

"And what are your beliefs, Doctor? Simply because I'm a woman, soft and round where you're firm and strong, you don't find me threatening, do you?"

"In more ways than I can count.” He couldn't hide the huskiness in his voice. The painful need building inside him was rapidly consuming his better judgment. If he didn't leave soon, all would be lost.

Inching closer, she whispered, “What ways? Tell me."

His restraint collapsed, toppling like the walls of Jericho. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against his chest while his mouth found hers, soft and warm, sweet and moist.

Her tiny squeak of surprise jerked him from his moment of insanity. Firmly gripping her shoulders, he thrust her away after the shortest, most arousing kiss of his life.

"I'm sorry. I-I can't apologize enough.” He took an unsteady step backward, nearly toppling over a stone. “I don't know what I was thinking. I—"

"You mean you didn't want to kiss me?"

"No, I mean, yes. I mean—damnation.” He let out a disgusted breath as he raked his fingers through his hair.

She traced his retreating steps. “Then you did want to kiss me."

"Of course I did, but we're not—we shouldn't—you and I aren't—"

Stephen could see her wide smile clearly in the moonlight, stopping his stumbling withdrawal. She wasn't angry?

The toes of her boots nearly touched his. “It wouldn't be proper, you mean."

"Of course it isn't proper.” He knew he should step away, but his feet refused to respond. Her cream colored skin lit by the silver glow of the waxing moon held him in place.

"But what if I want you to kiss me?"

Her voice had dropped to a beckoning murmur, and he didn't know how much longer he could continue their extraordinary conversation.

"That still doesn't make it right. You simply cannot go around kissing whomever you choose."

"Even if they want to kiss me?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled and shook his head. “Miss Peterson, you don't seem to understand the situation."

"I think I do. You want to kiss me, and I want to kiss you.” She placed her hands against his chest, trapping his breath in his throat. Lifting up on her toes, she gently pressed her lips to his.

His hands clenched at his sides, he yanked his head back. Stunned by what she'd done, and yet thrilled to the core of his being, prudence still prevailed. “Miss Peterson, I think you should go to bed. You'll see things much clearer in the morning."

Linking her hands around his neck, she pressed against him, heating his skin to temperatures he'd never known were possible for the human body. “It would—be best—if you—"

She kissed him again, but with a great deal more heat, and this time he found it harder to pull away.

Damn near impossible.

But all the reasons they shouldn't be kissing pushed themselves to the front of his mind. “This is highly improper. You and I don't suit. I'm not the sort of man—"

She placed her finger to his lips, silencing him. “I adore the way you lecture, Stephen, but now isn't the time."

His heart jolted with her words. “You do? I mean, it isn't?” He sighed at his sudden inability to carry on an intelligent conversation.

Smiling, she said, “No, it isn't.” She kissed him again, and this time he barely lifted his lips from hers, the connection too precious to break.

"Miss Peterson, I—"

"Stephen, sometimes you talk too much,” she whispered against his lips.

"I talk too much,” he mumbled, then proceeded to indulge in a long, drugging kiss. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, she moaned, encouraging him to explore more of her delectable body.

He slid his fingers into her hair, freeing the scent of jasmine as he tightened his hold. His tongue dared to glide across her full moist lips, begging for entrance to a place he had no right to go.

Kristina opened to him, and he was lost in the sweetest heaven he had ever known. Her taste filled him yet left him wanting more, wanting all of her. That stark realization broke the spell, giving him the strength to set her at arm's length. “We can't do this."

"We can't?"

He took several careful steps back, holding his hands out. “No, we can't. This is wrong. This can never happen again."

"Oh. I see."

He sighed. “I'm glad you understand."

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. Goodnight, Doctor. I promise you, it won't happen again. Not even if my life depended on it,” she snapped, and stormed toward her tent.

Stephen cringed at her parting words. He'd hurt her somehow. He could hear it in her voice, but what they were doing was wrong. She had no idea how close he was to carrying her off to his bed. He wanted to make love to her through the night and well into morning.

She was an innocent. He felt it in his bones. He wasn't far from it himself, but things were vastly different for men. A liaison with a woman could be found in certain areas of town for a price.

