Expedition of Love (17 page)

Still in awe, Kristina watched him walk away. Never had she seen such a beautiful hazel-gold in her life, and that look in his eyes sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Had he looked at her like that the night before when they kissed?

Oh, blast her for not wearing her spectacles! Now she would never know.

Mr. Walters ran his finger down her arm again, pulling her from her thoughts. Analyzing the touch, she realized there wasn't the faintest quiver. Not even the trace of a goose bump.

Now this was normal. She was in total control of her body. Something she seemed unable to do around Stephen.

Distance, she told herself. A lot of distance. That's what she needed. Especially since he seemed so determined to not want her.

"You never answered my question, Kristina,” he said.

"I did answer you,
Mr. Walters
. You simply refused to listen."

Slipping from beneath his overt attentions, she picked up the brush Stephen had dropped and resumed working, before she did something rash. Mr. Walters was becoming more than an irritant. And to think she'd offered him friendship!

"Come now. Taking a walk after dinner will be most relaxing."

"I told you before that I am not interested. The answer is no. Now, if you don't mind I would very much like to get some work done."

"We could have a very good time together. I don't see why you insist on putting off the inevitable."

She sat up abruptly, gripping the brush tightly in her gloved fist. “For your information, I don't wish to
have
anything with you. And the only inevitability is you losing several toes if you persist in this. Now, kindly leave me be, or I shall be forced to speak with my father and Doctor Baxter."

"Speak away,” he said with a sinister grin. “Then I'll tell your father what I observed last night. Amazing how much a person can see by moonlight."

She felt her blood rise, filling her cheeks with piercing heat, angered by his insolence, chagrined he'd seen her humiliating rejection, and terrified of what her father would do. Although she refused to believe her father would force her to marry, she couldn't bare the thought of hurting him, or the dreadful embarrassment that would stem from such a fiasco.

"Think about it, Kristina. I shall give you a little time. But not too much time.” He leered at her, sending a wave of nausea to her stomach.

"You, sir, are not a gentleman."

He chuckled. “I don't recall ever claiming to be one.” With that he strolled off to work on his assigned area.

She turned back around with a low growl, but hesitated on returning to work. In her current temper, she was afraid she might damage the fossil. His words replayed in her mind and fear began absorbing her anger. What was she going to do?

Her eyes darted around the site in search of her father, but stopped on Stephen watching Mr. Walters’ back as he walked away.

Did he think she would throw herself at him now? Did he think she was some sort of harlot because of her behavior last night? Oh, why did she begin this ridiculous scheme to seduce him in the first place?

Stephen's gaze found hers and held her captive. Her heart skittered across her chest. He did something to her, something primal she couldn't understand, something that defied logic. That was why she pursued him, but could she remain friends with the man and not give into those basic yearnings?

Mr. Anderson approached him, pulling his attention away. Finally released from his probing gaze, she forced her hands to move and tried to concentrate on the fossil, while Mr. Thomas stretched twine around her. But after several minutes she realized it was no use.

Returning to her camera, she attempted to take a few more pictures, but repeatedly found her lens focused on Stephen. She couldn't seem to get enough of the way his hands gently removed the years of dirt from the exposed bone, and the way he keenly concentrated on his work.

"Getting some good photographs?” Edwin asked.

She quickly angled her camera away and turned to her father. “I captured some wonderful ones of the site before they started, and now I'm concentrating on the delicate work. Some of the shots, their hands mostly, will be a bit blurred, but I think they'll come out fine."

"I suggest you watch Stephen the closest. He gets the quickest and cleanest results without damaging the specimen."

"I'll do that. Um, Papa? What do you really know about Doctor Baxter? I mean, his personal life."

She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but she had to know more about him. She had to assure herself that he didn't want to want her because of his sense of propriety, and not because she was—well, a bit odd. Even though she had resolved herself to be nothing more than friends with the man.

"A little, why do you ask?” His brows rose with optimism.

