to know that she didn’t come on like a barracuda to every man she met. On the contrary . . . It was just something about him ! And that was something that she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.
If possible, Lisa felt even worse after making that humiliating admission to herself than she had upon awakening. Of all the men in the world—all the handsome, wealthy, respectable men in her social circle at home, all the intelligent, talented men at the paper where she worked, even the cute blond college boy who did odd jobs around her house—why in the world had her long-repressed sexuality chosen to batten on him ? He was as hard-bitten as they came, tough and cynical and a male chauvinist pig to his toes. He wasn’t even handsome, for God’s sake! And she didn’t like him—on his good days; at other times she actively hated him. But she craved the touch of his hands on her flesh like the Western world craved oil. She must be crazy! Which brought her thoughts back full circle. Horrible, detestable man!
Lisa sat up, not wanting to remember the events of the night before. She swallowed automatically, then winced in pained surprise. The inside of her throat felt as red and raw as hamburger. When she had tried to swallow, it had been pierced by a little stab of acute pain. Unwillingly she remembered the short, stubby hands of her attacker closing about her throat. . . . If Sam hadn’t come when he had, the brute might have killed her. Lisa grimaced wryly. There was no might about it. He would have killed her, and by this time her body would have been picked clean of flesh by the carrion eaters of the jungle. There would have been nothing left but a skeleton. . . . Lisa shivered. Reluctantly she admitted that she owed Sam her life once again.
Pushing the tangled mass of her hair back from her face with one hand, Lisa sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the cot so that her bare feet touched the floor. Aside from her throat, the rest of her body seemed to be in reasonable shape. She was a little sore here and there, and probably had quite a few colorful bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. If nothing else, she thought wryly, this little—adventure—had certainly increased her tolerance of pain.
Lisa sat stiffly on the edge of the cot, not yet having summoned enough energy to stand up. She was still fully dressed except for her shoes, she registered idly, and remembered lying down on Sam’s cot without doing anything more than kicking them off. Her attention shifted to his cot. It was still there, in the back right-hand corner of the tent. The little table littered with his papers was in the back left-hand corner. Her own cot was placed nearer the entrance, almost catty-corner to Sam’s. A good four feet of space separated the two. . . . Apparently, from the presence of the extra cot, he had meant to let her sleep alone all along—with sleep being the operative word. If he truly had scruples about making love to married ladies, she was willing to bet that they had never troubled him before last night. She was quite, quite sure that he had said what he had merely to shame her. . . .
A bronzed, strong hand parted the tent flap. Lisa started, her head swinging around to confront the intruder, her eyes wide with instinctive fright. Then she recognized the black curly hair and relaxed.
“Still in bed?” His voice was faintly amused. As he straightened and looked down at her, Lisa met those blue eyes. They were mocking.
“As you see.” She meant the words to be coolly aloof, and was surprised at the dry croak that emerged from her throat.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. He bent and took her chin in his hand before Lisa could move away, tilting her face up so that he could get a better look at her neck. He studied the slim column for a moment, unspeaking, but his darkening face spoke for him. Finally he brought his other hand up to stroke her throat, his touch surprisingly gentle. Lisa winced.
If possible, Lisa felt even worse after making that humiliating admission to herself than she had upon awakening. Of all the men in the world—all the handsome, wealthy, respectable men in her social circle at home, all the intelligent, talented men at the paper where she worked, even the cute blond college boy who did odd jobs around her house—why in the world had her long-repressed sexuality chosen to batten on him ? He was as hard-bitten as they came, tough and cynical and a male chauvinist pig to his toes. He wasn’t even handsome, for God’s sake! And she didn’t like him—on his good days; at other times she actively hated him. But she craved the touch of his hands on her flesh like the Western world craved oil. She must be crazy! Which brought her thoughts back full circle. Horrible, detestable man!
Lisa sat up, not wanting to remember the events of the night before. She swallowed automatically, then winced in pained surprise. The inside of her throat felt as red and raw as hamburger. When she had tried to swallow, it had been pierced by a little stab of acute pain. Unwillingly she remembered the short, stubby hands of her attacker closing about her throat. . . . If Sam hadn’t come when he had, the brute might have killed her. Lisa grimaced wryly. There was no might about it. He would have killed her, and by this time her body would have been picked clean of flesh by the carrion eaters of the jungle. There would have been nothing left but a skeleton. . . . Lisa shivered. Reluctantly she admitted that she owed Sam her life once again.
Pushing the tangled mass of her hair back from her face with one hand, Lisa sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the cot so that her bare feet touched the floor. Aside from her throat, the rest of her body seemed to be in reasonable shape. She was a little sore here and there, and probably had quite a few colorful bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. If nothing else, she thought wryly, this little—adventure—had certainly increased her tolerance of pain.
Lisa sat stiffly on the edge of the cot, not yet having summoned enough energy to stand up. She was still fully dressed except for her shoes, she registered idly, and remembered lying down on Sam’s cot without doing anything more than kicking them off. Her attention shifted to his cot. It was still there, in the back right-hand corner of the tent. The little table littered with his papers was in the back left-hand corner. Her own cot was placed nearer the entrance, almost catty-corner to Sam’s. A good four feet of space separated the two. . . . Apparently, from the presence of the extra cot, he had meant to let her sleep alone all along—with sleep being the operative word. If he truly had scruples about making love to married ladies, she was willing to bet that they had never troubled him before last night. She was quite, quite sure that he had said what he had merely to shame her. . . .
A bronzed, strong hand parted the tent flap. Lisa started, her head swinging around to confront the intruder, her eyes wide with instinctive fright. Then she recognized the black curly hair and relaxed.
“Still in bed?” His voice was faintly amused. As he straightened and looked down at her, Lisa met those blue eyes. They were mocking.
“As you see.” She meant the words to be coolly aloof, and was surprised at the dry croak that emerged from her throat.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. He bent and took her chin in his hand before Lisa could move away, tilting her face up so that he could get a better look at her neck. He studied the slim column for a moment, unspeaking, but his darkening face spoke for him. Finally he brought his other hand up to stroke her throat, his touch surprisingly gentle. Lisa winced.
Similar Books
