girl. "If you die, will your husband's family take care of Rane?"
"Oh…yes, they will."
His eyes narrowed. "You aren't sure?"
"Well," Pilar stammered, flustered by the question, "of—of course they will."
Culver was puzzled. Why should such a simple question make her so rattled? Pilar wasn't the kind of woman who was easily shaken. But she had a characteristic habit of pushing the hair from her eyes when she was nervous, and she was doing that now. Why? It didn't make sense, but Culver was too damned tired to try to figure it out at the moment. All he wanted was a mat on the floor of a hut and a good night's sleep.
Chapter 5
C ulver barely stirred. Somewhere in the distance, voices were speaking Quechua. Children were laughing and playing. A rooster very near let loose with a raucous crowing to where he lay. The smell of woodsmoke permeated his exhausted senses and he became aware of the hard earth beneath him, the blanket woven of llama wool folded under his head as a pillow.
Something warm and soft met his hand as he stretched his arms and yawned. Culver pried open his eyes, his groggy brain slowly recalling his mission. On the heels of that realization came the memory of arriving at Pilar's grandparents' village about four this morning. They had been shuffled off to a small thatched hut with little preamble, though Culver remembered meeting Aurelia, Pilar's grandmother, who had led them to the hut.
He recalled Pilar's surprise and panic at having to share the floor of the hut with him. What had she thought he was going to do? Make love to her? This time at least he'd been too bone tired to be wounded by her rejection of him. Instead, he merely stumbled into the hut, lay down in the far corner on a mat and drew up a blanket for a pillow. Almost instantly, he'd spiraled into badly needed sleep.
What was he touching? The gloom in the hut was nearly complete. A blanket hung across the entrance, with only a fine line of sunshine peeking around its edges. As his eyes adjusted, he realized with a start that it was Pilar who lay so close to him. She was still asleep, he saw as he eased up onto one elbow. The soft light stealing around the blanket washed lovingly across her form.
Pilar lay on her back, her hands clasped near her breasts, a blanket drawn up over her. How beautiful, how achingly desirable she looked. Culver couldn't help himself as he leaned over and threaded his fingers through the tangled black hair near her face. The hut's dim lighting accentuated her Incan ancestry, from her high cheekbones to her broad, unmarred brow. She was thirty-two years old, yet, he marveled, she had changed very little from the time he'd first known her. Maybe it was her ageless Incan blood.
Her hair spilled like a dark flow of moonlit water across a small pillow beneath her head. The strands felt like warm silk, just as he recalled. His fingertips tingled as he eased the strands back to get a better look at her face. Her skin was dusky and velvety soft. Did he dare touch her? How badly he wanted to. Culver wanted to do more than that. Her lush lips were parted, begging to be kissed.
It would be so easy to lean over and graze those lips. His lower body tightened with hungry need. With undeniable memory. Culver allowed his hand to rest lightly against the crown of Pilar's head. Belatedly he realized that Rane, who had slept in Pilar's arms last night, was gone. Having no idea of the time, he guessed that the girl had long since awakened and was probably out happily running around with the village children.
His gaze moved back to Pilar. How small and innocent she looked in sleep. Last night, they'd nearly died, yet as her breasts rose and fell slowly, she looked supremely untouched by life. Culver's fingers moved as if they had a life of their own, lightly stroking her silky hair. All he had to
"Oh…yes, they will."
His eyes narrowed. "You aren't sure?"
"Well," Pilar stammered, flustered by the question, "of—of course they will."
Culver was puzzled. Why should such a simple question make her so rattled? Pilar wasn't the kind of woman who was easily shaken. But she had a characteristic habit of pushing the hair from her eyes when she was nervous, and she was doing that now. Why? It didn't make sense, but Culver was too damned tired to try to figure it out at the moment. All he wanted was a mat on the floor of a hut and a good night's sleep.
Chapter 5
C ulver barely stirred. Somewhere in the distance, voices were speaking Quechua. Children were laughing and playing. A rooster very near let loose with a raucous crowing to where he lay. The smell of woodsmoke permeated his exhausted senses and he became aware of the hard earth beneath him, the blanket woven of llama wool folded under his head as a pillow.
Something warm and soft met his hand as he stretched his arms and yawned. Culver pried open his eyes, his groggy brain slowly recalling his mission. On the heels of that realization came the memory of arriving at Pilar's grandparents' village about four this morning. They had been shuffled off to a small thatched hut with little preamble, though Culver remembered meeting Aurelia, Pilar's grandmother, who had led them to the hut.
He recalled Pilar's surprise and panic at having to share the floor of the hut with him. What had she thought he was going to do? Make love to her? This time at least he'd been too bone tired to be wounded by her rejection of him. Instead, he merely stumbled into the hut, lay down in the far corner on a mat and drew up a blanket for a pillow. Almost instantly, he'd spiraled into badly needed sleep.
What was he touching? The gloom in the hut was nearly complete. A blanket hung across the entrance, with only a fine line of sunshine peeking around its edges. As his eyes adjusted, he realized with a start that it was Pilar who lay so close to him. She was still asleep, he saw as he eased up onto one elbow. The soft light stealing around the blanket washed lovingly across her form.
Pilar lay on her back, her hands clasped near her breasts, a blanket drawn up over her. How beautiful, how achingly desirable she looked. Culver couldn't help himself as he leaned over and threaded his fingers through the tangled black hair near her face. The hut's dim lighting accentuated her Incan ancestry, from her high cheekbones to her broad, unmarred brow. She was thirty-two years old, yet, he marveled, she had changed very little from the time he'd first known her. Maybe it was her ageless Incan blood.
Her hair spilled like a dark flow of moonlit water across a small pillow beneath her head. The strands felt like warm silk, just as he recalled. His fingertips tingled as he eased the strands back to get a better look at her face. Her skin was dusky and velvety soft. Did he dare touch her? How badly he wanted to. Culver wanted to do more than that. Her lush lips were parted, begging to be kissed.
It would be so easy to lean over and graze those lips. His lower body tightened with hungry need. With undeniable memory. Culver allowed his hand to rest lightly against the crown of Pilar's head. Belatedly he realized that Rane, who had slept in Pilar's arms last night, was gone. Having no idea of the time, he guessed that the girl had long since awakened and was probably out happily running around with the village children.
His gaze moved back to Pilar. How small and innocent she looked in sleep. Last night, they'd nearly died, yet as her breasts rose and fell slowly, she looked supremely untouched by life. Culver's fingers moved as if they had a life of their own, lightly stroking her silky hair. All he had to
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