Oh, dear. He already had enough ideas about her and Stephen, she didn't need to add to them, but she couldn't seem to stop her mouth. “He seems nice, most of the time, and I suppose I was wondering why he hasn't married."

"I suppose he hasn't found the right girl.” He waggled his bushy brows at her.

She stifled a groan and ignored his not-so-subtle suggestion. “I see,” she said flatly.

Her father's disappointed frown almost made her laugh.

He looked across the site to Stephen. “Well, I imagine it has more to do with his work. He spends most of his time involved in his studies."

"Yes, I'd sensed that."

"My dear, I realize you want nothing to do with having a beau or getting married—"

"May I have that in writing?"

"Hmm, no.” He tweaked her nose, and she laughed. “But I was hoping you could help Stephen rejoin the land of the living. Be his friend, his companion. You seem to have the ability to make him smile, a sight I haven't seen very often."

"You truly care for him, don't you?"

"Like a son, my dear.” He glanced at the topic of their discussion and chuckled. “He reminds me of myself before I met your mother. Help him remember there are more things to life than fossils, Kristina."

"But, Papa—"

"Just offer your friendship. That's all I ask."

What a wonderful man her father was. She reached out and hugged him. “I love you, Papa."

He patted her back before setting her away. “And I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I'd better get back to work before our illustrious leader catches me goldbricking."

Chuckling as he walked away, she looked through her camera, which infallibly went back to Stephen. Did she really make him smile?

The sound of approaching horses pulled her eye from the lens. Glancing out to the horizon, she spied several men riding toward the camp. Men she was afraid she recognized.

Stephen moved away from the dig as they came closer, obviously attempting to keep them from trampling the marked area. They pulled up beside him, and he pointed at the various sections where they'd retrieved fossils as he spoke. But from the looks on the men's faces, he seemed to be having some difficulty explaining things.

Without another thought, she slipped her spectacles to the crown of her head and marched across the site, coming to a stop by his side. Her father joined them seconds later.

"Maybe they're digging for gold,” one of the men said.

No wonder Stephen had made little progress. These men were speaking lunfardo, slang used mostly in the slums of Buenos Aires. Its mix of Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and other languages with the distinctive twist of reversing syllables, made it extremely difficult to comprehend. She wondered why these men would be so far from home.

"We are not digging for gold,” she said, using the odd slang. “We are searching for fossils, creatures that lived here thousands of years ago. We're removing their bones from the earth to take home for further study."

All eyes fell on her. Theirs leering and incredulous, Stephen's somewhat amazed and grateful.

"I didn't know there were women scientists. Or perhaps she is just their cook,” one of them said, switching back to proper Spanish.

"I don't care what she is, but I think she is in need of some special attention,” a particularly dirty man said as he winked at her.

She growled low in her throat.

"Easy, my dear,” her father said softly. “They're armed."

She clenched her fists tightly by her sides, but remained silent. Why had they started with lunfardo and behaved as if Stephen were speaking gibberish when she knew he spoke fairly good Spanish? What could they possibly have to gain by such a deception?

"You're right, Miguel. She looks good enough to eat. Very sweet.” He licked his lips slowly, revoltingly, and she repressed the urge to shudder.

She sensed Stephen's anger building.

"What a shame that one belongs to Antonio,” one of the men said. “I don't think he would like it if we touched his woman."

She started to step forward. “I'm not—"

Stephen grabbed her arm, silencing her with a subtle shake of his head, as he pulled her back to his side.

She cast him a derisive smirk. Always the protector. When would he learn she could take care of herself?

"I'm not so sure she doesn't belong to that one,” one of the filthy men said, motioning toward Stephen. “But if she is Antonio's, then perhaps I can convince him to share her.” He caressed his side arm, his grubby fingers sliding over the holster. “Or else he will be unemployed."

Her stomach lurched at the horrid man's words while they all laughed at his remark. Glancing at Stephen, she decided he might be right in this instance. Declaring herself unattached to Antonio or anyone else, for that matter, didn't seem to be a very good idea at the moment.

