battened down the hatches to weather a strong blow. Everything about him was saying, "I'm gonna get you," and her instinctive mental response was a truculent "Oh, yeah?"
She had a strong competitive streak in her nature. She liked to win, whether it was at cards or beating someone to a good parking spot. She liked most team sports and absolutely loved football. Seducing her was just a game to Ben, so that was the way she would play it too: to win.
She had woefully underestimated him at their first meeting, but now she had his measure and wouldn't make that mistake again.
They were in a dicey situation; they needed to keep their wits about them and their eyes wide open rather than waste time on the Adam and Eve stuff. Of course, as he had pointed out, they were safe enough on the trip in. It would be on the trip out that they would be in danger. Still, she didn't intend to let Ben distract her.
Night crashed down with stunning abruptness. One moment it was twilight, the next it wasn't. The impenetrable jungle seemed to press harder against the boats where they were pulled up to the riverbank. The level of noise began to build, complete with shrieks and howls, coughs and rumbles, until she wondered how any of them would get any sleep.
Battery-operated lanterns were turned on. Each boat carried an alcohol stove, and a quick, simple meal was supplied. Vicente did the cooking on their boat, throwing together rice, fish, and seasonings to make a dish that wouldn't win any awards, but was edible. It would fill their bellies and give them energy; nothing else was required of their food, certainly not good taste or an elegant presentation.
Afterward, the tin plates were quickly cleaned and stored, and hammocks efficiently hung, taking up most of the deck space. "This one is yours," Ben said to Jillian, indicating the hammock closest to his. They were virtually side by side, close enough to hold hands if either of them was so inclined. Jillian wasn't.
She expertly maneuvered herself into the swaying hammock and arranged a swath of mosquito netting over her. Even though she had to admit the night was wonderfully free of the pests, she didn't want to take the chance that there might be a stray bug out there just waiting to jump on her. The mosquito netting was her own form of a security blanket.
Ben settled into his own hammock. "Bet you think you're safe, don't you?" he whispered a moment later. "Ever done it in a hammock?"
"Of course," she said, and was vastly pleased with the precise blend of unconcern and boredom that she had managed. Let him wonder about that ! He hadn't specified which "it" he was talking about, so she felt free to apply her own interpretation. She had definitely slept in a hammock before.
The immediate blasé response brought a scowl to Ben's face as he relaxed with the slight swaying of the hammock. What did she mean, "of course"? Did more go on during her archaeological expeditions than he'd imagined? It made sense; people were together for long periods of time, so it would be human nature for their gonads to act up. He was sympathetic to the condition; his own libido wasn't the best-behaved in the world.
But the thought of Jillian swaying in a hammock with some bare-assed, bony-kneed archaeologist humping her wasn't pleasant. In fact, he didn't like it worth a damn. His scowl deepened, and a strange kind of anger flared deep in his belly. The incredulous thought surfaced that he was feeling jealous , but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. That was ridiculous. He'd never been jealous of a woman before in his life, and he sure wasn't jealous of Jillian Sherwood. She wasn't even his type. Her main attraction was that she was the only woman available—that and the almost irresistible urge he had to show her that he could have her anytime he wanted. All he had to do was turn up the heat.
He reached out and nudged her hammock. "Where?"
"Where what?" she murmured, rousing up from a
She had a strong competitive streak in her nature. She liked to win, whether it was at cards or beating someone to a good parking spot. She liked most team sports and absolutely loved football. Seducing her was just a game to Ben, so that was the way she would play it too: to win.
She had woefully underestimated him at their first meeting, but now she had his measure and wouldn't make that mistake again.
They were in a dicey situation; they needed to keep their wits about them and their eyes wide open rather than waste time on the Adam and Eve stuff. Of course, as he had pointed out, they were safe enough on the trip in. It would be on the trip out that they would be in danger. Still, she didn't intend to let Ben distract her.
Night crashed down with stunning abruptness. One moment it was twilight, the next it wasn't. The impenetrable jungle seemed to press harder against the boats where they were pulled up to the riverbank. The level of noise began to build, complete with shrieks and howls, coughs and rumbles, until she wondered how any of them would get any sleep.
Battery-operated lanterns were turned on. Each boat carried an alcohol stove, and a quick, simple meal was supplied. Vicente did the cooking on their boat, throwing together rice, fish, and seasonings to make a dish that wouldn't win any awards, but was edible. It would fill their bellies and give them energy; nothing else was required of their food, certainly not good taste or an elegant presentation.
Afterward, the tin plates were quickly cleaned and stored, and hammocks efficiently hung, taking up most of the deck space. "This one is yours," Ben said to Jillian, indicating the hammock closest to his. They were virtually side by side, close enough to hold hands if either of them was so inclined. Jillian wasn't.
She expertly maneuvered herself into the swaying hammock and arranged a swath of mosquito netting over her. Even though she had to admit the night was wonderfully free of the pests, she didn't want to take the chance that there might be a stray bug out there just waiting to jump on her. The mosquito netting was her own form of a security blanket.
Ben settled into his own hammock. "Bet you think you're safe, don't you?" he whispered a moment later. "Ever done it in a hammock?"
"Of course," she said, and was vastly pleased with the precise blend of unconcern and boredom that she had managed. Let him wonder about that ! He hadn't specified which "it" he was talking about, so she felt free to apply her own interpretation. She had definitely slept in a hammock before.
The immediate blasé response brought a scowl to Ben's face as he relaxed with the slight swaying of the hammock. What did she mean, "of course"? Did more go on during her archaeological expeditions than he'd imagined? It made sense; people were together for long periods of time, so it would be human nature for their gonads to act up. He was sympathetic to the condition; his own libido wasn't the best-behaved in the world.
But the thought of Jillian swaying in a hammock with some bare-assed, bony-kneed archaeologist humping her wasn't pleasant. In fact, he didn't like it worth a damn. His scowl deepened, and a strange kind of anger flared deep in his belly. The incredulous thought surfaced that he was feeling jealous , but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. That was ridiculous. He'd never been jealous of a woman before in his life, and he sure wasn't jealous of Jillian Sherwood. She wasn't even his type. Her main attraction was that she was the only woman available—that and the almost irresistible urge he had to show her that he could have her anytime he wanted. All he had to do was turn up the heat.
He reached out and nudged her hammock. "Where?"
"Where what?" she murmured, rousing up from a
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