Stephen still felt the heat of his shame for letting his college friends talk him into such an assignation. Yet the woman didn't seem to mind. She actually seemed to enjoy her work. He certainly had, but Kristina wasn't like her. She was a lady. A very special lady, and he would do everything in his power to keep her that way. She was destined to marry someday, and he would not ruin her for the sake of lust.

"Marriage,” he muttered.

Perhaps they could—no, she would never consent to be his wife, and they didn't love one another. He was experiencing a powerful amount of lust, and she was merely exploring unknown territory with someone she felt was safe, the dull and boring scientist.

He turned with a heavy heart and went to bed, knowing sleep would not be kind.

For the first time in her life, Kristina felt true rejection. She resisted the urge to sniffle. The situation hardly called for tears. She wanted the man—desperately—but since he obviously didn't want her, there was little to be done about it. In truth, she should hate him, but couldn't.

Leaning back against the center post of her tent, her mind whirled in confusion. She never thought herself to be fickle. She'd always been rather sensible, unless her temper flared, but most of the time she was a reasonably intelligent woman.

"Blast.” She flopped down on her cot with a sudden headache. Then why did she suddenly feel cut adrift? Why did her mind vacillate so haphazardly?

Oh, if only her friend Sadie were there. She considered writing her a letter, but it would be weeks and weeks before she received a response. By then the expedition would practically be over.

Her head pounding, she decided it would be best to put the situation from her mind. Perhaps in the morning things would be clearer, and she would be able to make some sense of it all.

Funny, if she had thrown herself at Geoffrey Walters, she suspected her virtue would no longer be intact. But she didn't want him.

Her frustration at being rejected dried the few drops of tears lingering in the corner of her eyes. For some ridiculous, inexplicable reason, she wanted Stephen Baxter, stodgy paleontologist, beard and all.

She touched her face and lips. Not too scratchy. Rather pleasant, actually.

Kristina undressed for bed, blew out her lantern, then climbed beneath the blankets after giving them a thorough search. Hurt feelings or no, she would have to face him in the morning and pretend nothing had happened. Pretend her heart hadn't hammered in her chest, threatening to break free. Pretend her body hadn't burned with the touch of his hands.

"Drat the man.” She'd just have to bury herself in her work and forget all about seducing Stephen Baxter. Maybe someday she would meet a man who made her feel the same way and he wouldn't be so—so—oh, she didn't know what to make of Stephen's rejection. He wanted her, it seemed, and yet he didn't. Or rather, he didn't want to want her, which seemed to hurt more.

Grumbling, she punched her pillow and resituated herself on the little cot. Letting her emotions get involved was a mistake. Lust, she could deal with. It was a basic physical and chemical reaction to the opposite sex. She had grown accustomed to the concept over the course of the last two days, but this other pain was foreign, and she didn't care for it one bit. No, it simply had to go, and the only way to rid herself of this nagging feeling, was to forget the entire incident.

Pushing all thoughts of her body's insistent complaints of dissatisfaction from her mind, she clamped her eyes closed and begged sleep to take her. But after hours of tossing and turning in a fitful sleep, which she accredited to her lack of practice in sleeping on a tiny cot and not her disturbing thoughts of Stephen, she finally gave up and stuck her head out of her tent for a look around.

The sunrise was gorgeous, cutting sharp shadows across the awakening plateau, sending rays of light in stark beams through the few clouds that dared to dally in its path. She had to have a photograph.

After wriggling into her pants and shirt, she grabbed her box camera with flexible film, and hurried outside. As she stepped up to the edge of camp, she realized she wasn't the only one awake so early. Far off to her right she could see the silhouette of a man. She knew, without a doubt, it was Stephen who stood there watching the sunrise.

An odd ache grew inside her breast. She wanted to share in the glorious scene with him, quietly admiring God's work, but she wasn't ready to face him.

Silently, she stepped away. There would be other sunrises for her to photograph, and yet—she lifted her camera and found him through the lens, his strong silhouette against the painted sky. Pulling the string, she set the shudder, then pressed the release button.

The man who had kissed her and sent her heart careening against her ribs would be preserved on film for all time. Someday, perhaps she would look at his picture with fond memories, instead of the piteous wish for more.

Relieved he hadn't heard her, she made her way to the cook tent to begin breakfast. She wondered if he had as rough a night as she did.