"Is there anything else,
gentlemen
?” Stephen asked in Spanish, his tone straining for normalcy.

The one who appeared to be in charge spoke. “Tell Antonio we were here and to be ready.” He turned his beady black eyes to Kristina and slowly moved them over her body.

Unconsciously, her hand slipped into Stephen's as she edged closer, allowing his broad shoulder to shelter her somewhat from the man's unnerving assessment.

"We will meet again, pretty one. And we will have a very good time."

Laughing, the group jerked their horses around and rode off, kicking up dust and dirt in their wake.

"What was that all about?” Mr. Walters asked.

"I have no idea, but I don't like it. Not one bit,” her father said.

"Neither do I,” Stephen said, his hand tightening around hers.

She slowly turned her gaze from the departing men and peeked down at their entwined fingers.

Oh, dear. More fodder for Mr. Walters and her father.

Gently, she eased from Stephen's strong grip, hoping no one would notice, but he did. His head snapped to hers the moment their connection ended.

Hadn't he realized they were holding hands? Or did he miss the feel of his skin against hers as much as she did?

Their gazes held while the others discussed what to do if their visitors returned. She ached to know his thoughts.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we all keep our wits about us,” her father said. “Kris, you will not go anywhere without an escort."

Her reasonable self returned with his dictate. She was behaving like some silly female afraid of a few dirty men with dirtier minds. They'd only been trying to frighten her, and by switching to Spanish, allowing her father and Stephen to clearly understand their lewd suggestions, they more than likely hoped for some sort of confrontation.

"I'll take the first duty, sir,” Mr. Thomas said.

"I do not need an escort,” she said, glaring at each and every one of them.

"There will be no arguments, missy."

"Your father's right, Miss Peterson. It isn't safe for you to be left alone,” Stephen said. “Edwin, I suggest you move into her tent tonight."

"I plan to."

"Now, just a minute. I said I don't need an escort and certainly not a roommate. No offense, Papa, but you snore dreadfully. I can take perfectly good care of myself."

Stephen turned to the rest of the team without giving her so much as a glance. “Mr. Thomas will take first watch. We'll alternate between the five of us every few hours. Edwin, I'll give you a hand moving your things."

They all turned to leave, but she snagged both her father and Stephen's arms before they could walk away. “Papa, don't you dare move. This isn't settled yet.” She turned to face her self-proclaimed protector. “I said I don't need a roommate or an escort, and I won't have one."

He grabbed her by the upper arms, jerking her slightly causing her spectacles to drop to her nose. “You will have a bodyguard at all times. You will do exactly as you're told or I'll personally take you back to Confluencia and put you on a steamer for home. Do I make myself clear?"

She stared into his golden eyes as vibrant as amber. Leave before the expedition was over? Leave her father, her work—Stephen behind?

"I've told you already that I won't leave.” With his hands burning her skin and his handsome face so close to hers, her tone had lost most of its bite.

Stephen's deep growl drew her gaze to his mouth now grimly set. If only she could have one more kiss. She closed her eyes at the memory of his lips against hers, a feeling she would never experience again.

His grip relaxed, but his fingers continued to encircle her arms. “Please, just do as I say. It's for you own safety."

She lifted her lids to his entreating voice, oddly wanting to do as he asked, but something inside her balked.

No man was going to order her about. Especially not one who tempted her with a glimpse of heaven, only to reject her in the end.

She wrenched free of his grasp. “I am perfectly safe. I do not need a bodyguard."

His eyes sparked with renewed anger. “You're getting one whether you like it or not.” Spinning on his heels, he stormed off toward her father's tent.

"Well, I don't like it.” She looked back at her father, who stood frowning after their visitors. “Papa, this isn't necessary."

"I'm afraid it is, my dear. I won't take any chances where your welfare is concerned."

She knew that tone. There would be no arguing with him over the matter, he'd made up his mind.